That Story

Aidan does not like my yoga. Not that he tells me outright. It's just that I noticed that he noticed when I didn't go.

"Mom, why didn't you didn't go to yoga today?"

That question X three. I know that question doesn't come from Aidan's concern for my mind, body, and soul. Finally, I asked him tonight what he thought of my yoga. He wishes I was just home. Or something like that, he said. Meanwhile, he can ride his bike, play ultimate frisbee, and find a friend with video games for hours on end. It's not fair. Parenting baby pandas isn't supposed to be fair of course.

What's really not fair is how women in Iraq must wear head-to-toe gear, aka the sectarian versions of burkas. Sometimes layers of clothes. Sometimes gloves. Sometimes black socks. Sometimes certain or all parts of the face covered. The details are determined according to the dress code of whatever militia is dominant in their neighborhood. In other words, what women wear essentially serves as the identity marker of whoever is the local warlord. The woman inside is irrelevant. A human flag pole.

It kinda made my stomach turn to hear that story tonight. Especially as I was trying to figure out what was fair and unfair for me. P.S. These sectarian dress codes started just weeks after the invasion when the rule of law eroded, according to the interview. Before that for decades women wore jeans, etc.

So anyway, I am continuing with yoga. And I've decided to take it as a compliment that Aidan misses me, because mostly I would never even know it. He is a very subtle communicator, shall we say. So, he and I will just do more overt relations, like cuddle reading before bedtime and stuff like that. Yet even almost-8-year-old boys need to know that their mothers and sisters can do stuff too.

Goodnight! Thanks for coming over.

With love, T

I promise, just one more graduation posting.

Create Your Own

With love, T

Goodnight Graduation

Hello friends and welcome to the liver blog. I'm so glad you could come over.

As you may know, it's been a joyful and emotional graduation weekend here at Luther Seminary. All full of friends and celebrations and conversations and reunions. And now, well, it's time for Captain Underpants and bed. Aidan wanted to show you his collection of Captain Underpants books. I'm telling you, this series is hilarious and we read it every night. It is 100% pure Aidan. How did that author know?

Currently, we are reading this one: "Captain Underpants and the Big, Bad Battle of the Bionic Booger Boy Part 1: The Night of the Nasty Nostril Nuggets." It's about this kid made of mucus and how he terrorizes the whole school with his frantic, flying, phlegm-flinging fists. Sofar, my favorite chapter is called "Cold and Flu Season."

Anyway, goodnight and good luck. Thank you for checking in.

With love, T

P.S. This is Donald Rumsfeld's, I mean, Aidan's favorite reading position. All tucked into mama panda. Amanda had to horn in for the picture. :-)

Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God

I didn't tell you about my crisis last week. My and Amanda's ipod wasn't working right, so instead of, say, planting the garden or talking with my kids, I spent the whole week doing diagnostics. I was pretty desperate and was about ready to beg the Best Buy geek guy to pretty please help me and . . . Alleluia, finally, the trouble shooting worked.

So, in case you were wondering, here are some of my latest downloads:

"Do you Sleep" by Lisa Loeb
"Your Life is Now" by John Mellencamp
"Everyday" by Dave Matthews Band
"Gravedigger" by Dave Matthews
"Possession" by Sarah McLaughlin

And what has to be one of the all time best songs ever: "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon.

So if I could be completely corny for just one paragraph, I want to say how amazing it is to be around here during graduation weekend. It's like all these people -- with all the cracks and flaws like the wingless angel in our community garden -- have worked so hard and for what? Mostly, to go out into the world and be of service. To make this planet a better place. To be the hands and the voice of the Grace of God which his bigger than anything. It's like you never imagine that there are so many people who actually want to do this, so much that they would go into personal debt, etc, ETC.

It's a beautiful thing.

So, here's my John, who is graduating today. I didn't have a chance to ask him if I could post his picture, so I'm hoping he doesn't mind. I just wanted to give you an example of the coolness of all this. When I first met John he was wearing a t-shirt with Archbishop Oscar Romero pictured on the front. He had just come back from two years in El Salvador. You may know that Oscar Romero is one of my heroes. Anyway, of course, I knew I would love John. And I do. I mean, look at him, pictured here at the Bob Speirs Family Benefit. He really is as adorable as he looks. He became and continues to be one of our fabulous LWR Colombia Sal y Luz peace leaders on campus and all over the Twin Cities. He is an amazing diplomat who has been able to chat with our US congress people on why we as Lutherans feel so devout for the situation in rural Colombia. Where pastor assassination and peasant massacres can happen regularly. If speaking up for these people isn't our Christian mandate, I don't know what is. And that's what John does. Sometimes when I bump into him on campus his cell phone rings, "Oh, it's Senator Norm Coleman's office, just a second Terri. . ." God's love through speed dial. Congratulations John!

So anyway, as we see people on campus this weekend, I'm getting emotional. Bob's getting emotional. And we just want to express our biggest congrats and gratitude to all.

And I wish for everyone a clear and timely call to ministry. You wouldn't believe how hard and long it is for seminary graduates to actually get placed in a church, agency, job, anything. The divine and human all mixed up. And sometimes the wait seems to lead to liver failure, a trip around the universe, a nervous breakdown, and a return to something so amazing you can't even describe it. Imperfectly angelic.

Wanted to close with a listen to the most played song on my ipod playlist: "I'll be Around" by the Spinners. Click and feel good!

With love, T

PS And with thanks to our good friend Pastor Deb who came over last night; she, Bob and I told eachother all our thoughts on God.

At the Alter of this Image

Let me tell you about this picture. It's the robust Bob, one year ago tomorrow. May 2006. At the Luther Seminary BBQ right after Baccalaureate service. Remember that, all you Speirs and Morks out there? You were all here.

But when I look at this picture I am transported to six months later, full moon December 2006, at the Mayo Clinic liver and kidney transplant unit, so very nicely outfitted with computers for the family. That's where I started the CoachSpeirs care page. It was just words that I spurted out to let everyone know what was going on and for my own release. People were so nice and forwarded the site to others. And soon this picture popped into my e-mail account. It was from our neighbor through the ceiling, Marc Ostlie-Olson.

"Thought you'd like this picture for the care page," he wrote.

