October 21 - “Pumpkins jumping”

I went on a treasure walk the other day with Cailyn.  Among our finds were two sticks that rapidly became swords for Pirate Girl and … “Here, you can have one, too, DadDad.”  Guess I was responsible for my own character development.  I contributed two pigeon feathers to the trove.  Feathers are always a plus.  Only about seventeen thousand more and we can make a pigeon pillow.  She found “six acorns, ha ha.”  Not just acorns, mind you.  They were “acorns, ha ha.”  Hey, her words, not mine, so there must be something “haha” special about acorns.  Add one stickerbur to the list, lightly embedded in her finger.  Not enough to hurt, obviously, but enough to warrant nurturing for the trip inside.  Two of those big sycamore leaves made their way into our stash, one big one for her and a much smaller one for me.  I’m beginning to sense a pattern here.  But hey, my self-esteem is just fine.  We also stopped to talk to two of our neighbors.  The man didn’t hold her attention for very long – all he had going for him was Halloween decorations in his yard.  The lady, however, had a cat.  Two, actually.  And she let Cailyn feed them some treats.  Ah, the way to a little girl’s heart is through a cat’s stomach.  At one point Cailyn even followed one of the cats inside the lady’s house.  The cat had a contingency plan for escaping young children, however, so Cailyn rejoined us on the porch when it became evident that her search would prove unfruitful. 

Later that day, at rest time, we reviewed our treasure walk experience to see what educational value had accrued.  What she remembered, however, was somewhat different from the events I have just described.  Most notable among her reminisces was the “pumpkins jumping around that was just sooo funny.”  I must have missed that one.  And “When you jumped up and down, up and down, DadDad.  That was sooo funny, too.”  I know I missed that one. 

Psalms 34:12-14 says, “Whoever of you loves life and desires to see many good days, keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking lies.  Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.”

Father, may you grant all of our grandkids many good days.  Give their parents the wisdom – and the energy - to model the lifestyle that will guide them in that direction.  Amen.

October 20 – “Math un-genius”

I had a chance to relive some early days in education yesterday.  Not my own education – cave drawing just isn’t in vogue so much anymore.  I meant the joys of home schooling.  Jachin and Micah and Josiah came over for the day.  Christina and Baby Roscoe had a doctor’s appointment in Houston.  She did get some ultrasound pictures, but the sexual identity was too close to call at this time.  We’ll check back on that mystery in six weeks or so.  After her appointment they went over to check on Christina’s Mom.  During the ultrasaound they got a text that her Mom had been taken to surgery, so since they were just across the street they went over to get some details.  Her Mom donated a kidney not too long ago, so any infection or pain is cause for alarm.  As it turned out she had some cysts removed and will be fine in a few days.  Kel then had a marriage counseling appointment followed by an unrelated wedding, so we had the boys until Christina’s brother could make it up to the hospital.

And that meant we got to help Jachin and Micah with schoolwork.  It wasn’t that much, actually.  Micah had to practice some handwriting, and answer some math problems that looked suspiciously like pre-algebra stuff.  For a six-year-old?  Unbelievable.  He was done in a jiffy.  Jachin is older, so his was a bit more extensive.  It was also math.  Long division.  And long division to an eight-year-old is similar to a high schooler dealing with algebra 2 or even Calculus.  You either get it or you struggle with it.  Period.  At first it seemed that Jachin was in the “struggle with it” category, and I was excited to be able to relate to him as a fellow math un-genius.  But after working with him for a while, the truth began to emerge.  He knew the stuff.  He was just easily distracted.  At least I could still relate to him in the distracted realm.  The problem was the mixture of distraction and creativity he displayed.  It was fascinating … and kind of fun.  Very hard to keep someone else on track when you want to do what he’s doing, too. 

