Prince Charmin

Stay at home orders are taking their toll on us. I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary in weeks, except for light traffic.  My library books are two and half months overdue. Bill's running commentary during the news is just as tedious when he's misunderstanding COVID science as it was when the topic was the presidential race. He misses the days I would go off somewhere and leave him in peace. 

With the outside world so far removed, every little detail of life is something to pick at, exaggerated and out of proportion. 

Mid February we were good for toilet paper. We laughed at the TP hoarders.

About four weeks in we couldn’t find any in our usual stores, and the stockpile was running low. I stopped at Whole Foods. The paper goods shelves were nearly empty, but high on the top shelf were two packages of their organic, undyed, tan toilet paper. I only took one twelve-pack, conscientious citizen that I am.     

Recently I put a roll in my bathroom, and Bill’s. It’ll do, I thought. 

But my grocery shopping hubby came home today with a prize of eight rolls of Charmin which he announced he would NOT share with me. 

It seems he’s turned into Prince Charming with a tender tush and has to have the best. 

Usually he’s not a keen observer of his surroundings. For example he carried in the apartment building’s yellow broom when the one we’ve had for three years is red. But he noticed and objected to my changing his sanitary product. He did not think the environmentally friendly TP was friendly to him.  He said it was too thin, scratchy, and the beige color looked weird floating in the toilet.

I should have known.

This is not the first time he’s taken a firm stand on toilet paper. Our daughter prefers ultra-thin, single-ply, unembossed, good-for-septic-tank brands. It is so stiff and coarse, we take our own rolls to their house for our baby-sitting days. 

And past international travel has caused Bill no small amount of concern before-hand and distress once at our destination. On our last trip, back when TP was not an issue in developed countries, I thought he was going to fill every crevice of his suitcase with handmade mini-rolls.  We didn’t know if Croatia leaned more to hearty, soft TP or harsh, thin Central American standards. As I recall it turned out okay. 

Last trip to Target I noticed the paper aisle seemed well-stocked, but didn't do a brand name check. Our condo isn’t big enough to store more TP when I have eleven rolls of the WF brand. As the sole user of said brand, I admit it is thin and strange looking. And it’ll probably last up to the second wave of COVID and the next paper-product roundup. 

Tough Days and Silver Linings

I suspect you may have had some tough days in the last weeks.  We have our “I miss…” lists, the events we’ve had to forgo for the time being. And I'm sure we all hope that “temporary” has a closer rather than longer end-date. 

Those of us living in high-density areas have to wipe down all of the door handles going to get the mail and back, and disinfect the shared laundry facilities. 

Here is the line we're waiting in to get into Trader Joe's. There are two people in front of us, and the rest behind us. 

Nobody I know can gather with their book clubs, or church congregations (although it is nice listening to a sermon whenever we feel like it, and I don’t have to act friendly on Sunday mornings). And I really, really, miss talking to Willow and getting hugs. 

One the other hand, I don’t worry about getting laid off because I’m retired. The government could quit sending my social security checks, but that would take an act of congress and we know how hard that is to get!

I’ve found my “silver lining” from a relaxed schedule and reduced responsibilities. (And did you know the phrase originated with John Milton, the brilliant, blind, and too hard-to-read English poet who lived nearly 400 years ago?)

1) I have large periods of uninterrupted time for writing. I set a goal to finish the third draft of our cult testimony.  Instead of working on a chapter here and there, I divided the manuscript into chunks and made revising my only goal for the day.  Shazam, it felt like magic. This week I re-worked the order, cut some passages, and smoothed out awkward spots.

I’m also building a website, and will move this blog to a new address by June first. The new address will allow you to easily leave comments, which has been a drawback with this site.  

2)   Since my last blog I began physical therapy for the left arm. It's the outing of the week. I took my violin with me recently and showed the therapist what I could reach, and what I needed to reach. She adapted some stretches to gently move my left hand and arm in the direction they need to go. Now I can press down three fingers on three strings--that's 75% of the way to my goal. 

