It's gonna get a bit WENDI around here!

I'm all about having cable TV right now.   24-hour TWC, a constant stream of images and sound and weather to fuel my heightening excitement over this impending hurricane. Why, Jim Cantore himself comes to my living room every time I summon channel 19. (Back when we lived in the Big House, we didn't splurge for cable. When we moved to the Teeny Tiny House, they made us such a deal that it's cheaper to GET cable here than it was to NOT have it there. Note to self: move often to keep up with the deals.)

As I was saying, this hurricane is zooming up the coast. I had written it off as a non-event just a few hours ago. Then I tuned in. Nothing like Live Reports and Breaking News to pique my interest. Not to mention I have an aunt with the very same name. Now I'm a little concerned. Not a lot. But enough.

Here's a little perspective for you.

It's a whopper of a storm. We're expecting high winds here and storm surge near the coast. We're too far north for that, but the winds will likely bring down power poles which means I'll be playing Little House on the Prairie again. 

And truth be told, I'm OK with that. Little House is apt for us about now. We're cozy here. Squeezed together in a comfortable way, with enough space to be in time-out if we need it. 

God's given us just what we need for this season of our lives. We could consider ourselves between seasons, I suppose, as we wait for our chance to go home. But we don't. This is the season of growing closer to each other, closer to Him. It's a time to be deliberate with our time, our money, our choices. It's a season with purpose, and we don't want to waste it.

With or without power, we'll make it. But you can bet we'll be plugging in the power converter to the truck so we can keep up with the weather during the black-out. Good thing we sat in line to fill up some gas cans today. 

A Slice of Thursday

From
DRAs
lesson plans
writing conferences
November projects
homework
broken jump drives
...

to the best part
of Thursday,
lunch with Benjy.

Why I'm not watching the presidential debate:

Why in the world did I major in political science when I hate politics so much that I refuse - steadfastly refuse - to watch the presidential debates?

I won't try to make myself sound political or science-y or even remotely smart (cause I was just a good student, you see; I knew how to work wonders with an essay test.)  Political science was definitely not my calling, even though I'm the one who picked it.

So, why did I do that? Easy: Compared with English, I had the most credits in it. I figured at the time that I was destined to major in poli-sci because (a) my daddy was a town manager and (b) I must have liked it since I'd taken so many classes. 

And then I finished college and spent a few years pretending to be a reporter at the Roanoke Times, which was fun and satisfying and made me feel like the Big Time, even though I was most definitely not. The most invigorating times to be in that newsroom were during breaking news - the budding war in Iraq, Waco, the 1992 presidential election. CNN was coming out and the world opened up to 24-7 news. I loved it. I lived and breathed NEWS, even as I worked in the fluffy features department slaving over the weekly calendar and Fridaysomething and the occasional newsFun article as the phones rang and rang and I had to answer those, too. 

I loved it. 

All that news, the talking heads, the quick flashes of action and sound bites and sometimes dramatic music.  News became my idol.

I just loved it.

(Then I felt called to teach; and that's a whole other story.)

So, what's happened that I can't even watch a debate now?  It could be blood pressure related, but I've always had excellent blood pressure (not to brag or anything). Of course they've never slapped on the cuff during a fit of madness. And that's what I feel during these debates - madness. Where's the truth? Who's to tell you where the truth is? And are they worthy of reporting the truth? News is certainly not my idol anymore. 

Right-wingers will swear their side is the only way. Left-wingers will swear the same. I cannot stand the very idea that either is that black and white, one way or the other. That much solidarity errs on the side of ignorance, it seems to me. Nobody is perfect. Nobody on earth, that is. You simply cannot believe 100% of either side. Seriously. Can you? 

I think it's the racket that comes out of these debates - the spin room speakers, the negativity, the 100%-positivity, the lack of fact-checking, the inane Facebook status updates and comments that follow, and all that money that follows along like a scrappy little pup on a leash. People line up on their own sides and scream across the field at the other. It's all just so ugly.

I'm not regretful that I was a poli-sci major. I'm certainly not ashamed of my daddy's stint as the longest-serving manager of a single town in Virginia (at least he held that record a few years ago). I'm just being honest here. I'm sick and tired of the distrust I feel in the whole entire political process. 

And so, in the end, you'll be relieved to know that I do calm down. I do carry on knowing the secret to happy, joyful living - no matter what is going on here on earth ~ 

  

Character Traits

A FB friend recently asked how we(her Facebook friends) felt about the presidential candidates and their personalities/character. I commented that character is very important to me. It's how you act when nobody is looking. It is who you are fundamentally. Under your skin. Deep down in your soul. That stuff matters to me.

* I am NOT going to write about either candidate. My political views are my own. And nothing I say will sway anybody whose mind is already made up.  I rest in knowing that Jesus is my King and He reigns over whomever we elect.

My friend's post reminded me of a recent minilesson I taught to my second graders. These kids believe in character, too. And they can spot one's true character in a nanosecond. They can read a book, identify the main character, and analyze him/her. They can read both the out-loud right-there traits as well as the more subtle nuances that define the character. They know how to read between the lines and how to judge - yes, judge - what you say side-by-side with what what you do. 

They know. They KNOW. 

7-year-olds can figure out your character.

They can analyze your words. 

They can analyze your actions.

They can analyze your character.