Like our son Nathan when he was doing math, Jachin was not particularly bound by the rigid structure of lines or by showing his work in an orderly fashion.  How the two of them ever kept the answer intact was beyond me.  Jachin proved to be quite the artist.  He started with that little half-rectangle you draw to separate the two numbers (I can never remember what they are called.  That math language was way worse than Greek to me.  “Dividend.”  Sounds like something at a bank.  “Divisor.”  Sounds like someone who comes up with schemes to get into trouble.  “Quotient.”  Sounds like … nothing in my experience).  Anyway, that half-rectangle became a house, and from there his internal architect took control.  His houses added stairs of numbers and direct TV radar disks.   It was dizzying at best to keep up with where he was.  I eventually did something that helped with Nathan.  I got some graph paper to make it easier to line up the rows of numbers and thus see his work.  Of course giving graph paper to a budding architect is like tossing a juicy steak to a hungry lion.  Suddenly he had houses with crown roofs and stairs and basements and sub-basements with swimming pools.  Quite impressive, actually.  As far as I could tell, he did get all the work done, and I’m pretty sure he got them all right.  But that was math.  Better that you not accept the word of an avowed un-genius.  Check it for yourself, Christina.

Daniel 2:28 says, “but there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries …”

Father, keep on revealing those math mysteries to the boys.  Amen.

October 19 – “Just ‘ball’”

Cailyn and Chris played ball yesterday.  I was working on the computer, so I wasn’t aware of the fun until Cailyn came in and asked me to play.  Wanting simply to be sure of what I was getting into, I asked a question, “Is it baseball or basketball or football?”  Quite reasonable, wouldn’t you say?  I’m sure any of my other grandchildren (all boys, by the way) would have had an answer for it.  After all, it’s just multiple choice, isn’t it?  Apparently that wasn’t enough for the girls.  They both just responded with an abrupt “tsk,” a flip of the hair and, “No, DadDad.  It’s just ‘ball.’”  The light bulb finally started to glow faintly in my head as I allowed myself to be torn away from the persistent demands of computer work.  I started a reply, “You mean …” and Cailyn impatiently interrupted, “We need you to be the prince, DadDad.”  Ah, I finally got it.  They meant the kind of ball where you dance.  My knees ached at the thought of dancing.  My elbows just ached.  That’s become their routine lately.  But I really did want to be a prince.  Who doesn’t?  I assured her that I would hurry with my work, so she went back to whatever ballroom the two of them had concocted in the bedroom or in their minds.  And as I struggled to quickly finish up my task at hand, I caught a glimpse of motion out of the corner of my eye.  Leaning back as far as I could go in my chair, I finally focused on the flowing, graceful sway of movement as Cailyn, lost in the delight of a world of fantasy in which she heard music of her own composition, danced delightedly with Corner, the stuffed animal dog that had been her Daddy’s companion when he was a youngster. Sadly, I sighed.  And the rebuffed Potential Prince returned to the keyboard with only his dreams of what could have been. 

Psalms 34:9-10 says, “Fear the Lord, you his saints, for those who fear him lack nothing.  The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing.”

Father, bless our little princess and all our little princes with their hearts’ desires as they grow to know and trust you.  Amen.

October 18 – “Kel’s surprise”

My son Kel had an unwelcome surprise Friday.  It was supposed to be payday, but his check didn’t come in the mail.  I suppose that’s enough to give anyone pause, but for those of us living pretty much paycheck to paycheck, it can be a near disaster.  And when you have three kids and a fourth on the way, the intensity hits an even higher level.  Add to that the fact that they had to leave for a conference on Sunday afternoon.  What if it didn’t come on Saturday?  What if it came Monday while they were gone?  Or Tuesday?  What if there wasn’t enough to cover automatic draws?  What if?  What if?

Now, I’m not making light of what I’m sure was a stressful time for them.  I certainly have been there.  And as it turned out, the check did arrive on Saturday.  That did mean making some special arrangements, though.  That’s where I came into the picture.  He asked if I could make the deposit for him on Monday morning.  Absolutely no problem.  There is even a branch of their bank right around the corner from us.  It all worked out in the end, right?

