Its Raining, Its Pouring, My Boys are Probably Driving my Husband Crazy

It is the Fourth of July here, and the rain just keeps coming down. Although it is wonderful as an incentive for cleaning the house (which I swear I have been doing a fair amount of - despite the fact that I am now on the computer), it is driving my children crazy. I called them at Grandma's house, just to be sure.

Yep, ES is whining and disgruntled because he can't do fireworks in the rain. For the past several years, my brother-in-law has invited us to his house, where they set off their own fireworks. This is not my idea of a perfect Fourth of July celebration. I worry about injuries and I miss watching "the real thing" - you know, the ones that professionals do up in the sky, the ones that make me go "ooh," and "aah," instead of "yikes - that was a close one! One of these days you're going to burn your hand off!"

The little boys are, in hubby's words, "busy and destructive." I asked if they had broken anything yet, but he said no. Then again, when I called, it was only 1 p.m. and they hadn't even been at her house for a full 24 hours.

Now, since I've taken a break from cleaning, I might as well share a photo of the cake I made for YS's half-birthday last week. The poor guy is so neglected when it comes to birthdays, even with our efforts to recognize it on his half birthday. His birthday comes just days after Christmas and so we determined to celebrate his half birthday every June.

Last June, he received one half-birthday present and no cake. This year, he received one cake and no present. When ES saw the cake, he said, "How many times are you gonna make this cake?" I purchased the cake pan for $2 at Target before ES's 2nd birthday. I made a practice cake and frosted it in front of my students (who then devoured the whole thing, without a photo op). When I made it for ES's birthday, I forgot to take a photo, so I made the dern cake again three weeks later for my own birthday and finally snapped the photo. Then, I made the cake again for MS's 2nd birthday.



So, I say, "Let them eat cake," and "Rain, rain, go away, my boys just want to go outside and play ... with fireworks!"

May the Scraps of my Life Be Woven Together to Create a Thing of Beauty

My sister and I are carbon opposites. If you saw us, you would doubt that we were indeed sisters (although, there is one photo on my mother's wall, taken at my sister's wedding where our heads are craned in toward one another and our faces look almost identical, merely graced with dark and light hair). We have always been different. Whether that is a grace or a burden, depends upon the timing of consideration.

A few days ago, my sister expressed some anxiety over her new position with The Salvation Army. She went from being a Divisional Youth Secretary (where she was involved with planning activities and camps for young people - something which is, undoubtedly, her forte!) - to sharing a city commander's position with her husband. It literally blew me away to hear her tossing out the term "worthless."

My sister is type A. When ES and I visited her, during their appointment in Key West, Florida, she hustled all three of her children in and out of showers every morning and night, had their clothes laid out for them the night before, disciplined at the moment discipline was needed, rallied her children to pick up their own mess as soon as they finished playing, preached Sunday morning's sermon, and juggled everything on her plate with extraordinary aplomb.

My best guess is that she is feeling lost as to her place in this new appointment. She is probably wanting to jump in and get things done. That is her style. That is her strength.

Which brings me again to the fact that she and I are carbon opposites. Ever since I read of her discouragement, I have been sinking myself. You see, if she can feel worthless, what in the world should I be feeling about my own life.

Apart from loving my boys with every fiber of my being, I don't really have much to show for my days. Indeed, they have left for another weekend visit with my in-laws and I am here, alone, bracing myself for another weekend of cleaning. I hate cleaning. I hate sorting. I have a hard time getting rid of things, even if, in theory, I desire the simplicity that my husband craves for our lives.

The thing is, if I could manage to organize myself better during the regular days, then I would not need these extra weekends trying to catch up on what should really be able to be accomplished in the normal hours of my housewife work-week. However, I don't organize my time well. I am anything but a type A. I find it hard to motivate myself to pick up the endless messes (or even to rally the troops to pick up their own messes), to plan a schedule of meals and have it placed on the table at a set time in the evening, or to get my children in their beds on time. I live a loosey-goosey existence. A lot of what I do depends on what I feel like at the moment. I lack self-discipline. I lack passion and vision for what I want my role to be.

Instead, I spend much of my days fighting my role (even though it is one that I personally campaigned for - if we were going to have more children, I did NOT want those children to be raised by day care workers instead of myself). I resent the expectations that I keep an immaculate house. I resent it mostly, because I feel incapable of ever living up to those expectations.

