And They Rocked

The festival went just fine! The boys are glad to have the first official gig under their belt and were totally pumped afterward. Here are some scenes from the event.
Brady carries some gear from the van. That part was cool!
Jonathan got put to work hauling t-shirts to sell. They sold several! That was very cool.
No, Jonathan is not in the band - but here he goofs around during sound check. Doesn't he look cool?
The boys tune their guitars. Cool, huh?

Brady was nervous, but he kept his cool.

And here they are performing! Everything about the day was cool! Very very cool. I like using the word cool. It makes me feel.... cool.

Oh wait.... Um, boys? Boys? Don't you want to hang with your mom after your gig? Boys? Boys?!?

Oh man. Maybe this cool thang ain't gonna work out for me after all.

Let's Get Ready to Rock

In less than 3 hours, JUST MAYBE will take the stage at a nearby festival!

Rob's so nervous he ironed his JUST MAYBE t-shirt. I didn't know he knew how to operate our iron. (Kidding)

And Brady just walked into the kitchen and announced, "I don't have all the lyrics to '922' memorized. I can't remember them." (Not kidding)

And Jonathan is waiting at the front window, keeping look-out for the caravan of bandmates.

As for me? I'm gonna dance right in front of the stage. :-)

Same Week, Radically Different Experience

Some of you may remember that this time last year, I got to spend 3 Days Solo. Yes, you heard me right - 3 days. And ah, what fine days they were. I did yoga, I hiked, I spent an afternoon with friends. I even sat in our local pizza joint by myself, with a laptop and a book and an obnoxiously large "sampler platter" from the menu. It was divine.

I got that gift of 3 days solo because, last year, my husband and boys went to a Christian Rock Festival and had themselves a grand ol' time (despite the fact that we're not Christians - there, I said it. Again).

But this year... well, this year was a little different. I didn't get me some 3 days solo. Oh, no sirree bob, I did not. This year, I got me some of this:
Is that what you think it is? Why, yes. That, my friends, is one big-*ss Christian rock venue. And guess who was there? Uh huh - Moi.

After a year of begging, I succumbed to the pressure. "You'll love it, Mom! Seriously!" "No one will get up in your stuff about converting, I promise." "It's not that bad!" "You have to go with us. Please?!" These were the refrains I heard over and over and over. I admit I got pretty passive-aggressive about the whole thing, waiting until just a few days before the festival to mutter, "Oh, I guess so... but not for all six days! I can only handle three!" while still surfing for reasonable airfare to Denver, where my entire extended family (and then some) were headed for a different sort of gathering. One with water. And a roof. And with 24,985 fewer people than the Cornerstone Festival.

Turns out there wasn't water in Colorado - my aunt and uncle live up in the foothills and their well ran dry for most of the time everyone was there. And something tells me it's a bit more psychologically challenging to be without water in a house than in a campsite, where you go in with that expectation.

So - here I am to tell my story as a non-Christian at a Christian Rock Festival.

Here is our van before we left. Believe it or not, we fit 5 people in there. Brady and his best pal and bandmate, Ben, were squished into the back seat and practically on top of each other, and Jonathan was wedged into the only remaining middle seat. I'd show pictures but they begged me not to - they couldn't see out the back, sides, or front. It was pretty funny. They harrassed me the entire way there with complaints of "we didn't have this much stuff LAST year," to which I replied, "You invited me. Now be sure not to block your brother's only oxygen hole."

I hadn't camped for YEARS. And you know what I rediscovered? I like camping! We grew up camping in Colorado but the few times I'd done it in the midwest, as an adult, it was too hot, too buggy, and too tiring to hear the kids whine after only 1/4 mile into our hike, "Can't we go back yet? I'm so tired!!!" But the kids have grown up, and there was a lot to do, and I don't want to know why but there weren't any mosquitos to be found.

All day, every day, there were bands to listen to. Folk, gospel, screamo (egads), heavy metal, rock... you name it, someone sang it. There were several small tents for music and a main stage where the big names played. Here, we listened to a singer/guitarist named Josh Garrels - nice and mellow, just my style. Go have yourself a listen, why don't you?

When we first pulled in, my mouth fell open... as far as the eye could see there was tent after tent after tent - no shade, no room, nothing but gravel. It would be like camping on the midway at the county fair with thousands of people, and while my mind fired "Retreat! Hotel! Hotel!" Rob laughed not to worry, we camp somewhere else. "Ok...." I said, hoping beyond hope that he really meant it. Cuz I don't want to be high maintenance or anything, but, um, Ya - I'm not doing that.