Well, yes, right.  But as it turned out there was even more to the story than meets the eye.  He found out yesterday that there was a problem with the mail being delivered to their house on Friday.  See, the mail truck that was loaded with mail bound for their street … caught on fire.  Burned to the ground, if a vehicle can do that.  Everything in it was destroyed.  All the mail that would have been delivered to their house.  If his check had been on time and on that truck it would have been among the casualties.  He might not have received it even yet.  The very day his check is sent out late for the first time just happens to be the day the mail truck burns down.  What an amazing coincidence, right? 

Or not.  That was just another example of the no-doubt hundreds of ways every day that God protects us in the little things.  The car wreck you didn’t have because the baby hid your keys and it took you an extra ten minutes to find them.  The job you still have because someone else got that promotion just weeks before all middle management positions were downsized.  The list could go on and on. 

Glad your check came in, Kel.  I’m happy to help out any time.

Psalms 34:8 says, “Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him.”

Father, thanks for giving us another taste.  Amen.

October 17 – “Wood is good”

Chris has been back in creativity mode again.  We got a new (to us) dining room table that can open up with two large leaves to serve a ton of people, so we decided it was time to retire the table we tried for so long to salvage after Hurricane Ike.  It was Mom’s table, so it was pretty old and had some sentimental value as well.  It just wasn’t in very good shape.  The guys who tried to restore it right after the storm had it screwed here and nailed there in a kind of hodgepodge way.  The finish layer was peeling off, and neither of the leaves was in any condition to be used, except maybe for extenders of my Black and Decker workmate out in the garage (which, by the way, they have done an excellent job at).  In a nutshell, it was time.  The only decision was in how to let it go.

And that’s where Chris and her legendary creative mind rose to the surface.  She immediately saw something in there that I had no capacity to imagine.  And that has always been a source of amazement to me.  It took some doing and more than a few attempts at drawing, but I finally got an idea of what she was talking about.  So we dove right in.  First order of the day was to take the old one apart.  That was fairly easy.  I have always liked demo.  We were trying to save as much of the wood as possible, though, also a plus from my standpoint.  Wood is good.  See?  It even rhymes.  We didn’t have as much trouble with all the rusted screws as I expected, so before long we were lifting the top off of the leg support piece.  Then came the fun part.  Power tools.  Her idea was to create a long, skinny table to fit behind the couch.  I think it probably has a name, but that has never been essential information to me, so I will never remember it.  She wanted one side to have curved edges and the other squared off, so all we had to do was cut off each end of the table, and we were in business – twice.  Yep.  She realized that we could make not one but two tables.  See, there were actually four leg support pieces.  The second one would be a bit tougher than the first, though, because there would be no horizontal support pieces running between the legs.  But that was a concern for another day.  If we could get one done, then the second would just be gravy.  Meaning, of course, that if I messed it up, it wouldn’t be that hard to just pour it down the drain and use ketchup.  OK.  I’ll leave that image for now.  I’m not sure what that means, anyway.  Never claimed to be a cook.  Making the first cut worked well.  I had a brand new blade for my jigsaw, and it performed admirably.  The new tabletop was ready.  Then we attacked the legs. 

On the original table the two legs on each side emerged in a kind of Nike swoosh from what looked like something you would see on a musical scale.  The idea was to keep the musical scale part and cut the swoosh into a semi-level bottom.  Do you know how hard it is to make a straight line out of an arc?  I felt like I was back in Catholic school kindergarten, trying to color inside the lines with Mrs. Pate hovering over my shoulder.  And to top it off, the blade on the jigsaw was already getting dull.  Needless to say the cuts were not … straight.  We ended up having to make some “adjustments” in the final product, but hopefully they aren’t too noticeable.  The last stage of building was adding four nine-inch leg pieces we found at Home Depot.  Of course the way they had been built required more hardware that of course was not available at the time.  So I again had to improvise.  I figured out a different way to screw them in using two-sided dowel screws.  Never mind.  I didn’t know what they were called either.  I just looked until I saw what I was looking for.  The legs attached with little difficulty, and the structure was complete.  The only thing left was staining. 

