We're back!

Please come over to the new blog.

:-)
T

The Liver Blog is Retiring

You know what, Bob is right. It's time to put his liver away. Honestly, I think it wants to live a quiet life now and just do what it's supposed to do -- be a little noticed vital organ that binds bile and filters poisons. No drama. No personality.

So I've decided that it's time to stop with the liver shrine in thought, word, and deed.

It's time to move and it's time to move on.

Bob's liver and I are at peace and I am going to leave it alone.

This will be the last dispatch in the Rolling on the Liver blog. After we've crossed state borders and get internet hooked into our Iowa surprise, there will be a new blog and attitude. Please do check back here because I'll post the link here.

In the meantime I continue to happily refer you to Professor Mary Hess's blog for a daily dose of truth and reconciliation.

So what can I say, you have all been just wonderful and I hope you won't leave. It's merely time to change. The liver blog really helped me to process some of what happened and especially how so many people were involved. But I've realized that I can never tell you everything that people did for us. I can never thank everyone enough. I've realized it's impossible. What's that saying, "pay it forward." That's what I hope we can do. And maybe that's what the Iowa surprise is all about.

OK, friends, you've heard it here first. No more mention of Bob's liver. It is hereby now in it's proper place. It has no power over me. I promise. Over and out.

See you in a week or so.

With love, T

We're Moving

Come on over and we'll have a party. Actually, this is what it looked like around here last Saturday when Amanda invited one friend from school over; that somehow turned into a party of six. It was an impromptu girl-boy party. Aren't we such good parents to provide this senstive setting for such a tender growing up milestone?

Anyway, Bob is definitely #1 packer. He pretty much did all of this and more by himself. I'm a schlep. Plus, he finished his cardiac rehab today with flying colors. I told you Bob would be the bionic man one day again. Tada!

Emotions eleven still to come. Wednesday is moving truck day, cleaning apartment day, and take treats to the kids' last day of school day. Holy cow, and I remember like yesterday sending in the fax from our previous locale of Baltimore over seven years ago; a fax of Amanda's kindergarten application to this really cool public school that I had seen in a magazine. I was completely ridiculous in outlining this 4-year-old's every play date, Sunday school class, pre-school experience, kiddie community ed class, time with the babysitter, day care resume, etc, etc, thinking that it would get her in. In reality, all it took was an administrative snafu and wala -- she was accepted into a very wonderful school from all the way across the country, even before we had moved to St. Paul. Three years later, Aidan was grandfathered in. Sometimes all it takes is a clerical mistake and you can be a good mother. Whatever, I got myself two bilingual kids with two mono-lingual parents.

Anyway, 2 days left.

Take care, Love, T

Welcome to Montana!

What are friends for but to take you with to the mountains? At least via the liver blog. So, here are our dear friends, the Anderson's, on their way to Montana. Left to right -- Benny, Miranda, Martha A, Mara. It would be dog gone hard to determine which one is the cutest in this picture.

I do believe those are the Grand Tetons in the background. (I had a college roommate from Jackson Hole, Wyoming.) And there's Lonn in the picture too. Benny must be taking the picture.

This is truly a beautiful picture. Martha A's mother and father in it too; they visited us every time and every day that Bob was in a hospital in Rochester last year. It was Martha's dad, a Mayo MD emeritus, who called us into the emergency room that first time at the Mayo Clinic; the very same night that my brother came to get Bob to take him to the emergency room. And who helped us to decode medical-speak, for example, if they have used the words 'liver transplant' they really mean liver transplant. I thought it was just a euphemism of the liver transplant floor.

Family vacation.

Martha and Lonn. Well, what can I say? It's another one of those I-could-say-so-much pictures. For now I'll leave it at this -- Thanks for everything! Happy Birthday, Martha! Bye! Love you! Miss you! xoxoxoxoxo

Thank you Andersons, for letting us take a peak at your trip to Montana; and for our wonderful friendship.

With love, T

Which way is up?

I do not know the answer to that question. We're moving. All is good. All is great. But there are some really big questions that I cannot answer. Like, where should we get home owner's insurance? Where will my kids go to school? When will they start? Who will enroll them? How do you get to the airport? Is there mold in our new bathrooms?

But I can tell you this. We had a most wonderful dinner with Bob's cousin, Serena, and her fiance' Isaac. Both are living my vicarious lives as political science grad students at the University of Minnesota. So we chat, eat, drink, talk about the Speirs, and then get into Nelson Mandela, union organizing, and ideas on education. And for some reason Amanda and Aidan are amazingly well behaved while there. It's more than the cell phone games, right? We watch slides on South Africa, its vineyards, and Robben Island where Nelson Mandela cracked rocks for years. We consider political and humanitarian work in conflict situations. Of course I mention LWR's groundbreaking work in Colombia, where ordinary people trudge through jungles to negotiate with killers. And we marvel at how smart and fluid Uncle Randall and Aunt Anne are; Serena's grandparents; Bob's special uncle and aunt.

And you should see how much Amanda and Serena share features like height and hair, in spite of over 15 years difference in age, and a couple of college degrees. But I forgot my camera so I'm sorry that I can't show you.

And I am so dog gone tired that I really need to go to bed. It's been quite a week. And I'm sure you've had quite a week too. Didn't everyone have huge weeks?

We're moving to Des Moines in five days. We all wondered where Serena and Isaac will go when they get their PhD's next year and take off to a land of tenured-university-positions. Oh, please, God, let it be Des Moines. Wouldn't that be cool?

Take care everyone. I'm working on a birthday blog. Come back tomorrow.

With love, T

It's Empty Around Here

Hello and welcome to the liver blog. It's so nice to have you here.

I don't have a lot to say because I think my mind is emptying out in the same way our apartment is. The walls are bare. Packed boxes all over. Tomorrow Bob and Cynthia will bring over the bedroom set we inherit from Cynthia's parents. Her Dad died the month before we met her in 1999, just before the all of us moved to Baltimore. Her Mom died 4 days ago. It's been nice to spend time with Cynthia this week. I mentioned to my office-mate, Joanne, that it almost feels holy around here with all the emptiness. Like somehow we are being set free.

In a way, I just wish the next 14 days were over. I wish I could just skip the emotion of it all and move on. It's all good, but I'm not looking forward to another round of drama.

Here are my recent ipod downloads:
Mr Jones by Counting Crows
A Lifetime by Better than Ezra
Found Out About You by Gin Blossoms
Beautiful by g love

Aidan wonders if there is a bowling alley in Des Moines. I wonder about the condition of the bathrooms in the house we just bought. Bob, the only person who has seen the house that we just bought, can't remember. Amanda wonders about the dogs she sees on the Iowa humane society website. If they are taken off the website, does it mean they found a home? Or put to sleep?

