Consider the Legacy your Stories Weave

My Father was a great story teller. He could tell the same story over and over again and because he was so funny, we never got tired listening. In fact, at family gatherings my sister and I would often beg him to tell this story or that one even though we'd heard it a hundred times before. My Mother was a much needed part of the audience because although my Father had a great memory for what happened, he was less clear when it came to when it happened. He dated most of his stories by saying that they happened just "the other day" and my Mother would have to clarify with "the other day in 1972". They were a great team.

Recently we had precious family in from out of town and we eventually found ourselves sitting around the dinner table, telling stories as my Father had once done, but it was not the happy time that it should have been. I sat and listened as people recounted tales of my childhood misdeeds that had been passed down to them. Stories about my colossal laziness, my cheating at board games, and all of the rotten things I had done as a child. At first I was a good sport and laughed along with them, admitting that I was indeed a bad sport and detailing my cheating strategies for "Battleship" but after about fifteen minutes of "and my Mom said you were so lazy that...", I began to wither under the negativity and I eventually excused myself and went upstairs to my room where I cried for half an hour. It was then that I realized why my Father's stories had been so precious. He remembered the very best things about his loved ones and it was only those things that he passed on to the next generation.

I learned a valuable lesson from that experience and although I've always tended toward my Father's style of positive story telling, that day with my family where I was the butt of many a joke made me decide that I would never tell a story that would make any of the people in it feel the way that I had or that earns its laughter at the expense of its characters. The tales that I pass down should lead my listeners to love the people in them as much as I do, to appreciate them for the funny things that they said or did, not to laugh at them because of their all too human failings, especially as children.

Before you tell a story, ask yourself this question; if I were the title character, would I want this story retold?

Mesquite Groves Aquatic Center

We spent the day at Mesquite Groves Aquatic Center and despite the 104 degree heat, a good time was had by all. If you're looking for an inexpensive way to fill a day with fun, sun and water, Mesquite Groves offers a deal that just can't be beat!

Admission is $1 for children 2-17, $2.25 for 18-54 and $1.25 for 55 and over. You can bring in your own food and drinks, lifeguards are everywhere, the facilities are spotless, and the pools are crystal clear.

In addition to the two water slides, there's a massive splash zone that includes two slides, dozens of imagnitive water sprayers and a 752-gallon bucket at the top that fills continuously and then spills over onto the bathers below.

For kids of all ages there's a lazy river where you can float round and round on innertubes and for a not-so lazy ride, there's a water vortex too! For adults and older children there's a lap pool with two 1-meter diving boards.

Our five dollar investment bought us five hours of fun in the sun and a happy Summer memory that will last a lifetime.

Mrs. Miller, I need to show you something...

See that little brown trail running up from the rocks and into my house? Know what that is? That, I learned this morning, is a termite tunnel! And it's not alone.

One of our eagle eyed Landscapers noticed the trail this morning and went the extra mile by going around the whole house checking for more of them and then letting us know that we had a problem.

As God would have it, this gentleman lives just a few streets away and has recently had the same problem so he knew just what to look for. As an added bonus, he was able to put my mind at ease almost immediately by reminding me that as far as termites are concerned, we're still under the Builder's warranty and the treatment will be covered.

What at first seemed like bad news, in the end turned out to be good news. The problem seems to have been caught early AND is under warranty. It seems like such a small thing but it filled me with profound sense of gratitude and I was reminded of Isaiah 52:7:

"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the messenger who brings good news..."

Now to call the bug guys.

Altogether Different

As I was writing for my other blog today I used "all together" in a sentence and wondered if I should have used "alltogether" instead or if I was making up a new word. I entered the word into my favorite online dictionary and learned that although I had spelled it incorrectly, "altogether" is in fact a word and it does not mean the same thing as "all together". If you too were in the dark, let me enlighten you:

al·to·geth·er

adv.

1. Entirely; completely; utterly: lost the TV picture altogether; an altogether new approach.

2. With all included or counted; all told: There were altogether 20 people at the dinner.

3. On the whole; with everything considered: Altogether, I'm sorry it happened.

n.

A state of nudity. Often used with the: in the altogether.

---

[Middle English al togeder : al, all; see all + togeder, together; see together.]

Usage Note: Altogether and all together do not mean the same thing. We use all together to indicate that the members of a group perform or undergo an action collectively: The nations stood all together. The prisoners were herded all together. All together is used only in sentences that can be rephrased so that all and together may be separated by other words: The books lay all together in a heap. All the books lay together in a heap.

How cool is that? I feel smarter already, don't you?

California Beach Primer

For those of you who, like me, only get to visit the Ocean once in a blue moon, I’ve put together a helpful little FAQ on a common California beach hazard; Oil!

Here’s the beautiful Manhattan Beach located a stone’s throw from a Chevron refinery. The oil barge off in the distance and the faint smell of petroleum in the air should have made me look at things a bit more closely but I was so hypnotized by the beauty of the ocean that those subtle clues were completely lost on me and I assumed that all of the green, brown and black things scattered across the sand were various types of seaweed and so didn't pay close attention to where I was placing my feet. That was a mistake.

Five minutes into my reverie, as I was trying to shake an uncomfortably large chunk of compacted beach sand off of the bottom of my right foot, I realized that the algae-like seaweed I had been walking on wasn’t seaweed at all, but tar-like blobs of oil! It was stuck to the ball of my foot and starting to creep between my toes. For those of you playing along at home, here’s a picture that will help you differentiate between real seaweed and blobs of oil.

I tried peeling it off but that didn’t work. I used my nail to try to get it off but that didn’t work either and actually spread the mess from my foot to my hand. I tried using sand to scrub it off, I tried walking on asphalt to thin it and rub it off but all that did was spread the mess further and further. I managed to scrape off an inch or two using the curb but that was the best I could do. There was no way this oil was coming off without surfactant intervention so we headed off to CVS for supplies.

If you find yourself in my shoes, or rather, in my bare feet, here’s what you’ll need: A stiff nail brush, good quality dish soap and a scrubby or two. Note: Do NOT use Magic Erasers! They’ll work but since they are micro-abrasives, you’ll be giving yourself a heck of a burn in the process!

Here’s my California Beach Oil Removal Kit:

Apply liberal amounts of Palmolive, a little bit of water and start scrubbing. I bought two scrubbies and killed the first one liberating the bulk of the blob from the bottom of my foot. The second scrubby finished the job on my foot and the nail brush took care of my hands.

The further we got from Manhattan Beach, the less oil we ran into but even on Long Beach we found it. Word to the wise; watch your step!