25,000 people attend this festival. 25-freakin-thousand. So really, when I say it's like camping at the county fair, I mean it. There's a midway, carnival-like food stands, and big-top tents everywhere containing vendor booths, musical acts, and seminars. There's also a lake, though, and that's where we camped, thank the higherpowerwhogoesbymanynames!

I didn't know how to take pictures of people without seeming intrusive or offensive, so I took a picture of this van to depict the sort of folks who were at Cornerstone. As homeschoolers, we're all too familiar with the denim skirt-wearing, long braid-sporting, obedience-loving Christians. But here? Punk, Goth, and Hippie were all the rage, and I saw more tattoos and piercings there than in all the county fairs I've ever been to put together.

There were men dressed like Jack Sparrow and men dressed like Spiderman. There were lots of Emos. There were motorcycle dudes and hippie chicks and more dreadlocks than you could shake a stick at. And there was an entire photo tent devoted to people who wanted to dress up like monsters - theatrical make-up and all - and get their pictures taken, and I haven't a clue what that was all about. There was one fellow who sported one of those thick nose rings that remind me of tethering a steer to a fence post during my 4-H days, and I found it difficult to listen to what he was saying when my mind kept firing things like, "But doesn't that d*mn thing HURT?!?" and "Yo, one's gettin' away - hand me that there lasso."

One of the guys I talked with sounded high the whole time, but there were no drugs and alcohol allowed. I know, I know, but seriously - he wasn't HIGH-high, he was high for Jesus, man... and I enjoyed listening to him talk since he was rather socially-liberal even while being religiously-conservative. And yes, there is such a thing - I saw thousands of examples. There were lots of "save the children" charities, I was pleased to see, and I'd have supported them if I wasn't worried there'd be the whole "we'll save them first" stipulation attached. (I give elsewhere, rest assured.)

The highlight for Jonathan and his cousin Trevor was - get this - chasing golf carts. You could rent golf carts there, much to my chagrin, as they kicked up dust like all get-out as they zipped by all day long. But on day one they discovered the fine sport of golf cart chasing and they didn't stop until we broke camp and left for home. Here, the boys stretch out in preparation of hours of running.

And they're off!
Go Trevor Go!

Occasionally the boys took a break to play cards or a board game, eat, or swim.
And then it was back at it! They became quite a novelty, known throughout the festival, and people took to circling past our campsite, over and over again, just to see the golf cart-chasing show. Some folks awarded them free t-shirts and glow-in-the-dark souvenirs and they got lots of high-fives and "You guys Rock!" from their admirers. And if the boys were resting or distracted, you'd see carts go by very slowly, the riders searching eagerly for the cart-chasers. It was definitely one of the most amusing parts of the week.

Here is the lone photo I consented to take, and it didn't turn out half-bad considering it was day 4 and I'd all but forgotten what a real shower felt like. And I was wearing a button that read BE THE PEACE YOU SEEK. Right on, sistah.

There was a mass on Friday night at the main stage. It was lovely to see an entire hillside lit by candles, touching to see thousands reach out to their neighbor with the sign of peace, and a bit curious, in a voyeuristic sort of way, to watch people sway and get weepy while they turned their faces upward toward God. But not as curious as the lyrics that caught us by surprise in the middle of a song. When I first heard the man sing, "And it's smelling a little funky in my house, like a monkey in a zoo" or something similar, I sat up straight, cocked my head to the side, and started looking around to see if that was indeed what I heard or it was just my wandering imagination.... Nope, others definitely noticed and our mouths turned up as we stifled our giggles. Verse two... and the refrain.... Yep, it was definitely "And it's smelling a little funky like a monkey in a zoo"... *snort* That is a HOOT. During MASS! Ah, sweet levity...

The boys might've teased me about how much food I packed, but there were no empty-belly complaints. With our group came roasted vegetables, tamales, and meatballs, cheese-and-fruit-filled crepes, tacos, and pork tenderloin. We feasted. Is it just me or does food taste better when prepared under the open sky?

Even washing dishes is more fun outdoors. And we laughed how we'd wipe a swarm of gnats off our cast iron skillet or scoop an ant or eight out of our water jugs and not think a thing about it, whereas if a single fly lands on our food at home, we're disgusted or appalled. Reality check.