I hope you are all well. Take good care.

With love, T

Why I should not write so late at night.

Don't you just want everything? You want kids, a husband, the best career in the world. You want to be a good friend, and great auntie. You want it all. But it usually doesn't work out that way. Something has to give. You want to be at every meeting. You want to cook every hot breakfast. You want to be at every bedtime tuck in. And you just can't. It is impossible. And you have to rely on others and the influence of others to make it work. There's really no other way. It goes back to the big lesson from this past year. You think you are in control, but you're really not. No one is. Control is a myth. Order is over-rated. You just do the best you can and let go. And let the butterfly come to you when it's ready.

Enough philosophizing for tonight. If you want something more substantial, I suggest going to Mary Hess's blog, where there is always a golden nugget of something worthwhile to think about.

Goodnight, T

Emmy Watch

Hi Everyone! Just want to remind you that prime time Emmy awards are on tomorrow night. Here are two good ones to watch for:

The Sopranos
Mrs. Soprano is like butter; James Gandolfini is exquisite.

Broken Trail
just when you thought globalization was a recent thing

And a little Saturday night special here; Bobby Calwell's classic "What You Won't Do For Love." I had the 8-track tape of this when I was a kid. Now have the Go West version on the ipod. Enjoy!

Love, T

Box-o-Wine, I miss You

Hello everyone and welcome to the liver blog. It's so nice to have you here.

Tonight Mary Beth called. Remember our neighbor who advised on how to manage an anorexic -- nobody told me that would come with the marriage deal; it's a liver thing -- and who recommended buying wine by the box? I think I will never buy a bottle again, even if I could afford it. There are just too many good memories of drinking wine in a box with Patrick and Mary Beth.

We would drink as we waited. We waited and waited for the calls. Days, weeks, months. They lived down the hall from us in student housing; a dorm for families. But not anymore because Patrick got a call and they are outta-here. This picture is from his ordination.

One of the really nice things about Patrick's ordination is that I got to chat with the amazing Dr. Mary Hess in the reception line. If I were in another place and another time, I would be a student and she would be my advisor. This is also the day that Mom Speirs enjoyed the ride in the country.

So the Patterson's are one month ahead of us. It works like this -- you wait forever and then BAM it happens. You got a call and then your life becomes a glorious high speed. You get a call and the church wants you to be there ASAP. And you wish you could be there ASAP. But you got a cancer treatment. A business trip. Cardiac rehab. To find a house. To negotiate not to get evicted from student housing. Find a bishop who can fit it into his schedule to lay his hands on your husband. Another business trip. Finesse kids and multiple schools. Plan an ordination, which is like a most holy high wedding. You move. You hope you figure it all out. Holy cow, it's like an avalanche of really, really big stuff.

One moment you're a schlep getting evicted from your apartment. The next moment your a pastor's wife. An insubordinate one.

Well, what the hey. We're going to Patrick's installation. And we may stay overnight. And we my share a box-o-wine like in the good 'ol days. Order is over-rated.

In the meantime, since school has started, I've discovered that the kids like hot breakfasts. And since I've been reading that crazy Anthony Bordain book, I've realized that I enjoy making hot breakfasts. That means that sofar every single morning before school and work, we've had pancakes, muffins, french toast, or eggs. And since Bob is forever on New York City time where you operate in evenings rather than mornings; he's waking up as I go off to work. By then, I've had about an hour or two of cooking breakfast and public radio; our morning goodbyes go something like this:

Me: Goodbye, babe.

Bob waking up: Goodbye, babe.

Me: Did you know that there are now more displaced Iraqi people than Colombian people?

Bob waking up: Oh.

Me: And there are a lot of displaced Colombian people.

Bob waking up: OK.

Me: There are 3 million displaced Colombian people.

Bob waking up: What did you say?

Me: Goodbye.

Bob still sleeping: Goodbye.

Public radio + me = a conversation like that pretty much every morning. Aren't you glad you didn't marry me?

Our nights are much more about Captain Underpants, which I still find incredibly funny. I promise, though, that I will upgrade our reading to Harry Potter soon. Since we are the only people in the world who have not read Harry Potter. And everyone says we simply must read Harry Potter. Well, I am telling you, you simply must read Captain Underpants.

Anyway, here is the picture I've been promising you. It's the one with the matching eye glasses that Bob and I accidently got. Remember that day when we were anticipating our surgeries? And speaking of, Bob says that he sees my surgeon, Dr. Sanan, all the time in the parking ramp at United Hosptial. It's so unfair.

Me and my box-o-wine are going to bed. Goodnight.

Love, T

Welcome to Egypt

Bob's sisters, Carol and Lorrie (center, and center right) just got back from visiting their inlaws in Egypt.

There is so much I could say about this picture. For now I'll sum it up in three words: The Wisconsin Dells. Which is where we all spent the most memorable four days in the history of a seminary career. Forget the Red Sea; the Mediterranean Sea, no. We went to the water park capital of the world. Imagine a grocery store in rural Wisconsin. Imagine two Egyptian men (Magdi and Ragaey, far left and right) at the cash register with a cart full of food, voraciously arguing in Arabic. "I will pay for this!" "No, I insist on paying!" "No, I must pay for this." Needless to say, we ate good that week. (Aiman is taking the picture.)

Anyway, a few weeks ago the Speirs sisters et. al. were wandering around the new mall in Cairo and who did they bump into -- our dear friends from Seminary. It was an impromptu Dells reunion. Hi Magdi, Heba, Rafi, and Wasim, if you're out there! We love you. We miss you. As I said, there's so much more I could tell you about this picture.

More vacation pics. . .

What's not to love? Ragaey and Aiman in their usual serious selves. Great sailor hats! The subtle humor runs in the family as you'll see below. The funny thing is this, Ragaey and Aiman both come from the same small village in Egypt, but met each other in New York City. That's kind of what happened with me and my friend Martha A too. We first met in New York City, but actually grew up 6 miles apart in Rochester, Minnesota.

Laila and Olivia.

Walking a mile in Auntie Lorrie's shoes.

Well, what can I say? Bob and I often shake our heads in despair, because even at times when we are ready to ring each other's neck and trade our blessed union in for something else, we know we can't. We are stuck with each other because we both like our inlaws too much. Once we were in this marriage group thingie for a whole year; we were the failures of the group because we just didn't get it and mostly our interactions were pretty strained. We were sure that all the other couples were worried about us. Finally, one month the topic was "inlaws." Oh my goodness, we passed that session with flying colors! While all the other couples were telling painful tales of horror, Bob and I were just laughing and all animated with funny family foibles. By the end of the session all the other couples were trying to get us to just please shut up. I'll leave it at that.

