My toe hurts.
You see, just a bit ago I walked into the very messy living room where Mr. Evan was playing. He was holding a dart gun (which had already been confiscated from Mr. Eli this morning and which Evan had climbed up on a chair to sneak off of the top of the refrigerator a bit ago).
I announced with all the volume and showmanship of a circus ringmaster, "And now! Mr. Evan is going to demonstrate his great skill iiiiiinnnn.... cleaning up the living room!"
Skillful Mr. Evan looked most perturbed. Then he wound up and hurled his little plastic gun at me. Bullseye! It hit me right on the foot and hurt like a booger!
I said, "Ow!" then turned around and quickly limped out of the room because I didn't want him to see me laughing.
I went in my room and closed the door laughing hysterically (though it really did hurt- a lot). I could hear Evan outside saying indignantly, "I didn't want you to say that!"
Finally I got my emotions under control and went to have a little talk with Mr. Evan. Needless to say, the gun was re-confiscated and Evan didn't get as much help cleaning up the living room as he would have liked.
Guns are dangerous weapons!
And speaking of dangerous weapons, I just got to watch Evan "sneak" out of the house holding a hockey stick to scare away the cat we spotted in the yard. The lucky cat escaped with his life before Evan got within 15 feet of him. But Evan did turn around just before he came back inside and yelled out a menacing warning: "Get away kitty!"
"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Lao-tzu
July 1, 2008
This journey so far has taken me one thousand and four miles from my hometown, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on the single step that began it all. Was it Monday afternoon at the border when they gave me my official document allowing me to pass? Was it Saturday morning when we started the car and drove out of Goshen in our funny little caravan? Was it in February when we came up to Red Lake for a job interview at the hospital? Was it two Christmases ago being up here with Kendall’s family and all of us rating our desire to live up here? (I can’t say my number on a scale of 1 – 100 was high, but it was the highest of all the in-laws, so I guess I’m the chosen one.) Was it three years ago almost to the day that Kendall first said, “What if we’d move up here?” (I tried to ignore that one for several months, thinking surely it would go away.) Or was it June 10, 2000 when I married Kendall and made some solemn promises before God and all these witnesses? Was it a night before Kendall and I were married when we talked about moving to Red Lake? (It was a far off and romantic possibility at that time.) Or was it living in and visiting different cultures at different times in my life? Could the first step have been when my parents brought me as a baby to this same area for a year of voluntary service? (Kendall wasn’t born yet, but I surely saw his parents as they chatted with mine from time to time.) What about when my dad lived on a nearby reserve for two years before he was married? Or when my mom visited this town with her family as a teenager? Or maybe it had something to do with choices my grandparents made? Or other ancestors farther back?
At any rate, moving into this house where I slept for a few weeks as a baby and where my dad stayed as a teenager, has made me very aware of roots. And how they affect our lives and choices and passions.
I suspect there is no single step that began our move a thousand miles away from Indiana. It seems, rather, to be a coming together of so many different factors. (Not the least of which is marrying a man who has taken this land as a very part of his being. And for all the ways I can tease him and get annoyed at some of his woodsman ways, I really do mean that in a reverent and respectful way.)
So here we are, a thousand miles from nowhere. (Oops…I meant a thousand miles from Goshen.) I know that we safely made the journey here, but mostly our journey is just beginning. And mostly I’m excited.
This journey so far has taken me one thousand and four miles from my hometown, but I’m having trouble putting my finger on the single step that began it all. Was it Monday afternoon at the border when they gave me my official document allowing me to pass? Was it Saturday morning when we started the car and drove out of Goshen in our funny little caravan? Was it in February when we came up to Red Lake for a job interview at the hospital? Was it two Christmases ago being up here with Kendall’s family and all of us rating our desire to live up here? (I can’t say my number on a scale of 1 – 100 was high, but it was the highest of all the in-laws, so I guess I’m the chosen one.) Was it three years ago almost to the day that Kendall first said, “What if we’d move up here?” (I tried to ignore that one for several months, thinking surely it would go away.) Or was it June 10, 2000 when I married Kendall and made some solemn promises before God and all these witnesses? Was it a night before Kendall and I were married when we talked about moving to Red Lake? (It was a far off and romantic possibility at that time.) Or was it living in and visiting different cultures at different times in my life? Could the first step have been when my parents brought me as a baby to this same area for a year of voluntary service? (Kendall wasn’t born yet, but I surely saw his parents as they chatted with mine from time to time.) What about when my dad lived on a nearby reserve for two years before he was married? Or when my mom visited this town with her family as a teenager? Or maybe it had something to do with choices my grandparents made? Or other ancestors farther back?
At any rate, moving into this house where I slept for a few weeks as a baby and where my dad stayed as a teenager, has made me very aware of roots. And how they affect our lives and choices and passions.
I suspect there is no single step that began our move a thousand miles away from Indiana. It seems, rather, to be a coming together of so many different factors. (Not the least of which is marrying a man who has taken this land as a very part of his being. And for all the ways I can tease him and get annoyed at some of his woodsman ways, I really do mean that in a reverent and respectful way.)
So here we are, a thousand miles from nowhere. (Oops…I meant a thousand miles from Goshen.) I know that we safely made the journey here, but mostly our journey is just beginning. And mostly I’m excited.
3 comments:
You guys make me laugh! Mom
fortunately I'm reading this on a break between classes instead of during class... wouldn't want to cause a seen by getting the giggles. thanks for the stories!
Hockey sticks are a lot less menacing than some things used down here to "scare away cats". Just ask Uncle Duey and Uncle Ben. I love it-mean, with a dose of nicety, by calling it "kitty".
Post a Comment