Here, our camp neighbor. He sat and strummed his guitar under this tree for hours. It was lovely background music.
And here, a full-immersion baptism in the lake that I happened upon. That was fascinating.

I'm pleased to say it was an interesting experience and I very much enjoyed myself. While I'm 'not there' on the Christian faith, I'm grateful for the chance to have fellowship with a great many people. Music, food, fellowship and fun... Life is indeed good. Very, very good.

~Namaste~

A Grrrl's Gotta Eat

A few years ago I started a yahoo e-group called "Healthy Chow." It's a discussion forum for all-things-food and consists of mostly personal IRL friends of mine. I started it for mostly selfish reasons - I wanted to steal all my friends' killer recipes. Not killer in the get-food-poisoning-and-die sort of way; killer in the oh-my-goddess-this-is-beyond-good sort of way. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that I know some of THE most amazing cooks. My friends can take the simplest combination of ingredients and turn it into something spectacular. But also, they can concoct recipes that use ingredients that I've neither seen in stores nor even heard of. I might make a mean canned-good judge at the county fair, but otherwise my culinary skills are just average.
Those who've been part of the group since the beginning will be shocked to hear that I started it back in 2003. I know! Could it possibly be that long ago? I remember the list was busy in the early days and I still have a pile of recipes I got from the members. I remember getting answers to any food-related questions I tossed out. I remember sending out "prompts" to get the discussion going. I remember another funny story...

Once upon a time my sister made fun of the name 'Healthy Chow.' One day she handed me a farm business card that read "Jackie's Happy Hens." The End.

I've been meaning to beg my blog readers reader to join Healthy Chow, because while I love the recipes I've gleaned from its members, it's grown quiet. Too quiet. I sent a request for a good marinara sauce to the list today and I heard it echo across cyber-space. "Hello? Hello-hello-hello...." I think I mined them for everything they've got and I need a fresh crop of folks to suck dry learn from.

So, who's game? Go HERE to join us! And be sure to gather all your favorite recipes, your mother's favorite recipes, your neighbor's favorite recipes, and your 3rd cousin twice removed's favorite recipes. Cuz folks? I'm hungry for some healthy chow.

Together Again

Last week we were visited by Eva and her daughter Marthaline. Eva, her mother, and her three children were refugees in Liberia who petitioned to come to the United States. My sister and I, along with a few other inspiring women, were running People for Peace at the time, a peace and justice group we formed to protest the run-up to war (fat lot of good that did, eh?) and continued as a forum for peace and justice issues. We hosted speakers, events, poetry slams, and vigils. We were a small bunch in this conservative rural area, but we were mighty. We endured nasty counter-protesters who flashed signs at our 82-year-old co-founder that read "Appeasers KILL" - with 'appeasers' written 2 inches high and 'KILL' written 2 feet high. We endured yells from angry passing motorists - because, you know, we don't want our young men and women to get killed in an unnecessary war, and apparently, what, they do?! And all in all, we met some amazing people - mostly elderly, interestingly - and learned a lot.

One day my sister posed the possibility that we sponsor a refugee family, and some of our group committed to doing just that. Shortly after, Jackie picked up Eva and her family in Chicago and brought them home. We got them settled in a house apartment in a nearby smallish town and there began a new branch of our multi-cultural family as Jackie became their #1 caretaker and I became her back-up.

Marthaline, the youngest, was only 6 at the time, but she was a wild woman. She'd run and leap into my arms and climb me like a tree, gripping tightly with her legs around my waist, nearly strangling me with her arms, and burying her head into my neck. Marthaline's greetings were the best part of my visits.

After two years here, though, they decided to move to Minnesota to be near other Liberians they knew. Eva is an amazing woman - a single parent of 3 (her husband was 'lost' when they came to America - it was unknown if he was dead or alive - but now the government won't let her husband come because there's no official proof of their marriage), working nights, taking classes at a local college, all in a foreign land. I'd do well to think of Eva and all she's been through when I'm tempted to whine about messy counter tops or a weedy garden.

Last week Eva and her youngest, Marthaline, came to visit.
Photo: My sister Jackie, Eva, me, and Neecee, another friend to Eva

On Sunday night we all gathered for dinner at my mother's house, and the kids ran and played and ran some more. I love nothing more than watching a gaggle of children run wild on a balmy summer night. This particular night, the kids decided to have running races.