Since I could only practice with my bowing arm I've see improvement in bow control and tone. Wow, that’s huge, and I never would have focused so intensely on the right arm if the left hadn’t been injured. 

You might not relate to my goal-setting, but I know you can make a list of the silver linings from the COVID lifestyle change. Try to leave a comment, or send me an email, and I’ll make a list of the good things that have come from your quarantine, no matter how soft or severe it’s been. 

I hope to see you face to face sometime in 2020. That includes you in North Carolina, and other scattered locales. 

Neuroplasticity: the left hand didn't know what the right hand was doing

Brain research suggests we all need to keep learning new things to foster “plasticity.” It conjures up images of flesh-colored silly putty being stretched, but neuroplasticity means that when neurons connect in new ways, the brain changes. 

We've all experienced that when we've had physical therapy, or learned a new skill. 



For a few years, I've tried to change my brain so that I can hear a tune and then play it on my violin. I've made some progress but a recent injury has sabotaged my fiddling. I can’t press down the fingers of my left hand onto the strings.  It’s like trying to roll pie crust with one good arm and the opposite elbow. 

I’ve resorted to “practice” bowing (the right arm) on open strings. That only leaves me four notes, one for each of the violin’s strings. It sounds awful, but it’s a good thing to just practice bowing. And my brain is making new connections. 

correct bow placement

My teacher told me to play in front of a mirror. Because I don’t have to concentrate on ten fingers, I see that the  five on my right hand have very little control over the bow.  My brain stumbles badly watching the bow’s path between the bridge and the neck and tries to make it stay on track. But the reversed image in the mirror makes the task much harder.

The bow is supposed to stay parallel to the bridge at all times, but mine skews badly. It reminds me of a train derailing. The engineer (my brain) can’t seem to decide if I need to push the tip away from me or pull it toward me.

It feels exactly the same way when I back up my car down a driveway using just the rearview mirrors. Maybe I’ll be able to do that better too, after this relearning.

The teacher also taught me other exercises. This one, the “spider,” has been difficult. I watch my fingers taking turns to climb up the bow, but I’m having a devil of a time reversing. I can feel my tongue poking out of the side of my mouth as I concentrate. Watch the master (not me) do it. 

I have new empathy for the narrator of the bluegrass song, "Piney Mountains":

“My hands can't fiddle and my heart's been broke

You damned old piney mountain...

Lost my fingers in the Galax mill

Buddy sing a sad old song”

-Bruce Molsky

I don’t allow myself to dwell on the doomsday thought “What if I can never play again?”  I don’t know any musical instruments that I could play with only one hand, not even the spoons. 







So long as the injury doesn’t last too long, I’ll be able to see this time as productive—at least for the right half of my fiddling.

I don't know what new challenge age or injury have caused you, but there may be an upside when you learn the work around--a newly renovated brain. 

Is the book you're reading worthy of a silver apple?

I’ve found a new book worth of my silver apple. 

The bookmark was a thank you gift for volunteering in a local school. It’s metal, substantial, and adds gravitas to the current read.  I thought I’d lost it once, then remembered it was in a book from our condo community library. It had been reshelved with the bookmark still in place, and I was grateful to retrieve it. 

Recently I’ve chosen books recommended from online lists, but find they weren’t my style. After a lifetime of finishing any book I started, just because I “should”, I quit. Now if the style, the genre, or the topic don’t suit me, I snap the cover closed and move on.

Then I heard an author interview on PBS Newshour of the other americans, by laila lalami. (And yes, the title is uncapitalized.) It’s written from the viewpoints of characters both central, and seemingly tangential, to a hit and run auto accident.  Even the deceased has a voice.

Although the main characters are first and second-generation immigrants, the dynamics between family members are familiar. The emotions are universal. Google filled in the gaps between my background knowledge and people and places mentioned in the text. In one instance a singer was mentioned and I listened to her on youtube, which added depth. 

