Deb Cleveland's Blog

Valentine's

2012-02-13T20:13:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 46: Love makes the world go around. So does food poisoning. So, be very careful what your true love gives you to eat.

It is an old belief that birds choose their mates on February 14. One old English custom had a single girl write the names of the boys she was interested in on small bits of paper and then roll them up in separate pieces of clay. She then dropped the clay into water. The first scrap of paper to rise to the top was supposed to contain the name of her true valentine. In old Sicily, unmarried women would get up before sunrise on Valentine’s Day to stand by their windows watching for a man to pass by. Each girl believed that the first man she saw or someone who looked a lot like him would become her bridegroom within the year.

Today the romance tradition continues. Hallmark makes a fortune on it, so do chocolate factories.

And then there’s my husband. I can count on one hand how many cards and chocolate hearts I’ve received on this worldwide day of romance in the last forty years. Valentine’s Day is a big rub for him. His philosophy— “Ain’t no one gonna tell me when to love my woman” (grunt-grunt). So, I never know if the day is going to pass us by or if I’m going to find a Snicker’s bar under my pillow.

Actually, I do have a whole drawer full of poems he wrote himself. Only one was given on Valentine’s Day. The very first marriage retreat we attended was his idea, and we’ve attended one almost every year since. We have had forty wedding anniversaries that have been celebrated with flourish, mostly through his planning and forethought. My every birthday has his loving stamp on it. (After all, the hubs is the one who bought me LuLu for my last birthday). So, I’m not complaining.

But if you’re a big fan of Valentine’s Day, I wish you a happy one. As far as I’m concerned though, each day and every day you wake up loved is Valentine’s Day.

Caring for Sparrows

2012-02-09T06:50:00.001-08:00

PHOTO: My friend, Mike.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

The other day I was loping around on Hildegard, the sweatmaker and trying my best not to pass out. The elliptical can be pretty mean when she wants to, so I usually use our thirty minutes together as prayer time. Really. I find this to be a great time to focus my thoughts on praying for others. So, I started going through my list of folks when one name popped into my head I hadn’t thought of in years.

Mike.

Fifth grade wasn’t easy for me. Mentally I couldn't keep up with myself physically. When I started wearing those blue, pointy glasses it got worse. When I started having trouble with arithmetic, life got darker still. "Ugly". "Four-eyes". "Dummy". No sir, I didn't lack for names.

Then, in sixth grade along came Mike. Mike was one of the best-looking, smartest, most popular guys in school. At least that’s how I remember him. I sat beside him and for some otherworldly reason we became best friends. Mike didn't see me the way other kids did. He always chose me first to be on his kick ball team even though I was a girl. I beat him at tetherball, but he didn't mind. And when I had to stay in at recess to finish my arithmetic, he would stay in with me. Mike is the one who finally made long division make as much sense as it was going to make. He never laughed at me and in sixth grade, because of him, no one else did either.

Life went on and mine got better. My body finally quit all of that awkward stuff, glasses were traded for contact lenses, and I even passed Modern Math. Through junior high and high school we remained friends, but nothing like it was in sixth grade.

I haven't seen Mike in over forty-five years, but for one brief moment in time, he was the most important person in my life. He befriended a frightened sparrow and made her proud of who she was even in blue, pointy glasses.

Is there a Mike in your past or present? If so, know that it isn't just luck. It is a promise. God takes care of His own, even sparrows.

When you get a minute, maybe while you’re exercising on your elliptical, or running, or whatever your exercise of choice is, thank Him today for His tender attention to details.

Later,

deb

Survivor Island

2012-02-07T07:17:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 45: Man is not an island. Good thing. We’d be doomed.

…It is a good thing. I would hate to think I’d have to go through this life all alone. One, how boring can that be? Two, how many mistakes could one person make when the only input they have is their own? And, three, the loneliness would kill.

In the last couple of weeks, my island has been invaded with two of the loveliest ladies. They’d been reading this blog not because they think it’s so great, but because they like me. We’ve been friends a while now. Then, then after the New Year, we’d been chatting through email about helping each other through this quagmire of dieting, exercise and the road to better health. Well, two weeks ago, we made our pact to share the island and fill it up with daily encouragement, tips, prayer and accountability.

I haven’t been this excited about dieting in… well… never. We’ve just entered our third week and we’ve all had shining successes and some real trials. We’ve about decided that this adventure is just as much about mind and heart as it is about diet and exercise. The mind comes into play because if we don’t keep it engaged, we’ll put just about anything into our mouths without thinking. The mind will defeat at every turn if it is not convinced we’re worth it.

And, our hearts keep us in the game when the scale fails us. It is the connector to something greater than ourselves. It is the hand the reaches out and begs for help. It is the only part of our bodies that is truly capable of understanding faith, forgiveness, and sacrificial love. It is the only part of the body whose home is somewhere else. Without it, the rest is meaningless.

Whatever your dreams, whatever your hopes, whatever your goals, remember to build a big, friendly, welcoming dock on your island. It increases your chances of survival ten-fold.

“I can do all things through Jesus who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13

photo by Nutanai Apikhomboonwaroot

Lessons from Belle

2012-02-02T06:33:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

For the past two weeks, Belle, the exercise ball, has been my exercise weapon of choice. I took her and her trusty hand weights to Door County with me on my writer’s retreat. And this week, we’ve met almost every morning in my office. With determination we worked through our routine. What I’ve discovered is that not only is Belle a big blue rubbery ball who puts me through the paces, but Belle is also my Mr. Miyagi (remember the original Karate Kid movie? “Wax on. Wax off.”) So I give you Lessons from Belle:

#1: A firm foundation is a must. Bare feet make a horrible stabilizer. You must wear shoes or once you’ve rolled down onto your back, you’re never going to get enough traction to get back up. Trust me. I know this for fact and it ain’t pretty. Being firmly planted is not only a BelleRule it also makes good sense in life, no? But firmly planted in what? That is the question.

#2: Balance is the key. In order to achieve balance BelleRule says you must keep adjusting. Belle is never stable. She’s round, remember? So I must adjust myself constantly to stay in the game. Likewise, life is never stable. We must have the ability to adjust to the rolling wave of what’s thrown at us. How? See BelleRule #1

#3 Stay alert. The minute you take your eye off the ball, so to speak, you’re going to roll off. What I mean is, sometimes I close my eyes while I’m balancing on my back lifting the hand weights over head. I try to shut out what I’m doing, sort of wanting to coast through the exercise. The minute I do, my reflexes relax and Belle, the round ball, sees an opening and bucks me off. Life will do that to us too, if we aren’t diligent. We won’t see it coming, we won’t be prepared and before we know it, we’re laying on the floor wondering what happened. Engage in your life. No coasting. Also, see BelleRule #1.

Oh, there’s more, Belle isn’t done with me yet. But be thinking about your life’s foundation. What stablizes you? What helps you keep balanced. What prepares you for the roll? We’ll see you back here on Tuesday.

deb

I did!

2012-01-31T06:08:00.000-08:00

PHOTO: Rusty & Murphy

THE LULU CHRONICLES

This morning I was up at 6:30, hopped on Belle, the ball and did my weight routine, and then pedaled on Rusty, the stationary bike. But, I must share with you something exciting. When I usually hop on Rusty, I can’t just start pedaling normal. The Fake Knee doesn’t allow that. I first must pedal backwards half way until I’ve coaxed the knee into a full rotation. Once I do that for a bit, then I start pedaling forward half way until I once again coax the Fake Knee into a full rotation. This is what I have to do before I jump on LuLu too. First Rusty to limber up the knee, then on to LuLu. However, this morning, for the first time in two years or more, I was able to pedal a full forward rotation right from the start! This is a big deal for me.

What this tells me is that my time spent with LuLu is slowly, but surely making me a healthier gal. And it most definitely is helping me to keep and gain flexibility with my knee. I’m ecstatic!

I have lots to go in the weight-losing department, but today, I rejoiced in a victory I didn’t see coming. So, I must ask you, what little victories have you been surprised with lately? Think about them and give them their due. Nothing is too small or insignificant. If it was a goal and you reached it, then it matters. We are sometimes to quick to put ourselves down or make light of an accomplishment. And, granted, manners and decorum call for modest restraint at times. But not at all times.

So pat yourself on the back for a job well done, and then keep moving forward. This morning as I made a couple of full rotations, I swear I heard the theme song from Rocky playing in the distance somewhere, or maybe it was just in my own heart.

I think I can, I think I can… I know I can… I did! And, so can you.

deb

God is no fool

2012-01-26T07:08:00.001-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

A long time ago, I discovered a little book that I have continually read for many years. Every time I pick it up, I discover something new. Unfortunately it’s out of print making me cherish the one copy I own all the more.

God is no fool was written by Lois Cheney back in the early 60s. It is the only book she ever wrote. One day, maybe ten years ago, I tracked Ms. Cheney down somewhere in Kentucky. As with Harper Lee with To Kill A Mockingbird and Margaret Mitchell with Gone with the Wind, I wanted to know why there was never another book. Ms. Cheney was cordial and spoke to me with the graciousness of one who had better things to do, but made time for a fan overstepping her bounds.

When I asked why she never wrote another book, she simply said, “I said all I wanted to say.” Well, done, Ms. Cheney.

Since I’m am on my own writing retreat this week and making sport of wrestling with just the right words, I wanted to honor Ms. Cheney by posting one of my favorite vignettes from God is no fool. Enjoy. I’ll see you next week.

Thirty-eight

One day, Just one day.

If I could present to my God, Just one day Of pure intention Of faithful purpose Of loving heart Of prayerful actions.

Just one day, Of total commitment Of untarnished speech Of unselfish acts Of total concentration.

Just one day, Lacking weakness Lacking jealousy Lacking self-absorption Lacking foolishness.

Just one day, One day

If I could present to my God, Just one day.

Vows. Vowels. And, lots of water

2012-01-24T07:38:00.001-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #44: When you can’t be with the one you love—pack chocolate. But make sure it’s dark chocolate because it’s good for you and promotes a healthy whatever, not like that bad milk chocolate.

It’s full-fledged winter up here in the North Country. We’ve had temps in the minuses the last few days. So, I’m afraid my sweet LuLu is going to be garage-bound for a few months now. It’s hard to believe that we biked only a little over a week ago in forty degree weather.

But do not fear. I am continuing on with my quest to healthy up my heart and other parts of me, even if LuLu can no longer venture outside. As I write this, I am in Door County on my annual Writing Retreat. But, I am not here alone, no sir. Belle, the exercise ball, and her accompanying hand weights have joined me on this little trip. The plan is to exercise every morning before I start my writing day. And, to keep me honest, I now have a couple of accountability partners whom I must check in with every day via email. More about those ladies in another post. So you see, I may be LuLu-less at the moment, but her spirit keeps me moving on.

Ever been to Door County in the ‘thumb’ of Wisconsin? It’s a God-kissed place hugging to the shores of Lake Michigan. The minute I pass into the first little village of the county, stress starts dropping off of me like sailors abandoning ship, and I’m left with this quiet glide toward shore. I have some dear friends who have generously loaned me their digs for the week. It’s a lovely little place bordering some large pines and cedars and only a block from a marina that frames some pretty spectacular sunsets.

I’ve come with the blessings of my sweet hubs with an admonishment to “Write, dear wife. Write until the words can come no more; write until the last vowel trickles from your fingers onto your keyboard like the emptying of a great ocean that gushes and flows into rivers, then lakes, then streams and finally spurts to the a small cup. Write, dear wife, and make us rich!” Well, that’s not exactly what he said, but he did send me off with a kiss and said he hoped I got a lot done.

So, I’ll write. I’ll exercise a bit. And, yes, Adrienne, I will drink my water… lots and lots of water.