They'd start at the top of the barn hill and race across the backyard, around the house, and back up again.
They did this again and again, in different combinations.
And we adults were having a lovely time watching. From the deck. But then Eva had to go and blow it for the lazy adults. When the kids began challenging us, she took them up on it.

Go Eva, Go!

And then my sister got into the groove. Here she is getting beaten by our 14 yr old Colorado cousin, Lauren, who is also visiting for 3 weeks.

So then my boys started asking who was faster, my sister or me. "Well now that depends upon what race you're talking about," I replied. "I was the sprinter - Jackie was the long distance runner." This got them even more excited and they begged us to race. Jackie and I gave each other pained looks - we weren't sure it was such a good idea. But I said we'd race if ALL the kids raced, so we lined up:

There's me on the far left, Jackie toward the right.

And there's me holding my hands in the air like a champion. I didn't win, but my therapist says I should practice the power of positive thinking. "If you think it, it will be." Or something like that. Later, I kept teasing my cousin, "I think I beat you. I think I really won."

"What-EVER," she laughed.

Even the guys got in on it. There's Marcelo holding his own against Jonathan, and Rob bringing up the tail end...

Go honey, go!

But really, the best part of the visit, again, was how often Marthaline would offer a snuggle and a hug.

Who wouldn't love a face like this? Pure sweetness. And wild woman, through and through.

He Gets His Speed from His Mama

I've been a soccer mom for many years now. Brady started playing when he was 6, almost 10 years ago, and I've spent 1/2 of every year either on the sidelines of a soccer field, en route to a soccer field, making phone calls to arrange games on soccer fields, or en route home from a soccer field. Thankfully I love soccer, although that's probably in no small part due to the fact that my favorite kids in the whole world play. There's something about watching your kids play a sport that will make even the most die-hard, anti-spectator sports person, like me, lather up the sunscreen and load the folding chairs over and over and over again, and even run up and down the sidelines cheering, and EVEN toss a critical word or two in the direction of an exceptionally bad referee. (One of the funniest I ever heard was yelled by a coach - "Hey ref! Where'd you get your license, WalMart?" Refs can never win.)

Time and again, Rob, ever-hopeful, asks not if, but how many college or professional games I'd like to see with him. When I cringe in response, my body language clearly screaming "Nopleasedon'tmakeme," he tries the same tactic over and over - "But you had your own season football tickets in college!" And over and over, my reply is this - (Kids, please stop reading now) - "Um, TAILGATE parties? I wasn't there for the football, honey. I was there for the party."

Jonathan has played soccer since he was four. After almost 7 years of it, though, Jonathan's interest began to wane. It was never as much his sport as his big brother's, which was always fine with us. Trouble was, it wasn't fine with him. It irritated him that he'd show up for every practice, run all the assigned laps without walking (when most didn't even try), work extra hard on every drill, and then still not start each game. So, last spring he decided to try baseball.

He was definitely most-improved player on his team and he did pretty well - especially considering he was the smallest on his team by about 12 inches (no kidding) and 30 pounds. Trouble was, those good ol' boys had been playing together for going on 6 years - and being the new kid on the block was, well... let's just say if there was a welcome mat laid out, we never did find it. It was a long, frustrating season, and Jonathan's shoulders slumped more and more as he got better and better but played less and less. When he said he didn't want to play baseball again this spring, Rob and I let out the collective-breath we'd been holding. That was good news for everyone involved.

He opted for soccer again, but early in the season all the old reservations came rising to the surface for him. Too much bench-time, not enough playing time, even though once again, he was working hard and showing well in practice. He's small for his age, maybe that's it.

The thing about Jonathan is he has the mental stamina of a star athlete - It's just that his physicality hasn't quite kept up yet. He's young, so there's plenty of time - and rest assured there's no pressure from us to be a star. But here's the thing - he wants it. He wants it badly.

So one day this spring I saw an ad in the newspaper for a kids' running club. 3 divisions - silver, gold, and platinum - with silver being beginners and platinum being the club-runners of the track and field world. "Hey Jonathan, want to try a kids' track and field club?"

No hesitation - "Sign me up."