Then there are my own personal goals and dreams. Somehow, parenthood (and I understand that this is a SEASON - I know I am giving up parts of myself to focus on my children while they are still small because it goes by in a flash) has side-lined any of the things I value and enjoy. Before I became a parent, I made lists of things I wanted to accomplish in life. Now, the thought of making a list of things I want to accomplish seems daunting, unless it is a list of things I want to do with my boys before they no longer are willing to spend time with me (oh, we have been dreaming this week of a trip to Canada next spring to see the thousands of red-sided garter snakes in their snake pits at the Narcisse Wildlife Management Area!).

As I was looking at the disaster, which is my home, waiting to be tamed, I took my classic route of avoidance and logged on to read blogs. One blog I enjoy (but only visit every couple of months or so) is written by April, and is called The Two Regrets. She has four children and relishes every moment of her summer breaks with them (last summer I enjoyed reading of their trip to Mackinac Island). Of course, when I read of her successful trips, I find myself wishing my children were more like her children (with a love of reading and calm dispositions), and that seems like kind of a crummy thing to put upon them (to wish they were something other than what they are).

There are many things I appreciate about April's blog. She loves words and quilting, and her writing is often beautifully direct.

When I read this post, I began to feel a ray of hope. My life is certainly a pile of scraps on the floor. I love how she brought this image together of the quilt - a thing of beauty made of scraps stitched together during hours of loving, painstaking work.

However, I lack two things. I lack her network of supportive women (all stitching away, with her) and a belief that I, myself, am the one sewing these scraps into a thing of beauty. If I were at the helm (don't know if a sewing machine really has a helm - ha!), even with the help of others, my machine would, no doubt, get jammed and create a whole new mess.

Thankfully, I am relying on the Lord. I certainly pray that this is what the Lord is going to accomplish with my scraps. Moreover, if He is the designer, then I can rest assured that the final product will be good - even if at times I feel like all the scraps of my life are dull pieces of uninteresting, worthless fabric.

Oozing Creativity

Some people are so amazingly creative, it just floors me! Naturally, when I happen upon such an individual, and especially, one who blogs, I have to favorite their site and share with my readers.

Tonight I discovered Megan at http://www.myplumpudding.blogspot.com/. This woman absolutely oozes creativity. If I had more time, I would have read her entire archive full of posts. Alas, I think I only made it back to February of 2009. Still, my brain is full of several creative ideas she shared which I want to try.

My boys are gonna love some of her food ideas. I was drawn immediately to her spaghetti dogs post. My two little boys eat fettuccine alfredo with chicken and broccoli (which we call "broccoli with slurpy noodles") once or twice a week. They love to slurp the noodles and pretend that they are sucking up worms (ah, boys ...). I can't wait to see MS's face when I serve the spaghetti dogs (without any warning, of course). I'm thinking about serving it with a bowl of tomato sauce and spinach (seaweed) for them to dip the octopuses in. I'm sure MS will say that it is blood.

They are sure to enjoy her crescent suggestion, too. We recently made pigs-in-a-blanket. MS loves to help in the kitchen. He had a ball rolling the hot dogs up into the crescent roll dough. I'm pretty sure he could come up with some of his own creative recipes, if I let him.

Indeed, having a creative son, encourages me to find these creative bloggers because he outpaces me every day. This morning he asked if we had any paper cups. I had no clue why he was asking, but I got the box of Dixie cups down. He asked for ten of them. His final creation? A snake of cups held together by tape with a paper forked tongue and googly eyes. Sadly, it met its demise, in the hands of a younger brother, before I could get a picture.

He also made two mummies walking (still on that 3-D theme). When my parents were here for a visit, my mother kept trying to get MS to draw her something she would actually want to take and display (i.e., something other than that which he obsesses about, Halloween characters, spiders and snakes). She asked him to draw a flower, but he never did concur. I think she went home with a few spiders.

Here is a view of our wall (again, a ton more remains on the floor, but some he insists on displaying on the wall):



Moreover, the other day he blessed us with a life-size boy, anatomically correct, of course!



Maybe tomorrow, I'll check and see what kind of things Megan posted back in October. If she had a creative idea for every day of that month, I think my MS could go through her ideas in the space of a week (especially if it has anything to do with his favorite holiday - and could someone tell me why that is his favorite holiday, because I still can't figure it out, apart from the dressing up bit).