The darkest stain I could find short of one called “ebony” (which I learned from crossword puzzles is a poetic way of saying “black”) was some kind of walnut.  It was no trouble to put on, but when it dried Chris immediately noted that it didn’t match.  It was obviously not as dark and much redder than what was already on there.  Guess my task for today will be a trip to Home Depot for some ebony wood stain.  The table itself looks good, though.  It’s sitting behind our couch with a doily on it that Mom made to spell out the word “Vaughan.”  Oh, and table number two?  The cut didn’t go so well on that one, so I had to grab a new blade for the jigsaw.  I still haven’t come up with a plan for bracing the legs that I’m totally satisfied with.  But we will go again.  Wood is good.

Genesis 1:31 says, “God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning — the sixth day.”

Father, thank you for the beauty of the grain in a piece of unpainted wood.  Thank you for the smell of freshly cut wood.  You were right.  Wood is good.  Amen.

October 16 – “The real treasure”

I suppose I showed my age the other day.  It happened when Cailyn and I went for a walk.  That’s always a great experience, and this time proved no different.  We went all the way to the end of the street.  Seems she wanted to show me the Halloween decorations down there which are pretty extensive.  Ghosts in the trees, skeletons coming out of the ground, bats hanging from eaves, and of course jack-o-lanterns of all shapes and sizes, which led to a long discussion about her need to get a pumpkin and my need to get a pumpkin and her Mommy’s need to get a pumpkin and Nani’s need to … see what I mean about long discussion?  When she completed her list of needy pumpkin people, she determined that it was time to head back to Nani’s house.  Taking my hand firmly, she announced, “We have to look both ways before we cross the street.”  That’s my girl, ever safety conscious.  She took long looks in both directions and then led me across.  I felt like the proverbial old woman being helped across the street by a Girl Scout. 

Once we got to the other side she made an exciting discovery.  The first yard we encountered was littered with treasure.  That treasure was in the form of sticks, but it was obviously treasure nonetheless.  Cailyn handed me her little purse and began gathering as many as she could hold in her hands.  I’m not sure what they were to be used for in her rapidly developing scenario, but they were all-important pieces at that moment in time.  Finally satisfied that she had all she needed, we continued our journey, she proudly carrying her sticks and me strutting by her side carrying her purse.

After passing a few houses she suddenly stopped.  She turned to me with a look of excitement, like she had just remembered where the candy was hidden or something.  Thrusting her trove of sticks into my hands, she declared, “It’s time to run now, DadDad.”  And off she went.  Apparently we were now in the home stretch and it was time to turn on the afterburners (Is that the right word?).  What I mean is, this was no “Look at me, I can skip.”  She had already shown me that skill earlier.  Nope.  This time she started running.  

Now I used to be able to keep up with her little legs by just quickening my pace slightly.  Not so any more.  She is three now, and an apparent improvement in capacity for speed is a natural part of the developmental process.  No more just walking faster for the alleged “adult in charge.”  Summoning all the energy I could muster, I broke into an all-out, no holds barred, slow jog.  I was barely able to keep her in my sights, but fortunately – and unfortunately, depending on your perspective - there were a few neighbors out, and they kept an eye on her as she raced past.  Of course that meant they also looked around to see if this beautiful little girl was frolicking through the neighborhood on her own.  There was fire in their eyes for the obviously incompetent parent who dared to let this little one race through the dangerous streets all by herself.  Until their gaze finally lit on … that old guy with the purse, way back there, chasing her with obviously every ounce of “speed” he could muster.  Their expression immediately changed from fierce, protect-the-children rage to one of … amused pity.  I smiled weakly at them each time and waved a neighborly greeting like this was our usual routine and we had everything under control. 

