I Just Don't Belong

Today I committed another major social faux pas. I used to commit them on accident, now I understand the rules of the game and I commit them on purpose.


I went into Bellevue without makeup.

My fingernails and toenails weren't even polished.

My jean shorts were ragged and had holes because I wore them out, not because I purchased them with holes. A novelist might describe me as "unspoiled", but, in Bellevue, I was just a raggedy ol' woman who should have been shopping and saloning instead of buying a latte with an extra shot. Shopping is so celebrated and cherished here, I am surprised it isn't one of the sports offered in the high schools.

To you in the Midwest, Bellevue is like cake-eating Edina, MN on steroids. The county swallowing all these WA cities, King County has 68,000 millionaires, ranking it the 10th in the nation for the most amount of rich people. Rich people who like to wear expensive clothing and primp on their appearance.



People here that ARE wealthy want you to know it. They buy very expensive jeans with holes in them so they look like real people that have worn out their jeans but are too cool to care. People that live here that AREN'T wealthy want you to think they are. They buy nice jeans without holes in them so they look like they are people of leisure that can afford new jeans. Image is everything.



When we first moved to WA we rented in Bellevue. When another homeschooling mom I met asked me where I lived, she raised her eyebrows at my response and said, "Oh, you're one of those." In that year I learned what triggered her jesting remark. So, when it came to actually buying a home, I told my realtor that if I couldn't leave toys in the yard, hang clothes on the line, drive older cars and wear holey jeans (before they were in style), I didn't want to live in that neighborhood. We ended up buying two suburbs away.

This morning, back in Bellevue, I noticed the other customers in the coffee shop were polished and spiffed, the men more so than I am even on a good day. One guy's shoes were SO shiny, I considered borrowing one to snag those last few straggly eyebrows I had missed while plucking the other day. The men here get their nails done, sometimes. They get buffed and plucked and toned and massaged. Eeww. I guess I grew up with too many guys with perma-dirt on their hands and under their nails from fixing their own motorcycles and cars to think it manly to have your nails done. Do you think they use Goop in their manly salons?

But, at least I knew how to order coffee. I have lived here long enough to rip off my drink order without a hitch. It's like adopting a fake accent after you move south. I don't think anyone hearing me casually chant out my order noticed that I am not native.

Unmoisturized hand with unpolished nails and cracked cuticles holding a grande sugar-free vanilla latte with an extra shot.

When I used the restroom, I checked my reflection. It was worse than I had anticipated. The material was a lot thinner than I had noticed in my caffeine-craving morning fog. If I sneeze today I am going to blow the backside out of my shorts. I had dots of red deck stain all over the rear, as well. Great, worn out shorts with chicken pox. For damage control I ran my fingers through my hair and scrunched the curls to hopefully draw attention upwards.

I walked back to my car with the PNW gait, toes pointed forward, back straight like the chiropractor said, breathing deeply the cedar-scented air and holding my right arm bent at a 45 degree angle, keeping it close to my body to not spill the hot coffee. I looked like everyone else walking down the street with their beverage wrapped in a recyclable brown cardboard sleeve....

except for the plain toenails, lack of makeup and the paint splotches.

I stood up straighter, swaggered a little more as I law-abidingly crossed when the glow-in-the-dark stick man appeared and tried to eke confidence.

As I passed in front of BMWs and Lexuses I laughed that I really don't fit in, I never will fit in and I don't really want to. To live in that world of materialism is just not me. When I do home-salon myself it doesn't define the real me, it enhances the real me.

And, just as I was just passing through Bellevue, I contemplated how as a Christian, I am just passing through this world. I don't belong here, I am on my way to Heaven to be with my Lord and Savior Jesus. My time on earth is just to serve Him, not get so entrenched I can't stand to leave.

I thought of this hymn as I sipped the quickly cooling latte -

THIS WORLD IS NOT MY HOME

"This world is not my home, I'm just passing through.

My treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue.

The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door

And I can't feel at home in this world anymore.