I opened the file and just burst into tears right there in the transplant family room, like I'm doing right now, because, oh my God, if Bob could eat just one bite, ONE BITE, one half a bite, of what was on this plate. He had just vomited up jello a few hours earlier. He was a skeleton, barely making 1200 calories per day. When I opened up this picture file I realized that my original husband was gone and I grieved right there at the alter of this image on the screen. My current husband was emaciated, yellow, and couldn't think clearly. Like Alzheimer's. That was so scary that I didn't want to tell anyone, especially not Bob. Just kept noticing the signs of him losing his mind and quietly asked the nurse to chart them. I had read that unclear thinking is a sign of chronic liver disease, which we were hoping was only acute liver disease, aka temporary; as it turns out that's what Bob had, temporary but long running liver disease. Severe intrahepatic cholestasis to be exact. Along with his liver, kidneys, and appetite, so also was his brain shutting down. Indeed, we communicated very simply for a couple of months.

So, this picture is beautiful because tomorrow is it's one year anniversary and Bob is almost like this again. He went to hell. And I followed him into the dark. Many of you followed. And we all made it back together with a lotta help from our friends.

Anyway, this is my message to Marc and Patrick and Elieshi and to all of you who are graduating from Luther Seminary this weekend and to your families: You can't go! You can't leave us! You are a part of us! You own Bob's liver! This was way too intimate to just go away! We need you! If we stay, you gotta stay! No one will ever know Bob's liver the way you do! This is not fair!

There, got that out of my system. And now, I am barely composed. See why I blog? Just gotta get this stuff out or I'll burst.

The picture on the right is the "Spiritual Housekeeping" service that The Rev.-to-be Marc wrote and planned for us, involving all our neighbors. The Rev. Dr. Elieshi is here with him. About 30-40 people squished into our living room for that or at least it seemed that way. It was right after Bob's liver came back, February 2007. It was the most beautiful thing you could ever imagine. Marc said, 'be gone' to the bad spirit(s). He served up communion. He involved everyone. He preached that the Grace of God is bigger than death. He is correct.

On the theme of one year ago this graduation weekend, here is the Speirs-o-Brooklyn right after commencement. It was so joyful. And this weekend is joyful too. But in a waaaaay different way than I could have ever imagined.

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What can I say, it's a lovely day. I love yoga. Bob has a cold. My garden is not planted. We have a wonderful little surprise planned to thank our LWR volunteers. It was an amazing week at work. Almost time to pick up the kids from the bus stop. By the way, I'm bound and determined to be a more attentive wife and mother this weekend.

And I really should sign off now. Thanks everyone for coming over to the liver blog. It's so nice to have you here.

With love, T

Amanda's Soccer

With thanks to another soccer parent who apparently does not go to the 5:00 core power yoga class, here are some pictures from Amanda's Black Hawks team. Go girl power! This is a scrimmage otherwise they would all look very professional wearing their team uniforms. We'll try to get some pics of Sam too, who also plays with the Black Hawks of St. Paul. That is until he and his family return to Tanzania in July. Boo, hoo. That's another story.

Keeping it short tonight since I've been so long winded lately. I think I just heard a collective sigh of relief out there. :-) Still promising a house tour soon. Goodnight!

With love, T

We got a Poet!

Hello everyone and welcome to the liver blog. Thank you for coming over.

Last night Aidan informed me that he had watered our garden and that it was looking good. What I did not tell him is that our garden is not yet planted.

But I'll tell you who planted a garden. The LWR Board of Directors did. They announced the new LWR president this morning, after a nine month secret search. Friends, I was stunned, shocked, thrilled, elated. We all were. Joanne and I never wished so badly to be at headquarters in Baltimore.

They announced John Nunes, who had presented at the Virtual U this past April and inspired all of us about the vocation of a global citizen. Who knew that he was also in the candidate pool for LWR president. But the best thing is he's a poet. They hired a poet for our next president. Isn't that awesome? A poet CEO. I love it.

So today when Joanne and I listened on speaker phone while the Baltimore staff all gathered to meet and greet John Nunes and his wife, Monique;

When we heard him listen to us;

When we heard him tell cute stories about his personal life;

When we heard him charm, joke, and say inspirational things like, "If you don't think working here is about changing lives then you are working at the wrong place."

When we heard the room full of joy and laughter ring through the telephone speaker;

When we heard John Nunes orate one of his favorite poems by Derek Walcott, Nobel laureate (below) ;

When we heard all this a thousand miles away via telephone, I knew that a garden had been planted.

If you still don't believe me about the potential of this planet, maybe you'll believe John Nunes. And to the members of the LWR Board of Directors, I want to extend my deepest thanks for your thorough and excellent work. Thank you a thousand times. And to the other finalist, whose name I will probably never hear, I thank you for going through the process and wish you consolation and another big open door. Now the poem:

LOVE AFTER LOVE

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door,
in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,
and say,
sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

~ Derek Walcott ~

With love, T

P.S. I was going to give you a house tour today, but with this breaking news decided to wait on that for now. Coming soon, friends!

Relative to Bob's Liver

We're still living that way. Everything is relative to Bob's liver. And so yesterday when we went to Ashley's graduation reception it was the first time since last summer we had been to southern Minnesota, where my family lives. That is with the exception of the vertigo-panic road trips to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester. And yesterday when we saw my relatives -- many whom work at the Mayo Clinic -- it was like new. And since Bob's diva liver liked the Mayo Clinic, then I was very interested in exactly where the relatives worked.

So, what building are you in? (There are about 40) What floor are you on? We go to the 19th. Do you ever make it up there? Do you ever see Dr. Weiland? How is my St. Mary's hospital? Wanna have lunch at Bob's next appointment?

WELCOME TO DEXTER!

I wanted to introduce you to some of my relatives, relative to Bob's liver.

This is Danielle, my tenth grade neice. Isn't she the cutest thing you've ever seen? She's my God-daughter. She was flower girl in our wedding. When I was diagnosed with the thyroid cancer one of the first things I thought was how sad it would be to die and really never know my 9 nieces and 1 nephew. And even though I am a candidate for pastor's wife, I really don't know what it means to be a God-parent so I'm just making it up. I'm deciding to really focus on Danielle. And so I had come prepared with a little gift to congratulate her on her near perfect school attendance, making the honor role, and being finalist for student of the month. Way to go, Danielle! I also asked her to take care to not let her part time job become more important than school. Speaking from experience on that one. A good work ethic is good until it works against you. Lord grant us the wisdom to know the difference.