Thanks for coming over to the liver blog, everyone. I really appreciate it. I hope you are all well.

With love, T

You are Invited to Bob's Ordination

With joy and thanksgiving, we are pleased to invite you to the ordination of Bob.

And the insubordination of Bob's wife. No, just kidding.

For real:

Bob Speirs' Ordination for Word and Sacrament Ministry
1:00 p.m.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Trinity Lutheran Church
Brooklyn, New York

Hosting: The Rev. Samuel Cruz
Presiding Liturgy: The Rev. Harry Mueller
Presiding Communion: The Rev. Rachel Thorson Mithelman
Preaching: The Rev. Bob Nervig

Offering will go to the Trinity Seminarian Fund and to Lutheran World Relief.

Please come! Let us know if you are out of towners and need some NYC visiting advise. One idea is to check out the Seafarers International Center in Manhattan for lodging. Trinity is about a 30 minute subway ride from midtown Manhattan. Or a $30-40 taxi ride. Or we'll figure out a way to help visitors get to Brooklyn, from Manhattan. Quite honestly, there are not a whole lot of lodging options in Brooklyn proper. Most of the tourists tend to stay in Manhattan, so that's where they put the hotels.

In thinking about the ordination at Trinity, I got all nostalgic about Sunset Park which is the name of the Brooklyn neighborhood where Trinity is situated and where all the Speirs grew up. Where Bob and I spent our "honeymoon years." Sigh.

The twins, Mom Speirs, Carol, Ragaey, and assorted visitors still call Sunset Park home. Here's a picture I found thanks to google. An artistic rendering of the park itself, for which the neighborhood is named. You can see in the background the Manhattan skyline, which is much more pronounced when you're really there. In earlier days, when the twin towers were still up, you could reach out and touch them from Sunset Park.

The neighborhood consists of pockets of people who keep tight to their ethnic identities, Hasidic Jews, Chinese, Latino, Norwegian, Palestinian. It's like you cross national borders just by walking several blocks this way or that; hair, dress, food, chat, blaring music and all. A lot of people in Sunset Park have totally westernized and blended as regular 'ol Americans as well. It's a cool little place that does not get many tourists, if any; most artists, actors, interns, non-profit staff, or any kind of short term workers in Manhattan do not rent here. It has a very authentic flavor as people who live here, always have and always will live here. Somehow the cacophony of it all translates into the feeling of a safe and warm nesting grounds.

For those of you who might be reading this who live in Brooklyn, who go to Trinity, pardon me if I have not represented Sunset Park in the way you see it. It's just my perspective. Bob's brother, Richie, who is a 20-year NYPD veteran does not have such a romantic view of Sunset Park as I do. But I lived there for six years and I still like it.

We hope you can come to the ordination!

With love, T

Bob and Rudy

Today Bob managed to get his picture taken with Rudy Giuliani, who was campaigning in a coffee shop down the street. He pulled out all his New York City stops. Wore the FDNY baseball hat. Shouted out, "My brother is retired NYPD and worked the pit after 911!" That seemed to do it in order for Mr. Giuliani to agree to a photo. Of course Bob didn't mention that his retired NYPD brother and his NYPD buddies really hated Giuliani's police contract policies. Don't confuse a photo op with the facts.

Anyway, since Rudy is Bob's personal mayor, well, needless to say that we were all very excited for this photo. Disclaimer: The blogger would like to say that she does not necessarily advocate for the viewpoints of any of her blog subjects. In other words, the blogger comes from a politically diverse marriage and life.

I will hand it to Rudy Giuliani for one clever answer in some debate somewhere; Iowa, I suppose. Everyone was asked a question like this, "What has been your greatest mistake?" Of course all the other candidates hummed and hawed about how they don't make mistakes. Rudy said, "You only give me 30 seconds to answer that?" Great non-answer.

Isn't democracy awesome! Flawed for sure, but awesome.

With love, T

P.S. Come to think of it, I would like to highly recommend the blog of Professor Mary Hess. Everyday she posts a golden nugget that answers this: "What is it to be a person of faith living in a global media culture?"

First Day of School

We'll do this again in a month. In the meantime, I savored every second of this first day of our last month at Adams Spanish Immersion because I love this school. Amanda, 6th grade. Aidan, 3rd. Could someone please tell me when I can start up on yoga again?

Take care everyone! T

P.S. That really fast caption says this: the ultimate creature of habit heads to the cafeteria breakfast before finding his room.

Reminiscent of his greatest summer memory with dad: going out for waffles.

The Brave Mother Who Moved to Malaysia

This is Amanda and Catherine, whose mother is moving to Malaysia.

But since for me it's all about Bob's liver I have to tell you about the time that Bob gave Catherine's mother, Laura, driving lessons.

Laura's husband, Thomas, returned to Malaysia about one year ago when he finished his PhD. here at Luther Seminary. Laura still had a year of studies. In the rush of all the things to do before leaving a country, Thomas was not able to accompany Laura in her driving lessons and testing. So Bob took that over. One year ago, Bob and Laura were driving together everyday -- or should I say a little less everyday. Until one day I had to tell Laura that Bob could no longer drive with her because, well actually, Bob could no longer get out of bed. This was before we knew what was going on with Bob's liver. And you know the rest of the story.

Back then as we descended into anti-liver hell, we got a bright spot when we learned that Laura passed her driving test. And whenever I saw Laura, she told me that she and Thomas were praying over the phone for Bob's liver everyday. Because Thomas called her from Malaysia everyday. I would convey that information to Bob as he lay in casket position.

Anyway, so today Laura and Thomas' last daughter flew the coup. They have four daughters in various stages of university in four cities. Today, we took Catherine to college. We were actually quite honored to be asked to join in this event. Laura said that they needed family and they didn't have family. She asked us, Would you be our family?

Well holy cow, is that an honor or what? So of course, all eight of us -- me, Bob, Amanda, Aidan, and Mom Speirs; along with Laura, daughter #3, and daughter #4 -- packed into our duct tape colored vehicles and drove Catherine to college. We did the family picnic. Carried stuff up to her dorm room. Met the host family, as Catherine is considered an international student.

But here's the thing. Soon and very soon Mama Laura is returning home to Malaysia, leaving all four daughters here in the States. Between expense and visa hassles, she will not she her girls for a year or so. Can you imagine dropping your youngest daughter off for her freshman year and then moving exactly to the other side of the planet? I can't.

I went with Laura to the parent's meeting where they were advising parents how to "let go." They suggested that parents could take up a hobby or do something new. I whispered to Laura that she's got that covered. And what is Laura doing?

