August 15th will be the first anniversary of this little blog, and beginning next week I am going to take a short vacation (or holiday, as they say in the UK) from posting new entries. We have much to do in the next two weeks as we prepare for our bi-annual state licensing for our business.

However, I will be auto-posting some of the blog posts for which I’ve had the most feedback, and some of the ones that have been meaningful to me in some way, so there will still be something to read each day.

If you’ve read them before, I’ll see you back in a week or so, and if you haven’t read some of the upcoming auto-posts, I hope you enjoy them.

I have many new blog posts in the works and look forward to coming back soon. I appreciate your kind comments and the encouragement over the past year. As my daughter Carolyn recently said (and she’s an actress), “If no one was reading, you’d probably just keep a diary. An actor wouldn’t go out on the stage unless there was an audience.” I agree. 🙂

Tune in these next several days for the most-read and/or commented-on posts. Thanks again for reading…

When I was in elementary school, mini-bikes were the craze. I’m not sure mini-bikes even exist anymore, but most of them had simple welded frames, noisy Briggs and Stratton engines and fat little tires. I knew a couple of people who had them, and once I learned to ride one, that was it. I wanted a mini-bike. Our next door neighbor had a red mini-bike, and I used to watch him ride it up and down our quiet street, and I just yearned to have one of my own.

I asked my mom and dad if I could have my own mini-bike but they were hesitant to consent. Where would I ride a mini-bike? And why would I ride a mini-bike, seeing as I was ten years old and riding one on the street would have been illegal? They weren’t convinced I should have one, but I was.

Every month or so I would ask my dad, “Do you think I could get a mini-bike?” and he would respond with a hint of his old Missouri drawl, “Well now Julie, I don’t know.” Because that wasn’t a firm no, I didn’t give up. Dad even drove me to our local Sears store one afternoon to check out the three models they had on display. The cheapest one was $105.99, a lot of money in the late 1960s. I kept trying to think of ways to convince my folks I could handle the responsibility of a two-wheeled motorized vehicle while I was in the fifth grade, and tried to think of ways I could earn the money for one myself. My weekly allowance back then was $2.00, and what with going to the movies and buying Reese’s peanut butter cups, it would have taken me years to save up.

Sometimes my parents wavered, because other kids in Southern California had mini-bikes. One summer day before my sixth grade year at Workman Avenue Elementary School began, I asked my dad about it again. “If I get straight A’s in school this year, then can I pleeeease have a mini-bike?” After a long pause, my dad said “All right.” Yippee! I had a goal now, and I could just hear that putt-putt motor that would be mine in ten months’ time.

I was a pretty good student but I think my dad was counting on the fact that I usually got one or two B’s along with mostly A’s. I usually got B’s in Handwriting and Science. He probably thought it was a safe bet that I would get at least one B on my report card during sixth grade, but I set my sights on that mini-bike and didn’t let the prize ever get far from my mind.

I had Miss Nancy Curry for a teacher that year, and I loved her. I remember that we studied South America, and that she said “Ven-zoo-AY-la” instead of “Ven-ezz-WAY-la.” I still don’t know which is correct, but it sure must have made an impression if I’m remembering the way my sixth grade teacher pronounced a South American country forty years ago.

Anyway, I put forth the effort, and in June I brought home the results – straight A’s. I’m sure my parents were thinking, “What in the world are we going to do now?”

For some reason my dad wasn’t johnny-on-the-spot about taking me mini-bike shopping. He’d say things like, “Well hold on now, I said we’d get you one and we will. Don’t pester me about it.” I hated it when my parents said things like that.

One afternoon I came home from swimming at my friend Tauni’s house, and my dad said, “We’ve got a surprise for you in the garage.” Of course my heart jumped and I thought it was my little red mini-bike, but when Dad opened the garage door, what was sitting there in all its Italian glory was one of these humdingers.

It was a used, pretty noisy 1960-something Vespa 150, and it was blue just like the scooter in the photo. The only way mine looked different from this one is that it didn’t have a spare tire.

My dad bought it from my oldest brother Larry, who had a Honda motorcycle and a Vespa so he and his wife could go riding together. Apparently the Vespa didn’t get used and my dad viewed it as a safer alternative for me. The Vespa’s engine was in the back and the chances for burning myself if I fell were much less than with a mini-bike.

It didn’t take me long to be thrilled and catch The Vespa Vision. All thoughts of red mini-bikes with chunky little tires flew out the window when I learned how to ride my 3-speed Vespa. I was eleven years old, and I mainly rode it up and down the street, up and down the street, up and down the street. Vrrrroooom, up to the Wepplo’s house. Turn around. Then vrrroooom, back down to the Pelcher’s house. Then turn around and do it all over again. Our neighbors were long-suffering people and never complained, but I’m sure they wanted to.