This is my Uncle Tim, one of the back bones of the Mayo Clinic. If there's one thing you can say about the Morks, they know how to work. Huge work ethic. Uncle Tim works in the main Mayo building. 7th floor. (I think he said 7th floor.) He asked me to be sure to mention in my blog that he is a dwarf so no one is confused by his short size. I don't know, I would say that he is probably by far the most beloved family member. I remember Uncle Tim for as long as I can remember anything. One day I'll introduce you to his twin brother, Uncle Tony, who is 6 foot 4.

These are my brothers. Wouldn't you want them to fix your boiler, wire your surround sound, custom build your anything, or save your life? Paramedic extraordinare, Tom, in the middle. He could be a surgeon. Lisa B, if you're out there, you know what I mean. These guys are also the most amazing family men. You'll meet their families later. Probably what made me crack up the most yesterday, though, was the way they played bochee ball -- lugging along a wastebasket full of ice and beer all along the bochee ball course. Beer and my brothers just go together. Left to right, Trey, Tom, Rusty. How do you spell bochee ball?

I'll close with this picture of my Dad and the new baby, I mean puppy, Molly. Actually, there's a lot more pictures but I'll save them for future blogs. Tomorrow's dispatch: The house that love built. Hint: tour of the house behind my brothers, aka the Dexter Convention Center as Bob calls it. Now tell me, don't you think my Dad looks like Rex Harrison, the guy on My Fair Lady and the original Dr. Doolittle?

So anyway, it was just great to see all my relatives. Talked so much that my new vocal chords where shot at the end of the day. Drove home quiet. (Me, that is, not the kids.) Tucked the kids into bed in mama panda sign language.

Just in case you're wondering, as I blog, Bob watches his new favorite series The Sopranos. He's up to season 3. Just getting some good sermon ideas and he cannot be disturbed. That means I need to excuse myself from here and get the kids to bed.

Thanks for coming over! I hope you all have a good night.

With love, T

P.S. Oopsie, almost forgot . . .thanks, Ashley, for the great party.

The Brilliant Young Governor

Once upon a time there lived a brilliant young governor who deeply cared for the rich coastal rain forest and the people of his state.

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If you could take the agility and precision of Shakira's hips and put them into social and interpersonal understanding. . .you would have Mr. Luis Gilberto Murillo . We worked together at LWR for seven years or so and I was very happy to see him last night.

Ahhh, Luis. I hope he won't mind if I tell you that around the office we consider him best telephone voice. As I said before, 100 percent pure Colombian. But it's his other voice that really makes Luis special. His voice for others.

Luis gets people. And he gets how to get people to change for the better. He's a masterful politician. And I mean politician in all the positive sense that it is supposed to be. Supremely relational. Profoundly respectful. Motivating people and groups to act for the common good. It's his gift.

That's why they wanted to kill him. Because he said NO to the paramilitaries and other armed factions who wanted to operate in the state he governed, Choco, Colombia. He passed a law that said NO ARMED FACTIONS HERE. And because he was already seen as a young, brash, charismatic governor his actions got a lot of national attention. It put him on a list. He was kidnapped, held captive, then returned with an ultimatum. Cooperate with armed factions or die. Luis didn't back down.

Luis calls it naivety. I call it brave beyond belief.

I said it once, I'll say it again. There is much goodness on this planet with so many people who act of the utmost highest of integrity.

With the help of friends Luis, his wife, and their young children went underground separately for a couple weeks, met at the airport and flew out of the country. A brilliant young governor gone. Exiled. Luis says that he is not brave. He was blessed with his life, he says. Many others do not have such a choice to escape.

"Their option is a bullet," Luis says.

The tragedy turned into something else because you know where he ended up? Washington DC. A place where brilliant young politicians could do well, if they can figure it all out. Which Luis did.

Luis has helped LWR to gain respect on Capital Hill. More and more, when congress needs advice about a developing country, say Sudan, they look to LWR for expertise. That's a good thing. But also, Luis has helped LWR to set up communities of Salt and Light, whereby we ordinary folk in good 'ol midwest USA can stand with other people in Colombia who get put on assassination lists and such -- oftentimes rural pastors -- and effectively protect them. To me, the Salt and Light program is like a living, breathing, organic connection to eachother, our faith, and this planet.

Meet an ordinary housewife. That's what Kathy Hollander (photo, right) calls herself. She's one of the LWR Salt and Light volunteer leaders. Well, whatever she wants to call herself, she has relationships with her congress people and respectfully chats with them regularly about US foreign policy and how to transform massive military 'aid' to badly needed social aid. She even traveled to the most dangerous regions of Colombia last year (with much precaution). You can see by her piles and piles of reports, maps, and documents that she's into this. Kathy can take the complexity of Colombia and package it into an easy-to-understand half hour. (Let me know if you want her or others to speak at your church on this.) She's the best volunteer ever and she's all ours!

I love ordinary housewives. Si se puede. Yes we can. Friends, this is democracy in high form. This is putting our mouth where our faith is. Caring for all. Thank you, Luis, for showing us how to do this and for showing us that we can do this.

*

And the brilliant young governor lived happily ever after.

Ok, not quite that simple. Actually, Luis is taking some rest time. It's been intense for him. And in January he lost yet another very close relative in Colombia via senseless assassination. Luis is reading and researching. He's a visiting scholar at a university. He's spending time with his wife and kids who are growing older and who need him. He's trying to figure out what it means to be in exile. Do you go back home? Should you? Do you stay here? Where now is home?

I had a vision yesterday during my ipod walk. Imagine this: Luis as U.S. Secretary of State. Some of you know Luis. Can you see it?

'But secretaries of state must speak Russian and be Russian scholars,' you might be saying to yourself. He does. He is. Check that off.

I mentioned that to Luis last night. He laughed. But I'm serious. Luis IS diplomacy. It's his vocation. It oozes right outta him.

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Well, I just don't know how I get blessed by meeting so many interesting and wonderful people. And this weekend is jammed packed with them. More to come. Stay tuned! Me and my digital camera are going back out again today.

With love, T

P.S. The LWR Salt and Light project is always looking for more people, churches, and campuses to join the effort. Benefits include a reduced rate of rural pastor assassination, a lotta joy, and meeting people like Luis and Kathy.

More info on Luis here. Click his bio.

The Evolution of Everyone

Let me try this one on you. Women are more highly evolved.