How about you? How are your vows to yourself for the New Year coming? It’s only the end of January. We got a lot of year to go.

Later, dear friends,

deb

No Whine Zone

2012-01-19T09:03:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 43: Real heroes are few and far between. Cherish them.

Sorry about posting a little late this morning. I’m puny as is half of Wisconsin right now. Don’t know about you but there’s an evil little bug going round up here causing havoc with our respiratory systems, tummies and just about anything else it can get a-hold of. I’ve dragged myself around the house for two days now with rubbery legs and aching bones. Hear me whine!

But, let me tell you about someone who isn’t whining but has every right to… my hubs. He’s not here right now because he’s at the hospital getting his daily radiation treatment. About a year ago he had his first radiation treatment and came through with flying colors until a nasty infection set up housekeeping at the radiated site. Two more stays in the hospital and a few more months of recup and he was good to ago. Until his three month PET scan revealed another cancerous site behind his knee. Yet another surgery. Minor, but surgery just the same. Then right before Thanksgiving, a PET revealed another ‘suspicious’ site behind the same knee. This time instead of surgery he opted for radiation. And, here we are. We’re almost two years into what Gary calls his Medical Mystery Tour. Those who have kept up with us know my sweet man was diagnosed with a rare form of atypical Melanoma in March 2010. A tumor the size of Cancun had staked claim to his ankle and then sent cancer on up to some lymph nodes in his groin area. It’s been a battle, but one that my hubs has braved as ferociously as the young shepherd boy did when facing Goliath. And, he’s done it all without whining.

The man is my hero. The man is the love of my life. He is teaching me how to live like a warrior. I keep breaking a nail on the shield he is training me to fight with and then whining about it, but another thing he is, is patient. That’s a good thing for me. Pray for him today if you get a chance. God knows his name well. He knows all giant-slayers intimately and this one He’s been quite partial to.

Later,

deb

Disappointment

2012-01-16T21:37:00.001-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Disappointment. How do you handle it? As most of you know I’m from Wisconsin. On Sunday the Green Bay Packers lost their play-off bid with a heartbreaking game. We had high hopes. We’d won the Super Bowl last year. We had a 15-1 season. We were world championship bound. And then Sunday happened. Arrrg.

Disappointment hurts, but without it, we’d all turn into spoiled folks with skin so thin that a broken fingernail would send us into a depression that even chocolate fudge couldn’t reach.

Disappointment helps us put life in perspective and it gives us a practice ground to strengthen our character and to discover what truly matters. I mean really, what if everything always went our way? I’m thinking we’d turn into big, fat babies crying every time someone took our candy away.

I have a husband who is still fighting cancer. I have a dad who is losing himself to Alzheimer’s. I simply cannot afford to invest too much emotional energy into something that simply doesn’t matter, no matter how disappointing it is. Yeah, I wanted the Packers to kick major butt on Sunday. I was cheering. I was waving my Title Towel. Our little group was high-five-ing all over the place. Our mascot, Vince, the Packer Pig, was sitting in front of the TV projecting his mojo over the game. But when the buzzard sounded all that really happened was a game lost. Not a life. Not a reputation. Not a marriage. Not anything important. As bummed as I was, it was great practice to see how quickly I could adjust, to reset the mind, haul in the perspective and normalize.

Disappointment hurts, but rarely is it fatal. Use it to your advantage. Allow it to seed new hope for what comes next.

Later,

deb

Wonder

2012-01-12T06:04:00.001-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Yesterday, LuLu and I took a ride down the road with Murphy Dog perched in the basket. I hadn’t given the little dog a bike ride in awhile but since he kept running circles around LuLu and me while we were still in the garage, he was just too cute to leave behind.

The minute we turned out of the driveway onto the lane, Murph got comfy and allowed the breeze to pin his ears back. He was King of the Road. He kept sniffing the air and wagging his tail and looking back at me as if to say, “Isn’t this the best! See that tree over there? I’ve never seen anything like it. And lookie there, brown grass! So cool! And, is that a buffalo I smell? I’m in heaven!” Talk about a joy ride. The pup was full of wonder.

I envied him. When was the last time I felt that kind of wonder? You know the “twinkle-twinkle-little-star-how-I-wonder-what-you-are kind of wonder. I had a dear friend named Gail. Gail was about fifteen years older than me but in ‘wonder years’ she was a perpetual ten-year-old. Everything gave her joy. Everything was meant to be savored. Her curiosity remained child-like her whole life. A budding flower in spring took her breath away. And, I loved to watch her eat because it was like her tongue and taste buds had a little party with every bite. Nothing was wasted on her. Cranberry pudding with warm butter sauce gave her excited shivers. Our last meal together before she died was at a Mexican restaurant. She was very ill but insisted we go out to lunch. She ordered cheesecake for dessert and practically licked the plate when she was done. In fact, she did run her finger along the edge and scooped up the last bit of chocolate sauce and made a great show of licking her fingers. She taught me many great things.

Yesterday, Murphy was acting like Gail. Every brown blade of grass, every whiff of something unseen, every tweet from a bird made his tail wag. If his little feet weren’t prancing in place, he was making excited, high-pitched grunts. He was in awe, and it was just a regular Wednesday.

Can I add another resolution to my list? Why not? It’s my blog, right? I am going to try my hardest to find something in everyday that makes me want to lick my fingers and prance a little with glee. I’m going to try and dust off my ‘wonder-meter’ and allow my breath to be taken away.

Are you game? I’ll look forward to hearing from you.

deb

Do overs

2012-01-10T05:51:00.001-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #42: If at first you don’t succeed, get your Cowgirl in gear, quit your whining, and start again… baby.

I’m about to be convinced that there is something to this global warming thingy. To be honest I haven’t given it much thought until now. Snow comes. Snow goes. Sunshine comes. Sunshine goes. But in Wisconsin, it is unheard of to be able to ride one’s bike on dry, iceless roads in the month of January. But I got to tell you, LuLu and I looked pretty smart the other day tooling down the road in nothing but a sweatshirt and ear muffs. (Well I had on other stuff, but no heavy coat, no long johns and no gloves.) It was an out-of-winter-experience.

So, the health plan continues. I’m exercising. I’m starting to make better eating choices and I’m taking my vitamin supplements. Yet… it’s all still hard. Given a choice I’d rather have a chocolate dipped Oreo over an apple any day. And, oranges are great, but peanut butter M & M’s are to die for in my book.

You should hear the arguments I have with myself about throwing the covers off early in the morning and going down in the basement and climbing on Hildegard. The Sweatmaker. If the sun isn’t going to show it’s bright face before 7 a.m. then why should I? Confession time: The covers are winning more times than not.

With all that said, I’m still trying.

Still trying. Isn’t that what it’s all about? Trying. Making an effort? If you mess up, you try again. If the covers win, or the Oreo wins or Hildegard is too scary, we don’t give up. Tomorrow is a do-over.

I’m not just talking exercise and eating, I’m talking life. If you make mistakes, do what needs to be done to make amends, forgive yourself, forgive others and then start again.

I say, thank our God for second chances and do-overs.

deb

Here I sit

2012-01-05T07:54:00.000-08:00

Photo: Belle, the ball

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I think I’m having the after-holiday-blues. Ever have them? And to add to it I woke up this morning with a crick in my shoulder. I feel 106 years old. I’m sitting up in my little office staring out the window overlooking the garage and pining away for LuLu. She’s just sitting there on her little kickstand waiting, wondering where I am. There’s snow on the ground and it’s in the teens degree wise. I’m afraid she’s going to have to wait and wonder a little while longer.

I know how to make myself feel better, but I’m having an inner struggle with myself. In the basement stands Hildegard, the sweatmaker. Across the room sits Belle, the ball. If I put on my sweats and go down there and start exercising, I’m sure I would be able to work this kink out of my shoulder stretching over Belle (my big exercise ball), plus going about three miles on Hildegard (she’s an elliptical machine for all those who haven’t met her) would get the endorphins going. In thirty minutes the kink would be gone and the blues chased away.

Yet, here I sit.

Why, oh why is it so easy to do the wrong things for yourself and so very hard to buck up and do the right things?

If being a lazy whiner would make one rich, I’d be planning a trip to Europe right now or some warm deserted island where I’d lay on the beach, listening to the gulls overhead and allowing the slow, drifting waves to lull me to sleep.

But I’m not, rich that is, so that must mean I’m a lazy whiner and there’s not one good thing about being a lazy whiner.

Here I sit.

Shoulder hurting.

Feeling sorry for myself.

LuLu in the garage.

I sit.

See, New Year resolutions are not worth the time it took to dream them up, unless…

I’m going now. My sweatpants await, as do Belle and her buddy.

Here I go. I’m getting up now…

Later,

deb

May the Force be with you

2012-01-03T12:15:00.000-08:00

PHOTO: My girls and me. My motivation to get healthy.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Okay. It’s January 3, 2012. How’s the resolutions going? Just asking…

Here’s my philosophy on dieting. SPHLAAA!

I don’t know about you but I’ve been developing a list of questions I’m going to ask God when I see Him. This list is several columns wide now and several years in the making. There are the typical mysteries I want to know, like “Why do bad things happen to good people?” and “How can God be in China and Oshkosh, WI at the same time?” Deep things like that. And then there’s the every day variety question like, “If liver is so good for you, how come it taste so very, very bad?” Same goes for broccoli, beets and rutabagas. Or, “If He didn’t want us to eat chocolate peanut butter balls, then why did He give us the peanut, the sugar cane and the coco bean?” Seriously, what did He think we we’re going to do with those things?

Why, oh, why is it so easy to eat badly and so hard to eat healthy? Or am I the only one who has a problem with this? I never had a weight problem until I got married. Then, the minute I said, “I do”, it was like my body forgot how to process food. I don’t know why I bother to put anything into my mouth. To save time I should just applied it directly to my hips and been done with it.

But, here I am once again promising myself I’ll do better. And I mean it. I always mean it. Maybe this year, I really mean it. At least I have help now. There’s LuLu, the pink bike and her friends. There’s my hubs bound and determined to lose some weight along with me in the coming months as well. But here’s the rub with that. I’ll exercise two hours a day, eat a spinach leaf and a half a celery stick, and maybe, maybe I’ll lose a pound every month or so. The hubs just has to decide to not put ice cream on his piece of chocolate cake and he’ll lose seven pounds in one week. Don’t get me started.

But, try I will…. once again. Why? Because I want to be healthier. I have seven grandkids that love for me to play and roll around with them. I don’t want their lasting memory of me to be the traumatic sight of this chunky lady struggling to get up off the floor. Also, I want to honor God by honoring this body He gave me. He made me with forethought and love. Of course, that’s on my list of questions too. “Why did He give me this particular body?" Sense of humor maybe?

I’ll let you know how it’s coming. And, let me hear from you too. Surely, I’m not the only toots on the planet trying to get her Cowgirl to fit on a bike seat.

Good luck to us all! May the Force be with you.

deb

What's new?

2011-12-29T06:46:00.000-08:00

Photo: Murphy and I wish you a humdinger of a new year.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #41: Less yapping. More pedaling.

The hubs and I are still Christmas-ing in Memphis but will be moseying towards Wisconsin on Friday. LuLu, my pink bike, awaits, as does my elliptical, Hildegard, my exercise ball, Belle, and my stationary bike, Rusty. I fear they are not pleased with, shall we say, how much territory the *Cowgirl is beginning to take up.

With that said, I feel some New Year’s resolutions coming on. How about you? Are you a goal setter? Do you have a hankering to reinvent yourself when the New Year timer gets reset?

I do. And, I make no excuses for it. I like fresh starts. Wiping the slate clean. And, beginnings. So here goes:

Health. I didn’t start riding LuLu just to look fashionable pedaling down the road on a pink bike. I’m trying to get my health back. So, more LuLu and friends. Less excuses.

