To be done: Cottage Pond Maintenance

Remember those needing-to-be-done items?

Fall-Pond-Maintenance was high on the priority side.

Since I am sure you are curious, 

let me educate you on what this maintenance pertains of:

 Make sure the pump is plugged in,

 but allow it to drain on the ground

[as opposed to back in the pond of course].

Then, when the pump has pumped all it can reach,

get your gloves and a cup,

 and head in.

[When climbing in and out of a mucky pond, 

you may want to consider non-slip-off-able shoes,

by the way.]

When the water is mostly gone,

 grab this 

thing-for-which-you-do-not-have-a-name-

but-may-be-as-simple-as-"net"

 and start scooping.

At a certain point, however, berate yourself for being a wimp,

and get dirty.

[What do you think those gloves are for girl?!]

Also, you should prepare for this task by routinely doing squats, planks, push-ups, and downward dogs for at least a month prior, as you will find yourself hovering in very-un-lady-like positions,

bracing yourself on precarious rocks, praying your footing is secure,

and counting on your own physical strength to keep you from
a face-plant of muck.

Also, do not be surprised when the nearby trees 

nearly immediately make a new deposit.

It is Fall,

after all.

Moments of Cottage Fall

If you were to study my calendar,

you would notice right quickly that--after today--
the next moment not blocked off occurs on November 6th.

Hence, today, I am taking care of all that needs taking care of,

and I am breathing in Cottage Fall:

Good, for my heart.

Yesterday these dear ones--

no longer residing in proximity to me--

came for a little visit.

We Mad Mex-ed [of course],

we laughed [of course],

and we argued a bit too.

And, ultimately, [after much debate, negotiation, and flat out refusals regarding what the rest of our evening would look like], we ended up

here.

Exactly where we should be.

We held a hilarious jam session,

putting to good use our skills.

[Though not pictured here, 

you should know that Katy is a killer drummer...
Demo forthcoming.]

We talked of what we needed to
and we left unsaid what we already know.
We prayed, and there were tears,
and just a lot of love.

There are no others with whom I giggle quite as freely,

am obstinate with quite as obstinately,

allow my soul to be examined by quite as deeply,

or listen to quite as attentively.

And while it is not ok that life has moved them onward,

it is a gift when they are here,

with me.

They are My Threads of Wisdom

Months ago now, I woke up one morning, 

looked in the mirror and thought:

I should dye my hair.

This was a thought I'd had nearly every three weeks or so for years and years, ever since the grays that had started sprouting when I was 16 began taking over to great degree.

It was also--by the way--a thought made of an inherent 

I-am-too-young-for-this cultural shame, which held me in its sway until this particular morning, when I thought:

I should dye my hair...

and then, didn't.

And then, the next morning, 

I woke up and had the same thought.

And still, I didn't.

et cetera.

I thought I'd have to blog about it,

tell you all the reasons,

explain myself,

justify myself,

warn you so you wouldn't freak out

argue that gray does not mean old, and even if it did, old is not bad,

et cetera.

I thought I'd have to blog about it,

but then....

I didn't.

Because, it turned out:

I didn't care, what anyone thought.

It turned out:

I really love my gray hair.

It also turned out, by the way, that others loved it too--

from colleagues, friends, strangers, I heard:

"stunning"

"hair-envy"

"so beautiful!"

et cetera.

Then, last night, I was waiting for a table in a local place,

and interacting quite a bit with the sweet boy taking names.

When it was finally time to go to said table,

he took the blinking-red your-table-is-ready thing,

looked at me shyly, and said with genuine awe:

I really love your hair.

It's brill-iant.

And I thought

a) He thinks I did this on purpose

in what has become a [very timely for me] trend,

and then, b).

For the sake of record-keeping,

let the blog say this:

I really love my hair too,

and yes--that is brilliant.

It is, in fact, my very own story.

I remember the words of a Truth-telling friend,

who looked at me with his Holy Spirit eyes and said:

Dear girl, you have been to the mountain-top, 

where those who look to Him radiate His face.

And hence my face shall never be covered in shame,

but will instead declare:

These are my threads,

of Wisdom.

Happy Birthday, to my friend.

Wednesday morning, bright and early 

[for some of us, and not so much for others...], 

I joined these two ladies out for breakfast,

to celebrate this friend:

Birthdays are the best.

And this birthday celebration was particularly sweet,

as this woman has walked the narrow path over these last few years, 

but has granted us the gift of inviting us into her journey,

and has allowed God to do what He needs to do,

in order that we might sit at a birthday breakfast and say:

Our God is good,

and He answers.

Glory, Hallelujah;
Happy Birthday, indeed.

To celebrate our Littlest.

This past weekend all Kooistras of the Marlo & Kathy variety 

arrived in Rochester for celebration

of our littlest.

It began with a dedication ceremony,

where we claimed the Truth for him,

and watched with joy and love
[is that my cutie cousin?!]

as his parents took their stand.

We rejoiced too,

in opportunity to reunite,

to tell secrets,

share some love,

and get excited for when the next cutie cousin joins us.

But the dedication was just the beginning,

because the boy just so happened
to also have a birthday party on his calendar for the day.

First though, a birthday boy nap,
so the rest of us went to a nearby diner,

got ourselves some grub,

and had ourselves a lovely visit.

And then,

we joined together with other family and friends

to celebrate our one-year-old.

There was the traditional cake-eating contest:

[Aunty Lauren has a new phone
perfect for taking too many pictures.

Plus, this boy is just too cute.]

There was also the traditional gift-opening:

and I was happy because my gift was well-recieved:

["Yes Aunty Lauren,
I promise to call you all the time on my new cell phone!"]

And though the birthday boy got the most toys,
the rest of us got gifts as well:

It's what I like to call:

Quality Time.

The next morning--before hitting the road--
 there was just a bit more of it,

 over coffee and conversation.

 
All thanks to this little one,
our one-year-old boy!