The writing is evocative: 

 “Then a woman pushed her cart past us, and in her wake I caught the

 scent of rosewater. Instantly, I was back in Casablanca with my sisters, 

putting our hair in rollers and trying on different colors of lipstick

...where a picture of Shadia was tucked into the frame, her hair in 

an elaborate bouffant we were trying to replicate.”

I’ve never been to Casablanca, but I could relate to the scent of rosewater, and childhood friends exploring hairstyles and makeup.

After weeks of poor choices, I latched onto this book like I was malnourished. And I had been, the previous five choices that lacked beauty and nuance.  The first night reading the other americans I reluctantly placed the book mark because I wanted to keep reading. And I thought, this is a silver-apple worthy book. And it was. 

If you will, nominate a book you think would be worthy of my bookmark. 

Christmas in Berlin

We once observed Christmas being celebrated in Berlin, but in reality, we were in Barcelona, and it was early October. 

On vacation,  we walked past an empty retail space in the morning.  By evening, it had morphed into the Berlin Cafe, with new red awnings. Just inside the big front window, young lovers sat at a table for two. Patrons filled the interior. 

Colored Christmas lights surrounding the windows.   Cables attached to men with cameras and big lights fed into a truck full of technical equipment. Food was served--but it was a portable table on the sidewalk, for the film crew and actors. It only took a few moments for us to recognize artifice. 

We joined the crowd lingering behind the film-makers outside of the cafe and watched.

The couple leaned in for a kiss, and drew back. But they didn't gaze into each other's eyes. Instead, the actress rolled her head to relax her neck. And the leading man leaned back and pursed his lips to release a big breath. An unseen director must have called for another take, about ten in all. Of course, it would be edited eventually, but in the making, romance was transformed into tedium. 

It was hoopla without substance.





That can happen to us at Christmas time. 

I love putting up the tree, and playing carols, and choosing gifts for my family. But that's all red-awnings, and I can let myself become the director trying to get the scene, and timing, and gifting "right." (You know how it is choosing gifts, this year may be a "take two" for the umpteenth time.) 

But I really don't want Christmas in Berlin. 

So I stop and review the gospel accounts of Jesus' birth. Ultimately, I want my faith to be refreshed as I celebrate the baby who grew to prove Himself the Savior of the world. 

My prayer for you is that you enjoy both the temporal, and the eternal aspects of this wonderful season.

Merry Christmas! 

2019's Top 19 Reasons to be Thankful

Even though there is snow on the ground, and the magnificent five-story pine across the golf course is naturally flocked, next week is Thanksgiving, not Christmas. 

Since nobody reads the President's Thanksgiving Proclamation*, here are my top nineteen reasons to be thankful in 2019.


1.  We're well. 

Liam "seeks" Willow who thinks she is hidden.

2.  Willow, 2, is talks and makes us laugh. 

3.  Bo, 6, can read well for a first-grader, and his vision is not currently deteriorating.

4.  Sam, 15, has turned into a wonderful cook. He recently grilled delectable  moist chicken and performed magic with cherry tomatoes. He's also an interesting dinner companion.

5.  Liam, 11, has a knack for writing. The fifth-grade class is participating in NaNoWriMo, a month of writing a novel in one month. 

6.  Keeler, 13, is a math whiz, and we're not worried he will get into any kind of trouble until he tries to learn to drive.

7. Em, 12 going on 14, is tall, lovely, responsible. We've nicknamed her Em-I-A, as in Em missing in action. We hope she'll take a break from her social life soon so we can talk to her, preferably before the end of the year. 

8. This condo is FLOODED with morning light. Bill needs to wear a baseball cap to keep the sun out of his eyes. 

9.  The kitchen counters are installed, three months after being ordered. (And I am thankful that I stayed patient--until two weeks ago.)

10. I'm finding solid, encouraging relationships at our merged church.

11.  I have a fiddling friend. We practice Christmas carols and twin fiddle tunes.

12. Bill and I took three road trips this year (all involved bluegrass music): Dallas,Westcliffe, Colorado, and North Carolina.