Chorus

O Lord you know I have no friend like you

If Heaven's not my home, then Lord what will I do?

The angels beckon me from Heaven's open door

And I can't feel at home in this world anymore."

I just really don't belong...

Blue Angels

Saturday, Scott and I, along with the youngest two kids, had an amazing experience.

Some very generous friends toted us on their sailboat along a very scenic route and under five bridges, to position us under the perfomance route of the Blue Angels on Lake Washington. The Navy aviators were gracing Seattle with their commanding presence for the annual Seafair celebration.

I'll use the Navy's words from their website on the link above to save myself some typing. Besides, their writers use big, important-sounding words, cool facts, and stuff like that.


"A Blue Angels flight demonstration exhibits choreographed refinements of skills possessed by all naval aviators.

(Click on any picture to see full-sized)

It includes the graceful aerobatic maneuvers

of the four-plane Diamond Formation,

in concert with the fast-paced,

high-performance maneuvers of its two Solo Pilots.

Finally, the team illustrates the pinnacle of precision flying,

performing maneuvers locked as a unit in the renowned,

six-jet Delta Formation."


This bird couldn't stay in formation. Must be from the Air Force or something.

Then, there were only five.

It was hard to match up sound and sight,

then one would come out of nowhere and scare the beejeebies out of you.

What are beejeebies, anyway? Do I want them back?

"Q -How do you produce the smoke, and why do you use it?

A -The smoke is produced by pumping biodegradable, paraffin-based oil directly into the exhaust nozzles of the aircraft where the oil is instantly vaporized into smoke. The smoke provides a traceable path for spectators to follow, so they can see the flight profile that has been flown. It also enhances safety of flight by providing a valuable means by which the solo pilots can see each other during opposing maneuvers and conditions of lowered visibility or haze. The smoke poses no hazard to the environment."

Q - What is the top speed and rate of climb of an F/A-18?

A - The F/A-18 can reach speeds just under Mach 2, almost twice the speed of sound or about 1,400 mph. The maximum rate of climb of the F/A-18 is 30,000 feet per minute.

Q - What are the fastest and slowest speeds flown during an air show?

A - The fastest speed is about 700 mph (just under Mach 1; Sneak Pass) and the slowest speed is about 120 mph (indicated speed; Section High Alpha), both flown by the solo pilots during the show.

Q - What is the lowest and highest maneuver heights performed during an air show?

A - This varies due to weather conditions. The highest is the vertical rolls performed by the Opposing Solo (up to 15,000 feet) and the lowest is the Sneak Pass (50 feet) performed by the Lead Solo."

So, that F/A-18 that snuck up on me, or is it sneaked, was flying about 700 miles per hour about 50 feet away from our sailboat. No wonder so many pics were out of focus. No wonder I almost fell off the bow of the boat while spinning around frantically trying to keep the planes in my viewfinder.

I kept telling Scott, "If I fall off the boat, grab the camera. Let me go. Save the camera!"

This was my biggest photographic challenge to date, trying to stay upright on a sailboat in the middle of Lake Washington in 90 degree heat, slippery with sunscreen and fighting slight seasickness. Yea, I'm kinda' a sissy landlubber, definately no sea-legs on this momma. But, it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I was willing to withstand anything to enjoy the view and the exhibition.

Check out their schedule, maybe they're coming to your area and you can test your trigger finger at capturing a plane flying 700 mph. Just don't get whiplash.

Take a CHILL PILL!

The first time I ever heard the term was when one of my adorable nephews was whining and my sister-in-law, Susan, was urging him to quit. She leaned over from the kitchen sink, looked into his frumped out face surrounded by blond curls and said, "Take a CHILL PILL!"

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I thought it was hysterically funny, but, I kinda had to ask her what it meant.

.

She answered, "Ya' know, like chill out!"

.

My admiration grew for this totally hip woman who could calm an annoying child with total coolness.

.

