There was one night last week the bank said 104 degrees. At 10 that same night it was still suffocatingly hot and humid. It remained that way until Thursday evening and ended up cooling off into the 80's for the weekend. Veronica called yesterday afternoon from Minnesota (their turn at the cabin) and said it was 61. That was the day's "high". Crazy. I just checked the weather channel and it's going to stay chilly for the next couple days for them. And rain. Poor things. You never know what you'll get at the lake from day to day, let alone week to week. But 60 degrees is pretty chilly for an August daytime high.

Have a great Monday. And if you're having a sucky Monday, I hope you're still able to feel His huge hand on your shoulder giving you a squeeze from me.

according to the early show...

Good news: Low-riding jeans and stomach baring shirts, out this season.

Bad news: Puffy coats with belts around the waist, in. Like this chick could wear a puffy coat to begin with. I can just see me with a wide vinyl belt cinched around it...and of course, "skinny jeans" (which I keep trying to talk Johnny into pulling off...)

Everything in moderation, I suppose. I'm just always relieved when the coming trends are chub friendly. I refuse to hit the Alfred Dunner section without an ugly fight.

Happy Back to School shopping...

Occasionally I'm fooled into believing I'm independent. But as I pulled away Sunday morning to head to church and left Kevin behind with one last hug before he left for Vancouver it hit me like a landslide. I need this guy. It clung to me across town and clobbered me straight on when my phone call home went unanswered; proof the shuttle had picked him up early. I made it through the two services and lunch but not without distraction. This wasn't like me. In small increments packing larger punches I began to understand "alone" like never before. I know, it's just a week in Canada, and I know people do it all the time, but Kevin is never the one who leaves. I am. And I was completely unprepared for how uncomfortable I felt. It's just better when he walks through the door at night. Even if I'm not home when he does. It's just knowing he's there, knowing when I get there he'll be waiting. So I’m thankful for this trip that has snapped me out of the land of for granted and I can’t wait for him to come home...

So the other night I was on my way home after a late rehearsal and a storm was brewing. Strong winds. Lightning. I had dropped the Fey kids off and was headed north on 12th. Just past Harvey's Furniture there was a tree down blocking the left lane but leaving enough room to pass on my side. As I passed I saw a police car under the train bridge and figured out the road was blocked by another tree. I allowed for the car ahead of me to turn around and then followed suit. As I cautiously peered past the first tree to be sure I wasn't going to get clobbered I made my way around it for a detour. I politely rolled down my van window to tell the oncoming truck that the road was impassable to save him the same maneuver. I said, "You can't get through." He curtly said, "Really." A bit stunned by his response, I drove west on Seminary road the 6 blocks to 18th and kept trying not to utter the word "ass" out loud. It was way too late not to utter it mentally. I replayed the scene several times as the guy followed me home. Or at least to my subdivision. I relayed it all to Kevin upon my arrival, still a bit unnerved by the unexpected sarcasm in the midst of an obvious storm. Jerk, I comfortably thought to myself even as I closed my eyes and turned off the lights. Jerk.

Yesterday at HyVee I ran into some old friends. Standing and catching up Andy asks me why I didn't speak to him the other night. As the story unfolded and the scene replayed itself through different lenses I realized my mistake. And he realized his. He almost followed me home to find out why I didn't speak to him, thinking he had done something wrong. (Besides of course his typical sarcastic banter we have enjoyed over the years.) We had a long laugh. He was no more than a foot away from me, window to window and I didn't know it was him. I just didn't know it was him.

priceless wake up...

Ret. It's 7:00.

I made coffee.

It's raining.

All your special things...

Still breathing a sigh of relief that on Friday Kevin and I were able to flock the persistent bacteria lurking in our cloudy pool waters out of the pool. Although he'll be slow to admit it, he manages to enjoy our money pit every once in a while as much as I do. We splashed around on Saturday, amazed at the overnight transformation and again yesterday afternoon. He'll be even slower to admit we've enjoyed the poolside basketball hoop I ordered to replace the one that bit the dust last summer. He beats me almost without exception and seeing him "play" and laugh completely keeps my competitive spirit at bay.

Yesterday I grabbed the hose he intended to lower the water temp and playfully aimed it at him, bright yellow goggles and all. It isn’t often my Kevin reverts to a little boy but every once in a while it happens and I see him subconsciously release the death grip he normally keeps on those worries of his. I say, “let’s see who can stand it the longest.” So he stands up, allowing me greater access to his bulk and I count. For a long time. He finally drops back into the water no longer able to withstand the ice-cold jet of the hose and I quickly concede, “You win.”

You saw it coming, right? Not my boy. Not my boy.

pit dwelling...

I'm writing this on a plywood platform stretched between some yellow scaffolding behind a wall of wire fencing 8-9 feet in the air above the Crossing stage. Yes I am. I have complete faith it will hold both my Korg and well, me. While sitting here waiting for rehearsal to begin for this year's VBS production, I smiled. Even though a rehearsal that was supposed to start at 6:00 is just starting 56 minutes later. I smiled because I'm writing this on a plywood platform stretched between some yellow scaffolding behind a wall of wire fencing 8-9 feet in the air above the Crossing stage and not standing in front of the cast, responsible for this rehearsal in any shape, sort or fashion. I admit the smile wouldn't resonate quite like it is were it not for the fact that I have so many like rehearsals under my memories belt. Probably 30 or so in varying degrees of complexity, but many of them with their fair share of complexity. And so I smile. I've had a small investment of time rehearsing my part with the rest of the percussion group but that's been more fun than anything else. Like old times. John in his element. Shawna in hers. Fun times I thought might have passed us by but somehow have found us once again.

And as I sit here contemplating all this in addition to the fact that I think I’m getting splinters in my butt, John laughs from beneath to inform me I look like I’m sitting on a toilet. All they can see are my legs from below. Good times. Good times. Sitting in the pit can be a little boring from time to time, but this particular pit has a nice view...