13. In October I rejoined the bluegrass jam I used to attend in Mt. Airy. I've improved since my last time with them. Now I can play chords, thanks to my weekly as yet-to-be-named geezer group of musicians. 

14. We have been blessed with generous friends.
         One installed the new cabinets for us. 
         Another couple let us stay in their river house for a week this fall,

Dan River, Kibler Valley, Va.

now our favorite place since we sold Newsong Cottage. 
             Others hosted us during the trip east.

 15.  Bill and I shared a delicious dinner at Harvest Table, Barbara Kingsolver's restaurant in Meadowview, Va. It was on my must-do list. I wish it was down the street from our condo.

16.  I turned an emotional corner, and accept that I will probably live in Colorado the rest of my life. I continue to look back over my shoulder to all I left behind, but acceptance is better than anger. 

17.  Bill and I continue to compensate for each other's crumbling mental acuity, and laugh about it. For example, thawed soup was actually spaghetti sauce which we didn't realize until we put it in the bowls. Had to cook some pasta.

18.  Last night my local book club chuckled over Wally Lamb's Wishin' and Hopin'. Even those of us who did not attend Catholic schools laughed at the familiar kid-antics and power struggles. 
      It's the funniest Nativity play since The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.
      ( I'm sending a copy to both Dobson book clubs. Pass it around.) 

19. We will spend Thanksgiving with a family from Iraq.  I am thankful they don't still live in Baghdad.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. 





*  Except for Christian Science churches which read the President's Proclamation at their Thanksgiving Services.

Isa (Jesus) and Diyaa Dance for their Brides

(If you only have a black box, and no video, here is a link.)

I’ve never attended a Middle Eastern wedding so I was honored that my friend invited me to celebrate her brother's wedding. We put our heads together to watch postage-stamp videos taken by phone and zipped over thousands of miles in seconds. 

In the narrow space between the walled property of their family home and the neighbor’s, a three-piece band of trumpet and two drums blasted a traditional Iraqi wedding tune. She says the instruments are common between Muslim and Christian weddings there, although the tunes vary. 

The thoroughly modern bridegroom wore a fashionable business suit with a white shirt and bright red tie and matching pocket-handkerchief. His groomsmen, also in suits, waited to join in the dancing. They took turns dancing, raising their hands overhead and clapping as they swooped and side-stepped toward the waiting car.  At one point the groom and his friend clasped hands, arms held out like a T, and danced back and forth.

In the background, women in the family let loose the high, happy wailing sound called ululations. It was a two note-trill like a vocal eruption that added to the celebration.

The groom looked back over his shoulder at them and smiled. His white teeth gleamed between his mustache and the neat small beard.

When the men reached the waiting car, they waved good-bye and drove to the bride’s home. She waited there for him to make good his promise and make his vows. 

Congratulations to Diyaa and Fatima. I pray God will bless your marriage and that you’ll have beautiful children. 

The scene lingered in my memory like a delicious flavor lingers on the tongue. A couple of days later I connected the contemporary example with what I’d read of marriage customs in the Bible.

Isaiah the prophet foretold that the anointed one would clothe his followers with garments of his righteousness, as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. Jesus told parables about weddings. Like Fatima, the bride waits for the bridegroom to come for her. Jesus referred to his bride, the church.

I can imagine Jesus in the heavenly wings. He's as eager as I am, passionate, and joyous because He cherishes me as a groom does his bride. (Isaiah 62:5)

Does Jesus dance while He waits for the hour to come for me? Oh, what a wonderful picture. I look forward to that not-soon-enough day. 

for the marriage of the Lamb has come,

  and his Bride has made herself ready;

And the angel said[a] to me, 

“Write this: Blessed are those who are invited

 to the marriage supper of the Lamb.” 

      And he said to me, “These are the true words of God.” 

Revelations 19:7,9