What do you think of that idea? No, I'm not a man-hater, in fact quite the contrary. But I'm just thinking about women's tendencies to process things, plan things, think things through to the very minutest of details and repercussions. Women through out the history of time have been mostly kept in the realm of the home, the private arena. Since raising children is amazingly important, that is a good thing. However, we really don't know what our world would be like today if women also operated openly in the public arena through the centuries. And yes even though we are in a modern new millennium, if you take a look around it's mostly all men leading.

Women really need to be in leadership in both realms -- private and public. Home and world. Of course that is an impossible balancing act. We are amazingly tired from raising kids and going to work. Or amazingly sad that we don't have kids. Or amazingly lonely from being home alone. Or bored out of our minds for not having some big 'ol project to sink into. Or just trying to not feel guilty for going to core power yoga instead of to the kids' bus stop.

That's where the men need to come in. Men need to A.) protect women and B.) create situations that allow women to flourish in both realms. Because 1.) women are often physically bulled and 2.) when women do well so do the men. EVERYONE evolves.

In the field of international sustainable development it is a well accepted notion that when women are involved in the leadership of the project, whatever that project may be -- building a well, developing a school, organizing a community, raising food, reducing infant mortality -- the project is more successful. It's a documented fact. There is no dispute. (I'm not an expert on this, but my colleagues at LWR are.)

And I've met more and more men who get great satisfaction in the private realm. Cooking, caring for the kids, taking care of home stuff. When you think of it, home making is a fairly solitary venture and if I could generalize even more, men tend more often to be solitary beings.

So, why did I wake up on this topic this Saturday morning? Because last night I met with my cohort from the Leadership Institute at the College of St. Catherine. An amazing group of women who lead from the heart to create effective change in all their arenas: personal, professional, and volunteer.

Here they are, with apologies to Kimberly who is peaking out behind Barbara. L-R, Kris, Betsy, Lynae, Kimberly with Barbara in front, Georgine, Mary, me, Rosie. There's another whole half of the co-hort who wasn't able to come. We met once a month for a whole year to learn about leadership. Hello to you all if you're out there! Friends, these are highly accomplished, ethical, and innovative women. University professor. Principal. Organizational effectiveness consultants. Community education developers. Finance and program executives. Corporate and non-profit. Mothers, aunties, mentors.

And my dear husband came with me and loaded up on the intensity of our estrogen-charged circle power. It wasn't ESPN that's for sure. . . thanks honey! :-) And yet, like what women do, they surrounded him with attention and concern for his liver, his pastoral call, his whole being. That's what women do.

I'm telling you, let women do their thing. Don't hold us back. Don't be threatened. Protect us. Help us with the kids and the daily tasks. You will be better off. You will be loved more profoundly. And this whole planet will evolve too. I promise.

Now, after having said all this -- tonight I will meet with a man who is among the most evolved, incredible, courageous, inspiring, smart, handsome, charming and wonderful human beings ever. Hint: 100 percent pure Colombian. Yes, I'm bringing my digital camera so stay tuned. You don't wanna miss my next blog.

With much love, T

P.S. Continuing on the theme of cute dogs, here's Zeus. Zeus' mama, Lynae, is one of the funniest and smartest women I know. Sometimes I contact her outta the blue and she mentors me. She and Georgine have their own consulting business.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Last night on the Virtual University we were talking about Martin Luther's teaching's on vocation, how how we are suppose to follow our passion and realize it as a calling from God. Whatever our passions may be. It made me think about my Dad who has driven truck for over 40 years. It is indeed his vocation as he does it to the glory of God.

Happy Birthday Dad!!

So, in honor of my Dad's birthday and my awesome post-surgery power surge, I wanted to invite you to see this performance of "Feeling Good" by Michael Buble'. This is on my ipod playlist and holy cow can this guy sing. And whoever wrote the lyrics is a genious. Exactly how I feel. There's about a 1 1/2 minutes of chatter then. . .ENJOY! Watch the whole song.



With love, T

By the way, that's not me

Easter 2007.

Oh my goodness, can you believe how great Bob looks here? The thing is, we never took pictures of what he looked like when his liver was gone. The egg yolk eyes, the emaciated body, and the tormented being. I think I myself took a picture of it, though. Too many pictures. They're all somewhere inside me. And now I'm thinking I should have just put one on the digital camera so the images might leave me alone.

Thanks everyone, again, for walking with us during the terrible time that is now far, far behind us. Thank you a thousand times over and over. Someday, I really do want to turn those care pages into a book. It will be dedicated to you all.

But now the thing is, I look at this picture and the first thing I think is, this is not me. This picture was taken just one day before my throat biopsy and well you know how the rest of that month went. Ahem, last month. Turkish surgeon come and gone. And now it's like I'm a different person. Even ask Bob. Ask Martha A+. I'm not the same. Today I am just who-I-am-is-what-you-got. Maybe that's the gift of cancer. And I say that fully knowing that I survived the easy cancer. It just is. Thyroid cancer is the easy cancer. No chemo.

You know what? I haven't even been to one single soccer game or karate class. That's what Amanda and Aidan are doing now. I barely know what's going on in their school. I don't pick them up at the bus stop. I don't cook them dinner. I go hours and hours -- like more than 12 hours on some days -- without even seeing them. My own kids.

What am I doing? Listening to my ipod obsessively on the bus to and from the office. Figuring out how to fit core power yoga in to my day everyday. Looking for the courage to resume dance classes. Thinking about my next doctor visit. Which, by the way, today went very nicely. My Ethiopian Endocrinologist, Dr. Asfaw, was as beautifully refined as ever and told me I shouldn't feel like I should wear a scarf all the time. Wondering what song I should put on my ipod next.

Is that what a wife and mother does?

No.

I don't know.

It's like a different kind of retreat. I've gone away without leaving home. Bob is taking care of everything. And I mean absolutely everything. He shops, cooks, cleans, works out the kids' schedules. He even got me that book today that I've been wanting, Prague. All I do is go to work, yoga, and come home. That's it. Read a chapter or two of Captain Underpants to Aidan. Ask Amanda how her last 24 hours were. Think about my next ipod download. Have a fleeting thought of that sleezy Paul Wolfowitz and how finally, FINALLY, he has been dismissed from the World Bank in shame. As if one botched war wasn't enough shame for him. Make that two botched wars. Didn't he do Afghanistan too?