Pastor Laura and her pastor husband, are pastoring in their home country of Malaysia, as ethnic Chinese, Christians in a region of the world where the densest population of Muslims live. And how do you convert Muslims?

"You don't convert Muslims, you respect and seek to be respected," says Professor Charles Amjad Ali. "You build a relationship"

Lutheran World Relief has been doing this for decades, the interfaith respect thing. Wait a minute . . . how exactly did I get from Bob's liver to interfaith relations? Oh yes, leaving your last daughter.

Leaving your last daughter is like this. I looked out the window as Laura and Catherine held each other and said their goodbyes in Mandarin Chinese. By this time all the others had left.

Catherine went off to her next orientation. Laura and I sniffled all the way to the parking lot.

"I always tell myself that God is good," Laura said. "I never cried at any other time and now I cry when I leave my daughters."

I drove us home one-armed because Laura and I held hands the whole trip.

Me, I will not be moving to Malaysia when my kids go to university. I will be moving into the dorm room next to them. I will be a college administrator's nightmare. I will hover and protect them from all the bad people, grades, and decisions. On the day that my kids leave home, a day not so far away, I will remember this brave mother who set up her children to soar -- and then flew to another world to join her husband in creating peace.

With lots of love, T

P.S. Please pray for people who get clumped into stereotypes of, say, Christians, Muslims, Chinese, Liberal, Conservative, Word Alone, ELCA, LCMS. The more I talk to people, the more stories I hear about assumptions we make as we think we understand these groups. You really can't understand people until you listen to them. Please continue with me in prayer vigil for the the Broers' family.

My Industries of Restaurant and Religion

So I picked up this book the other day and oh my goodness, this guy is whacko! All I did was read the preface and I was laughing so seriously out loud on the city bus. Five pages and one commute home later, the author had managed to validate a whole section of my life. That would be the section of my life spent in "the restaurant industry." And he unleashed way more self-psycho analysis than I ever thought imaginable.

You might want to save yourself and log outta here right now. Or you could follow me into the walk in cooler and I'll tell you how "the restaurant industry" got me a gig in "the religion industry."

It started in high school when I gave up cheerleading for chicken. It's true. I was a cheerleader, and to be honest I kind of enjoyed it. But I turned in my pom poms when I realized that to be a cheerleader also meant that I could no longer dash off after school to gut whole chickens, cut them into 9 parts -- 2 thighs, 2 wings, 2 ribs, 2 legs, and 1 breast -- and bread and broast them. Why even seek to be cute in a letter sweater when I could opt for late night cleanings of stale vats of french fry grease? When I could enhance my teenage angst with self inflicted acne? And why even think about studying for college scholarships when there are heads and heads of cabbage to be hand chopped in order to make buckets of cole slaw? Friends, I have just given you a fairly comprehensive summary of my high school years, where my career in "the restaurant industry" started.

Why? Why would I give up potential popularity for poultry? Why? I just don't know. But I think it is linked to the reason that I actually enjoyed it when a former boss (who will remain nameless but you know who you are) would leave two feet of paperwork in my inbox on the eve of his departures for, say, Azerbaijan or Burkina Faso. Twenty four inches of fixing, faxing, filing and pure paper-pushing. And I loved it. What better thing to do in New York City? But I digress.

There were times when I thought it was my destiny to waitress; cook short order; wash dishes; serve up cocktails; or at least work the counter at Hardees fast food joint, which pretty much describes my college years. While others were landing cool internships; applying for grad school in, say, London; entering the Peace Corps; having an affair with some professor; or learning their third language; I would return to my roommates in late night stinky brown polyester that made the whole apartment smell like cheeseburgers. I would try to quit my Hardees job. But then would go back and ask for my job back. And they always gave it to me. Come to think about it, I still dream that I am asking for my Hardees job back. "Oh no!" My room mates would say in despair. "Not that uniform again!"

In hindsight I really should have just jumped right into waitressing, because that's where the money is. I still have my black waitress apron because it remains my plan B to this day. I can put up with demanding customers, arrogant cooks, and incompetent owners as good as anyone. Anthony Bordain though, well, he writes the truth of it all with such hilarity, and so I can now also reconcile my time and space in "the restaurant industry."

When I decided that it might be fun to spend a summer working at a Bible camp, it was my experience in "the restaurant industry" that got me in. You see while I may look all Lutheran up and down right now -- I mean, for land sakes I'm about to become a pastor's wife and all. But deep down inside I'm a waitress and that's really it. I was so darn unqualified to work at a Bible camp it was ridiculous. And the good people at Lutherans Outdoors in South Dakota knew that and so they did not sign me as camp counselor, where I would actually influence little human beings. They put me in the kitchen, and only at the last minute when someone else backed out. I got the job as baker. Little did I know, my career in "the restaurant industry" would start it's transition to "the religion industry" in that summer.

What a glorious June, July, and August! Baking bread by the lake at Camp Ne So Dak. The Bible study theme, for the staff who were qualified to lead Bible studies, was "Good News." And all summer they would ask the campers, Have you heard the Good News? As an extroverted kitchen staffer I got into it too and would join in the singing and the skits. I too would enthusiastically ask, Have you heard the Good News?! Although inside my head I was wondering exactly what they meant by Good News. That's the cool part of experiential learning. You touch and taste Good News. You hear and feel Good News. No one ever told me, but somehow I figured it out in all the fun and the friendships.

The Good News is that you can not earn your way to heaven. It is a free gift. It's the Grace of God that comes to us regardless of who we are, or where came from. I guess you could say that summer changed my life because that was a pretty amazing message to touch, taste, see, smell, and hear while I was kneading dough and shaping buns. And telling bad jokes in the walk in cooler.

And that's probably why I can seem a bit irreverent to the classically trained in the religion industry. I'm all for that and stuff. I mean my husband is classically trained in the religion industry and he thinks I'm irreverent. But I also think that it just doesn't have to be that complicated. Most things don't have to be.

To be honest, I miss "the restaurant industry." I think it would be great to just waitress and write. And even learn how to cook myself. My brother-in-law really is a chef, and he's not even arrogant. Oh my goodness, can he ever cook. If he ever throws in his CEO gig and opens a restaurant, I'll apply for a waitress position.

Anywho, as I said, the preface to this book on my commute home just unleashed a whole lot of thinking. So this got long. I am offering apologies for any of you who might actually still be with me on this one. And if it's any consolation, I'm actually holding back.

Read that book and laugh! Thank you, Mr. Anthony Bordain.

With love, T

Rolling Down the Road

If you have a Mother-in-Law who has lived all of her 80 years in New York City; and you take her in a little drive just one hour outside of Minneapolis, you should be sure that she's sitting on the right side so that she can look out the window as the countryside rolls by. Then she can unlock the mysteries of the scenery that she totally absorbs, as though she's Agatha Christie on a long luxurious train ride.