Once in a while I would pack a picnic lunch, put it in the fender compartment (on the other side of the back wheel) and a friend and I would ride one block to Covina High School, and ride around the track sixty or so times. We would even ride through the halls of the big school (in sunny SoCal there were no indoor halls like schools have in the Midwest), all around the baseball diamonds, and around the gym. We would stop to eat our lunch, then drive the one block home, feeling like we were the ultimate in sophisticated girl adventurers and we had traveled the world in Italian style. Except the truth was we were eleven years old with buck teeth, freckles and spindly legs.

I had my Vespa for a couple of years, and then I started getting interested in cars. My dad taught Driver’s Education in our school district and since he taught me to drive at a very young age, he used to let me back our car out of the driveway and then drive it back in, out of the driveway and drive back in, and you guessed it – soon I wanted a car. I saved up and bought my first car on my 16th birthday – you can see a photo of it and read more about it here.

Fast forward to 2009. I am 51 years old. I drive a non-descript gray van. I haven’t been on a two-wheeled conveyance of any kind in many years. But a few months ago I started thinking about my old blue Vespa. I see all the new kinds of motor scooters that people (women too) are riding, and it looks so fun. I asked my husband Michael what he thought about me buying myself a motor scooter and he said without missing a beat, “Go for it!”

Go for it? Are you saying that a woman with three adult daughters, seven grandchildren, and a bit of extra heft should really get a motor scooter to ride around town? I guess that’s what he’s saying.

I’m still trying to decide.

To scoot, or not to scoot? That is the question…

Forgiveness is an act of faith. By forgiving another, I am trusting that God is a better justice-maker than I am. By forgiving, I release my own right to get even and leave all issues of fairness to God to work out. I leave in God’s hands the scales that must balance justice and mercy.

Philip Yancey

Some of my grandchildren are at the age where they’ve been losing a lot of teeth lately. It seems like every time I see the older ones, there are new gummy gaps and adorable lisps and over-sized chiclet teeth making gradual appearances.

They’re always anxious to tell me what the Tooth Fairy has left under their pillows. One morning Clara found a pack of sugarless gum and $1.00. That seemed like a normal fairy leaving. The next lost tooth was replaced with a certificate redeemable for a treat at the store, and $2.00. Not long after that the Tooth Fairy left a coupon good for an outing (like bowling or a trip for ice cream), some candy and $2.00. The most recent under-the-pillow discovery was a three dollar bill (do these exist?), some caramels, a redeemable coupon for a fun excursion, and a toothbrush and mouthwash! Apparently the Tooth Fairy is unaware that the economy has tanked and that spending is being curbed in all sectors.

The most interesting thing about the Tooth Fairy’s visits are the notes she leaves the children. Did the Tooth Fairy leave you notes when you were little? I didn’t think so. I didn’t get any notes either.

The notes she leaves before she flies back to Dentaland are written in very swirly and whimsical-looking handwriting. She writes only a few words, but the kids are so excited by these communications and they like to call me up to tell me about them.

Early on, Clara casually told me that the Tooth Fairy’s name happened to be “Flora.” Flora? I thought. I guessed perhaps the name was reminiscent of Disney’s three little fairies in Sleeping Beauty, as in Flora, Fauna and Merryweather.

But not quite. Once I finally saw one of the Tooth Fairy’s notes, I understood, and smiled at the wordplay that goes way over the children’s heads.

Lean in closely and I’ll whisper a little secret to you. You have probably never known this, and this information is something you might want to keep close to your vest….

The Tooth Fairy’s name is Fluora.

Do you get it? I’m sure you do. 🙂

This is what happens when children are born to two very creative parents who really need outlets for their creativity.

When I was a Girl Scout I used to love the songs we sang around the campfire. After a full day of hiking, tying knots, swimming, and washing our mess kits in a pan of lukewarm water, we would finally settle down for s’mores and singing. Many songs were a bit on the goofy side, but some were haunting and wistful, and sung in a round, like this one:

“Make new friends but keep the old…one is silver and the other gold.”

When I think of old friends who are like gold, I instantly think of Dale and Susan Krageschmidt. We met them in 1994 when they moved in next door to us in the old neighborhood. It didn’t take long for us to become close friends, and even though our families no longer live next door to each other, we still feel the same way about them after fifteen years.

