neighbors

I wonder how many people have "good" neighbors? I've often wondered that. I've lived in a variety of places, in some different situations. I've observed people, neighbors, neighborhoods. And sometimes I'm saddened by the hurried life that we seem to live. The time crunch is such that we forget to be good neighbors. I look forward to a time when I can live in a place long enough to be a good neighbor and have good neighbors. Here are the kind of things I'm thinking of -

A good neighbor is the person who will...

• willingly lend you baking ingredients
  
• offer to pick up your mail when you are away
• initiate a friendly chat across the fence
• invite you over for dessert or coffee
• help you move something heavy or awkward
• smile

It is a stretch to reach out to people that are outside of our circle. But if each of us did, in our neighborhoods or cul-de-sacs think what a different feeling we would have when we stepped out of our cars after a long day at work. We would be greeted to smiling faces and friendly waves. To real conversation, not just the same ole' small talk. I would eat that up. That's a place I would want to live, year after year and decade after decade.

This blog was prompted by my new neighbor who walked over, introduced himself, welcomed me to the neighborhood, and helped me carry furniture from my car into the garage. Unbelievable! You inspire me, neighbor Dave. I want to be more like you.

the hometown is calling

As we all know, moving is routine for me. So here it goes again. A week from Friday I'll be packing up my clothes, some food, a dog, a few houseplants and piling it all back into the Jimmy to take a drive to Rochester, IN, the county seat of Fulton County, and my hometown.

Moving back to my hometown will be great; familiar faces and places, family (plus the new addition - Baby Jane), old friends. But at the same time it will be completely strange. I've been trying to process this move mentally and I don't really know what to make of it. On the one hand I'm really excited to start again in Rochester, where I got my initial start in life. But on the other side of things I don't really know how I'll fit back into life there.

I'm trusting that this chapter in my life will be another satisfying jaunt. My life has been full of them, I'm lucky, I know. So I go with no preconceived notions of how life looks for me in Rochester. Just an understanding that it will all work itself out.

outcome, not surprising

I always told myself I'd never in my life substitute teach.

I've since realized that the phrase, "never in my life", shouldn't escape my lips....ever. I don't know how it happens but, just as soon as I am dead set against something, all of a sudden, through twisted circumstances I am staring that "something" right in the eyes.

And so...of course, I am a substitute teacher.

In case you have never entered a school as a substitute teacher let me share a few things about what I've picked up on in my three weeks of work.

• It is definitely as bad as it sounds.
• There are some bright spots, but they are few.
• Lots of kids hate substitute teachers just because they are substitute teachers.
• God gets me through the day, not my self-acclaimed wit.
• It is the closest feeling I've had to being invisible.
• High schoolers act like middle schoolers.
• A substitute has almost zero authority walking into someone else's classroom.

I still haven't figured out why semi-retired, 60-something year old ladies are the majority of substitute teachers. This would literally be the last place I'd want to spend a day when I am 60. I come home feeling like I've just been in a psychological battle all day, with a couple of sucker punches thrown in there at some point.

I hope I'm not crushing anyone's spirit who was planning on making a career out of substitute teaching. I'm just saying if that person is you, you might want to develop a back-up plan.

adoption

Like so many of my friends and family have done past and present, I made a big decision this year. I've adopted! Okay, the adoption that I am associated with is largely different from that of which my friends and family have been involved with, but similarly I've taken the responsibility to take care of an orphaned being. That this being happens to be four legged, furry, and will not be able to carry on a conversation in English...ever, are some of the differences that stand out. Here is how it all went down.

This year has been one of many surprises, and by the end of October when I was packing up my belongings to move on to my next place of residence, I quickly realized that I had acquired four houseplants and a pet. Now you have to realize that I've been working my whole adult life to avoid houseplants and pets, not because I hate those things (I actually enjoy both, quite affectionately), but in active knowledge that to take care of these things will affect the pack-up-and-leave lifestyle that I so cherish. So you can imagine the constriction on my heart that took place when I realized the weightiness of the situation!

The houseplants I accepted from others either as gifts or as a favor, but the dog...hmmm. Jasper came to the farm in April, abused, neglected and starving for food as well as attention. Since no one on the farm cared for dogs, I was unanimously put in charge of trying to "make a farm dog" out of him. I'm still not sure what that means. Months later after working with him diligently, and sharing time and space I began to realize that it would be hard to walk away from him. I was in trouble.

I searched and searched for a home for him, everyone I met I asked if they needed a dog. I literally asked every local member of the farm if they wouldn't mind taking Jasper home. Poor bugger didn't have any takers.

Therefore, last week I officially adopted Jasper, and we both left Victory Acres. He's done well adjusting to life in a pen, rather than 'free range'. And I was forced to buy him a dog sweater (which I was so annoyed about) but in his defense, he was constantly shivering.

So although it is a big hiccup in my life having a pet, I'm going to brave it and give it a go. I know he needs me, and truth be told I probably need him a little bit too.

eye catchers

I spent some time outside last week, enjoying the warmth and finally a reprieve from October's deluge. Though most of the fall colors were gone, besides the few bradford pear trees around, there were some tidbits of beauty that caught my eye.


white oak leaves fallen on a bed of brown leaves

wild blackberry leaves stand out from the drab grasses

locust thorns showing off the new growth

packing and unpacking

What is a year of my life if I can't up and move at least twice, eh? It is true, I've become an expert in moving. Not necessarily one of my lifelong goals, but I guess you take any expertise that manifests itself in one's life along the way. And so, moving day has come and gone.