You might hear a mother and son conversation like this.

Mom Speirs: "Look at the way some of the land is flat. It's so interesting."

Bob: Mom, that's a hayfield.

Mom Speirs: "Now, what would you call those things?"

Bob: Bales of hay.

Mom Speirs: "Do you notice how some of the grass has frayed edges?"

Bob: Those are weeds, Mom.

Mom Speirs: "Ooooooh! Look at all those cows!!"

Bob: Mom, you're giving yourself away.

You might hear your Mother-in-Law reminisce about the trip she took through the mountains years ago. And about the car ride through rural Illinois to visit relatives. Then she'll compute the time change to Egypt as she plans when best to call her daughters, who visit their in-laws. Later, she'll set her alarm for 5:00 a.m.

And you feel once again the brunt of how isolated you have been this whole past year. You realize that your mother-in-law has been with you for so many months and you've barely taken her out of the apartment. Today, everyone is well. Everyone can go out. Got two available drivers. No need to go to any hospital or clinic. And it is wonderful to see God's green earth, the blue of the sky, and to be all squished together in a car. To feel the freedom of movement and exploration. Shoulder to shoulder with Aidan and his little figurine-guys in the back seat. Bob driving. Not me. Amanda in the front seat, tall enough for the air bag. Avoiding the endless car fighting when brother and sis sit next to eachother.

Mom Speirs looks out the window as though peace prevails around the world. As though she's about to be served a grand meal in the dinner coach of the Orient Express. As though her son is about to be ordained.

"I wonder what Des Moines looks like," she says.

Rolling, rolling, rolling. . .moving forward.

Thanks for coming over to the liver blog, friends.

With love, T

Sprinkle Sunshine on Each Other

A house with a swimming pool and a diving board.

That was Aidan's only criteria for what kind of house we should get. I assured him that we will never, Ever, NEVER get a swimming pool with a diving board. Liability. Lawsuits. Insurance. Drowning. Cost. Chemicals. Cancer. Climate change. Crocodiles. Wrinkles. Upkeep. Hassle. Mama panda's phobia that her babies will die in water. Let me count the reasons we will never get a house with a swimming pool and a diving board.

Unless it happens to be connected to Mama Panda's perfect country kitchen. And Papa Panda's green acre. Then we'll get the pool, diving board, and a water slide. Yes, friends, it's true. I'm now ready to tell you that it looks like we're getting a house with a big 'ol in ground pool. The deal is still in the works, so it ain't over 'til it's over. But so far, so good.

Bob scored a couple more cool points with Amanda when he told her that he personally knows "Agape" the local hip hop hero, who evidently performed at Camp WAPO last week. It was a rainy week, so instead of canoeing and hiking, they did Christian hip hop with Agape. Bob knows him from working with kids on the North side of Minneapolis. You know, all those kids with BMW rib cages. Smooth and steady and amazing; INCREDIBLE abilities to move parts of their body that normal human beings cannot move.

So there's an Agape song called "Sprinkle Sunshine" that is kind of a mover. Amanda likes it. I do too. A year ago I would have thought it way too sugary sweet. Not today. Today I'm all for sprinkling sunshine on each other and then singing about it. Plus, Agape's back up singers are darn good. Come to think of it, my Becky-at-work likes hip hop. I'll have to get her an Agape CD.

Speaking of sprinkling sunshine, try this one on. Today is Patrick's ordination. Amanda and I took Mom Speirs to the salon to prepare. She's as excited as anyone. While the Patterson family has moved out. Pastor Sekenwa's family have moved in; all the way from Nigeria. As many internationals do, Sekenwa has studied here alone for 2 years or so. He has a child that he hadn't even met yet until this past week. He's been preparing for months as his family maneuvered all that complicated visa paperwork to get here. And they are HERE! Sekenwa is smiling ear to ear. I know it will make the Patterson's so happy to hear about the family who moved into their apartment. (pronounced: Sa KEN wa) The ghosts of all of us kind of stick around.

And in a month we'll move out of our apartment. And into the house with a pool, diving board, water slide, and the perfect kitchen. And another family will move in.

Go ahead, it's OK. Sprinkle sunshine on each other.

With love, T

Time to go home

Last night Amanda called out for her mama. I thought I heard her, anyway. Woke me up. It must be time to go home. It's my last night in Baltimore. Her last night at camp WAPO. I'm so tired. But things are so great here. And I just realized that I can introduce you to some of my colleagues with this new LWR teaser. The complete video will be done by the end of the year. What you don't see are the amazing colleagues who also happen to be video producers.

Enjoy! Goodnight! With love, T

I'm healed.

Hello friends and thank you for coming over to the liver blog. I'm pleased to inform you that today is the first day in a month that I have not taken a nap. And my appetite has turned from oatmeal to carnivore, topping off a day at the LWR HQ with a big 'ol cheeseburger. That's right, a day at the office healed me. Thanks everyone. Seriously.

Over my cheeseburger, I was thinking about this house deal that Bob and I are working through. The crazy perfect house. Our two tickets to paradise. The homestead in Iowa. Little house on the prairie. Where the ultimate city boy found the big sky. If this deal actually goes through I'm going to have a sign made and put it up on the front door. It will say something like this:

WELCOME TO THE LIVER HOUSE
~ a retreat for the lost and found ~

Kind of like the transplant house that we never had to go to; rather a place for both original and new organs and outlooks; and their owners alike. Room for long and short term vital signs and the bodies they inhabit.

In the meantime, I've been planning a long lost Sweet 16 Party for my niece and God daughter, Danielle. And you know what, tonight she called and said she just wanted to spend a day with good 'ol Auntie Terri for her Sweet 16. Are you sure, I asked? I'm sure, she said. See what I mean? Can't get through even one single day without getting all teary eyed.

I would also like to invite you to join me in continued prayer vigil for our dear neighbors, Kristy and Steve Broers. Please pray for conversion, wisdom, and positive action for the people who block their transition into a call to parish ministry. Please pray that an advocate would come forward and speak up on their behalf. Please pray that they would have some kind of a hearing. Please pray that this whole tragic mishandling could get cleared up.

Lastly, I've decided to continue in my string of Dave Matthews pieces, tonight's being a short one of skatting. Why skatting? It's either wierd or brilliant, I'm not sure. But I can you this -- it reminds me of how my son, Aidan, communicates. In his own little non-language of expressive something. Body twicks, facial mannerisms, short hair preference and all. This is not quite two minutes excerpted from a song called Jimmy Thing. Enjoy! Enjoy? Well, whatever you want to call it. I like it! ;-)



With love, T

All Over the Map Tonight

Hello everyone and thank you for coming over to the liver blog. A thousand thanks for your words of well wishes for Bob's call. I can't tell you how joyful it has been already to be with the people of St. Johns in Des Moines.