It's like the next wave of liver recuperation is upon me. My first therapist would be so impressed. She didn't exactly work out, plus she moved her practise to another city anyway. All I did was cry when I saw her. Now I never cry. All I do is move about downtown Minneapolis to the music on my ipod and conspire with myself on how to get to the next yoga class.

This is not how nice midwestern women are supposed to be. And a candidate for pastor's wife at that.

It's still the post surgery power surge. It just won't stop. I hope it never does. I think it's OK. Bob says I am really different. I am.

They say that you're supposed to find your own voice, your authentic self. Maybe I'm lucky enough to have finally accomplished that. Don't worry, I won't be a selfish mother for long. Just for now. It feels so good.

With love, T

P.S. We have an incredibly amazing weekend coming up. Lots-o-pictures and bloggin already in the plans. Please come back.

Leaving my Turkish Surgeon

This is not fair. You get cancer. You get nervous. You get referred to a Turkish surgeon.

Your Turkish surgeon is charming. Your Turkish surgeon becomes someone on whom you trust and depend. Your Turkish surgeon uses a magic marker to draw a horizontal line on your throat. Your Turkish surgeon opens you up and then removes your cancer, tension, and anguish.

You fall in love with your Turkish surgeon.

Your Turkish surgeon tells you that everything looks great. Your Turkish surgeon tells you that you don't need to see him anymore unless 'you get yourself into trouble again.'

Why can't I keep my Turkish surgeon? I mean, this is all happened in the span of exactly one month.

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My little garden plot finally got some attention last night. Most everyone else's is quite already planted. You should see the way the Africans grow food in our community garden on a hill at Luther Seminary. While I harvest a few tomatoes and zucchinis here and there, the Africans can grow enough food to last their families through February. Same dirt. Same size plot.

Went up there last night to turn my earth around and found that someone had planted me two tomato seedlings. I had a sneaky suspicion that it was from one of the Africans. Sure enough, Joe Ivan of Tanzania did it. We come from the same tribe, the Metro New York Synod. While my director, Brenda, is from the Chagga tribe. (Silly Lutheran companion synod humor.)

My ability to produce food from the ground up is about as shaky as my core power yoga yet I love it. The first summer I lost hope because my seeds were just not coming up. Until one day, 'We replanted your garden, Terri, hope you don't mind,' said my other Tanzanian neighbors, Andy and the Rev. Dr. Elieishi. Really? Thanks! It's beautiful! They had reconstructed my sad little patch with seedlings from their own; this time planting it the right way, in many neat rows. Their whole garden usually looks like a masterful organic woven tapestry that spawned from the music of a harp. If you could draw or paint, their garden plot would be your subject. If you ever wanted to sow vegetables in the design of, say, a labyrinth, you would ask Andy to plant it for you.

Sometimes when I go up the hill to water, there are about ten Swahili speaking people already there doing the same, in long bold print clothes to keep mosquitoes away, chatting in their common language. I fill and sprinkle the water bucket over my leafy greens that are trying so hard to grow as good as their next-door leafy greens. . .I fill and sprinkle, fill and sprinkle, and transport myself to Kenya, Nigeria, Liberia, and Tanzania.

*

And so tomorrow I go back to my Ethiopian Endocrinologist, Dr. Asfaw, the one who sent me to the Turkish Surgeon in the first place. The one who said that he would walk with me and my cancer. The one who will monitor my thyroid replacement dosage, watch my cancer-prone lymph nodes and set up my upcoming radiation retreat.

My friend Martha A+ says that it's common for patients to feel connected with their surgeons. Can you imagine having a best friend who also happens to be a trained certified therapist?

Here's a picture of my parent's new puppy, yet to be named.

With love, T

P.S. Update: The puppy has been named. Molly. :-)

The Right to Be Silly

Bill won an award for this picture.
What do you think. . .utterly adorable? I think so too.

Who is Bill? He is my colleague at LWR, director of the Central American Regional Office. I was suppose to go there last October but ended up retrieving a lost liver instead. Maybe later I'll be able to join Bill and the coffee farm families in the mountains of Matagalpa, Nicaragua. Wanna come with me? We're taking a group next January, harvest season, as we do every year. Let me know if you're interested. Seriously. The farmers are waiting for you. And Bill's artistry will further delight you.

Anyway, I thought you might enjoy this. When I asked Bill if I could use it he said, "Mi picture es Su picture." So, there you go! Nice job, Bill. Thank you.

From Bill about the pic: "The right to indulge in pure, unrestrained expressions of joy, fun and elation, forgetting for a moment the challenges of everyday life ... the child in the picture is the daughter of a member of a Women's Natural Medicine and Plant Collective located in Matagalpa, Nicaragua. With the help of Lutheran World Relief and its local NGO partner CIPRES work with the women so they can improve their incomes and better the health of their communities and families. With limited support, the women have been successful in generating an average of $500 a week through the sales of their natural medicines and herbal products."

(Matagalpa is also where Cafe Nica from the LWR Coffee Project is grown.)

Sigh. Wow. Beautiful. Now do you believe me when I say that this planet is all full of good?

So today to curb my adrenalin I took a yoga class at Corepower Yoga. OK, consider my energy properly humbled as my quivering arms and legs tried their very best to twist on those super awkward positions, though the muscled teacher was very nice and patient. As I worked to strike a somewhat non-shaky yet confident Warrior pose, my eyes fixed out the window and across town to the very highrise where my office is. This is not in Manhattan, I remembered. Everything is in easy walking distance in downtown Minneapolis. Sigh. Wow. Beautiful.

I've been thinking more about this idea of surgically removing anguish and tension. Quite a notion, right? The opposite of transplant. Oh and guess what, I finally found a picture of the one who removed my cancer, anguish, and tension. Here he is, the one and only Dr. Sanan who I see tomorrow. Only this picture doesn't even begin to show you his charm. Even Bob would attest to that.

Thanks for coming over. I hope you can enjoy some silliness soon.

With love, T

I'll be Around like a Full Body Wrap

So today in church during sharing of the peace Miss Kim (photo) gave me a full body wrap, tightening her tiny little arms all the way around me because she heard my name in the prayers. I think she is one of the most generous people I've ever met. Forced to leave her home country of Vietnam by herself after the war, you would think she would be bitter or at least sad. But no, she flutters about the pews giving kisses and hugs and hand-holds to people like me. I wondered about her mother, her children, her children that would-have-been. It being Mother's Day and all.