I managed to keep my composure and my rate of “speed” right up until it happened.  I don’t know how it happened.  One second I was jogging merrily along and the next there I was, flat on my face, sprawled out on the sidewalk amid splintered sticks and a well-protected purse, held closely to my chest.  Yep.  I just fell.  Didn’t hit anything that I saw.  Just stumbled.  Scraped up my knee a bit.  Jarred everything else.  I definitely felt it in my elbows, those storehouses of RA soreness.  But I jumped right up.  OK, I slowly scraped myself off the ground, looking around to see if any the neighbors witnessed the event.  I was already preparing my “It’s OK, I’m fine” speech, but thankfully I didn’t need it.  A strategically parked car had blocked the view of the nearest potential witness.  I was in the clear. 

I made it home.  Cailyn, who had already been inside and had a drink of water, greeted me with, “Where’s my sticks, DadDad?”  The sticks.  Alas.  I had forgotten them in my haste to regain my dignity, er, I mean my feet, my balance, my … OK, my dignity.  I apologized for leaving the sticks, but about then she saw my battle scar, my scraped knee.  It was bleeding, and that, of course, is a crisis.  All thoughts of imagined treasure vanished, replaced by the urgency of concern.  I didn’t reject her compassion.  She led me inside and like a little nurse she helped Chris bandage it.  And that, as they say, made it all better.  I wonder if they make bandaids for an old ex-athlete’s injured pride? 

Psalms 34:7 says, “The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and he delivers them.”

Father, thank you for the little angel you sent us who we call Cailyn.  Amen.

October 15 – “Strange creatures of the insect realm”

The other day Cailyn and I were looking for things with the magnifying glass.  It’s an old one that somehow survived Hurricane Ike, but it definitely shows that it has been through the ringer.  It is pretty scratched up and dinged up, but you can still look through it and see a grossly misshapen eye or use it to focus the rays of the sun and miraculously start a fire or at least give a bug a suntan. 

Speaking of bugs, that was where we began.  Always a winner.  We searched the bed for bedbugs and the wall for wallbugs.  We looked for ladybugs.  We tried in vain to find some ants or a spider.  Of course I don’t know how she would have reacted had we actually found something alive.  She was acting the role of frightened leading lady quite admirably without the assistance of an actual tiny little beast to encourage her distress.  We imagined many strange and wonderful insects and pretended to look at them.  I can still almost feel the miniscule creatures scampering up and down my arm, making my hair stand on end and bringing that uncontrollable, itching.

It soon became evident that the game was drawing to a close.  Interest was waning, so I made a feeble attempt at revitalization.  I asked her if she had any horses in her ear.  It certainly got a reaction.  Her hand dropped to her side.  Turned just a bit so that to look at me she had to flip her hair out of the way and glance back over her shoulder.  One eyebrow crept upward.  The other edged downward.  The edge of her mouth quivered just a bit on one side – just enough to let on that her frown was not one of disapproval, but of … perhaps incredulity?  And after taking a long moment to study me, to ascertain whether my question could possibly be a serious one, she spoke her reply.  “DadDad.  That’s just silly.  I can’t have horses in my ear.”  Not content to let the matter slide, I followed up with, “But why?  Why can’t you have horses in your ear?”  Didn’t take long for her answer to leap forth on that one, “Because, DadDad, the horses are all over here with the unicorns running up and down my leg.”  Oh.  Of course. 

I figured that meant the game was over and we would move on to something else, but suddenly she said she had an idea for something else to look for -   “Eyeterdooders.”  At least that’s what I heard.  When I repeated it, though, she began to laugh hysterically.  Again.  Being the wise older gentleman that I am, I immediately grasped that I was perhaps slightly off in my interpretation of the sounds that had come forth from her lips.  Sure enough, I was informed, “That’s not it, DadDad.”  At this point she enunciated very slowly and carefully, “Al-yi-ga-ders.”   Ah.  Of course.  Those crocodile-like things.  They do have a way of showing up at the most inopportune times.

Psalms 34:6 says, “This poor man called, and the Lord heard him; he saved him out of all his troubles.”

Father, finally a role I can identify with – poor man with troubles.  Thank you for hearing when I call.