We used to do stuff together. We had a little tradition of spending New Year’s Eve together and eating Vietnamese food for dinner. Over the years Susan and I broke open many a tube of Pillsbury Orange Rolls together, having morning tea or coffee and sharing our life stories over our tables. Susan is a fantastic cook, and some of my best recipes I’ve gotten from her. Athenian Couscous Salad. Waikiki Meatballs and Rice. Kafta, Tabouli and Hummus. Lebanese Chicken with Couscous.

The Krageschmidt’s kitchen window overlooked our den, and as Dale and Susan cooked meals together, we would smile and wave geekily at each other like The Beverly Hillbillies do at the end of each show.

Susan is the only friend I’ve ever had that I’ve felt comfortable holding hands with. I hold hands with my husband, and my children and grandchildren, and of course I gladly shake hands with people. But until I met her I had never sat comfortably and held hands with a woman friend. One wonderful evening during the Christmas season, Susan and I dressed up and enjoyed some wonderful holiday music that was being performed at a Victorian tea. She reached out to take my hand and in that gesture that I’ve never forgotten, we both spoke silently to each other, “You are my cherished friend, true and pure, a gift from God.”

Susan and Dale are both brilliant scientists, but they never make us feel like we’re dolts. They are loving and funny and insightful and humble and honest and trustworthy. We have always been able to share our hearts together. We have always prayed for one another.

After a short time the Krageschmidts welcomed William John and then Zoe Marie into their family. Michael and I were baptism sponsors for them and will never forget the glow of those days when our children were very young.

Dale and Susan and their two children, Will and Zoe, came to visit for a weekend recently. They moved to Southern Minnesota a few years ago and we haven’t seen them since then, so we were thrilled to hear of their visit and their willingness to stay with us while they were here. I’m not sure why we’re always surprised when the passage of time brings big changes (duh), but oh, how Will and Zoe had grown! Will is almost 14 and Zoe just turned 11, and he’s a wrestler and she’s an ice skater! How did that happen? They were just toddling, just yesterday it seems.

Here’s a great photo of strong and handsome Will, and graceful, beautiful Zoe, taken in our kitchen.

And this is Dale and Susan. Can you see the kindness, the sweetness on their faces?

Here are the Kindred Krageschmidts in our living room, with our badly trained Schnauzers Edith and Mildred.

One of the things we’ve always loved about Dale and Susan aside from their humor and compassion is their love for dogs, and their understanding of our love for our dogs. We all talk in slightly soprano doggy voices to each other, discern and interpret our dogs’ thoughts for each other, and generally get quite caught up in our animals’ lives, which are often more exciting than our own. Living vicariously, I think you’d call it. (I hope Dale’s esteemed colleagues at The Mayo Clinic don’t happen upon this blog – I’m not sure they’d understand.) But we understand. We get it.

And our dogs know that Dale and Susan get it too. Before the Krageschmidts went home, we spent some time chatting in the living room, and our oldest Schnauzer Edith jumped up on the chair with Susan and nestled against her.  Susan crooned to Edith and gently petted her for several minutes, and Edith looked calmly and adoringly into Susan’s eyes the whole time. Pretty soon Edith did something she has never done in her entire seven years. She slowly drew back her little black lips and grinned at Susan. Almost from ear to ear. Not once, or intermittently, but continuously, for a few minutes. Edith held this doggy smile while gazing into Susan’s eyes and just poured all her doggy love into Susan’s heart. I have a feeling that Susan is the only person Edith will ever smile at like this. To me, this speaks volumes about Susan. 🙂

So we’re missing Dale, Susan, Will and Zoe already. It’s our turn to visit them next, and we hope to see them this fall before the weather turns unpredictable and blizzards whip up in no time at all.

When I was thinking of an adjective that would fit with Krageschmidt (that also started with a K, since I’m a fan of alliteration), I came up with many fitting K words that aptly describe them. Knowledgeable. Kooky. Keen. Knowing. Kind. But the word I settled on is the one that still tugs at my heart, and makes me wish they had never moved so far away. Kindred.

The Krageschmidts have always been kindred spirits to us. And after having the joy of visiting with them again, I know they will always be so.

Dear Readers,

As I near my one year anniversary of keeping this little blog, I’m thinking about what to change, what not to change, and all of those kinds of profoundly important matters. I would be grateful for your feedback, even (perhaps even especially) if you’ve never left a comment before. And I also would like to say thank you so much to those of you who recently wrote to encourage me about the blog. *Sniff*  🙂

In your opinion,

1.  How often would you like to see a new blog entry? Every day? Every other day? Twice a week? Once a week?

2.  Will you still read a blog entry if it doesn’t have a photo? (I read recently that one very famous blogger refuses to read a complete blog post on other peoples’ blogs unless it’s full of photos – if she sees only words she moves on. I thought this a little strange, since I read blogs and books without pictures all the time…but I realize everyone is different.)