The great thing about an ipod is that when you think of a song you have always loved, you just look it up and it's there. I just added "I'll be Around" by the Spinners to my playlist. So now my walks are 3 minutes and 14 seconds longer. This song has been a favorite since, I don't know, ninth grade. And now, it's all mine.

It's a great dance tune. Good for a choreographer to keep in mind.

Whenever you call me, I'll be there.

This morning when the choir sang the final hymn I just started crying. Why? I don't know just a release I think. The buzzing that continues to move me since my meeting with Dr. Sanan. During coffee hour, our music director mentioned that he heard tension builds up in the throat. Have you ever imagined surgically removing anquish?

Whenever you need me, I'll be there.

Right here right now, I'm enjoying my Mother's Day breakfast in blog. Which is my version of breakfast in bed, since I don't sleep anymore. Cheese omlette, toast, and a pink rose served up on a tray by the computer, courtesy of my husband.

Whenever you want me, I'll be there.

So we give thanks for our Mothers, Martha-o-Brooklyn and Diane-o-Dexter. The shoes-on, shoes-off moms. The brand loyal moms. The would do anything for their kids moms. The tougher-than-they-look moms. Both who served us well this year that's for sure. Thanks yous Moms.

I'll be around.
For a long, long time.

Thanks everyone for coming by. I really appreciate it. And I hope you all have a Happy Mother's Day. Where ever your children are, are not, and would be.

With love, T

Say hello to Count Dracula

OK, so this is borderline obsessing on my incision but since I am obsessed with my surgeon, who I think is Turkish by the way, why not also be with my wound. Here's to you, Sarah Ford, and to the rest of you who keep morbid fascination with flesh cuts to the throat. To all my vampires. Joanne and Al, are you stopping by Transylvania?

Another way to think of it is those flip-o-ramas that you see in the Captain Underpants books. You know where you flip the page back and forth to create action, usually the superhero pounding on some bad guys, for example the Alien Nerd Infiltrators disquised as Cafeteria Ladies. With scarf, without it, with, without. Sorry, mixing second grade humor with Count Dracula and the awesome Dr. Sanan doesn't go together for even one single second.

Anyway, here's a close up, day four. It's looking pretty good actually. Thanks for letting me obsess. Putting secrets out on the superhighway is healing, in spirit and flesh.

Meanwhile, my adrenalin is going outta whack. It's like all the bound up energy from this procedure, Bob's liver, Bob's graduation almost one year ago, and the anguish in the languish of the call process just all unwound inside of me and let go. All today. Like I'll never need sleep again. Went out to get bagels for the family this morning, ended up spending the bagel money on myself in a new boutique that I wandered into. Self centered adrenalin at that. 'Honey, how about if mama pours you a bowl of cereal instead,' is how I explained it to Aidan.

Laters gators. With love, T

Just taking out the Trash

I just took the late night garbage out to the drop at the end of the hallway. Forgot to wear my scarf. Bumped into Isaac and Joshua, two of our loveable twelve-year-oldish boys around here.

'Sorry, I forgot to wear my scarf, guys,' I said.

That's OK, we've seen a lot of stuff. They look. Oh cool!

Then I bumped into the Rev. Orin Cummings. Same thing. 'Sorry, I forgot to wear my scarf.'

That's OK, Orin said. Pastors see a lot.

But the best thing is that Orin told me that the brain tumor they removed from Marie Hayes is benign. Glory! Two surgeries well done in one week. I'm really glad that I took the trash down the hall. While Marie would seem to have quite an extensive recovery after her surgery, my day today was almost just plain old normal. Beautifully ordinary. How weird is that? I felt terrific. Nothing like being flat out for three days to make you remember how much you love spring and garage sales, being with your family, fixing your hair, and cleaning up the kitchen. And remembering how much you love to get flowers and gifts and messages -- thank you all.

Goodnight friends. It is great to be alive.

With love, T

Hello Friends

And welcome to the thyroid blog, I mean liver blog, well, actually really it's the heart blog. We're an equal opportunity vital organ-ization around here.

It's so GREAT to be home. My neck looks pretty icky though, looks worse than it feels. The kids talk to me from the side so they don't have to look at it. I cover it up, then they say, that's OK, Mom, you don't have to cover it up. Mostly, I'm just letting my Mom and Bob wait on me and trying to get comfy with this bobble head of mine.

And trying to figure out surgeons. I mean, how do they do it? This human cutting and sewing magic. Or in my case its cutting and pasting -- have a big swatch of glue on my neck, part of what looks to ominous. Even though it's better than stitches or staples. OH MOM! Said Amanda, wrinkled nose in disgust.

Surgeons work with such confidence. I guess they have to, right? "The most dangerous part of your day is your car ride here," said Dr. Sanan who is so dang cute I could just eat him up. "I love doing this, that's why I chose this work," is what Dr. Sheffelbein said, who we call the Mensa Barbie. I mean, she looks like a movie star. Which was about the about the last thing I thought before waking up to "it's over."

It's really quite amazing, right?

Thank you for your thoughts, words, and prayers. I can't believe how much it all makes such a difference -- all of you. Thank you. And we also keep in mind Marie Hayes, the international student coordinator here at Luther Seminary who had a brain tumor removed on Tuesday.

With love, T

P.S. And kudos to my husband for blogging, with the help of Amanda who got him through the passwords and such. xoxoxoxxoxoxoxxoox

To Have and Have Not (with apologies to E. Hemingway)