When Bob returned from Des Moines last night Mom Speirs said, "You have returned home transformed into a pastor." That's right. He's been called by a parish, he's officially a pastor. The ordination is all the hoopla that stamps it official. But it's the work of the people that makes someone a pastor. The people of St. Johns in Des Moines have transformed Bob into a pastor. Well, actually, a lot of you had a lot to do with that too. Many, many, many of you. And I personally think it's a beautiful thing, how so many people from so many places and congregations can work together for good. It honestly took of all you to make this transformation happen.

So now we are living in fast speed. Accept call. Crunch numbers. Buy house. Breath after signing mortgage papers. Enroll the kids in school. Pack it all up. Move. New jobs. New everything. Got a couple of Sweet 16's to take care of too, almost a year late, but dog gone it's gonna happen. And oh yes, an ordination.

The long and short of the ordination -- I would say to think early October, Trinity Lutheran Church, Brooklyn, New York. There are still many things to coordinate in terms of even determining an exact date, but that's coming soon hopefully. Because of course we want you all to come. Pastor Bob Nervig, Bob's mentor, is already thinking through the art. Don't you love that!

Today I start my check in week at LWR HQ in Baltimore. Got here in time to hear first hand about responding to the earthquake in Peru, growing better onions in West Africa, and safely maneuvering check points in Sri Lanka. Also chatted with colleague #3 who is dealing with mysterious all-consuming illness of spouse, and how LWR has backed us up all the way, from a personnel standpoint. I tell you, you just can't believe the group of people here and the work they do. Doesn't do much for my quest to make it through just one day without choking up.

Anywho, when I get melancholy, I turn to my poet laureate, Dave Matthews, so here's another terrific tune; kind of a jazzy little number all full of angst, with a touch of the African howly thingie that he can do with his voice. It's simply called #41. I have no idea of the lyrics. Just like the moodiness of it. And the joyful face of an artist at work. It's long, so you can do the dishes or yoga or something while you enjoy.




With love, T

P.S. I think it's also time to turn to Captain Underpants because I am getting way too serious and pensive. A review of the new book coming soon.

All You Need is Love Everyday

Love this song. Love this band. Love this video. Made me smile.



Enjoy! About 4-5 minutes or so. C'mon, stop and smell the roses.

With love, T

The Congregational Vote

To be real honest, I'm nervous about all of this stuff about Bob being someone's associate pastor. I mean, he's been home for years. Years. Home as a stay-at-home dad while I worked. Home as a seminary student who preferred to study at home. Home as in a coma in the living room. And during the time he was sick, well, this is the weird thing, the part that was so special about that is that we were together, almost 24-7. Home together.

And that is about to all change.

I will miss Bob at home. I mean, it's not like we didn't have our times when we wish we had never met each other. Our marital tension can get as good as it gets, yet. . .

So, be careful what you wish for, right?

OK, alright, my office will be in the same building as his, but you know what I mean.

That's probably it, change. Like when you have a baby, and it's so glorious, yet everything around you has changed and so you grieve your life as you knew it. You might even not want your baby at first. Some women never get over that. Postpartum depression is nothing to poo poo. It's the seismic shift in dynamics that brings the grief.

On this Sunday morning, I would like to ask for your prayers for another family who is waiting, waiting, waiting for the call. Please pray for Steve and Kristi Broers. Pray for the conversion of those who tightly hold the keys to the lives of this whole family, including small children. Pray for understanding and wisdom and positive action. What is happening to them is an abuse of power and there seems to be no recourse. Where is their advocate?

Bob and I just talked on the phone. It's official. The congregation of St. Johns Lutheran Church in Des Moines has voted almost unanimously to call him as their associate pastor.

With love, T

The kitchen that came to me in a dream

You know how when someone gets pregnant, how they're not supposed to tell anyone for three months just in case they lose the baby. Because after the first trimester then everything should be good to go. Well, Bob and I did not know that. When I first got pregnant, the doctor said we were having twins and we were SO EXCITED. We told absolutely everyone. We told the whole world. Church. Work. Family. Friends. Neighbors. Strangers. We're having twins! We're having twins!

As you may know, we do not have twins. They miscarried at seven weeks. That's when we found out that it's not that uncommon. And that's when we learned about the three month rule. We really dreaded having to retrace our tracks in order to inform everyone about something that was so personal. In the end, it was healing because you would not believe how many people quietly came up to us and said the same thing happened to them. I had no idea. A year later Amanda came around.

It is in that spirit -- that I really should not be telling anyone this, but I'm actually telling everyone -- that I think we found our dream house! Bob spent the afternoon with the realtor today. I spent most of the day in bed, but when Bob came upon THE house, our Realtor started taking pictures with his camera and e-mailing them to me right on the spot. And, well, what would you think if a kitchen like this showed up in your e-mail account?

Pinch me. This is too nice! Matching appliances. Wood floors. A place to cook, eat, and to do homework! And to host guests. I am dreaming. Am I delirious? I am hallucinating. I am going back to sleep.

With love, T

The Last Supper

Are you hungry? Mom Speirs will cook something for you. Just let her know what you want. Here's a scene from last week. Seriously.

Before bed snack previous night: meatloaf and mashed potatos for Aaron
Course 1: scrambled eggs and toast for Aidan and Aaron
Course 2: mashed potatos with corn for Aaron
Course 3: scrambled eggs, mashed potatoes and toast for Patrick
Course 4: ravioli and meatballs for all

As you all know, things get a little hairy when you're moving and packing and starting a new job. Patrick is now Pastor Patrick, Pastrick for short he says, living part time here and in his new town. When Patrick came over dead tired after his first four days on the job, Mom Speirs decided he needed to eat. That was course 3 and the rest is history.

Pull up a chair, any chair you can find, even the one held together by a pajama pant string. We're going to all eat together before detangling from yet another family here at Sandgren.

Yesterday while I was in isolation, the moving truck came and took all the Pattersons away. Dog gone but we're going to miss these impromptu meals together, boxed wine and all.

The following night, Bob treated Mom Speirs to her favorite Old Country Buffet. I stayed home to nap. While mustering the energy to pour myself a bowl of cereal, I was saved by the door knock. Wala. . .Chan's mom came through again with a surprise delivery of a home cooked meal. Lightly spiced and batterfried Asian vegetables with some kind of dipping sauce. Delicious! Who will be my personal Asian chef in Des Moines?

Ho hum, just another pastor. Isn't he cute!!! Bob did some supply preaching and other pastorly things at a local church last week.