I decided I better change my ways and stop yelling, "Will you please SHUT UP!" I know, I can see some of you "shut-up-is-a-bad-word" people shuddering. "Be Quiet" is more polite, I agree, but it just isn't effective. With six kids there were times when effective was good....and necessary....and safest for all.

.

"Take a CHILL PILL!" is definitely effective and non-offensive and with-the-times.

This week, I have been wishing there really was a Chill Pill. I WOULD have loved to have taken one every day this week, along with the bajillion or so others suffering in the heat wave of the PNW. Seattle broke a record with a temp of 103. Since the average July temp is 75 degrees, that is 28 degrees warmer.

Since most of my elderly ND relatives swear that every summer day in ND has been a 100 or higher every day since they started using the one bottom plow to break the sod, I know this stat isn't too impressive to some.

They would tell me they had no ice because the blocks of ice cut off the lake and stored in sawdust were all melted. I could boast right back that Safeway ran out of bagged ice yesterday.

They could tell me that they had no fans, and I could boast that the shelves were out of fans in the stores we checked by Tuesday.

So, to make my complaint valid to all, let's take the average July temperature of my birthplace, Valley City, ND, which is 81 degrees, and add the 28, that would make it 109 degrees. Have I made my point? It's hot. It's really hot. It is hot when you wake up, it is hot all day, it is hot in the shade, it is hot in the cars, it is hot, it is hot, it is hot. I never knew ankles could sweat.

The majority of homes don't have air-conditioning, and trying to get cars to cool down in traffic on asphalt isn't easy.

We got creative in our ways of trying to beat the heat.

At the beginning of the week we were shocked with the temp registered by my mini-van.

The kids built a civilization of tee-pees, claiming that it was actually cooler inside.

When I said NO to a real fire in the ring, creativity kicked in.

Orange paper.

Getting warmer....

Living on the deck when the sun goes to the front of the house.

Letting the men cook. That really helps beat the heat.

We also ate in restaurants with AC. My neighbor, Kelly-Across-the-Street,

told me they couldn't find availability in a restaurant Wednesday night.

They had to go home and eat sandwiches.

Our economy is definitely booming.

Warmer....

Shopping at Target in luxurious AIR CONDITIONING.

We went three days in a row.

So did the rest of the people.

The clerks were ecstatic.

It was like Christmas in the store, and they were making lotsa money.

Little Brookie playing in the cart, covering up with the dress Gramma was going to try on.

The AC musta been chilly to her.

Warmer....

Drinking Bubble Tea, a delicious Asian specialty.

Warmer.....

Poor little Brayden wanted to be held all the time, but it was so hard to hold a 98 degree baby when the internal temp of the house was around 90 and outside was 100.

We used a water bottle to spray to mist him and then had the fan blow on him while sleeping.

His Mommy gave him lotsa cooling baths.

Slurpees are sure to bring down body temps but there is a health hazard.

They can freeze your brain.

Warmer.....

We finally filled the hot tub with water and the chemical, but didn't heat it past 80.

By the second day, the water was so overheated from the sun,

we had to drain some and add cold water.

We sat in here for hours each day.

We were like the Washington Raisins.

We would sit and sip water and juice and tea and just soak and splash and

CHILLED OUT!

Warmer....


First time my butter isn't filled with crumbs and swipes of peanut butter,

then it had to go and melt into oblivion.

We had to live on ice-cream bars and frozen fruit bars instead of toast.

We slept outside because the temp was night was in the cool 80's.

Then, last night, we felt the winds of change blow over the Olympic Mountains.

Fresh breezes made the 90's seem cool.

Then 80's,

then peace.

This morning, my house is only 73 degrees.

Finally cool enough to eat toast.

After breakfast, I have a travois full of tee-pees to wash.

Things You Don't See in My PNW Neighborhood

When I moved to the PNW five years ago, I was astounded with the differences I found after living in the Midwest the majority of my life. The people, the attitudes, the food, the climate, the traffic, the values (and/or lack of), the traditions, the thoughts, the clothing.....everything was different. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, but always different.