The day began as any other, with a nudge of my elbow to Terri begging her to get up first and make the kids lunch for school. sure as long as you drive them up to the bus stop she replied. That's a deal...another 1/2 hour of sleep. Now is this any way to treat a women who is looking at surgery on her pretty neck in another 5 hours. Sometimes I can be shameless, but a 1/2 hour extra sleep is a 1/2 extra sleep, who could really blame me?
After my guilty conscience had once again forgiven itself, it was on to the hospital for the pre-surgery review and the same battery of questions asked over and over, 4 different times...kind of like a candidacy committee I thought to myself.
Finally the surgeons arrived about 1 hour after the time that was scheduled...reassurance that everything would go well, they were ready and extremely cabable to perform their task for the day. A nervous smile from both Terri and all who were with her in the small pre-op room, a couple of hugs and kisses, prayer and off she went to surgery at about 1:30.
Then the waiting began for me, Mom and Dad M., brother-in-law Tom (paramedic extraordinare) and Martha A., one of our many GREAT friends. At 5pm. Dr. Sanan finally came to the waiting room spotted several very anxious family members and declared the surgery a complete success, Terri's Thyroid was gone...the patient now in Post-Op, although still very sleepy was recovering well.The prognosis: an expected full and complete recovery with nothing else spotted during surgery to cause any concern. A few more hugs, some tears of joy and relief and another wait of about 2 hours till Terri was finally given a hospital room. Mom and Dad M., Mary Beth P. another great friend and neighbor and I spent another couple of hours with Terri, still sleepy and unable to speak because of a sore throat but happy to have the company and care.
At this point we're not sure when my lovely wife will be coming home, hopefully tomorrow maybe Thursday, stay tuned for further details. Projected recovery time: 1 week.
Just a few more words of thanks to Pastor Sue, our fabulous pastor at Christ Church, for her pre-op Pastoral Care, to Pastor Harry yet another great friend and mentor for his presence and prayers, Patrick Patterson for caring for Amanda and Aidan this day and to all our other family and friends who have cloaked us in their love, prayers and support. Thank you and God Bless you, you all are the best!
Bob, (fill-in blogger for his wife...who I hope will assume this responsibility again real soon)

P.S. This is my first time blogging, be grace-filled, try not to laugh too hard ...please!

Giving Power to the Faint

"Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. God does not faint or grow weary; God's understanding is unsearchable. God gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless." Isaiah 40:28-29

This is part of what the Rev. Orin Cummings read to us, when he and his wife and son, our dear neighbors, courtesy of Guyana, came to pray with us tonight. And more prayers and visits and e-mails and phone calls to prepare me for surgery tomorrow.

So tonight, when we synced up my ipod the little round thingie that goes in circles-circles-circles, syncing the computer with the ipod -- I imagined the human and divine intertwined like that. Literally. Like the buzz of God syncing-syncing-syncing with the surgeon's hands and brains so that everything is constantly perfect. No human error.

Amanda will be covering the liver blog while I'm out. Thanks for coming over, everyone. I really appreciate your support.

With love, T

P.S. Just in case you wanted to see the podcast programs I downloaded as though I'll be recovering for a year. And it's all free!

AmericanWriters
New York Times Book Review
Cafe Podcast
Jodi Picoult Podcasts
Learn Spanish
LearnOutLoud's Biography
Miettes Bedtime Story
New York Times Movie Review
Mysterious Universe
Newsweek Voices of the Fallen
NPR Books
NPR Fresh Air
NPR Selected Shorts
NPR Story of the Day
NPR Talk of the Nation
Rick Steves Audio Tours
Slates Audio Book Club
States Political Gabfest
State Magazine Daily Podcast
The Essays of Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Music of Sleep
This American Life
Washington Report

And the Secret IS. . .

Burning question: What is this?

a. The latest incarnation of Lani's pink pajamas.
b. Another self portrait of one of my children.
c. A pedicure courtesy of mama panda.
d. Amanda's most recent fashion design.
e. All of the above.

(This is a trick to get you to read the deep dark secret superhighway of my blog.)

The answer to this burning question can be found at the end of this secret. And the secret is. . .I'm scared of surgery. I don't wanna go. It sounds really creepy. They're going to cut my throat. What if the surgeons have an off day? What if the anesthesia doesn't work right? Come to think about it, what kind of anesthesia are they using? I hated that epidural thingie for Amanda's c-section. Can't I just go to work on Tuesday, instead?

What: removal of Terri's thyroid and lymph nodes and their respective cancer and cancer-wanna-maybes
When: Tuesday, May 8, noon
Where: United Hospital, downtown St. Paul
Why: forget this question, it's futile
Who: the people with me include my husband, my parents, my paramedic extraordinaire brother, my best friend, and Pastor Sue with communion; and many of you said you would/are praying for me; thanks ~ not a bad line up

I always knew I wanted to be a reporter. There's the first paragraph of the story. Now, to answer the burning question. Aren't you glad you read this? Here's the answer. . .ready. . .it's e. All of the Above. All I can say is, when Amanda is a the new Vera Wang, we really gotta find a way to thank Lani for all the inspiration her PJ's gave.

With love, T

P.S. I would like to thank the Dixie Chicks for saving me and Amanda from the Grease Soundtrack. "I'm not gonna follow, no I'm not gonna follow. . ." is sooooooooo much better than being hopelessly devoted to Danny Zuko. Thank you, Natalie Maines, thank you.

Butterflies and Sunshine on Sticks.

I hope Dr. Freid, the band teacher, will forgive me when I say that I tried to get out of taking Amanda to the Cinco de Mayo parade today. Do you really have to go? Said mama panda in hibernation. Coffee and pajamas sounded like a better Saturday morning. "Yes, mama, we have to go."

Butterflies and Sunshine coming up, first, some flat out complaining. . .

You know what? I am really tired of carting kids around to practices, rehearsals, classes, and events. It used to be fun. Not anymore. Even after taking the year off, courtesy of the liver expedition, it's still too much. Our soccer schedule alone is like a physics equation that can't be solved.

(Two children X three practices per week) + different start times that change / divided by the square root of respective soccer field locations all over town % rounded up to the nearest mile of who gets dropped off last and picked up first -- minus overlapping swimming lessons and sleep overs and and family dinners squared exponentially by the price of gas that is breaking corporate oil profit records and fueling wars lavished by no-bid defense contracts funded by my tax dollars . . .

. . .and all of a sudden my vertigo and temper logarithms spin outta control. Bob sees the signs and says, "Don't worry about this, don't even think about this, I will handle all the soccer stuff. You just rest. There, there. You just stay right where you are. Don't even move." Like the egg shell that is his wife about to crack. Though I am good to go on the bus schedule into Minneapolis. Now do you see why we need Bob and his liver?

How did I get from Cinco de Mayo to whining?

Oh yeah. . .I didn't want to go to this parade, but when I got there I was transported. It was awesome. The Mayas. The Aztecs. The Energy. The Mariachi bands. The Girl Scouts in those flamenco-like dresses. Red, Yellow, Orange, Green everywhere. Flutes and Trumpets tooting out "La la la la la Bamba!" Over and over down the parade route. La la la la Bamba! A cute little brassy squeak here and there, but pretty darn good I thought. The most amazingly Amanda flute marcher.