Memories Stirred by Song

Cardiogirl, has once again, taken me down memory lane. On Friday, she wrote a post about singing. Although, she claims to be not much of a singer herself, in her reply to comments she did mention a song they sing at her church. As soon as I read the lyrics she shared, I welled up with marvelous memories.

The song is "How Can I Keep From Singing" and you can view the lyrics here. Cardiogirl only mentioned a brief refrain, and those are the lines that stand out in my memory as well:

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I'm clinging,
If love is lord of heaven and earth,
How can I keep from singing.

The lyrics I found on-line, articulate "Christ" instead of "love" in that third line, but I seem to remember singing the word "love" as well.

This was a song we used to sing during the praise time in our old University of Illinois graduate school Bible study. That particular group meant quite a bit to me and my husband. It was known for all the couples produced (some of whom we are still in contact with). I have such fond memories of those evenings together and the wonderful friendships we shared. Sadly, we fell out of touch with some of them, but this song still reminds me of our singing sessions.

Of course, those memories led me to look for a video version of this song on You Tube. Alas, most of what I found were current songs by Chris Tomlin. Not to knock Chris Tomlin, or anything, but I was searching for the older version.

Then, I stumbled upon this:




Now, the memories are really streaming in. When I graduated from college, I had the opportunity to spend six months working in London, England. While there, I became friends with a wonderful family - the Mitchell family. I don't even remember all the details surrounding this, but I know that I wanted to visit Highgate Cemetery. David Mitchell, the father in the family, took me to Highgate one day.

As soon as this video began, I welled up with emotion remembering that day and remembering my wonderful friend and father-figure, David Mitchell. He was such a sweet, caring, loving individual. There are several places and things that will always bring back memories of the Mitchells.

Of course, even if I had heard this, without knowing it was filmed in Highgate, it would have made me think of the Mitchells. Another wonderful memory involves the time they took me to see the Vienna Boy's Choir perform at some auditorium along the Embankment (I remember it holds my favorite tea spot in London). Boys choir voices and the sound of The King's Singers will always stir memories of the Mitchells.

Now David is singing with the angels and we can't make any more memories together here on this earth (even if my husband would relent and let me visit England again). But one day, I will join him in that choir and I think I'll ask for this song, "How Can I Keep from Singing."

Indiana Beach

One of these days, I'm going to learn important lessons about trips and actually retain the lessons. For now, I just keep repeating the same old lessons.

Lesson #1: Make a list of necessary items to pack over the course of the previous week. Then, just before you walk out the door, you can refer to the list and check off each item that you are convinced has made it to the vehicle. This would include things like ... a stroller, when you are taking a two year old to a location where there will be more than ten minutes of walking, and a pack-n-play for the two year old to assure safe sleep.

Lesson #2: Pack during the day before departure. Packing on the morning of departure, when your husband is gone and the kids are in a fever pitch of excitement, is neither fun nor effective. I should realize, by now, that they cannot contain their excitement in such circumstances. Even though, they knew that we were not planning on leaving until 1:00 p.m., they pestered me the entire morning. I'm actually amazed that I didn't forget more. As it was, ES, in his impatience threw everything I had packed into the back of the van. If blame were to be placed anywhere, I blame his impatience for my forgetting the stroller and the pack-n-play. In the end, it turned out fine. We rented a stroller and YS slept with ES on a big bed with a chair to keep him from rolling out.

Besides the fact that packing under pressure leads to forgotten items, it is also a sure-fire way to add to your pre-departure cleaning load. I spent the morning busily packing and straightening the house. (ES reminded me that this step was unnecessary. This is a big requirement for my husband, but not one I feel compulsive about. I did this for him, and yet, I was the one who returned to the house first with the little boys. He didn't see the house, until the following afternoon, when the little boys had reduced it to its normal state of near-tornadic appearance.) The boys spent the morning playing outside. In their press to leave, I didn't even notice the mayhem they had wrought on the outside, but when I returned my headlights fell upon bicycles left in the driveway, sand littered all over, and a garage that was sure to raise my husband's ire.

Lesson #3: When attending Indiana Beach it is good to put sunscreen on in the hotel room before you leave for the park. However, it is even more effective to apply the sunscreen again, when you are actually in your swimming suit (thus reaching areas you may not have covered when dressed in your t-shirt and shorts).