I fumbled through the new world, planning routes that don't need left turns, avoiding high traffic times, learning where to buy all the things I needed at the best possible price in a place where the cost of living was exorbitantly higher, and ordering food in broken English. I cried after being flipped off or honked at again, was yelled at in a grocery store because I made some social faux pas I am still unaware of committing. Someone told me, "Girl, you gotta' toughen up if you are going to live here." I needed to toughen up, but I didn't want to become tough.


I have gradually learned to embrace and appreciate the best of both worlds. Enjoy my comparative journey back to the Midwest.


OK, before you get offended, you have to understand, in the Midwest, hunting is grocery shopping. My parents were feeding six kids on a chemist's salary, so Dad provided meat by hunting deer, grouse, rabbit, pheasants, geese and elk. Mom gardened, canned and froze fruits and vegetables.


The limit for ice-fishing was ten per person, so he would bundle up all the kids that were willing and able and haul us to the reservoir in the Volkswagen camper bus. We would ice fish for hours, until he had a bus load of fish. Then, he would clean them all, sometimes 60 at a time, and prepare them in a smoker he made out of an old refrigerator and an old popcorn popper. We had precious family times shivering over an open hole in the ice and listening to the ice crack, waiting for us and the VW to be swallowed into a watery grave.


In the Midwest, gutting your first deer is as serious as a bat or bar mitzvah for a teenager- it is a passage into adulthood. "Opener" IS a holiday, both for fishing and hunting, whether the wives acknowledge it or not.


The move to the PNW exposed us to delicious, exciting and endless varieties of food. When we were invited to a reputable restaurant for a work event, I was so excited to try something new and exotic. Then, I opened the menu.


Venison. Rabbit. Smoked Salmon.


I leaned over and whispered to my husband, "This is poor people food! I wanted something GOOD to eat!"


I ordered chicken. The meat poor people buy when they are out of venison and rabbit and smoked salmon.


Take serious note. No spandex. No boundary disputes. No attitude. No comment needed.

Four wheel drive pickup for the sheriff, appropriate for ND with six to nine months of mountains-of-snow-on-the-ground winter.

The state of Washington diligently practices separation of church and state. They want the Christian church kept out of the state.

Ever see a four wheeler drive down your main street? First, he stopped at the local grocery store we were shopping at, bought orange juice, milk and a Sunday paper then followed us to the gas station where he filled his tank. Then, he drove off into the sunrise.

When was the last time you saw the Ten Commandments standing so tall? Hmmm, is that a public building behind the two stone tablets?

No helmet laws. Most of the bikers across Montana and North Dakota didn't even wear the leather jackets, just jeans and t-shirts. Clothes flap in the wind a lot more than leather. Besides, I would be a little nervous to drive unprotected. After all, if you skid, there are no cars on the road to stop you for miles and miles and miles and miles. OOH, I feel the burn just thinking about that road rash.

We spotted the black smoke miles before and were very concerned. We expected to hear sirens and see emergency vehicles flying down the road. We got closer and closer, still no fire trucks. Someone was just burning something. Maybe because there are less people to breathe the toxic air, they don't care. Ya, you betcha, I dunno.

Have you ever got stuck behind a tractor? Especially one who seems to find it amusing to have a trail of cars behind him? Do you think he bragged at the grain elevator over a cup of grainy Folgers the next morning, "Hey, I got a back-up of six cars yesturday, fer shur, how many didju git?"

Check out the price of gas! Would it be worth it to drive across the border just to fill up?

We became tired of waving, smiling and greeting nearly everyone that passed us on the highway, on a road or in a building. At one point, my husband yelled in mock exasperation, "I am NOT waving again!" My son noted that everyone in the Midwest is your next best friend.

Then, we returned to WA. Thinking we would enjoy the relief from over-friendly-stimulation, we settled back into our neighborhood. Then, yesterday, my neighbor yelled at my kids - again. They were giggling in the backyard in the early afternoon. I couldn't even hear them from the house. And, only two out of six were out there, how loud could they have been?