Balance. I need more of it. For every tear that falls, a good belly laugh is in order. God expects me to take care of myself (hence- LuLu), however, I must also be on the look out for a hand that needs held, a limp that needs a strong shoulder, and a lonely silhouette that needs light. I want to sit at the kids’ table more… and the Lord’s. I want to be more focused… and spend as much time as I can discovering bunnies and tigers in funny shaped clouds.

Learning. The Bible. A novel. A poem. An essay. Fiction. Non-Fiction. Literary. Humor. What do the best of these have in common? Bits of God can be found in them all.

Family. Cherish is the word.

Reverence. God made me and that little brown seedy part of a yellow coneflower. He expects something out of both of us. God put the whale in the ocean and the baby in his mama’s tummy. Both tickle his fancy. He decorated the earth with roses and dogwoods. He’s still working on Heaven even as we speak. His trees fashioned a temple and a cross. I need to remember all these things more.

Well that gets us started. Let’s think of more as the year progresses, shall we?

Happy New Year, dear friends. Aren’t we going to have fun in 2012?

deb

*my behind

2011-12-27T20:09:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Hi, Ya'll!

I'm sorry that I'm a little behind in posting. The hubs and I are still in Tennessee with family. I hope you have enjoyed a Christmas as sweet as the Cleveland/Doughty clan. We've had good food, tender moments, laughter and now new memories to treasure. A new tradition added this year was Skyping. With our kids, grand kids, and a niece & nephew-in-law scattered to the four winds, it was such a tickle to huddle around the computer screen and take our turns chatting with those missing around our tree this year- a 21st Century-kind of family reunion you might say.

I won't keep you. Why spend time with me when you can hug up on someone dear to you.

Bright idea: During this season what is the one memory/experience you will hold the dearest? Once you've decided, why don't you write it down in 25 words or less and tuck it into your Bible or another favorite book that you know you will be reading this year. Then sometime in 2012 when you come across it on some unsuspecting day, you will get to savor it all over again. Fun, huh?

I'll see you on Thursday and we'll have a little chat about New Year's Resolutions. In the mean time, feel free to enjoy a few holiday shots from the Clevelands.

Talk to ya'll soon,
deb

Traditions

2011-12-21T20:38:00.000-08:00

Photo: The Cleveland Tree- 2010

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Like most of us, I love Christmas and all it represents. From celebrating the Baby Jesus to gift giving, I love it all. One of my favorite fun things is the tree. Without even trying, the Clevelands built all kinds of family traditions around the Christmas tree itself.

First, the selection: If something needed to be pretty, matched, or a perfect size all the men in my family lost interest. So, while I was wading through rows and rows of evergreens trying to making up my mind, my sons and their father were darting around the tree lot throwing snowballs at each other and making fun of me. And yes it’s true, more times than not, I always went back and picked the first one I saw. It was a tradition.

The food: We simply could not decorate the tree without woofing down chocolate milk and donuts during the process. It was a tradition.

The music: Disco Christmas 70s Edition. It was a tradition.

The lights: Tangled. It was dad’s job to untangle, check to see what strands still worked and then wrap them around the tree with donut in mouth. It was a tradition.

The videographer: It was always our oldest son. His amusing commentary on all our shenanigans was a tradition- albeit always a potentially embarrassing one.

The tree topper: A Styrofoam Frosty, the snowman with a nose that lit up. He is now sitting atop his 40th tree. It’s a tradition.

Now that there are seven grandchildren who have joined in the fun with their own favorite donut request at tree trimming time, all of the above traditions have become even more precious. Of course, I know that the tree, be it a frasier, a balsam or whatever, it's just a tree. But, those dear wrestling, teasing, donut-breathing family members who dance around that tree every year are what truly matter. Without them, Frosty can just stayed in the box with the rest of the decorations.

Remember--traditions are the stuff families are made of, but families are the stuff hearts are made of.

Enjoy your traditions. Treasure your families.

Merry Christmas, dear ones,

deb

Enjoy Now

2011-12-19T20:49:00.000-08:00

Photo: While the Cleveland's holiday trips weren't quite as adventurous as the Griswold's, we ran a close second...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Well, Gary and I are on the road as I write this. I left LuLu, and Hildegard, the sweatmaker, Belle, the ball and Rusty, the sidekick in their places at home. I hope they get all rested up, because after Christmas I fear I will need them more than ever. Peanut butter balls, sugar cookies, pecan pie, egg nog (lots of egg nog), and other holiday goodies will definitely take their toll on my waistline and thighs. But oh, how sweet the partaking will be.

We’re on our way to Memphis where my parents live. I don’t care how old you get, there’s nothing like going ‘home’ for the holidays. I guess I’ll always be my mama and daddy’s girl. And, yes, I know how fortunate I am at age sixty to still have my parents with me.

As we travel these roads that I know by heart, memories roll in front of my eyes of Christmases past on this same stretch of highway. Picture Gary and I and our three sons in a Nissan station wagon, the size of small raft. The little boys are in their seat belts in the back and trying their best not to touch each other. On their laps are assorted action figures from Darth Vader to GI Joe. All kinds of sound effects are drowning out the Christmas music their dad is trying to listen to on the tape deck. Yes, I said, ‘tape deck’. Remember those? As we travel down the road, we know it’s just a matter of time until chaos breaks out. After all, Darth Vader isn’t known for his peacekeeping skills. And, then it happens…. “He touched me!” He’s on my side of the car!” “He stole my guy!” “Cut it out!” Mooommm!”

Ah, yes, family holiday travel. I remember it well. There was not a nook or cranny in the car that did not have something stuffed into it… besides the three boys with wrapped presents under their feet and over their heads, there was always Otis, the poodle, trying to nap atop the rubble. Crumbs from some snack were everywhere, as were assorted kicked off shoes and smelly socks. Our holiday trips were sixteen hours long, but felt more like three/four days. But you know what? I wouldn’t have traded them for the world. It is one of those memories I keep safe and close as if it is spun gold and beyond any earthly value.

Today, our back seat is pretty orderly. Oh, there are still scattered Christmas presents and a sleeping dog-- this time he’s a white fluffy kind of dog named Murphy. He has the whole back seat to call his own. He knows not what a fortunate pampered pooch he is.

Cherish whatever you’re experiencing now. Whether it be a back seat full of little boys fussing, or a noisy cluttered house full of holiday sounds and aromas, or adult children going ‘home’ to love up on and honor their aging parents. It all goes by way too quickly. Enjoy now. Squeeze every drop of joy out of it… and give thanks for such a precious gift.

Merry Christmas, dear ones…

deb

Joy to the World- Part Four

2011-12-14T19:34:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I don't believe that Jesus Christ was born on December 25. I believe that if you did a little historical snooping, you'd find that date isn't anywhere close. But I do believe in Jesus. I do believe he was born, sometime, and that there is probably a really good reason why we don't know the exact date.

It's not the date that is important, it's the event. Isn't it amazing how just the thought of a little baby, dressed in simple wrapping, asleep in a hewn-out trough over 2,000 years ago, can still cause us to be more courteous and thoughtful today?

In remembering His birth, hopefully, I will remember His life. Jesus not only toddled, He walked on water. His mother fed him. He fed five thousand. As a baby, He cried when He was in need. As an adult, He prayed. As an infant, He snuggled on His dad's lap. As a man, children snuggled on His. As a baby, He needed. As a Savior, He gave. As a child, He played hide & seek. As God, He doesn't.

His birth was a miracle. His life was a challenge. His death was a sacrifice. His resurrection was a triumph.

Jesus is to be celebrated on all four counts, not one day a year, but everyday, with joy...great, great, joy!

Joy to the World- Part Three

2011-12-12T20:04:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 40: Ever sit at the 'kids table' with your cousins and giggle so much that milk came out your nose? Ain't nothing like family.

Family is one of the main focuses of the Christmas season. Once we become the adult responsible for all that Christmas joy, the pressure is on to make everything just right. We want our children to appreciate what we give them and our parents to appreciate who we are. We want the gathering of the clan to be pleasant and as Hallmark-esque as possible. An unrealistic goal for sure, but short of a miracle, how can we bring this about?

Simple. Over-look what people really don't mean. Think of Aunt Sally's comments on the dry turkey and tacky tablecloth as much a family tradition as mistletoe and holly. Accept some things as fact and then relax about them. Your children may not appear to be very thankful as they rip open their presents, but when the wrapping paper dust settles, you'll get your hug.

Remember family are people too. They come with flaws and favors just like your friends. They are the people who have known you all your life. Aunts who once held you on their laps; Uncles who taught you how to fish; Cousins with whom you shared secrets; Fathers who worked long hours just to feed you; Mothers who gave up all to sing you to sleep; and children who depend on you. Your family members may not know you as well as you'd like them too, but are there any better people on this earth who should?

Family. They are your strength, conscience, comfort and sometimes your biggest challenge. Over-look them. Accept them. Love them. It's the only way to go.

Joy!

deb

Joy to the World- Part Two

2011-12-08T06:35:00.000-08:00

Note to self: Do not wear Capri workout pants to ride bike when it is nineteen degrees outside... fool. P.S. It would also be a good idea if I'd wear socks as well.

Yeah, LuLu and I have been riding this week, but I have a new rule. If I can hear my wind chimes clanging, then it's too windy to ride. Well, friends, here's my second installment from my old column writing days. I dedicate this one to you. Thank you for spending some time with me each week since April. I look forward to our new year together and wish you and yours a most blessed Christmas....

Joy to the World- Part Two

I saw a picture the other day in a magazine that has really stuck with me. It was of a group of people sitting in a living room. Ties were loosened, shoes were kicked off and pleasure was written on every face. The scene was extremely intimate.

The enjoyment of being with friends can be one of the blessings of this time of the year.Because of family commitments, we sometimes feel a little bit guilty taking some time out to be with non-related people. Don't! Don't let the season get by without a gathering of friends.

Can there be joy without friends? Can there be friendship without shared thoughts? Talk, don't just entertain. In our "Entertain Me" world, sometimes communication gets lost. TV, DVDs, and games take the place of conversation. We are afraid of lulls, so we push buttons, roll dice, or watch movies… whatever to keep from actually talking.

TALK! In a room unencumbered by distractions, share what matters most to you. Allow your friends to discover what really winds your clock. And by all means, tell these people how much you love them.

Good friends, good conversation, laughter, and shared lives—what can compare?

This season, don't just party--partake in friendship. What joy!

Joy to the World- Part One

2011-12-06T05:12:00.000-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I wrote a weekly newspaper column for seventeen years, titled FOOTSTEPS & HEARTBEATS. I stopped writing the column when I started writing books. There were only so many hours in the day and something had to go. But, I remember a particular series of columns I wrote back then that still resonates today. So, during this holiday season LuLu and I would like to share them with you. Are you game? LuLu thinks I should do something productive with my time, since I’ve left her alone in the garage for way too long. So, I’ve spiffed them up a bit and here’s the first one:

Joy To the World- Part One

I wrote a column once where a source was neglected to be mentioned. When I saw the article in print I got angry. I blamed the newspaper. However, when I looked back at my original article I found I was the one to blame. I had forgotten to include the source.

Why are we so quick to blame others for something gone wrong? At this time of the year when joy and peace should reign in our lives, I''m afraid they can actually have a short rule.

Oh, we start off fine. Shopping, baking, and trimming the tree are exciting. But as the weeks wear on, the strain of it all causes us to snap, crackle, and blame. It is the store clerk's fault that the customer in front of you just bought the last bottle of grandma's favorite cologne. As a shop clerk, it's the customer's fault that the item he picked doesn't have the price tag on it and now a price check has to be sought as your line begins to grow with impatient shoppers with children with candy canes stuck in their hair and… well you get the picture.