If ever there was a calling to act like the person you want to be, then this is it. Our children are watching. 

Lord, please help me to be the person you've called me to be. Help me to think like a child of God, to talk like a child of God, to act like a child of God. Help me to be the child you created. 

Soft Spots

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18, "Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." (NIV)

I suppose I could think of our little situation here in Casa de Tiny as a holding pattern, a circumstance to get through if you will. Something to endure till a bigger house, a better tax rate, a finer view comes our way. But I don't. 

That's not to say that a couple of years ago, if I'd heard the Lord ask me to sell my beautiful house and hole up in a rental half the size for an indefinite amount of time, I'da not up and acted like I didn't hear a thing. "What's that? Oh, must've been the wind. Or Camden." 

But last spring when Curt and I both heard His calling, we knew. At first it seemed like God was saying, (in a voice remarkably like Dave Ramsey) "DOWNSIZE". And so we were fully prepared to buy a smaller (not teeny tiny) house and DOWNSIZE. But then as we got closer to the reality of selling, we heard Him again. 

"No need to buy, my children. Hang on. 
I've got ya. Wait till you see what I've got planned for you." 


So we rent knowing that when God says, "Go home" we will be ready to pack up and head south to our families. We're still praying that Sun Stand Still prayer that our journey will take us to Virginia. And we feel that God's preparing us to do just that.

But until that day comes, we will live out loud right here in the center of our town. We will go about our business with God's blessing. Believing that every single person we meet, work with, and bump up against was put in our path by Him. Doing what we can while we can right here in the mission fields of Connecticut. It's not lost on us that God brought us here to one of the most spiritually deprived places in the world (yes, the world) to draw us closer to Him through our church, our work, our very living here. And for that, we'll always have a soft spot for Windsor, Connecticut. 

Here, Kitchy Kitchy Kitchy

This house, this teeny tiny rental house we call home till Moses rescues us from captivity and delivers us to the Promised Land, has an abundance of features.

Not the ones typically extolled in a real estate listing. 

These are features you'd more likely spy in a vintage Sears & Roebuck catalog.

Let's take a tour of our 1950s cape, shall we?

Here we have the stair rail with spindles roughly a foot apart.

Charming, even if a modern-day code violation.

And this is the wallpaper inside the downstairs bath closet. 

I could practically brush my teeth in that reflection! 

A friend told me this stuff goes for the big bucks on Property Brothers. 

Here's the downstairs bath vanity, minus the top drawer which is being repaired. 

Thankfully, we didn't break it, and we don't own it.

For the first time in years we don't have a microwave/hood over the stove. 

In fact, so far, we've managed to live without a microwave at all.

Which is why Jiffy Pop and we are buds now.

So, what's this? A pull-out exhaust van. 

Simply pull it out and the fan automatically turns on!

And here's the dishwasher which is designed to match the cabinets.

That's something cool, actually, I think.

And inside, this is a vintage dishwasher that actually washes better than all our other dishwashers together.

Pistachio loves her new home. 

She fits in perfectly on the speckled formica, no?

Keurig (thanks, Mom and Richard!) loves his digs, too.

And he makes an easy cup of coffee.

And while we're in the kitchen, check out our kitchy kitchy flooring. 

There is no rug that will mask this.

Wallpaper...

Wallpaper...

Notice the curtain rod which extends well beyond the window. 

The curtains serve to give your eye a place to rest from all

that

wallpaper...

which stretches around the room.

Wallpaper....

Front door...

Yeah, retro, right?

It's solid wood, though, I can tell you that!

Fireplace 

This isn't a bad feature. Not even an odd feature in any way.

Except that Ein the Cat thought it was his litter box for the first few days here.

Ewwwwwwww. 

Camden heard aluminum foil was a good deterrent. Must work.

So there's the quirks that make us love this crazy old house more than it warrants. And then there's the fact that it's not a house that makes a home. It's the family you squeeze in it. 

Old Timey Popcorn

I suwannee, I know I hold this blog address. And I know I am expected to maintain it. But life has happened, so, this is what you get. 

And you get what you get and you don't throw a fit. 

(Except up here near Greenland which is really white on a globe, where they say, "you get what you get and you don't get upset."  I don't get that at all. 

So you won't seem me throwing a hissy fit over my new kitchen floor. 

Check out the pattern. 

It's so, patternly!

As of yet, we are living without a microwave for the first time since round about Jimmy Carter. Now we do popcorn the Jiffy Pop way. We break rules, too, popping over a glass-top stove, in a kitchen with a patterned floor. This takes nearly a quarter of an hour. 

The highlight of living in a tiny house (to which you will be granted an insider's pass in an upcoming blog, as if I have time to post these inane updates to my life) is the all new and improved FRIDAY NIGHT MOVIE NIGHTS! We've hosted exactly one (1) (uno) (I) such event and it was a roaring success. After popping popcorn that took way longer than 2.5 minutes, we returned to The Shakiest Gun in the West starring the inimitable Don Knotts. Oh my goodness, we all hooted, it was such a riot. Benjy was impressed that it was in color. Camden was all about the gestures and slapstick. I was all blessed and verklempt that we'd pulled off this crazy move and that it worked. God's plan so worked! (More on that in the future, possibly this weekend, but I'm promising nothin'.) (Also, the smeared pea green on the walls in the living room are now a soft sage. You can rest now.)