Burning

This is a bit surreal.

Just for a bit of history: a forest fire started in a popular hiking canyon just west of Colorado Springs sometime on Saturday afternoon. No one yet knows the cause. Over the last 4 days firefighters, forest service and military groups have been trying to contain--at least slow the progress--of this blaze. 

At 4pm this afternoon, famous unpredictable Colorado weather played a major part of pushing this fire down into town. The smoke has been as thick as fog. 

This taken on my phone from the corner just behind the administrative building of the hospital around 4, when the winds kicked up. 

This is from Clay's phone, at the shop, as the wind began carrying the smoke northeast. (Perspective: our shop is on the far east end of the city.)

This one was posted on Facebook and shows the extent of the fire. For anyone familiar with the area, you can see the "scar" of the old strip-mine area near the center of the photo. 

As of right now, 32,000 people have been evacuated. The entire northwest side of Colorado Springs has been ordered to leave. 

Flying W Ranch has burned. That is sad and even the newscasters started crying when the news came in. Many of us have been there multiple times and taken family there for a taste of the "old west". 

Someone asked me if the people living here think about the risk when building. Just like people who live in tornado alley, people know that it is an inherent risk of living here. We know it can happen, but when it does happen, it doesn't make it any less devastating to the people that it happens to. 

Miraculously, there have been no injuries reported, of residents or firefighters. I pray that continues. I thank the residents who have been incredible at cooperating with the evacuation orders, and the many, many people who are working late into the night to provide temporary shelter and comfort for those who are displaced. 

They say history doesn't feel like it when you are living it, but I disagree. This will be talked about for generations. 

Grandparents

I remember my mom's 36th birthday. It was the year of the 17-year cicadas in Iowa, and we sat in the dining room with the shades-of-70's-green and brown shag carpet, eating homemade cake and ice cream. We gave her little trinket gifts and sang and she smiled and said 'thank you.' Then she wailed, "I'm SO OLD!"


Now I'm 36. And most days, I don't feel too bad, but I'm starting to see new wrinkles and my skin is turning papery in certain places, if only just. My joints don't ache, but they are starting to creak, and when I jump on the trampoline I feel like every organ under my bellybutton is going to fall out on the next bounce.


Mom is in her early (very early) 60's. She walks just like her dad and LOVES doing things for her grandkids she NEVER would've done for us. Like make certain that there is a candy dish within reach in every single room. And telling them not to bother picking up the toys. And they LOVE her back.


On the days that are hardest on my morale for being a mother, and I find myself wondering what's in it for me, I have to remember that every adult with grandchildren says that being a parent is only the work you have to do to be able to reach the penultimate joy. Which is SPOILING ROTTEN all your grandchildren.

Just look how happy they are in that chaos. I guarantee that if those were all their own squirrelly boys and unsmiling daughter, not sitting still and smiling nicely for a photo, they wouldn't have been nearly as giddy. There is a good reason I still shudder when I hear "Olan Mills" or "family pictures". 


But we are SO BLESSED they are  here.


Two years ago, on December 3rd a little after 6pm (and about 2 minutes after my sister and brother-in-law had picked up their two little boys), two men came to the door. Dad, thinking it was Mom coming home from Bible Study (she was already 15 minutes late), went to the door to meet her. Two  men entered armed with pistols, pushed him to the floor and held him at gunpoint for nearly 20 minutes while they searched the house for someone they thought was hiding there. As they left, one said, "Don't move." Dad waited for the bang that would end his life on this earth.


But the gunshot didn't come.


The men left. Dad waited, still, about 60 seconds before running up the stairs and picked up the phone to call 911. At that moment, Mom walked in.


According to police reports, this was the only breaking and entering that year which did not end in someone getting shot and killed.


We are lucky in so many ways. There are many times that I have felt that divergence in what could have been and what is within the last few years. I've realized that, many times, our lives become as defined by what almost happened as by what has happened. 


Dad said that, while the men were yelling and threatening him, he knew he was being held in God's hand. He felt God's indescribable presence, the "peace that passes all understanding." He knew that no matter how that night ended, he was being held in the hands of One bigger and more complete and more whole than any of us can ever be.


There is an awful lot that I think I believe. Some of it very strongly. But there are only two things I know. I know that there is so much more out there that we cannot see or study or understand. And I know that, when our souls leave this limiting body, one of the only things we can take with us is love. Not romantic love or happy love or content love, although it may be all of those things, too. God-love, Peace-love, Whole-Love. That love that we can only get from one Source and that cannot be completely understood in this life. 


And every time I think about how frustrating my kids can be in any given moment, I think about how much my parents have impacted my kids, and how much my grandparents have impacted me, and I pray that I can be that for my grandchildren someday, too. 


Someday.

This one guy I know . . .

When I was twenty, I decided I would probably not get married. 

It wasn't that I don't like guys, I just didn't see most guys as marriage and commitment material. While some of my gal friends would be ogling at the eye candy, I was seeing Mr. Unreliable under that six-pack and chiseled jaw. 

Perhaps some of it had to do with nursing school, and knowing that even the best bodies succumb to the wisdom advice of wrinkles; the strongest arms decide that it's better to be able to wave the bat-wings at one's best friend instead of hefting weights until those biceps are shiny. 

Besides. 

I'm not the easiest person to live with. You can ask my sister, whom I shared a room with for most of my growing up; or my cousin, whom I challenged for the alpha-bitch status every time our parents got together to try to have an adult conversation. (I can say that because she is now one of the three people who I tell my secrets to.)