'Tis the season to be rude to people we don't think matter, like the guy who sits at the stop light a bit too long after it turns green. Honk!

"Please" and “Thank you" are in season all year. We are hustling and bustling to make the holiday season special for the ones we love. What we must remember is that it isn't the trappings of Christmas that make it special… it's the people. If we have to step on someone’s face to create joy in our own small worlds, then the price is too high, don’t you think?

Joy is people.

Irregular People

2011-12-01T06:25:00.001-08:00

Photo: Does this lady look irregular?

THE LULU (& friends) CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #38: Love’em but make’em accountable. And hope they do the same for you.

So, yesterday I was pedaling along on Rusty (LuLu refused to leave the garage whining something about the 19 degrees outside) when the Fake Knee started kicking up a fuss. You’d thought I was asking it to climb stairs at the Empire State Building. All the creaking, aching and stiffness, made for one joy-less ride. You see the Fake Knee is like an irregular person in my life. It’s never really happy. It complains about everything I ask it do it. And, it blames everything else on its discomfort, not taking any responsibility for its own discomfort.

Irregular people are the same. You love’em. You hate’em. And, we all have them—be it a family member, a friend, a co-worker, or the grumpy guy who waits on you at the local Kwik Trip. They are the folks who are never happy, always needy and always sure it’s someone else’s fault. Everything is always too hard, too soft and nothing is ever just right. And if we aren’t careful, they can become bloodsuckers, draining us of our own joy. Because as we all know, misery loves company.

So, what’s to be done with the irregular person in your life? Boot them out? Or, lock the doors and pretend you’re not home? Or, not answer the phone when you know it’s them? To be honest, I’ve done all of the above. I simply haven’t done it for long. I give myself enough distance to regroup and get my sanity back and then I let them in again. I have to. You see, God loves them and He wants me to love them too. It’s part of the deal when I signed on to live my life on Higher Ground.

Of course, while I have irregular people in my life, it has just dawned on me that I just might be the irregular person in someone’s life? You think? Surely not? Well… maybe. If I am, I do hope they love me through my bouts of irregularity. Just like Jesus did. Just like God does.

The Fake Knee finally hushed a bit by the end of our ride. And, for the rest of the day it felt pretty good. Had I given into it’s whining I wouldn’t have helped it at all. Irregular knee. Irregular people. Give them what they need. Not what they want. Love in action.

Later,

deb

Black Friday Warriors

2011-11-28T19:32:00.001-08:00

PHOTO: Don't you just love the crazy Target Lady?

THE LULU CHRONICLES

The good news? The turkey and dressing are all gone and there’s just a smidge of cranberry sauce left. The bad news? We’re out of whipped cream. I love whipped cream. I could smear it on anything and be a happy woman. But alas, it’s time to get off the holiday eating high and embrace raw carrots and broccoli. Besides, Christmas is just around the corner… and more whipped cream.

So, did you do your part? On Black Friday were you one of the millions who contributed to our economy by standing in a mile long line for a door buster item? Where were you on Black Friday at 2 a.m.? Were you sleeping or racing down an aisle in Wal-Mart to be one of the lucky ones to snatch a couple pairs of those four-dollar jammies? I am proud to announce that the Cleveland Women were among the mighty. My daughters-in-law rose at 2:30 a.m. and had a Blu-ray player snuggly tucked in their shopping cart by 3 a.m.

I was a little wussier than the younger Cleveland gals, but met up with them by 7 a.m. to join in the hunt. What a day of giggles and triumph. I can hardly think of anything more satisfying then slapping a $10 Off coupon onto the counter next to a purchase that was already marked 60% off. I felt myself morphing into a Black Friday Guru. It was heady stuff. It wasn’t like I was facing down a diabolical enemy set on destroying the world as we know it. But I did save my family a couple of bucks, and in this economy, bagging a bargain isn’t too shabby, is it?

I was a young mother in the 1980s during our last recession. I hardly noticed it. We were living in a one hundred year old house that looked it’s age, still using wooden crates for end tables and could still get out of the grocery store on a fifty dollar bill.

This recession is different. I have more to lose. I’m not sure if that is good or bad, but what I do know is that I have to constantly be checking my ‘want-er’ against my ‘need-er’. Just because I want it, doesn’t mean I need it. Tough times require tough choices. Keeping it simple, being discriminating, and being a good steward has never been more important. Good luck to you as you patrol the aisles. Never be afraid of a bargain, or of walking away if you have second thoughts.

You know what LuLu would say, right? “If it ain’t pink and/or takes you to a better place, pass it on by.”

Later,

deb

Thus far...

2011-11-22T05:47:00.001-08:00

PHOTO: Thus far, my darling is still with me...God is good.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

What are you doing peeking at this blog? It's a holiday, people! Don't you have a turkey to thaw? Dressing to dress? Pies to bake? You shouldn't be hanging out with me when you've got so much to prepare. So, here's the deal, LuLu and I are going to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving, now, so you don't have to visit us again until next Tuesday. I don't know about you, but I'm going to have a house full on Thursday, thirteen to be exact. I can't even promise I'll be able to find my computer on Thursday underneath the mix of fall decorations and the beginnings of Christmas decorations. It's like my house is having a bout of split personality disorder. Christmas lights are hanging outside, yet my fireplace mantel has gourds and pumpkins on it. Go figure.

Go. Be thankful. In betwixt all of the holiday hub bub, go to your quiet place, be it the bathroom, a closet or the garage, whatever, and take a moment to just be thankful. Another year is about to end, and you're still here. You're upright. You've survived. Maybe you've even thrived. Be. Thankful.

Long, long ago in a Bible land far, far, away, there was a man named Joshua. He got promoted to head trail boss when God retired Moses number. One day, Joshua was leading the troops in yet, another circle, when the day had arrived that they were going to cross over the Jordan River into a land of milk and honey, as they say in Bible-speak. Josh gathered the masses and tried to calm their fears. "What if we don't like milk and honey?" they shouted. "What if trouble is ahead?" they asked. "What if ...?" You get my drift. When Josh had had enough of their whining and questioning, he stood before them and said, and I paraphrase, "Listen up, people! Hasn't God taken care of us thus far? We've had plenty to eat. We've been kept safe. True, we've wandered around in this desert for about forty years now because somebody refused to stop and ask for directions (naw, he really didn't say that at all, but I couldn't help myself there), yet, here we are fat and sassy, alive, thriving, and about to have a new experience. Thus far, He has taken care of our every need. Shouldn't we trust that He will will take care of tomorrow as well?"

Dear friends, God has taken care of us thus far. Be thankful. I have absolutely no doubt that He will take care of our tomorrows just as faithfully. We have so much to fall to our knees and be thankful about. I invite you to join me there.

Thus far...
deb

Balance

2011-11-17T06:18:00.001-08:00

Photo: LuLu's friend, Belle, the ball.

THE LULU ( & friends) CHRONICLES

So, here I am teetering atop Belle, the ball, stretching the back out before we get to the hard stuff, when I realize… this is easier than it used to be. Have any of you exercised on a big ball? If you have, do you remember the very first time you sat down on it? The first time Belle and I started our workouts together, several years ago now, I laid back to stretch and immediately rolled off onto the floor—smack-dab on the *Cowgirl. It was not pretty.

I haven’t been on Belle for quite awhile. All spring and summer, LuLu, the pink bike, was my exercise buddy of choice. But now after months and months away, I plop down on Belle and immediately my body morphs into this incredible balancing machine. I stretch, I twist, I do sit ups, I lift weights, all keeping the Cowgirl where she belongs. Balance is a good thing.

I believe all the time I’ve spent on LuLu has taught my body how to compensate and adjust to the little tilts and jolts that come along… and now balance is second nature.

Life is all about balance—keeping yourself upright by constantly adjusting to the jiggles and jolts that are thrown at you. The good, the bad and the ugly have a way of knocking us to our Cowgirls if we aren’t prepared, centered, balanced, if you will.

A lot has been thrown at me lately threatening my balance. And, I must tell you that if I hadn’t already known that prayer, faith and supportive friends and family weren’t the keys to a balanced life, my Cowgirl would have found a permanent home splatted on the floor a long time ago.

Find your core. Keep your balance.

Later,

deb

*Cowgirl- your behind a.k.a butt

Do the hard stuff

2011-11-15T06:51:00.001-08:00

Photo: Hildegard, the sweatmaker... one of the hard stuff.

THE LULU (& friends) CHRONICLES

Why is it so hard to create a new habit? For example, I know that exercise is good for me. I know that if I get up only thirty minutes earlier, I’d be able to get’er done and then get on with my day. The benefits are many—better heart health, weight loss, and building muscle, to name a few. So, why, why is it so hard to establish this good habit?

Like with anything, creating a new habit, takes practice. It takes sacrifice, it takes saying ‘yes’ to something and ‘no’ to something else, and let’s face it, denying ourselves of something that feels good or takes no effort has it’s charms.

Let’s see, let’s list things I’d rather be doing than sweating on Hildegard? 1) anything else; 2) see #1.

Are we too lazy to create a new habit that is good for us? I don’t think so. Are we too busy? We’re never too busy to do what we really want to do. So, what is it that’s makes it so hard to create a new habit?

Indulgence. We are an indulgent people. At times we’re like spoiled children who cross our arms, stamp our feet and refuse to eat our vegetables. It’s all about us and about what’s easy. We don’t do the hard stuff… not if we can help it.

This little’tude shows up not only in personal habits, but also in the workplace, in our churches, on the playground, and dare, I say, in our politics. We vote for the person who promises us it won’t be hard to get what we want, and that we won’t have to give up anything to get it.

Note to self: All the good stuff is hard to do. Quit yer whining and get on with it.

Assignment: Today, do the hard stuff first.

Later,

deb

Meet the gang

2011-11-10T07:37:00.001-08:00

Photos: The Let's-get-Deb-into-shape Campaign Team.

THE LULU (& Friends) CHRONICLES

Okay, here’s the deal. Remember on Tuesday when LuLu and I went merrily pedaling in the autumn rain? Well, yesterday we had a total weather event. First comes rain, then hail, then sleet, then snow, then thunder and then lighting. Thus it is safe to say that winter has arrived in the North Country. I’m figuring LuLu and I will hit the road only sporadically from now until April. Hence, I’d like to introduce you to her friends who will be stepping up to the plate to help keep my cowgirl and Fake Knee from growing even fatter and lazier.

Meet Hildegard, the sweatmaker. Hildegard set up roost in our basement a few years ago. We’ve actually used her enough we’ve had to replace a part. Cool, huh? Well, I’m making a commitment to myself, to you, and to Hilde, she’s going to see me on a regular basis from this day forward. She’s an elliptical drill sergeant who takes no prisoners.

Meet Belle, the ball. She joined us a couple of years ago. I haven’t seen her all summer, but now with the white stuff falling from the sky, she and I will also have a date at least three mornings a week. Hold me to that.

And, you’ve already met, faithful side kick, Rusty. He has a very important job this winter. If I do not hop on him for a spin, the Fake Knee will become a Fake Rod with absolutely no flexibility at all. If I want to be able to hop back on LuLu come spring, old Rusty is my go-to guy.

Oh, you’ll still be hearing from LuLu, she’s the brain behind the Let’s-get-Deb-into- shape Campaign. But picture her in the garage, eating bon-bons and soaking her tires for a few months. She’s on vacation.

Why do I tell you all of this? They say if you tell someone you’re on a diet, or starting an exercise plan you’ll stick to it. Well, so far that’s worked for me. Since last April LuLu and I have put a few miles on her tires and my Cowgirl, mainly because you knew I’d promised to do it. So, wish me and the gang luck. It’s going to be a long, long winter. Oh, and feel free to join me. Get down to your basement and dust off whatever exercise equipment you have hiding down there. We’re going for the burn!