We usually ride the rides at the beginning and save our trip to the beachfront for just after lunch. Although my husband intended to accompany me and the little boys, as we were driving to the amusement park, I realized that ES's friend had forgotten to bring his swimming suit and towel along. Rather than return to the hotel, I suggested (yes, it was me, even though it really benefited hubby and earned him a get-out-of-the-sandy-beach free ticket) that the friend use my husband's suit and towel. This meant that I was in the changing area, managing potty breaks beforehand, changing two toddlers and myself, juggling the swim bag full of clothes, shoes and towels, and - out of exhaustion - skipping the second sunscreen application. Now, I am sporting a brilliant burn, which is in the itching, peeling stage, at the moment. Yah-rah!

Lesson #4) Put swimming suits on under clothes before heading to the amusement park. This would have cut down on the circus atmosphere of changing three individuals in a 4 x 4 foot cubicle. Can this really be our fourth or fifth year of visiting Indiana Beach, and I still haven't gotten this lesson down???

Lesson #5) Pack a cooler full of nutritious foods and drinks to keep in the back of the vehicle. We love Indiana Beach, but the various expenses can really add up. We would never give up meals entirely there, because part of the appeal is in eating the foot long corn dogs and elephant ears. However, healthy fare is hard to come by in these amusement park settings (I believe we did get a salad from one vendor, but rarely find fruit or yogurt). And, redundant heavy food merely makes you feel uncomfortable.

After the beach-front (when hubby had his peaceful, quiet lunch alone), I had some quiet time in the van while YS took a brief nap. I watched a huge family (in two vans) return to their vehicles to grab some nourishment. Granted, I didn't see anything healthy (I think they were eating chips, cookies, water and pop), but I'm sure it saved them some money.

Lesson #6) If your husband calls to give you a list of last-minute things to do before leaving the house, don't scoff at the need for a list. Indeed, ask him to prepare you a list long before, so you will know that every. single. possible. detail. is on the list.

My husband's list included the details you would assume any intelligent adult would remember to execute before leaving their home: take out the kitchen trash, dump the water from the humidifier, turn off all lights, check all windows, turn down the thermostat, set the alarm, etc. At 2:00 ES had already packed the van and was still chomping at the bit to leave. I enlisted his help in checking the windows and lights. After setting the alarm, I had to go back in and disengage it because I had forgotten that my cell phone was still on the charger in my room. Finally, I secured the doors to the house, reset the alarm and drove off.

About twenty minutes into our drive, I realized that I hadn't checked the door from the garage to the outside. With an inkling that MS probably opened it, I made the dreaded call to hubby to tell him that, even with a list, I had failed to secure all of the doors. He called his mother and she was able to get a neighbor to come lock the door leading to the garage. Groan.

I plan to read this post again for our next trip to Indiana Beach. Any bets on whether I will manage to take care of every detail??

Still, we had a wonderful time. We arrived just at the hotel's check-in time (see boys, it wouldn't have mattered if we had left one second earlier) and once our things were in the room, we went down to the pool. Hubby, who was driving from his parent's house (after visiting his ailing father for Father's Day) arrived and we gave him wet Father's Day greetings.

We had hoped to do a bit of riding on Sunday night, but when we arrived, we remembered why we never visit Indiana Beach during a weekend. That night, they were offering a special and the place was MOBBED. The bigger boys played some games and we returned to the hotel pool.

Monday turned out to be a perfect day. The forecast had suggested the possibility of thunderstorms, but the entire day was clear. The little boys enjoyed their rides just as much as the big boys. Here are some photos:







The afternoon engineer for the train (YS's favorite ride, despite the scary tunnel bits) allowed both boys to climb up into the engineer's seat and ring the bell and blow the whistle. That was a rare treat. I tipped him with a generous two thumbs up!

If you want to view photos from last year's visit to Indiana Beach, head here. It is always fun to see how much my two little guys have grown in one year's time. Thankfully, Sleepy Bear made it through the whole trip without getting lost. He even rode with us on the large Ferris wheel.

ES and his friend rode the AirCoaster twice. This is one of those contraptions where they secure you in a life-vest attached to a bungee cord and raise you all the way up to an astonishing height. Then, you are dropped and swing back and forth. I'm sure this was thrilling for them, since the ride makes you fly out over the waters of Lake Shafer; however, I'm not offering to ride it with ES any time soon.