And the most awesome Adams Spanish Immersion School with students, teachers, and parents donning bright Butterflies and sparkly Sunshines on sticks. They had worked all week painting and creating. It was so beautiful and I wished so badly that I had a better camera to capture it for you all.

Maybe one of the best parts about this is that I had another blog-meets-real-life moment, whatever that word will end up being. Seems as though one of the teachers had her own expedition this year, courtesy of a fanciful pancreas. Her pancreas + Bob's liver = two families interrupted. We chatted about such things in the fast and loud minutes while the parade lined up, connecting in a way that would not be possible if it were not for the deep dark secret superhighway of the blog. Thank you Señora D.

Friends, again, I thank you so much for coming over to the liver blog. Time for me to go back to my real life and say good-night to the blog life. I hope you and your loved ones are well.

With love, T

P.S. I have a lot more pics but my dog-gone substitute camera isn't quite cutting it.

My Brother from Another Mother

That's what Aidan and Sam call each other.

No wonder. When I asked Sam's father for permission to blog about Sam and post his picture he said, "Sure why not, he's your son too." In many ways that's how we feel. Actually, that's how many people feel about Sam because he's like the valedictorian of charm school.

So anyway, mostly I just wanted to show you this cute picture of Sam and his new soccer cleats. Are they awesome or what?! Bob said that when they were shopping choices, Sam's eyes found this pair and it was like love at first sight.

For Easter, dear friends from church gave Aidan one of those Mad-Lib books. You know, those stories with blanks where you insert nouns, verbs, adjectives and such to make it extra funny. Sam helped Aidan figure out how to do it (photo) and then it was like another freedom let loose. Aidan learned that he could insert his two favorite words into every blank. For those of you who can stomach second grade humor, his favorite Mad Lib is below.

PLEASE, you must believe me when I tell you that the humor is all Aidan's. Sam humors Aidan like the best big brother in the world. Which is exactly what Sam is to Aidan.

Speaking of friends, how about this pair. Bob and Patrick heading out to the greens. Who wouldn't want these guys to be their pastors? Speaking of, Patrick just stopped by and said that they've got pizza for our kids, why don't Bob and I have a anniversary outting just the two of us. How about that! So, with no further ado, we're heading out to dinner!

Take care, friends. Thank you for coming over to the liver blog. I hope you and all your vital organs are doing well.

With love, T

P.S. Oopsie, almost forgot the Mad Lib which you will surely wish I actually had. Later I'll give you Dave and Linnea's phone number if you want to personally thank them for giving Aidan this book. ;-) Aidan's word choices in bold.

Science Project

This year, everyone in my class had to do a nasty science fair project. For my project, I decided to put an old fart in the refrigerator to see what would happen to it. After a few days, it started to turn nasty and fart. I couldn't believe it -- I'd never seen anything so nasty! After a full week, it started to look like a flattened fart and smelled like a nasty. But all my fart work paid off. At the science fair, I wond a special award for having a really nasty project. I even got a fart ribbon that siad "Super Nasty Science Student" and a big trophy shaped like a fart!

Another P.S.
Congratulations to Sam's mother who is now officially "The Rev. Dr." after last week successfully defending her Ph.D. thesis. Hurrah!!!!!!!!!!

Another New Word

I am bound and determined to come up with a new vocabulary word. The definition would be something about the altered state of being when you face the fact that some people actually do read your blog and then you wonder if you really want people to know this stuff about your life, but then of course you realize that it is you and only you who makes the decision about putting the minutia of your thoughts and days out into the cyber universe. Why is that important? Why would anyone do this? I don't know, and I'm one of them.

Maybe it's the same reason that guy put his phone number on youtube.com and now he gets a phone call a second. He looked so earnest on one of those morning shows, when the Katie-Couric-ish host said, 'C'mon, smile! You're on TV!' And he could only keep his heavy face as he talked about how people would call him because they had no one else to talk to.

It's our need to connect.

A friend recently said that she sees blogging as a way for the world to heal. I like that.

The new word I would want to invent is something how electronic writing makes real life different. Better. Richer. Weirder. It's like you see someone to whom you would usually simply say "hello" if you saw them on the street. But since you've read their blog, you know all these details of their life and so you wonder if you should say something like, "Oh, I'm so sorry that you're leaving campus on Friday. I will miss you. Take care." Or if you should pretend that you don't know, because you don't want that person to know that you read their blog. Or should you keep the message in the same format, i.e. respond blog to blog. Real life to real life.

In this instance I let myself live in mixed-mediums. I actually hunted the kindred blogger down when I saw her half-packed car in the parking lot. Hunted her down by wandering around the apartments because I didn't know her well enough to know where she exactly lives, "Karen?! Karen?! Are you here? I wanted to say good-bye."

"Karen is upstairs," someone else offered out the screen from another apartment.

So I searched upstairs, found Karen, and had a good-bye that would not have happened if it were not for blogging. What would you call that? I would have been sad if I didn't say goodbye, because even though I didn't know Karen well, I did know her when she was a little girl because I was a youth director in her church oh so long ago. Just felt connected.

*

"I said the F-word to my kids." This was my admission to the now-famous Sarah Ford, who wrote such insightful messages on Bob's care pages. I saw her last week while in Baltimore. Sarah Ford, who finds a way to find peace with just about everything, unabashedly said that she already knew that because, "Terri, I read everything you write word for word."

That's Sarah. She is who she is. Doesn't care what anyone thinks. And so at home with that. And, yes, it was me anyway who already put that story out there for one and all. Why? Healing, I guess. I think the other friend is right. Blogging is for healing. Made me feel better.

I just wish blog was another word. "Blog" is so, like glog or clog or grog. Or remember those scud missles? It's like scud. There's got to be a better word. That makes two new words to come up with.

Anyway, thanks for coming over to the liver blog, friends. My dog-gone digital camera is on the fritz and it's just making me crazy because I'm missing out on so many good pics. This camera has become my new vital organ and now it left me just like the liver did, only I don't think this one is coming back. I'm missing so many good pictures. Our May Day cups. Aidan riding his bike like freedom set loose; just shy of 8 years old, he's finally riding his bike. After years of saying "I will never, ever, never ride a bike." Like someone else I know who said he would never, ever go to any kind of grad school, much less seminary. Freedom set loose at 50.

So the best I can do for today's picture is to post my avatar, which I'm discovering is a great way to 'visualize' when you telecommute. This is my office avatar.

With love, T