Later,

deb

Get your pink on...

2011-11-08T06:13:00.001-08:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #37: Go. Pack. Go

Picture if you will, me, LuLu and the Green Bay Packers. Yep, LuLu is a fan of the mighty fine Green and Gold. On our ride this morning (yes, we rode in the rain, and yes, we rode in 40 degrees) we rehashed Sunday’s game. Packers won of course. Our team is now 8-0. I’m trying to get LuLu to understand the significance of that stat, but she’s not all that impressed. However, when I told her that some Packer players have been known to ride an exercise bike on the sidelines during the game, her handlebars perked up. That she’s impressed with.

She wondered if the exercise bikes were pink. I hated to disappoint her, so I diverted her attention to my hat. It was pink, a pink Packer ball cap. When the wife of our former Green Bay Packer quarterback, Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless, introduced the pink caps in support of breast cancer research, I was on board. I bought one for my daughter-in-laws and myself. The pink caps were an ingenious idea. That first Sunday a few years ago when our former quarterback-Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless stood on the sidelines at Lambeau Field during a game wearing his pink ball cap with the big ‘G’ logo emblazoned on the front, the caps sold out in a matter of hours. Millions were raised for cancer research.

As I told that story, LuLu got very giddy and strutted her pink, shiny self, as well as a bicycle can strut.

As many of you know, my sweet hubs has been fighting cancer. He wears an additional color in support of cancer research. His yellow Live Strong bracelet rarely leaves his wrist. He got it from donating money to cancer research.

Pink. Yellow. They’re just colors, but creatively placed, they can be a great reminder that there’s a big, ugly, fierce fight going on to stop a killer, a killer that has taken way too many lives. If you get a chance, put your pink where your mouth is, and your yellow where it counts. Let’s cure cancer in our lifetime… and for the Cleveland family, the sooner the better.

Get your pink on…

deb

"What if..."

2011-11-04T10:59:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 36: What if my rider (deb) would get serious about her diet and actually lose a pound or two? Wouldn’t that be something?

I know, I know, I’m late posting. You’ll just have to forgive me, please. Yesterday was Colonoscopy Day for me. It was a lovely day, what I remember of it. Of course it was a way better day than the day before, if you get my drift. However, all is well. So, how’s that for an excuse not to meet a deadline?

Okay, I am proud to say that on Wednesday morning, before said colonoscopy prep was begun, LuLu and I took a spin in the rain. It was a light drizzle, but a great ride. At least it was until my head kept bouncing on politics. I’m not much of a political pundit. Nobody really cares what I think on this subject, nor should they. However, what I kept thinking about was what it would be like if a person of true faith, common sense and moral integrity actually became our president one day. You know someone who went to church because of his or her love for the Lord instead of the love of a good photo op. Or someone who when asked, “Do you believe in same sex marriage or abortion?” would say outright, “No, I do not and here’s why…” Or when asked, “Have you ever cheated on your wife?” would look straight into the camera and say, “No, I have not. I love only one woman and I will be faithful to her until I die.” Or, if that said presidential person was a woman, would respond, “I was a virgin when I married my husband because I made a promise to myself and God that true love waits and then I waited and married the right man, and I will forever be faithful to him” … and it all would actually be the truth.

What would it be like, if this said, fictitious person had made a mistake in his/her early years, say age eighteen or twenty or so and the press discovered it and blasted it all over the air waves, and instead of lying, dodging and covering up, our person was able to say, “That’s old news fellas. I confessed that sin to those I hurt a long, long time ago. I repented of it, prayed about, and have been living my life redeemed ever since.”

What if this fairy tale person made decisions for our country based on common sense and a healthy sense of right and wrong, instead of greed and polls and cover-ups?

“What if…” is a fun thing to ponder on a bike ride in the rain on a chilly fall morning.

Later,

deb

Gotta kick the covers off

2011-10-31T18:25:00.001-07:00

PHOTOS: Some of my favorite blues

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #35: Everything looks better in blue. Flowers. Wall paint. Socks. I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t prefer in the color blue… except maybe … fried chicken.

This morning, LuLu and I ventured out after a week apart. It was good to get back in the saddle, even if I had to drag the cowgirl kicking and screaming. It was cold to be sure, but what got me so excited to be outside was the color of the morning sky.

Those of you who know me well, know that blue is my favorite color. Well, this morning’s sky was a blue I’d never seen before. It was a dark translucent, blue with aqua flecks highlighting it. The deep green, wet grass was an excellent compliment as ground and sky met at the horizon. Breathtaking.

Had I not gotten up early and decided to ride LuLu, I would have missed this wonderful gift of natural color, honey-tasting air, and that sweet feeling of accomplishment that exercise gives you. It was especially sweet because after not exercising for a week, it was soooo tempting to let another day go by without putting the cowgirl in the saddle.

It is so easy to let go of resolve, whether it’s dieting, exercising, or just about anything else that requires gumption, grit and just plain kicking the covers off. I must admit, there days I just plain fail at it. But, I’m discovering that the trick is to not let that one day of giving in, set the standard for the next day. I must shake it off and then get back out there.

That blue sky was something. I wish I could duplicate it, because I’d love to carry a patch of it with me everywhere. I guess I’ll just have to be on watch for it another morning. Which means, well you know what it means. Gotta kick the covers off. Gotta get my cowgirl in the seat. Gotta do it for me.

Wishing you your own blue, fall skies.

deb

Earthworks

2011-10-27T20:37:00.001-07:00

Photos: Earthworks on the shore of Lake Michigan.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Another day without LuLu. Gary and I are still in Door County celebrating our fortieth wedding anniversary. I wanted to bring LuLu to this gorgeous vacation spot but the hubs convinced me that we’d go to all that trouble to get her here and then the weather probably wouldn’t cooperate anyway. As it turns out, he was right… he’s been right a few times during our marriage.

Yesterday, Gary, Murphy and I took a hike on a trail that led down to the pebbled shore of Lake Michigan. Imagine our surprise when we arrived at the water’s edge and found ourselves surrounded by a hundred or so man-made rock sculptures stacked along the shore. Balanced one on top of the other, rocks of all shapes, sizes and textures were creatively stacked into the most amazing earthworks. Think Stonehenge only tons lighter and lots smaller.

As we stood among the sculptures, the fresh air, and the gentle rolling waves we couldn’t help but feel that we were standing in the middle of a beautiful, large art piece. We responded in the only way we could-- we began to create our own sculpture. Stone upon stone we stacked and balanced rocks until we got them just right. It was exhilarating contributing to what was already begun. It gave us a sense of community, an extraordinary, anonymous community that simply wanted to say, “We were here. Enjoy.”

It was a serendipitous experience, a sweet gift. By using elements created by God, himself, we were able to create something within The Creation. It was a nice moment.

You can never have enough pleasant surprises.

Later,

deb

October 23, 1971

2011-10-25T10:33:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

October 23, 1971- Pinellas Park, FL- 6 p.m.- She stood in the nursery/cry room in the back of the church building having an out of body experience. Her best friends, one since childhood and one since freshman year in college, flitted around her like bees dressing her with the precision of soldiers going to combat. Her sister-in-law of two months was already in her purple and Ivory bridesmaid dress and holding her veil like it was made of spun gold, waiting for the signal to raise it overhead and crown her with it. Her mother stood nearby and watched through tears that made her daughter seem to shimmer as if in a dream. It was ‘go time’-- the day of fulfilled dreams.

The young bride finally clothed in traditional white heard the harmonizing singers begin just outside the nursery door. Whispered voices had been passing the closed small room filled with baby beds and colorful mobiles for over thirty minutes. College boys, uncomfortable in tight cumber buns and rented cuff links, were on task escorting guests to either the left or right of the aisle. Her ladies-in-waiting giggled. Her mother kissed her on the cheek and gave her only the look of a mama who wanted to shout with joy and weep all at the same time could. Her daughter was marrying a good man. Her baby, however, was leaving her and changing their lives forever.

As the bridesmaids began their slow promenade toward the altar, the bride’s father stepped into view and placed her arm in his. His tears had dotted the chest of his starched white shirt. Never had she seen him this spiffed up. Gone were his khakis and steel-toed work boots. His thermos and black lunch box sat at home, replaced by a carnation pinned to his coat and shiny patent-leather shoes. A moment of panic when her contact lens slipped out of place on the stream of her own tears. Order restored. Dad saves the day one last time.

And then… there he is waiting at the end of an aisle she had been raised walking down, running down, and skipping down all of her life. But, this one last walk would take her to the end of the rainbow. He stood looking back at her as if she glimmered and had silver, wispy wings. She could tell it took all of his youthful patience to wait in place as she slowly came toward him. He wanted her. He’d won her. His love for her was an answered prayer.

She took his hand and in that moment, in the touching of fingers, warm palms, and wildly beating hearts, she gave herself, freely, openly and forever to the dark haired, southern, soft spoken man who would become her husband, the father of their sons, and the man who would keep the promises made that day for the next forty years.

Happy anniversary, Gary Marlin. Your bride still has no regrets.

deb

Be there

2011-10-20T06:34:00.001-07:00

PHOTO: Sidekick Rusty and faithful dog, Murphy.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #34: Deep inside of us, God implanted a button that needs to be switched to ON. Trick is, He's left the 'switching' up to us.

It’s early, dark, windy, and rainy. Another LuLu-less day. So, Rusty, the faithful sidekick in the loft is my go-to guy… again.

This morning as I pedaled with my eyes closed, you can do that when there’s no fear of running into anything or falling over, I was struck with how non-participatory exercise can be. Your body can be doing something, like riding a stationary bike, but your mind can be back in bed, or going over the to-do list for the day, or whatever. That’s when it dawned on me that we can live life like that too… and I have way too often.

There is a little phrase I’ve chanted in my head for years now whenever I realize I’m having an out of body non-participatory moment: Live in the present, fool! So many times I’ve caught myself missing the moment because my head isn’t with me. Before I know it, time is gone, or an event has passed, and precious time was lost. My body was there, but no one was home. I’m convinced that’s not a good way to check off your days.

Be there. Come what may, don’t let one precious day get by you that you weren’t living it on purpose. I mean, even the bad days, the sucky days that have you wishing you’d rather be in Peoria or Bald Knob, Arkansas, just anywhere but where you are. Like it or not, it’s the sucky days that teach us most about life and about ourselves. Sadder still is that we don’t just do that, this wishing away our days, on the bad days. We do it on the good days too. We forget to show up in our own lives way too often. Missing. Regretting. Losing out.

Do you know it’s a proven fact, although I can’t quote you book and verse, but Google it if you don’t believe me that we get more out of our exercise if our heads are into it? As we lift a weight, or do a sit up, or say, pedal a bike, if our heads are counting and aware of the reps, or concentrating on the position of our feet, legs or whatever, our muscles respond better to what we’re putting them through, therefore we get more out of the moment.

I, for one, do not want to cheat my exercise regimen, especially if I’m losing precious sleep to do it, nor do I want to cheat my life of its days. Be there, folks. Be present, all of you, in what your doing, experiencing, learning, etc.,

Live in the present, dear ones…

deb

Plan B

2011-10-18T07:59:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I’m a wimp… a wuss … a sissy. According to our TV weather dudes, the wind was blowing 30 to 40 mph today. I opted not to ride LuLu. Hence, I’m a wuss, but I’m thinking a smart wuss in any case. I can take the cold, but the wind just does me in. So, I opted for Plan B meaning Rusty and I had a stationary ride in the loft.

How do you handle obstacles or a change of plans? Do they throw you for a loop or do you take them in stride? Well if you’re like me, you’ve probably responded in both ways, depending on how much you’re disappointed or inconvenienced, or how hard the change is.