In fact, it was interesting to contemplate what the next several years will be like. MS has grown more daring. He and YS both rode the pirate ship ride with us (the large one which swings back and forth and makes your stomach lurch). As they become more daring, there is an exponential decline in their parent's ability to handle these rides.

My husband could only go on the Air Crow with MS once in a go (despite MS's desire to ride it repeatedly) because it made him dizzy. After pooh-poohing his sentiments, I rode the thing twice and found I couldn't handle it a third time either. Something about aging makes those once thrilling rides seem quite a bit less thrilling or enjoyable. Good thing these two little guys have a big brother or they might just have to ride things all alone in the coming years ... especially those "roaster-coasters" (as YS calls roller coasters)!

Book Review: The Middle Place

About a month ago, I received this forwarded video from a friend. In a five minute segment, author Kelly Corrigan pays tribute to women, mothers, daughters, and friends. It was beautiful - a must see! I liked this woman immediately. I liked the way she read her essay. I liked her easy sense of humor. I loved how she hit upon universal emotions and made you weep and laugh within the same breath!

So, I requested a copy of her best-selling book from my library. Somehow, with everything else going on in life, its due date came and I intended to renew the book; however, someone else had requested it, meaning I couldn't renew it. Instead of doing the sensible thing, and returning it right then, I decided I would try to read it quickly. The first night, I managed a third of the book, without any effort at all and only stopped reading because of the time. I knew I was hooked and wouldn't return it until I had read the whole thing, despite the overdue fee.

The author begins by identifying herself as her father's only daughter. The depth of love she has for her father is intense. Indeed, he sounds like an incredible individual and one the reader will come away wanting to meet.

This memoir takes us on Kelly's journey from leaving the role of daughter, becoming an adult, having two daughters of her own, receiving a diagnosis of breast cancer and returning to the arms and encouragements of her father to get her through the challenges of this illness. Her father's optimistic attitude and deeply-felt faith in God help to carry her through.

It is really an endearing story, since it brings the reader into the inner sphere of what it is like to experience and battle cancer. Plus, it is a quick and easy read - written in story form, with analysis interspersed.

Yet, I find myself unable to enthusiastically recommend this book. It is an enjoyable read. But, the analysis given by the author throughout the second half of the book left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I had hoped for more ... a deeper wisdom, a stronger take-away. I suppose I would rather like to read her father's story of the battle with cancer.

I understand that my own worldview is merely at odds with the author's worldview. While her father clings to faith, maintains an upbeat attitude and prays for a miracle, the author disdains religion (voicing the attitude that prayer has nothing to do with the physical battle against cancer or whether or not the doctor is skilled enough to select the best choice of action), compulsively bolsters herself up to send out positive e-mails, and is consumed with a passion for controlling everything about her situation (and her father's cancer situation) by securing the best doctors.

I guess I struggled to like the author as much when she honestly voiced her complaints. Yet, I feel harsh to judge her for those complaints. I mean, realistically, any cancer survivor is going to feel angry and resent the ways cancer has robbed them of certain expectations in life. But, in my mind, I keep thinking, life often robs you of your expectations of life, be it through cancer or some other trial. (And believe me, I see the three fingers pointing back at myself, while one is pointed at this author. I've had my own pity parties and voiced vociferous complaints.)

Furthermore, I felt uncomfortable with her lopsided portrayal of her parents. She focuses so intensely on her love for her father, that the reader comes away asking, "but, what about your mother?" It is clear that her mother was on her own very difficult road, dealing with her husband's multiple battles with cancer and her only daughter's battle with breast cancer. Yet, it never really feels like the author is giving any accolades to the mother in this book.

Instead, she enters her mother's home and decides to spruce things up (in what would clearly help her own level of comfort) by taking down old photos and frames and worn out things and replacing them with a whole new stash from Bed, Bath and Beyond. Oh, the horror. I winced with the mother, hoping against hope that the author had not thrown out the beloved, well-worn items of the mother.

In the final analysis, I still credit this as a good book and Kelly Corrigan as a good author. I still am grateful for the chance to enter her world and sit alongside as she faces a demon and confronts it in the only way she knows how. I just can't get away from the longing to make her father's faith more relevant in her own life.