Then, I repented of my prior attitude. Midwest, I promise to wave and smile at everyone I see while on vacation next year.

In fact, I might even start practicing that again, now.

I'll start with my PNW neighbor. Fer shur.

What's in YOUR Side View Mirror?

We left on Thursday July 9th for a 1685 mile journey across five states to get to Story Book Lodge Christian Camp near Virginia, Minnesota. We returned yesterday to the wonderful civilization of coffee made from freshly ground beans, high speed Internet and cell phone reception. Not to mention, seat covers in all public bathrooms.

I just had to create a new way to photograph the gorgeous view while we were cruising across Montana, my favorite state. We didn't have time to stop, so I stared through the windows and in the mirrors. I take a lot of pictures through the windows of the car, but they are usually a little smudgy from all the bug guts smattered on the windshield.

Notice the heavy traffic. The interstate across Montana and North Dakota is so empty, you almost could drive with your feet.

I said almost and no, I didn't try it.




Heavy traffic, there's another vehicle on the road. It was time to put the camera away and keep driving.

Stay tuned....

Flashback - Ocean Shores

Until I learn to faithfully blog as I go, I will "flashback" special times and photos I want to post. While granddaughter, Brookelyn, was testing the waters, the rest of the family was also enjoying a special day at Ocean Shores, a beach on the Pacific Ocean.

I love all the patterns in the sand, the water and the clouds. The sights, smells and sounds of the ocean are so addicting, so calming, so alluring, especially for those of us who grew up landlocked in the upper Midwest.

Jon tried, and failed, to outrace the waves. Between the baby spitting up, Brookie having accidents and Jon swimming in his clothes, we ended up doing a load of laundry that night at the hotel.

Baseball, America's favorite pastime, is so much better when the hot sand is silking between your toes as you lunge, toss and roll in an imaginary game in which you are always the hero.

Horses on the beach are always an intriguing site. The piles of horse poop on the beach are not an intriguing site. Since we refuse to pay $25 a person for a horseback walk down the beach, I took pictures of unsuspecting strangers.

The early morning wooed us to the beach so we could stroll and pick up shells almost alone. Beka and I had fun filling our bags with sand dollars, some plain white shells and occasionally crab pieces. These beaches aren't Floridan, the water isn't warm, they don't have a stunning variety of shells, but, hey, it's an ocean and you can drive on the beach.

Speaking of driving on the beach, this is Scott picking up shells in his own style. Man style. The "I'd hate to break out in a sweat" style.

Our perfect day at the beach ended with a stop to McDonald's. This is what happens when your son-in-law throws his so-dry-it-cracked bun from his burger on your windshield.

This is from our first visit to the ocean in 2005. Scott and I sat in lawn chairs, the camera on a tripod, and snapped the sun's burning descent, enjoying our first, and very romantic, Pacific Ocean sunset.

At first, I was very annoyed that this person would walk in front of our camera. There were miles of beach to walk on. But, it soon became my favorite pictures and I have learned to let the picture happen.

And each day ends with the glorious knowledge that the sun will return the next morning, in another show of color, warmth and hope of a "new day with no mistakes in it."

How to Eat a Hamburger

Choreographed by food expert, Brookelyn.

Pick up hamburger with both chubby, dimpled hands.

Hold it upside down to make the calories fall out.

A good habit to encourage for later in life when there will be concern about your figger.
Take huge bites to make cute gopher cheeks.

Check the toppings.

Lick off some ketchup.

Carefully balance the burger and take a few bites when Gramma tells you to.

When your mouth is full take a drink of your milk

to ensure leaving the maximum amount of floaties per fluid ounce.

Check the toppings again.

Lick off more ketchup.

If you get enough on your face, Gramma will think it is cute and

she won't wipe it off, especially if it is on the tip of your nose.

Take a few more bites, wrap up the burger and tell Gramma "du".

Translation, "Done."