However, God has been working on me lately in that area. You see my Plan A for life was college, marriage, kids, grandkids, then gracefully growing vibrantly old with my hubby. Plan A had been working well until last year. In 2010, my hubs was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer. Plan A didn’t include one of us getting sick. Hence, Plan B had to be put into action, which included trips to Mayo, radiation, reoccurrence, etc. I don’t like Plan B as much.

But, like it or not, Plan B is our new normal. I can either, kick and scream my days away, whining the “Why Me” song and live miserably and scared, or lean forward into this new life. I chose the latter.

And it is a choice you know. Yes, I am scared. Yes, I feel like kicking the cat at times. But what I want mostly is to live honorably within our new normal. I want to make God proud. Faith, family and friends have never been more important—thankfully, they are a roll over from Plan A.

Have you recently been kicked to the curb by your Plan A? If so, let me know how you’re doing. Us Plan B-ers need to stick together.

Blessings, ya’ll,

deb

Fearlessness

2011-10-13T07:10:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #33: Why didn’t God give humans wings? Could it be that we’d groom them and posture them until they’d no longer function, no longer resemble wings but rather stiff pillars holding us to the ground?

This morning while riding my little pink bike around the ‘hood’ I saw two little girls playing on their mound system. Know what that is? It’s kind of like an underground outdoor toilet. Out here in the country we don’t have city sewer, so we dig a big hole in our yards and place our own sewer tanks in and then cover them up with lots of dirt creating this mound in our yard. Grass grows over it giving our yards this lovely contoured look. Anyway, these two girls, I’m assuming sisters, were on the top of the mound with an umbrella and the older of the two was trying to convince the younger to jump off the mound with the umbrella. You know the drill, you’ve seen Mary Poppins, all you need to fly is an open umbrella, right?

I smiled. I got past them before I could see if the little one tried it or not, but it reminded me of a childhood experience. Picture me, age five, standing on the metal railing that surrounded the porch of the church building across the road from our house. It’s a Saturday and no one is around except me and two of my little friends, both older. Yes, I have an umbrella in my hand, and yes, my friends are trying to convince me that if I jump, I will not fall to the ground like a sack of rocks. Instead, said my dear friends, I will float down ever so softly and might even fly a bit around the neighborhood before said soft landing.

I won’t keep you in suspense. Picture me splatted on the ground on top of my mother’s flattened umbrella mad as a hornet. When I came home with the destroyed umbrella, I think it was the first time it had dawned on my mom that I was going to be that child, the one who would give her gray hair. I’m sure at that moment she had a horrible vision of me one day on the roof of a garage with scissors clinched between my teeth holding a board of rusty nails getting ready to leap off into a cup of water simply because some friend either told me I could or that I couldn’t and I was going to see for myself.

Childhood, it’s a grade B miracle that we even survive it. However, what a lovely way to start out in life, convinced you can do anything you set your mind to. What happens to that gumption we once possessed as children—that fearlessness, ever so misguided at times, but nonetheless had us convinced we could conquer the world?

At age 60, I say it’s time I got it back. Who’s with me? Who’s as tired as I am of cowering in the corner of life afraid of what folks will think of us if we step outside the lines, if we do something unexpected, but that gives us joy?

Hey, I’ve got an umbrella. I’ve got a garage. Anyone game?

Later,

deb

One Last Look

2011-10-10T19:18:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Okay, I know you must be getting tired of me telling you what a great fall we're having here in Wisconsin. But it is, great I mean. Please forgive me for blubbering so, because in about in a day or two, true fall weather will be here; By that I mean, highs in the 60s, and then a few days after that highs in the 50s and a couple of days after that ... winter. So, I simply must blubber and bask in the sunset of our good weather.

My last hurrah was the Harvest Party my husband and I hosted for friends and neighbors this past Saturday. It's a tradition with us. We spruce up our three acres, dot the yard with pumpkins and mums, coax what flowers we have left in the beds to live just a few days longer and call it a party. Highlights this year were the pumpkin carving contest, apple bobbing, a haunted hayride and a bouncey house for the kiddos; And, lots of eating, snacking and good old fashion visiting was had by all. It was a perfect day.

Since LuLu and I got together this past spring, we have been blessed with more than our share of perfect days. Now six months later, my pink bike and I are old friends. She has treated me to many miles of good bike riding and I've introduced her to the neighborhood and the lovely changing seasons around us. It's been a good match. Of course, hopefully, I'll be brave enough to keep riding her through the cooler weather ahead... at least until the snow flies that is.

But for now, I want to share with you one last view of our autumn and our recent Harvest Party. I do hope you have been enjoying your autumn days just as much.

later,
deb

The Lust for Pink

2011-10-06T06:45:00.001-07:00

PHOTO: My LuLu dressed for fall...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

So, I was in the store yesterday and a pink bike caught my attention across the way. As I get closer my heart starts to thump hard. Could it be? How could it be? But sure enough there sat LuLu, well, not my LuLu, but the next generation of LuLu. Sleeker. Two hand brakes instead of one. Chrome fenders instead of pink. And, oh my goodness, a pink basket sitting on her handle bars as pretty as you please. There’s no other word for it… I lusted. I thought of my LuLu at home, now with a few dents in her fenders. Only one hand brake. Lots of miles on her white walls. And, lawdy, lawdy, a meager ol’ wire basket that I had to purchase extra. I wanted pink. I wanted the new LuLu! As I stood there gawking at the temptress, I reminded myself of a straying husband, you know the scumbags who trade in the wife of their youth for one with fewer miles on her tires. Shame on me!

And that’s how it happens. We’re attracted to the new, the shiny, the promise of something better and if we don’t watch ourselves we’ll buy what we don’t need, we’ll trade up only to find the new isn’t better, it’s just, well, pinker.

Isn’t this is how we’ve gotten ourselves into this financial mess as a nation? We can’t control our lust for pink, so to speak. We keep wanting more pink! A friend of mine once said that lust, in terms of a man, doesn’t start when he looks at another woman, it starts when he take his eyes off of his own wife. A wise thing to remember in marriage, good stewardship, and bike lust.

I went home jumped on LuLu and took a spin. The ride was sweet. Her brake did just fine. Her dents were endearing. Her tires got me home. The only pink I need, I’ve already got.

Enjoy your pink today!

deb

Neighborly

2011-10-04T05:48:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS: Taken on my bike ride yesterday.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism: #33: You know you've got a good neighbor when you can borrow a cup of sugar and he'll snowplow your driveway just for the fun of it.

Yesterday morning, LuLu and I were on a mission. We are having a Harvest party at our house and I needed to get invitations out to our neighbors. This party is going to be a little slice of Americana. The festivities include a pumpkin carving contest, bobbing for apples (apples generously supplied by my neighbor down the road with an orchard), a hayride through a haunted forest (compliments of another neighbor with his John Deere, hay wagon and the hours it took to decorate their back forty with ghosts and goblins), a washer tournament (a lot like a game of horseshoes, but with those little metal donut thingys instead), croquet, three-legged races and pudgy pies—it doesn’t get anymore autumn than this, folks.

So, LuLu and I rode down our road and dropped off invitations. It was a great way to visit with my neighbors, get some exercise, and take in all the nuances’ of fall. I love living in the country! As I rode it was like I was inhaling an earthy mint.

It was fun riding my bike up driveways I normally only see from the road. It felt a little trespass-y parking LuLu near the front doors of houses I rarely visit. I know some neighbors better than others of course, and a couple of them are complete strangers. I’m hoping this party will knock down some of those fences that keep us out of bounds from each other. It’s not like in the old days where I was raised. Every neighbor was a friend and a tattletale as far as I was concerned. I could do something slightly naughty two blocks over and before I’d get home, my mom would be waiting with her arms crossed and with that look that told me I was dead meat or I was going to be when my dad got home. Now days, if I ran across a neighbor in the grocery store, there’s a good chance I probably wouldn’t recognize them. My only view of most of my neighbors is through our windshield as we pass and wave.

I want to claim some of those old neighborly ways back. Good people live on our road—hard working, kind, generous, family folks. We’re just too busy to be neighborly. Maybe dunking our heads together in a wash bucket full of Macintosh apples will change that a bit. It can’t hurt, right?

Do something neighborly today.

Later,

deb

Slide Show

2011-09-28T18:59:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #32: Whatever it is that gives you joy, the kind of joy that makes you dance in your sleep and hum without thought, is the present that God most delights in giving...

As I write this Gary and I are back in Rochester at the Mayo Clinic. We've had a bump in the road when Gary's last PET scan revealed another lymph node with cancer. So, another surgical procedure later, we're back getting things checked out again.

We're coming off of a week of being at a retreat where our cups we're filled with fellowship, worship, and a renewal of spirit. If anything could get us prepared for where we are now, those few days at Fallhall Glen were it. God is so good that way, providing what is needed exactly when it is most needed.

As I get ready for bed and an early morning of doctors and waiting rooms, my heart goes to a happy place. I am basking in the warm glow of friendship. The retreat put me in the arms of so many who love us and have been praying for us for over a year now. Arms around the shoulders, gentle touches on the arm, and a hand held. It was also three days of lots of laughter. I'm here to tell you there is no better medicine.

I'm also resting in a thankfulness for the care and nurturing that only God can supply. Laced through that nurturing is a gentle nudge to remember all in which we have been blessed. Whenever it gets a little tough, I have a slide show begin running through my head of faces and smiles and moments that fortify my soul and walk me safely to next thing, whatever that thing is. So, without anymore words, I share with you some of the images that plump my heart tonight, as I await what tomorrow may bring.

I love you all and can only hope that you have a similar slide show that fills your cup.
later,
deb

Regrets

2011-09-26T21:01:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS: Murphy hamming it up

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu, Murphy and I wish you all a colorful and joyful autumn! I wish those of you not living in Wisconsin could experience the beautiful fall we're having. The colors, while not at their peak yet, are gearing up to be spectacular. Last Saturday I donned my sweatshirt, hat, wool socks and headed out on LuLu to enjoy the sights. It was my fifteen mile day.

Have you ever seen a field of soybeans so vibrant that you think you're looking at golden coins? Ever seen rows and rows of corn the color of baby blond hair? Ever ridden by a pumpkin patch that looked like it was peppered with huge orange dots? Ever seen a rolling meadow in the fall lush in purples, yellows and blues? Ever ridden your bike down a path lined with a dozen Autumn Blaze Maples? If you haven't experienced any of those sights, what are you waiting for? Get on your bike or your walking shoes and get yourself out into the country side (especially if you're living in WI) and soak it all in. This splash of color doesn't last long, please don't miss it.

Like I said, Saturday was my fifteen mile day. The bike ride was great, however, when I got back home I couldn't tell my Good Knee from my Fake Knee, both were smartin' pretty bad. And, the Cowgirl was acting like I'd made her ride the whole time sitting on a cactus. What a baby. But, I do not regret the experience.

Regret. Isn't that a lousy way to live a life? Always thinking "I should have..." or "I wished I would have..." What stops us from doing something we're yearning to do or experiencing something new? What kind of bad self-talk goes around in our heads when we're itching to burst from our shackles of decorum, and on the verge of taking off white socks and replacing them with lime green ones, but then we don't?

Do it! Life is just too short to regret not doing half of it. Do. It. Now.

Happy doing,
deb

The yellow chair

2011-09-22T05:51:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Poor LuLu. We haven’t gone for a ride since last Friday. It was too busy of a weekend with the grand boys and then took a little trip from Sunday till now. And today, I was hoping to hop on her but woke up to wind and a drizzling rain. I’ve been pretty persistent in my bike riding and don’t mind rain if it’s a nice warm summer rain. But a cold fall rain is a whole other animal. Hence, I settled for going out to the garage and giving her a pat and promising her that tomorrow was another day.