This is a kid who has every Rocky Balboa movie memorized backward and forward. He knows all the Russian translations of Ivan Drago's character. (An aside - Does he look like Max Headroom, or what?!? Thank you, I thought so too.) He knows who produced the movies. He knows that Sylvester Stalone is only 5'7" in real life but Rocky Balboa is 5'11" in his movies. He has all the soundtracks and he can quote any part of any movie. But the most striking thing of all? He knows all the training sequences from each movie; better yet, he does them. Thanks to his interest in Rocky Balboa, he now owns a heavy bag and a speed bag, a jump rope and free weights, boxing gloves and hand wraps for when he gets bloody knuckles - which he does. On his birthday list is a chin-up bar. Two years ago he put a sign on his bedroom door to remind himself to do push-ups and sit-ups every day. Which he's done. Some nights, I have to wait to tuck him because just when I reach to shut off his light, he exclaims, "I forgot to do my push-ups and sit-ups!" and then asks me to wait so I can tuck him in afterward. When this kid puts his mind to something? He does it.

Last night was his first track meet. He'd signed up for the long jump, the 800m run, the 400m dash, and the 1500m run. And how'd he do, you ask?

Two golds and a bronze, that's how!

Here he is, preparing for his first race. He was so nervous that morning, he got up, ate breakfast, and put himself back to bed, trying to calm his nerves. You know how each person has unique mannerisms? That are dead give-aways to the trained parental eye? Here's one of Jonathan's - holding his head. Recalling my own glory days in track, I was nervous for him, remembering how my insides would churn before the start of each race. I'd be equally impatient - "let's just race already!" - and dread-filled - "I'm not ready!" But the difference between a pre-race Jonathan and pre-race me all those many moons ago? Jonathan has the mental stamina that I lacked. I knew he could do this.

As they lined up for the start of the 800m run, I had to pinch myself to keep from pacing and possibly translating my nervousness to Jonathan. I settled for taking 93 pictures to keep my mind occupied. (Yes, I said 93. I was really nervous.)

But I need not have worried - here he is, coming in FIRST! First place! MY BOY CAME IN FIRST! I'm just a wee bit proud.

This little stinker... he ran his fastest pace ever for the first 600m, and then at the last 200m mark (and the 200m is a brutal sprinting distance, by the way), he turned it on and he sprinted the last 200m! We all sat with our mouths hanging open while the coach gave us thumbs up signs from the infield. He finished with a time of 3:04. Yay Jonathan!

Here he is with his first place medal!

Next was the 400m, which is one lap around the track - a 1/4 mile. This race is a sprint and is rather grueling - and I should know, because I used to run it. He came in third in this race. But let's look at his form - beautiful. The sprint coach calls it "cheek pocket" - as your hands should go straight up and down from cheek to pocket. "Cheek pocket! Cheek pocket! Cheek pocket!" We like saying "Cheek pocket!" 'round here. Wish I'd had that for my bag of tricks when I coached track and field.

(Notice how I keep infusing the post with my own glory days. I'm sorry.)

Next up was the mile, but here was the problem - since the kids are younger, they don't have all the events. There are no hurdles, there's only one relay, and there's no two-mile run, for instance. That meant Jonathan's 400m race and his mile run were back-to-back, and since he was in a late heat for the 400m, he had about 1-2 minutes to rest before taking position to begin the mile. Like worried mother hens, my mom and I were saying he didn't have to do it if he didn't feel well - he looked rather pale, the nervousness of the day catching up to him added to the fatigue from running hard - but he shook his head and took his place. The coaches came up to give him some pointers, and more than one timer said, "Dude, this kid just ran the 400m! Way to double-up, Buddy!" while giving him a high-five. Jonathan suppressed a proud smile and tried to catch his breath before the starter fired his gun.

During lap 3, a girl who'd been tailing Jonathan passed him, and thinking back, I remembered how that's just the sort of thing that can take the gumption right out of ya. But not Jonathan. On the last 100m stretch of lap 4, he kicked it in....

And he passed that (poor) grrl! She stayed with him, but he didn't let up. I don't know where he found it, but he had a nice little kick at the end.

The sprint coach told me at practice last week that's the difference between an athlete and a champion - champions can dig deep inside and find "it" within themselves - and win.

And win he did. Jonathan honey? I knew you had it in you. All that commitment finally paid off.

You rock!

Unschooling Q&A - My Boy is Back

Wednesday was Brady's first day back home after completing his freshman year at school. How did he spend it, you might wonder?



Pricing out parts for the computer he'll build for his little brother.


All is right in our world again.

Reality Check

Today's Reality Check is in celebration of the first day of not having to hear an alarm clock go off at the ung*dly hour of 5:45am:



You know it's well past time to get a life start your day when you send a text message to the Today Show to vote for a couple in The Race to the Altar segment.

From your bed.