I want her to wake up and say to the world, "You know, I was wrong. Drinking doesn't really assuage the grief of cancer as much as turning our rawest, weakest moments over to the wisdom and authority of One who is greater and stronger and wiser than we could ever hope to be." I want her to embrace the gift of her husband and two daughters and welcome other options for fulfilling her longing for more children. I want her to adopt an orphaned European child who is battling leukemia because she has so much to give to a child in that position. In essence, I want to write her life for her.

Thankfully, I can't barge in and write her life for her. Indeed, that would be akin to her Bed, Bath, and Beyond extravaganza. I can only sit back and appreciate that we are all different. Despite our differences in faith and lifestyle, I can appreciate her struggle with cancer and rejoice in her survivor status. I can wait for another book, perhaps about her relationships with other women (in a similar vein to the fabulous essay that sparked the original video I viewed).

Moreover, I can point you to another splendid video (one where Borders decided to feature Kelly Corrigan's MOTHER). Visit Kelly Corrigan's website and view the videos. She is quite lovely. You'll meet both her mother and father in the book's trailer video, and ... chances are ... if you view this video, you'll want to read the book (despite some of my misgivings).

Rambling Reflections

I had intended to log on tonight and write up a book review. Alas, we were out of some staples and a night run to the grocery store devoured some of my time. Then, I twiddled away more time reading updates on Face book, wanting to write something about where my mind has been today, but not really knowing how to effectively capture it in short enough form to be a status line.

When I finally brought up my blog, I was blind-sided by the last post. Has it really been a full week, since I've taken a moment to write in the evening? Granted, I do realize that much has gone on in that time, but still ... a week?

My parents arrived for a visit on Tuesday night of last week (thus, they enjoyed waiting and watching to see how my dinner experiment went - they argued that they had already eaten dinner, but hmmmm?). I managed to talk them into staying one day longer (even though, out of all my siblings, I think I have had the longest amount of time with them during this visit). They only come up from Florida, to make a round of visits with their children, twice a year, so I take every minute I can get.

I certainly didn't miss my blog, while staying up late in the evenings talking with my parents. Despite the advances in technology (hey, my dad is actually on Face book, too), we really don't talk often enough. Unlike my husband's family, where a week without a phone call would raise serious eyebrows, we don't have weekly chats.

I think I know my own penchant for gabbing. If I managed to snag a moment to call my parents, I can be fairly certain that I will ramble on and on for at least forty minutes, during which all you-know-what will break loose in my absence. Thankfully, my blog has filled that gap somewhat. However, I am still waiting for them to jump start their own blog (I can tell you, they have ample material to draw from and my dad would certainly love a slightly modified preacher's podium).

Anyway, after their visit, Tuesday through Friday morning, we began bracing for the weekend. My husband had already intended to spend the weekend with his parents, but his father ended up in the hospital. I'm sure my mother-in-law enjoyed a weekend with all of her kids home.

Sunday afternoon, I drove to Monticello, Indiana, with the boys and my husband joined us shortly thereafter for a mini-vacation at Indiana Beach (future post necessary).

I returned home with the two little boys last night, feeling thoroughly spent. Today, my ES informed me that a boy from his gym class this past year died over the weekend in a fire at his grandmother's home. I have been reeling. I didn't know the boy. My son didn't really know the boy well either. Still, it has been on my mind all day.

Needless to say, my thoughts are hardly in order this evening. I have been contemplating the wonderful time we just experienced with our boys at Indiana Beach. I keep putting myself in the shoes of this unfortunate family. Even when I was at Indiana Beach, I was putting myself in Peggy Larson's shoes, thinking, "What would it be like to enjoy a day at Indiana Beach with Caden, while aching for the luxury of having his twin brother Coleman there to experience it with him?"

I don't know if ES's classmate was an only child, but I did remind ES that this very possibility drove my husband and I to have our two youngest children. ES was our world when he was an only, but we knew that we would be devastated if something were to happen to him and we were left with no other children to ease that pain.

I also asked ES if he would have done anything differently if he had known that this boy would not live out the month of June. I don't know if my own thoughts and reflections will impact my son, but I deeply hope it causes him to think about how he can make a difference in other people's lives merely by befriending them and showing an interest in them.

Anyway, this is a highly unpolished post. But, at 1:20 a.m. I'm merely hitting the publish button and calling it a night. Hopefully, I will snag some time tomorrow to write a decent post about our Indiana Beach experience and a review of a memoir.