I’m disappointed because I really needed LuLu today. I needed to clear my head. I needed to find some focus. I needed some prayer time. LuLu gives me all of those. Her little pink self does some amazing things if I just start pedaling.

So I climbed up stairs and straddled Rusty, the indoor exercise bike. Nope. No clarity and focus found there. What to do?

I find myself gravitating to the yellow wicker chair in our bedroom. It’s an old chair, real wicker. When I sit in it, the air sometimes quiets around me. It did today. I bowed my head. I allowed my heart to cry. I emptied out the glass that has splintered my soul the last couple of days. Then I sat, spent, quiet, alone.

The yellow chair wasn’t LuLu. But she was the next best thing today. Lesson learned: God will provide a time and a place if we truly want one.

Later,

deb

Keep it simple

2011-09-19T18:49:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS: Below are actual flowers from my garden. The yellow ones I call Long Stemmed Yellow Flower. The pink ones I call Pretty Pink Flower, and the last one I think is a daisy. If it isn't, I call it White Pedals w/Yellow Nose Flower.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #31: Don’t eat one M&M when you can eat two. Never miss an opportunity to hug someone you love. And, never, ever turn down an invitation to lie on a blanket late at night and look at the stars.

Last Friday LuLu and I were pedaling around our block when I begin to notice that just about all of my neighbors had begun putting their flower gardens to bed. It’s fall in Wisconsin and that’s what a gardener in good standing does. You know what that means, right? It's cutting your flowers back, fertilizing, replanting, separating your bulbs, stuff like that. Well, sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t, put my flowers to bed. It all depends on how lazy I get or how cold it gets before I get around to it. If I don’t get to it, I tell myself the birds who don’t fly south will have a treat eating little seeds and twigs I graciously left for them.

I'm here to admit that I’m an accidental gardener. I piddle in the garden, but nothing is on purpose. I don’t read gardening books. I can name a few varieties of flowers but I can’t tell you how best to care for them. I sort of let the flowers themselves teach me what they want. Kind of like babies do with their parents. They whine to let them know if they have poo-poo in their pants, or want to be fed, or want to be held. Same with flowers. Waaa, I need water! Waaa, I need more sun Waaa I need less sun! Waaa, pull these weeds you fool!

I’m not proud of the fact that my flowerbeds look so pitiful sometimes. However, apparently I’m not totally embarrassed by it, because here I am sixty–years-old and still can’t tell a mum from an aster, or a hydrangea from a whatever and it doesn’t seem to bother me.

I guess I’ve approached biking that way as well. I was clueless when it came to knowing what I was looking for when it came to buying a bike. I knew I wanted a pink one, a fat seat, fat tires and handlebars that didn’t make me hunch over. That’s about it. I found LuLu. I didn’t do so badly.

Sometimes we make things so complicated. I’m not suggesting we just walk around bumping into walls and ignorant about life. But I’m here to tell you that life simply doesn’t have to be that complicated most of the time whether we're talking flowers, bikes or just living life. Here’s a guide I use sometimes when I get flustered: Jesus first. Others next. Yourself last. Pretty simple, huh? Try it for a week or two and see…

JOY.

Later,

deb

Things I've Learned from LuLu this summer

2011-09-16T07:10:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 30: Who’d of thought that getting back on a bike after all these years would be so fun. Goes to show you should never let the Cowgirl rule the roost.

Summer is gone where I live. Temps dipping near the 30s at night. Highs during the days in the 60s or less. It’s officially autumn. What that means to me is that my biking wear changes somewhat. Gone are the capris and the sun visor out come the sweatpants… and the wool hat, the heavy sweatshirt, socks and sometimes gloves. But I love riding in this weather. It feels different, smells different and it makes me pedal a little faster.

The end of summer also makes me reflect on the things I’ve learned for my LuLu during these carefree days. This summer LuLu has taught me:

~ to spit and not splat on myself (never could do that before)

~ there is no comfortable bike seat

~ flip flops make for horrible biking shoes

~ think about how far you ride, you have to ride the same distance back

~ which way the wind blows does matter

~ bugs taste bad

~ roosters can run … fast

~ if you have a hole in your pants, don’t get off your bike

~ just because you ride 12 miles in one day doesn’t mean you’ll lose 12 lbs

~ the first rotation of the pedal leads to the second

~ life is not a race, it’s a slow steady cruise

~ you’ll only find out if you can do something if you try

~ doing your personal best is its own reward

~ and… blessings come packaged in all kinds of surprises, even pink bikes

Hope your summer was everything you had hoped.

Love you guys,

deb

Pedaling Makes The Mind Go Round

2011-09-13T07:34:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #29: To quiet the head, stop talking, stop forcing, stop trying to tell it what to do. You know, stop acting like your mother. (Just kidding… I love you, Mom.)

So, I’m riding LuLu Saturday morning when all of a sudden it hits me. You see I’ve started a new book- my fifth. Two have been published. One is sitting in a drawer waiting for major rewrites. It was my ‘starter novel’. One is on an agent’s desk waiting for me to get started on some rewrites. And, now, I’m working on a new one. I was about 7,000 words into this new book, but I had a false start. I couldn’t seem to get my storyline clear in my head, or my characters, or voice or anything. I was struggling… until LuLu.

I’m riding up a little hill Saturday morning and I don’t even notice the lovely landscape around me. I’m mumbling and sorting my thoughts when suddenly, everything falls into place. I hear my character’s voice. I know my first line and I think I even know the last line off the book (which will be written many, many months from now). I did it, with the help of LuLu.

I started out my bike ride with this clouded notion and jumbled thoughts, but the more I pedaled and the more distance I put between me and my computer, the words came. The story started to reveal itself.

I love writing. I love telling a good story. I’ve tried to stop a few times, thinking it a big waste of time. But, I can’t seem not to write. It is as much a part of me as eating chocolate or decorating the Christmas tree. I will never stop doing those things. They give me too much pleasure. Writing is depleting and hard. After a day of struggling to put just the right words on the paper (or computer screen these days), my brain feels like I’ve fried it on the sidewalk on a hot, sweltering day. Yet, I feel so complete, happy and ready to do it all again the next day.

Some days, the words have to be pulled out of me like I’m sadistic dentist with pliers. Other days, they just flow out of me like I’m taking dictation from a nonstop talker. On those days have a hard time keeping up as my fingers fly over the keyboard. Those are good days.

LuLu has become my think tank so to speak. Riding her clears the head of clutter—pushes it aside and makes way for a stream of consciousness that has been extremely beneficial these last few months. I highly recommend it. In fact, I’m thinking of writing our President and telling him if he wants to solve our country’s ills he need to get himself a pink bike… and soon.

Need to work some thing’s out? Leave the house. Ride a bike.

See you, Thursday.

deb

GOOD STOCK

2011-09-09T21:08:00.000-07:00

Photos: (above) Some of my good stock- my mom at the World's Longest Yard Sale. (below) LuLu's Grandma Schwinn at the yard sale.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #28: If you catch yourselves looking and acting like your mother at the odd moment, God bless you. It must mean you’re doing something right.

In early August my mom and I checked off something on our bucket list: the World’s Longest Yard Sale all along highway 127- six hundred and seventy-five miles of junk and treasure. From Gadsden, Alabama to Hudson, Michigan, you can buy anything from a butter urn to a 1945 Ford pick up truck with its original three-speed transmission. Or, if you’re lucky, a push mower welded onto a bicycle (No lying).

Mom and I didn’t drive the whole 675 miles, but we did get in a mile or two before we had to move on. I’m telling you this because on one of our stops, I ran into LuLu’s grandmother. I was looking at some vintage stained glass windows sitting next to a six-foot wooden Indian when I look to my left and got the chills. There she was, Grandma Schwinn, kickstand down, original fat tires and some killer fenders. She was quite a looker. Not bad for an old gal. If I had not of had my own sweet LuLu waiting for me at home, Grandma would have come home with me.

Seeing the stock that LuLu had come from gave me an odd sort of pride. Grandma was the prototype, the first of her kind. She was made well, and if she could have talked, I’m sure she would have told me stories about all the folks who had had great adventures while pushing her pedals around town.

It got me to thinking about the stock I come from. Lots of hardy women, intelligent women, true matriarchs that held families together, pinched pennies, baked from scratched, hung sheets on the line, and knew what to do with a washboard. They were women who raised children to be virtuous, pushed their husbands to be their better selves, and canned and pickled any vegetable they could get their hands on. Their families wore clean clothes, never went hungry and were always tucked in at night. These women were the first ones up and the last ones to bed.

Good stock. I thank God for the legacy the women in my family have given me. And, I’m thinking LuLu is probably just as proud of Grandma Schwinn.

If you come from good stock, you’ve got something extra to thank God for tonight. Don’t forget.

Later,

deb

Three Women

2011-09-07T09:55:00.001-07:00

Photos: (top) Erin and my son, Nathan with grandson, Cormac. Little Cian was to be born a few months later. (Bottom) Sarah and my son, Matthew with granddaughters, Paisly, Zella and twins, Kasia & Isamae.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #27: Family, God's lesson in love... and peanut butter hand prints on your patio doors.

I’m late in posting, I know. Good thing I’m not getting paid for blogging, huh? Just think of it like your trash pick up. I don’t know about your area, but when holidays happen, our garbage man comes a day late.

Labor Day was such fun around the Cleveland household. Grandchildren and children filled the house and yard with beautiful noise and lots of activity. My kitchen floor is sticking to my feet this morning and there are not clean towels to be had. But such is love.

One of my favorite memories of the weekend, of course, has to do with LuLu. My daughters-in-law are into jogging these days. So, LuLu and I tagged along Monday morning for a six-mile jog/bike ride. Here in the North, fall has arrived, and on that morning was this cool, crisp light air that made all three us of think we could probably jog further and bike further than we really could. So off we went.

I love these young women. Both of them have blessed and added to this family beauty, grace, and fun. They are part of my reward for having to raise boys. God had mercy on me and one day said, “She’s done enough, let’s reward her for all the burping and tooting at the dinner table she had to endure all those years.” Thus, I have Sarah and Erin.

So, they’re running. I’m biking. We talked and encouraged and kept moving. Sometimes, I’d let the downside of a little hill take me ahead of them a bit, and stand on my pedals to allow the Cowgirl some breathing room. Then, every once in a while, Sarah would dart out in front in a fast jog to stretch out her legs (she’s been jogging seriously for over a year), and, Erin, who just had her second baby a few months ago, kept a steady pace and was determined to make this run her personal best.

Simple. Three women. Laughter. Quiet Talk. A family. It is these moments that color my life with a brilliance I don’t deserve, never expected, but am so honored, touched, and humbled to be experiencing.

I hope your day was as joy-filled.

Later,

deb

“It could be nothing.”

2011-08-31T19:39:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: Gary and I have been in the ring working out. We're ready for the next fight.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

So, the day didn’t turn out like we’d planned. We were just running to Mayo for a 24-hour period to get Gary’s three-month PET scan and hear that all is well and then back home to get ready for a Memorial Day celebration with our kids and grandkids. However, how does that line in the old John Lennon song go: “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” Or something like that.

I could tell by the way Dr. Quevado was squinting at the PET scan on his computer that things weren’t right. He’s a nice guy, an excellent doctor and has treated us extremely well. “It could be nothing,” he said.

I hate those words. I’ve heard them too many times in the last year and a half, and the IT has always turned out to be something. The first time I heard those words, IT turned out to be a rare form of melanoma. The next time, the IT was cancer in the lymph nodes. The next time, IT was a raging infection where the cancerous lymph nodes had been. And, now? The IT is a small black dot on a PET scan on the back of Gary’s leg. So, forgive me if those words give me no comfort.