Or you can ask this one guy I know.

The truth is, he makes my world go 'round.

He cooks almost every night, and usually ends up cleaning up, too. He makes sure the house is clean when we have guests coming over. He makes sure we all have clean underpants when I get lazy. He is starting to get gray at the temples, which is distinguished-looking, and he looks best when his hair is all mussed first thing in the morning--especially if he is holding one of the kids.

There are only about three things he can't do:

1. Sing

Just trust me.

2. Drive slowly

to anywhere in town. He does ok on the open road.

 

3. Be diplomatic

He will tell it like it is. Especially if you are being an idiot.

Other than that, he can literally do anything. He's better at changing diapers, getting a crying baby to sleep, cooking, making excellent adult beverages, gardening, decorating, yard work, fixing things, putting Transformers back together--just to name a few--than I will ever be.

Mom once told me, "Lisa, when you find Mr. Right, you'll be engaged long enough to order the flowers. Maybe."

She knows me well. 

When Clay and I met, I told him I wasn't interested and, while I was happy to comply with being a climbing partner, dating was O-U-T. Once I finally conceded that maybe I kinda sorta could be persuaded to be a little bit interested, we dated for three whole months.

Then I asked him (Yes. I asked him. You read correctly.) to marry me, and the rest is history. 

I love this guy. 

 

KOA Dave

This is the fire truck that KOA Dave bought a couple years back in Washington State. He drove it, in the middle of winter, back to his KOA in Gunnison, CO. It's top speed is about 50 mph, and it gets--at best--about 8 miles to the gallon.

Every summer we spend a few weekends at the Gunnison KOA. People look at us like we're crazy--after all, a KOA in the coldest town in the state doesn't exactly sound like a destination vacation.

However, KOA DAVE ROCKS.

When we arrive, we can count on Dave showing up in his golf cart and taking all the kids on an adventure within an hour. This may be helping to feed the animals (two goats, a sheep, chickens and a massive cow named Norman), visiting the summer residents for cookies, a trip to the store on the house, or going to get the fire truck and being the first kids on board for the 'parade'.

This old fire truck has found new life as a main attraction for kids of all ages when Dave fires it up every afternoon on the weekends, collects all the kids in the campground, and drives around with the siren and horn blaring. This is typically followed by a grand finale of launching items (his favorite are cabbage patch dolls) into the pond on a giant trebuchet.

Dave and his son, Michael (who is the year-round resident who keeps the place spotless and running) are the good neighbors you can borrow a heater, a drill, a cup of sugar (or coffee or beer) or a few eggs from any time. They know even the dogs by name.

Last weekend, strong winds ruined the tent of a family one afternoon early in the weekend. When Dave found out they were packing up and planning to leave early because there were no cabins open, he pulled in his motor home to the only empty spot in the campground, hooked it up and gave them room and board for the rest of the weekend. "No one leaves early!" he said.

This is truly a place where we can kick back and relax. The kids are safe and happy. The food is good. The beer is better. The company is excellent. Dave sets the tone for everyone to feel genuinely comfortable and tolerant and happy and peaceable the whole weekend.

It's a KOA. I don't care--it's a real vacation.


 

Joyfully Exceptional

 

 Twice Exceptional. 

This is the label he carries in his 504 file at school. He has areas in which he has demonstrated abilities far beyond what is average, while also having difficulty to a much greater degree than is average in other areas. And as much as I dislike the word "label", I do like the term: Twice Exceptional. 

I first heard this when expressing my frustration and helplessness at helping him learn self-awareness, and how to function in a school classroom, and how to respond to the everyday ups and downs of life to my very wise and very smart and very grounded and very real cousin-more-like-a-sister. 

It means that he is:

exceptionally smart

exceptionally creative

exceptionally sensitive

exceptionally nostalgic

exceptionally gifted 

exceptionally impressionable

exceptionally unaware

exceptionally exceptional.

It means that many times any action or emotion or decision or strength or weakness does not fit within what many would consider average. All of those things, for him, happen at the extreme ends of the spectrum. when he is happy, he is bouncing-off-the-walls, dancing-in-the-rain, yelling-with-abandon happy. And when he is sad, he is despondent, often quite vocally so.

Being a parent to this is--exceptional. 

He is our first, so we didn't know any better until second came along, though in hindsight there were signs we should've seen. Like speaking his own language by the time he was 8 months old, complete with hand gestures, facial expressions, intonation and laughter. Like recognizing routes and locations as a two-year-old that we'd only visited a few times. Like being able to sing almost any tune after hearing it only once. Like being completely unaware of time, or able to follow multi-step instructions, or being able to objectively process a story. Like being able to pick up on the moral of the story, but unable to pick out the plot. Like saying things that make people stop and think, "oh, I never thought of it like that before."

This child sees the world differently.

When I think about the most amazing people I have ever met, the ones who make their mark on the world, I try to imagine what they were like as children. Think about it. The people who make big discoveries and big inventions and big changes and big impressions were probably odd kids.

I bet none of them were "average". I bet none of them helped their district's state standardized test scores. Don't get me started. 

I bet they were exceptional, because that's why they have the ability to stand out and make a difference. 

It's not easy. It's not the average parenting experience. It's not predictable or comfortable or boring--oh, so not boring. Scroll though my facebook posts for a glimpse into daily life.

Joyfully

    Exceptional.