I officially left Victory Acres Farm after a very thoughtful send-off party last Saturday, that included lots of Himelicks, two Chases and myself (Jasper was not invited, hmm...). A casserole dish of lasagna, a cheese ball, garlic bread, salad and a chocolate cake all served on tables in the greenhouse.

With God's help, I've procured a house-sitting gig for the next two months a block from main street Upland. I spent Monday packing, moving and unpacking. And I can say I am all situated and loving the extra space that is at my disposal.

My intention is to substitute teach for the winter while coming up with a plan for the spring/summer. When you run into me and ask what I will be doing in a few months, you may be disappointed with a reply along the lines of, "I'm not sure". So be patient, let time pass and know that I'm not worried about it. Life has always worked out quite nicely whether I spent time worrying or not. Therefore, I will choose not to worry. If you would like to worry in place of me, feel free.

shearing sheep

On my last work day at Victory Acres Farm, the sheep shearer showed up. He came from Wabash county and had already sheared 52 sheep in Hartford City. He was very gracious to come to our farm to sheer the mere four that we had acquired a few weeks back. It couldn't have been worth his time, I'm assuming. But sometimes when you know someone who knows someone, grace befalls.

The wool from the Hartford City 52. The shearer says he can only get 17 cents a pound for their wool.

It really was amazing to watch the wool come off in masses. These particular sheep are Merino Sheep. Their wool has a very high content of lanolin. An oily residue remains on your fingers after touching it. As opposed to the 17 cents per pound that the shearer could get for the Hartford City 52, he can get about 50 cents a pound for the merino wool.

The sheep were very cooperative, though I'm guessing they miss their warm wool about right now. Here is the silly looking outcome of all that shearing. A little before and after shot.

Meaning of Life moment

My sunday school class is working it's way through Ecclesiastes this semester and it has been a fun journey. Our discussions have centered around where we look for meaning in life, and how that never seems to fill us unless we get our meaning from God. Yet if we do put God in the center, and work to remind ourselves that He belongs there and our wants/needs belong elsewhere than center, He is faithful to remind us of his love through life's many enjoyments. And we can begin to truly enjoy God's gifts of food, homes, jobs, children, sports, family, etc.

My "meaning of life" moment came about a week ago as I was making a much needed trip to Marion's Tractor Supply Co. I had been putting off buying a new pair of work boots this year, hoping to make it through the season but alas an inch long hole and a few days of poorly timed rain and cold, drove me to misery, and thus to Tractor Supply Co. Starbucks happens to be right on the way to Marion, and although I am not a fan of Starbucks coffee in general I do love their Pumpkin Spice Lattes that magically appear on their menus in the month of October. It was a quick decision to pull through the drive-through, a quick decision to buy a "grande" size, and in no time at all I was continuing my journey to TSC. A spontaneous call to mom to tell her about a frustrating experience earlier in the week and a few sips later I was pulling into the rain soaked parking lot in Marion.

Mmmm. "This is the best drink in the world!" escaped my lips before I knew what I was saying and I grabbed my money, keys, much-cherished fall drink and headed for the doors and the new boots that awaited inside. Literally four steps from my car and a split-second later I found myself juggling my favorite drink in the world and watching it crash onto the pavement at my feet. My initial reaction was to stomp around and kick the empty cup halfway to the entrance of Tractor Supply, grieving over the loss of $4 and "the best drink in the world". But in the back of my head, I could hear my sunday school teacher asking, "where do you find the meaning of life?" So instead of getting angry (which I wanted to do quite badly), I began laughing out loud. Consciously noting that God was most effectively teaching me a lesson about my foolhardy attempts at getting meaning from life.

Have you had a "meaning of life" moment lately? Don't forget that the little things are really just little things, and God is most definitely still God. He is the meaning. Rest in that.

this is what I saw today

a shattering reality

Pretty much my entire adult life I've gotten away with people imagining that I'm actually younger than what I really am. I attribute this to various facts: the fact that I'm single, nomadic, not career obsessed, silly (some might argue immature). But whatever the reason, people are usually shocked when I confess my age, since they were guessing that I was 5-8 years younger.

I know that this trend is only temporary, and eventually I will hit the tipping point. And though I know my day of reckoning is coming...eventually, I don't think about this too often. Well, eventually happened a few weeks ago and I am still laughing at the scenario. It goes something like this...

I attended a high school football game with a college friend a few weekends ago. It was rainy, cold and I was starving. The lines at the concession stand were long, and I didn't want to wait for marginal food in the pouring rain. So at 10:00 pm that night after the game was over I made my way to the closest Subway to procure a $5 foot long that could serve as my dinner and lunch the next day.

I was the only patron at that time and per usual I was chatting it up with the young (eighteen or something) sandwich maker. I shared with her about my night at the football game, we talked high school football and homecoming nonsense for a bit. And then I found myself picking out two oatmeal cookies before paying for my long awaited supper. As she rang up my order, she asked one last question that shattered my wishful imagery of my youthful self. And I quote,

"So, does your kid play for the Madison-Grant football team?"

Wha...What? I'm sure I flashed her an "are you serious?" look before answering with an emphatic, "No". As I made my way out of subway and to the confines of my vehicle, I had to laugh at myself. And at the pieces of my youthfulness that just eroded away with that one question. Wow? Do I really look like I would have a high school age child? Maybe. Maybe not. Regardless, it was a startling reality that I am getting older and maybe I finally look like it too.

Ah well. Sometimes the future is all of a sudden the present. Kills me.