And finally, the picture you've all been waiting for. . .the 6 staples in Amanda's head which have by now been long and successfully removed.

Here's our daughter who loves long hair, but hates to wash and comb it. She's been wanting to highlight it all summer because ALL the other 10 year olds have highlights. Let's make a deal. You get your hair cut and combed. And then our new neighbor, Sarah-o-California, will highlight it. Turned out cute!

That's all folks from the land of official isolation. Yesterday I took a little trip into cancer-land as I had a touch of radiation sickness. Holy cow, all I can say is you poor chemo people, I don't know how you do it. I thought I was dying, back and forth between radioactive vomiting and the fetal position. Throbbing head ache. Sweats, shivers, and shakes. By now, it's mostly gone. Now, to get rid of this isolation too.

Thanks for coming over. All my best to you!

With love, T

I Am Radioactive.

Or I'm just plain 'ol nuclear waste, whichever way you want to look at it. Today I got my custom concocted pill dosed at 100 millicuries. The idea is that it will kill whatever lingering thyroid cancer cells I may still have. I am now in official isolation at an undisclosed location. I can tell you that Dick Cheney is not with me, although I wish he were because we could have such a nice milli-terri tribunal together, just him and me all alone chatting up mushroom clouds and other things of his sole authority.

"You can turn anything into a international political scandal," Bob said to me yesterday.

I was giving him (Bob) my views on the conspiracy of processed food companies to remove fiber from the American diet, creating a generation of constipasted children with low immune systems. Making parents nervous of the potential short term outcome as the start of school draws near, if you know what I mean. When the back up breaks through. We are doing our darndest to get our kids to eat fiber, but it's almost impossible. You can't even buy a granola bar these days that contains fiber. A granola bar for land sakes! How can you call something granola if it doesn't have fiber in it?

Right here, right now, it's time for me and my ex-thyroid to take our 100th nap of the past 2 weeks.

Thanks for coming by the liver blog. And in case you were wondering, today I brought back my liver look, including goofy bangs barretted back and sticking out all over the place. However I did change out of pajamas before entering the public realm. Still, be thankful I can't upload pictures. Be very thankful.

Take care everyone!

With love, T xoxoxoxo

Happy Birthday Paramedic Extraodinaire!

Why am I thinking about the marketing plan of Alice Cooper when yesterday was my brother Tom's birthday???!!! You know, the brother (left) who saved the life of Bob (right). In honor of Tom I am reposting the care page dispatch of said event. Actually, there were several times Tom came to the rescue. This is just one of them. . .

*December 26, 2006 at 06:48 PM CST*
Take Deep Breaths.

Isn't that what you do to avoid panic attacks? To get oxygen to your brain when you simply must remain clear thinking. Like when your kids are in the back seat of the car and you're driving your husband to the emergency room at 11:30 p.m. An hour and half on the road in the rain. The best thing to do if you feel panic coming on is to pull off the next exit, open the window, and take deep breaths. If you have a brother who is a paramedic, that can be helpful because he can actually drive your husband so you can focus on the kids and yourself and not getting into a car accident. Plus, your paramedic brother can take vital signs before you go and personally greet the ER staff upon arrival. You should arrange a midnight meeting with your parents at the ER front door to transfer sleeping kids from your back seat to theirs. Then take more deep breaths, park the car and walk into St. Mary's ER in Rochester, MN, your home town. As for your husband, he should just try not to think about the itching from the inside as everyone makes decisions for him.

This is how we entered the Mayo Clinic system for the first time. Already, Bob had been sick for almost two months. Already been hospitalized. Already been seen by many doctors. Already had received tons of all different kinds of advice from family, friends, and strangers.

This night started quiet. The kids at a dinner with friends. Bob in his casket position. I was actually trying to do some LWR work. Then the phone calls started. Paramedic and MD in unwitting collusion. My brother Tom and Dr. R (not sure he wants me to use his name publicly), who is the father of my dear friend, Martha. I started working the phones. Calling them, calling me, calling back, calling the local doctor on call, swearing at the local doctor on call who was useless.

They didn't know each other, but separately Tom and Dr. R started to ask me the same questions.

• What is the biliruben count? How long has it been this high?
• Does he get dizzy? Is he clear thinking?
• Does he have a fever? Can he walk?
• He sounds dehydrated.
• Have you thought about taking him to the Mayo Clinic emergency room?
• I'll drive to St. Paul to pick him up myself.
• I'll call the emergency room and tell them to expect you.

I never did finish that LWR project. Just closed my lap top and entered into the panic zone. It was clear we needed to take Bob to Rochester. Tom would come to pick him up, a four-hour round trip for him. I started packing. My neighbor, Maren, prepared the kids. This was before the Speirs delegation from NYC came to be with us. My panic was telling me that Bob would die before Tom could get here . . . By 3:00 a.m. Bob and I settled into a room on the GI (gastro-intestinal) Unit at Mayo. Me, on the first of my series of little cots, thinking about the comments I would have for the morning round of dressed-to-the-nines team of doctors; thinking how I would assert my authority in my groggy, wrinkled yoga suit and without badly needed make-up. The first thing I did when I woke up a few hours later is sob.

Some people say that God works through coincidences. I have no idea. But I think a lot about that night, when out of the blue, in separate phone calls both my brother Tom and Dr. R contacted me about Bob's condition and worked their respective know-how to get Bob into a very competitive health care system. It was surreal. Surely, I made it through in some part due to deep breaths. With sighs too deep for words to express.

*

Today Tom is making his way back from the biker rally in Sturgis, South Dakota. I'll post pictures if he has any.

With love, T

So, what is Alice Cooper's marketing scheme?

I can't believe that I forgot to tell you that! Because that was the main point of my supervisorly discussion with Phil about Alice Cooper.

Alice Cooper's marketing scheme: Do whatever will most offend parents of teenagers. Because that's exactly what teenagers will want to buy into. At least that was true in the 70's.

Alice Cooper's branding tool: Alice Cooper, the character. I know, I know, I too used to think Alice Cooper just popped out of the womb as, well, Alice Cooper. Surprise, it's all fake. He carefully created the character from head to toe, including the name, which he intentionally wanted to sound as pretty and nice as possible. What really gave it all oomph was the fact that he was able to pull off a succession of hit songs. And really, even now, you could say the music isn't half bad. He said that his concerts never had security issues because everyone was so focused on the stage show. (How to keep order 101.) Add on top of all that, he's a very charming guy with a gift of negotiation. He has a head for business and a heart for relationships. He did get into a bit of trouble with drugs, but says that golf and his Christian faith miraculously healed his addiction.