3.  What kinds of things do you like to see in a blog? Do you like diary-like entries with details of a person’s day? Do you like stories of events? Do you like devotional-like entries? Do you like funny stories? Sad? Spiritual? Details about family? Do you read the Joys section? Would you like to see an occasional recipe? All of the above?

4.  Approximately how many blogs do you regularly read? Feel free to share what other blogs you like – I always love a good recommendation.

5.  Do you think my blog could use a makeover? Perhaps a new home page with new colors/elements? I know people who have their blogs done over regularly.

6.  Have you ever entered the monthly bloggy giveaway? If not, why not?

7.  Lastly, can you think of any idea/topic you would like to see written about on the blog? I actually have over thirty drafts in the works, (“Organ Lessons,” “Heart Monitor,” “Dixon,” “Druthers 4,” “Yook At Dat Yake!” and “Virginia, My Mom,” among others) but I’d like to know what you’re interested in reading about. Maybe you have a great idea!

I know there are a lot of questions here, but I hope you’ll help me out and offer your thoughts – I value your opinions. You can answer by leaving a comment (it’s really, really, easy to do) or if you like, you can e-mail me by clicking on the words “Contact Me.”

If you would only like to answer a couple of these questions instead of all seven, that’s great too.

I’ll be sharing my bloggy findings soon, but I won’t quote you if you don’t want me to.

Thank you!

Our daughter Carolyn, her husband Jeremy and their four children have welcomed a new puppy into their household.

They already have a nine year-old Black Lab named Clementine – they call her Clem or Clemma. Clem is the greatest dog – she’s smart, calm, loving with the kids, loyal, and black. All the traits for which a person would choose to own a Black Lab. But Clem has had infertility issues her whole life. So in adding this new puppy to the mix, Jeremy and Carolyn may be ministering to those unrequited maternal longings that Clem has been burdened with, but never spoken of.

Enter Francie Nolan. Or just Francie. Or Fran. (If you don’t recognize the name, now is the time to read a great book – A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith.)

Francie is their new Chocolate Lab puppy. She’s smart, calm, loving with the four kids, will hopefully prove to be as loyal as Clem, and of course, she is brown. Clem’s maternal bell has started ringing and she has taken Francie under her wing paw and has shown her the boundaries of the yard, where to lay in order to get cool, where to potty, and how to be a beloved canine member of this family. When they nap, Francie snuggles up to Clem and they doze together.

Carolyn and three of their kids brought the new granddog over the other day and after a romp in the yard Francie was tired out and slept on Carolyn’s lap for a while.

All the children are thrilled to have a sweet new puppy in the household. Their youngest child was napping at home so isn’t in the picture.

Have I ever mentioned that I love having children? That I love having grandchildren? And I also love having granddogs.

“These are a few of my favorite things…”

One in three – not bad odds for winning a little prize. Jessica, Deb and Ginny were the three readers who left comments about their “druthers,” thus entering them in July’s bloggy giveaway.

I had to smile as I consulted random.org and entered the three numbers. I hit the button and presto, random.org chose comment #1 as the winner. Jessica!

Jessica wins an amazon gift certificate and my thanks for telling us about her Irish druthers. Along with my Scottish and Swiss druthers, I have Irish druthers too, Jessica.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone!

Every once in a while I’ll put up a post about where I would rather be if I had my “druthers.” It’s not that I’m not grateful for where I am at this moment, but I also like to dream about seeing new places, and wonder on occasion what it would be like to experience life someplace else.

I think I’d always want to come home, but I dream about remote living in Switzerland and Scotland sometimes. I can almost hear the bells around the goats’ necks, or the skirl of the bagpipes on a distant hill. (I always wanted to write skirl – now I’ve done it.)

But this post is your chance to share about your druthers.

If you had your druthers…

1. Where would you visit right now?

2. What would you do there?

I look forward to reading your responses, and will randomly choose a winner from them for this month’s bloggy giveaway! Comments will be taken until Saturday at noon, and the winner will be announced later that day.

“A few blogs have thousands of readers, but never have so many people written so much to be read by so few.”

Richard Wiggins

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Touche. My one year blogger-versary is coming up next month on the 15th. Almost three hundred sixty-five days of blogging my thoughts, laughs, photos, loves, life stories, and prayers. I’m considering whether or not I’ll continue on, and how often I’ll post if I do continue on, and if you are one of the few who check in here regularly, you’ll be the first to know.

In the meantime, thank you for reading!