He says that he has a good relationships with his copy cats: KISS and Rocky Horror Picture show people; he used to be friends with Marilyn Manson, but now Marilyn Manson doesn't want anything to do with Alice because of his devotion to the Christian faith. By the way, my aunt once served on a jury for a trial accusing Marilyn Manson of something. I can't remember which way the verdict went.

Well, anyway, I was just thinking that you were probably wondering about Alice Cooper's marketing and branding scheme.

With love, T

Welcome to my Intern

He's really nice and will bake cookies for you.

I'm talking about Alice Cooper (photo right), according to Phil (photo left).

Let me back up. Phil was my intern this past year and Friday was his last day. Well, OK, he wasn't *my* intern, but I fully claim him because he did such an awesome job and saved *my* you-know-what because I took so much of last year off, courtesy of Bob's liver sabbatical.

Phil came courtesy of Lutheran Volunteer Corps, a kind of Lutheran peace corps if you will. LVC volunteers are placed in various agencies and churches across the country for one year of service. People like me are supposed to provide meaningful projects, supervise, support, etc. Actually what I did is not show up. And my LVC intern flat out took over the LWR Virtual University.

When I tepidly started back to work it was Phil who advised me that it was time to step back into the moderator role with the Virtual U. "People will be happy to hear from you," he encouraged me. Little did either of us know that the guest presenter that month would be announced as our new LWR president a few months later. For that class, Phil had rigged up a way for the presentation to be called in from Zambia. That's right, from a country in central Africa. He has explained it to me numerous times but I still don't get exactly how he pulled that off. And he made so many overall improvements that I am honestly quite nervous as to how I will carry on without Phil.

Even when I was back on the job, Phil put up with working long distance with me. Him being in Baltimore, me being in Minneapolis/St. Paul. Thanks to Phil, I learned the art of instant messenging. We IMed all the time. One way for a telecommuter to connect.

So one day I was IMing Phil about this interview I had heard on the Fresh Aire radio show. That NPR interview program I mentioned before. The interviewee was Alice Cooper -- you know that mascaraed rock singer of my generation who scared the begeebers out of concert-goers by decapitating himself on stage. I found out in that interview that Alice Cooper is a master marketer as he told how he created the character of "Alice Cooper." And how dog gone charming he is. And that he is a PK (pastor's kid) and a devout Christian. It was interesting to chat up the branding genious of a ghoul rocker with a philosophy major. That's how I supervise and guide.

Phil told me the story about his college friend who had home stayed with Alice Cooper during a choir tour. He said that Alice baked cookies for his homestay guests and was totally hospitable to young church choiristers far from home. The 6 degrees of separation theory lives on.

Last year Phil had a job helping former prison convicts to re-enter successfully into society.

So anyway, Phil said it was OK for me to blog about him. The ways that people came through for us during the liver vacation are too much to count. And I will miss Phil. Our new LVCers come in later this month and I will go to Baltimore to train them, or they will train me, or something like that.

Thanks for coming over to the liver blog everyone! Take care.

With love, T

The Call

Associate Pastor
St. Johns Lutheran Church (see all pics)
Des Moines, Iowa

*

The Call Committee and church council have unanimously approved to call Bob as their associate pastor. On August 19 the whole congregation votes and then the call is officially extended. Bob has already told them that he will accept. I said that even if the call was not extended, the Call Committee ran such a first-rate process that it was healing just to take part. The Call Committee offered to continue to act as a support group for our family after we arrive if we wanted them to. We do. I got the impression that the group kind of bonded in this very long process. Bob first interviewed with them, I don't know, last April or May. They started working on their congregational profile almost a year ago.

I'm really trying to temper my excitement until the official vote on August 19, when it's truly final. But as you all know, the church is not a building, it's the people. And so I have to tell you why it took about 6 hours or so for my preconceived notions about Des Moines to *poof* vanish. And why I do believe that this is a spirit led process and that it's really, really the right thing.

Italian wine bar for dinner. Duncan Hunter for president.

So when Ed, a member of the call committee, and his wife Mary, toured us all around Des Moines we happened across a Middle Easten Restaurant. "We love Middle Eastern food!" I say all excitedly. Then of course we tell them about our two brother-in-laws from Egypt and how they're all there for the month or so.

Then Ed drove us by the Egyptian restaurant. And he told us how he is an engineer and goes to Egypt and Saudi a lot for business. Mary is an artist. In fact, I can't believe how many times the word "art" turned up in so many conversations with various people. You should read the bio of the organist. They have a writing team with published writers and university English professors. I love music. I love art. I love writing.

For lunch Jim, the Call Committee Chair Extraordinaire, took us to the Drake Diner. I think he planned this. It's true what they say about the presidential candidates politiking in diners in Iowa. On this day all the Republican candidates were in town for a debate. After my BLT I left the booth to powder my nose. Upon return the would-be first lady of Duncan Hunter was chatting with Bob and Jim right there as they finished up their plates. Her husband's platform is something like Pro Life, Pro Death, Pro Walls, Pro Hate, Pro God. Bob was so happy I was in the bathroom.

My platform is simple too. Pro What Would Jesus do.

Anyway, when we got to the church to chat with the whole Call Committee there happened to be a moving truck parked on the street in front of the church. The Call Committee hadn't even met me yet and they started laughing and joking that Bob and I had come with all our stuff. They were so kind and interesting and full of life.

Well, I guess this isn't all about me, but those are just some of my impressions. And I'm in week four of sans-thyroid and am crawling to the finish line. Next week is my radioactive iodine treatment, and then can start back up on the replacement pills. My doctor said that it will kick in fairly quickly. Good thing because I'm starting to operate like a kaleidoscope in shades of grey. It's really hard to pin down anything -- a decision, a task, a thought, etc. My doctor said that the thyroid is like a clock and without it the timing of all bodily systems go haywire. I've been OK but am noticing the haywire this week.

Anyway, we had a lovely, lovely time with the Call Committee of St. Johns Lutheran Church in Des Moines. They really know how to make a beaten down seminary couple believe that the Spirit is truly at work in the call process. They really know how to make a pastor's family believe that the Spirit is telling them that there is a place prepared for them in Des Moines, Iowa. They've even thought through my LWR office space.

Ed and Mary recommended an Italian wine bar for dinner. Bob and I made our way there, later after a quick rest. We basked. We just flat out basked. And ate Italian food that we couldn't pronounce and listened to a torchy singer croon in low tones.

But now, I am not going to write anything else about this call until after the congregational vote on August 19. Even though there is so much more I could say. Because you don't even know yet about Rachel Thorsen Mithelman, the Senior Pastor who will be Bob's supervisor and colleague. Ordination plans are underway. I'm bugging Bob to come up with a date, like quick, so I can tell you all, so you can come.

With love, T