I’ll tell you what does give me comfort though… the twenty or so emails and Facebook messages we’ve received in the last four or five hours that are filled with encouraging words, prayers, and promise of prayers; the squadron of folks back home who are standing at the ready with anything we need, whether it be a casserole, a hug or just a hand clasped in mine.

You know what else gives me comfort? I’m writing this in our little room at the House of Compassion only a few blocks from Mayo. Gary and I are lying on our bed. Every once in a while, we’ll take the other’s hand for a moment or two. He’s got his earphones on and listening to a TED Talk on his ipad. It’s a nice distraction for him. I’m writing to you, it’s a nice distraction for me. But that isn’t the what else I mean The what else is that in this little room amidst our individual distraction ploys sits our Father, God. He’s at the foot of our bed. His presence is as real as to me as Gary’s. I’m pretty sure the angel, Gabrielle, is over in the chair on my left. And, the mighty warrior angel, Michael, is across the room guarding the door. Dear ones, that gives me peace that passes understanding. I don’t know what the biopsy will show in a couple of days, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Because whatever that “it could be nothing” turns out to be, a whole crowd will walk with us down the path. Some will be just ordinary, but precious humans, and some will be the Holy of Holies. We’re in good hands anyway you look at it.

Later,

deb

I DID IT!

2011-08-30T07:36:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: See that big, honking bike seat? I conquered it! Fifteen miles, baby!

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Sorry, I’m a little late posting the blog. I have a good excuse though. Gary and I are heading off to Mayo Clinic in Rochester for his three-month PET scan this morning. As many of you know, my husband was diagnosed with a rare form of melanoma last year. However, the good news is that since his surgery, he’s been cancer-free for a year now. We just have to take a little jaunt to Mayo every few months so they can keep an eye on him.

Now, on to the exciting news. I did it! Yesterday morning LuLu and I took our first fifteen-mile bike ride! After four months, I was finally able to overcome the cold, wind, heat, weird furry animals and a whiny cowgirl and reach my goal of riding LuLu for fifteen straight miles. By the time we pedaled our way back up the driveway, two hours later, the cowgirl was giving me the silent treatment (which was fine with me), however, the Fake Knee and the Good Knee were griping out the wahzoo. Nonetheless, I did it! Fifteen Miles and I’ve lived to tell about it.

Yeah, I know, a fifteen-mile bike ride is no big deal, but for a middle-aged gal (remember, I plan on living until I’m 120 years old) it is a real feeling of accomplishment.

I’ve had more important goals, more fun goals, and more creative goals in my life. But, this one was a real challenge. I had to overcome some health issues such as a Fake Knee and a whiny cowgirl, and some mind-over-matter issues like laziness and I’d/rather/be/doing/anything/else/but/this kind of trash talk. It feels great to have met my goal, and except for that twinge in my knee and the need to carry a pillow for the cowgirl to sit on for the next couple of days, I feel wildly good.

So, tell me, have you made any goals lately? Have you reached them? Are you still working on them? What have been your roadblocks and how have your overcome them? Another question I’d like to hear your answer to— why make goals in the first place? Are they a great motivator or do they just set you up for failure? Let me hear from you.

I’ll be in touch when we’re back from Mayo,

deb

BIT BY BIT

2011-08-25T07:34:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-sim #26: Quitting is for sissies and we all know what happens to sissies. They grow into lazy, scary little people who live under bridges and grow warts on their noses and... no, wait that's trolls, whatever...

This morning while riding LuLu I found myself looking forward to the end of the ride. It wasn’t a particularly hard ride. I was riding against the wind in parts and that always harder, but the morning sun was out, there was an autumn crispness in the air, I was feeling good, yet, my enthusiasm was waning. I mean I’ve been at this bike-riding thing since April. LuLu isn’t as shiny as she used to be. The cowgirl hated that bike seat as much this morning as she did that very first morning, and well, I’m waning.

What is it about us humans that we can’t sustain our excitement for whatever project we’ve taken on? Why, when the newness wears off, or it gets a little hard, or we get a tad bored, or whatever, we find ourselves wanting to pull away… stop … sit on the couch and eat huge, honking bon bons with gooey caramel centers?

If it’s one think I truly do not like about us frail humans, it is our lack of stick-to-it-tiveness. Is that a word? Our, oh so honed talent of walking away from something when something newer and shiner distracts us, or even more pitiful than that, when we just get lazy and want to quit.

We do that with diets, exercise programs, friendships, marriages, church or commitments of any kind, weeding, or house painting projects where walls are painted but we’ve lost interest before we can get the trim painted (okay, I’m telling on myself on that one). You know what I mean? What do we do about it?

Well, what I want to do is curl up on the couch with a bowl of Moose Tracks ice cream, but what should I do about it? Fight it, that’s what.

I love LuLu. I love the way I feel when I pull into my driveway after a twelve-mile bike ride knowing I did it. I absolutely am in awe of how much better and more functional the Fake Knee is since I started riding LuLu. I love leaving that pesky rooster in the dust when he starts his funny business. I love everything about getting on my bike in the mornings and riding… so why would I give that up? I’m not! I’m gonna fight, friends. I’m going to fight through the desire to skip a day, then two days. I’m going to fight against my lazy nature. I’m going to look for ways to keep it fresh and fun… and I’m going to remember the promise I made to myself to get healthier.

Whatever it is that you’re struggling with to stay on task, to fulfill your commitment to, whether it be some sort of exercise, or a project or even the most important, a precious relationship, fight through it, dear ones. Fight for it. Don’t let it get away from you. Because you’ll lose more than just a healthy habit or a finished project or a relationship, bit by bit, you will lose yourself.

Hang in there… pedal through it.

deb

CORN

2011-08-23T07:35:00.001-07:00

PHOTO: Me, LuLu and our corn.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #26: Vegetables should not be scary.

LuLu and I were tooling down a nice shady lane the other day enjoying ourselves when I realized there wasn’t a tree in sight or a cloud or anything, so where was all the shade coming from? It’s the end of summer and in Wisconsin our corn crop is at it’s peak; and out in the country where I live, corn rules and apparently, provides shade. No fooling. The corn was so tall all around me that I started to get spooked. Ever thought about how many movies have corn as the theme? Children of the Corn, Field of Dreams, whatever that Mel Gibson movie was a few years ago where aliens did their artwork in the cornfields with that long deadly toenail? Seriously, what is it about a field of corn that brings out the Carrie in us?

I remember once when I was about seven or eight visiting my aunt and uncle in Tennessee. They lived miles out into nowhere. As the grown ups visited, I started wandering around. For whatever reason, they had a pen of turkeys out back that drew my attention. Ever see that bird up close? Ug-gu-lee, folks. They also had a bunch of free roaming chickens. I don’t know what it is about me, but even at a young age, chickens sensed something in me that riled their feathers. The rooster took offense at my seven-year-old self and decided to impress the ladies by pecking at my shoelaces. Of course that scared the bajeebies out of me and I took off running—straight into a cornfield. When the rooster finally gave up chase, I had no idea which way was up. I could see nothing but cornstalks. After about what seemed like seventy-two hours, I emerged from the cornfield sweaty, tear stained and minus my shoelaces. I ran to my mother knowing she must be sick with worry because I had been missing for days, right? Nope. She didn’t even know I was gone, but she did want to know what had happened to my shoelaces.

Corn. It gives us fodder for some pretty awful movies. But in late summer it also can be manna from heaven roasted on the grill and dipped in an old coffee can of melted butter… and it makes great shade.

Who made the corn? God did. Nice idea don’t you think?

Later,

deb

SIGNS

2011-08-18T06:27:00.000-07:00

The LuLu Chronicles

LuLu-ism #25: When you don’t know what to do or where to turn, I always find chocolate helps.

Yesterday I was riding LuLu and trying to decide which route to take. I have several routes ‘clocked’ out on the car so I know how far I’ve ridden. If I just want a quick ride, I pedal around our three-mile block. If my legs are feeling good and I want to add a couple more miles, then I might decide to keep riding on past the graveyard and round by the softball field.

Well, yesterday I was trying to decide which way to go. Left toward the lake or straight ahead toward town, when I looked down and saw a spray-painted arrow in the middle of the road that pointed straight ahead. So I did. I went straight. A mile later, I came across another painted arrow that pointed left, so I turned left. I figured someone was trying to tell me something. I ended up riding in an eight-mile big circle.

Don’t you wish it were that simple? You need to make a decision, do I go here or there, do I say yes or no; and then suddenly a sign appears and tells you what to do. How cool is that?

In my life, I’ve begged for signs. When trying to decide whether to move here some thirty-five years ago, my husband and I lamented about what to do. How I longed for a sign from God with a hint. I would have settled for a white fleece to be thrown in my front yard like He did for Joshua back in the old Biblical days telling him ‘yah or nay’. When we had to decide if we should make an offer on that old red house on Cedar Street, we stewed and drove past it a hundred times trying to get a read on our hearts, our finances, our dreams. A sign spray-painted on the front sidewalk assuring us this was the deal of a century would have been nice.

Decision making opportunities present themselves daily and for the most part there’s not a sign nailed up anywhere telling us what to do… except… I am a great believer in prayer. More than once after some conversation spent with The Big Guy I have felt a nudge to lean one way or the other. A sign? Well, I’d much rather have a big, flashing, red billboard plop down in my driveway with the answer scribbled on it, but a nudge will do.

Tomorrow on LuLu maybe I’ll ride until I run across a Stop sign…wouldn’t the cowgirl love that?

deb

Back in the Saddle again...

2011-08-15T17:16:00.000-07:00

Photo: Me and the hubs at the Alamo this spring. Cute guy, huh?

The LuLu Chronicles

LuLu-ism # 24: A husband who still flirts with his wife after forty years of marriage is all right by me.

LuLu and I have been reunited! I know some of you were beginning to think that I had abandoned my little pink bike for good. It has been a busy, busy summer month, but alas I am home and will be here for a while.

This morning I was awake early, saddled up and took a six and a half bike ride. LuLu was like a filly out of the stall, raring to go. Picture in your mind’s eye, a frisky Tennessee Walking horse prancing around the ring at the county fair. That was my LuLu. I was surprised how easy it was for the Fake Knee to get back into the rhythm of pedaling. A quick spin on Rusty, my trusty stationary bike sitting up in the loft, and the knee was good to go.

And then there was the cowgirl.

About mile two my behind (the cowgirl) started whining like a thirteen-year-old who’d just found out she’d have to wear braces for another year. You’d think LuLu’s bike seat was made of pure thorns. But I didn’t heed all the fuss. I kept on pushing through and got back home and waddled into the house like a true trail rustler.

I’ve also been reunited with the hubs, Gary Cleveland. The sweet man toughed it out while I was out of town for two weeks. Not sure what he fed himself, but I do happen to know that one of his favorite snacks is Oreos smeared with mayo. We took a bike ride together on Sunday, just a quick spin around our three-mile block. And wouldn’t you know, the man tried to impress me with his bike tricks. The minute we got in our driveway, he gets off his bike, which he’s dubbed ‘Garth’, and sits backwards on the handlebars and starts pedaling towards me in the driveway. Murphy is jumping and barking at him like a circus dog. I’m clapping and cheering him on as my heart does this little pitter-patter thing.

I don’t know about you folks, but I think the hubs missed me. It’s good to be home.

Later,

deb

ROOTS

2011-08-10T14:04:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: Here I am as a cutie putie in Oak Ridge, TN.

The LuLu Chronicles

Some of you may remember the blockbuster mini-series that aired on television in the middle 70s, Roots. It was author, Alex Hailey’s account of his ancestry beginning with the capture of his great-great-great grandfather, Kunta Kinte, in Africa. It was a fascinating story that had us all running to discover our own roots and family trees.

For the last few days, I’ve been seeped up to my hairline in my own story. I was born six years after the Japanese surrendered to President Truman—an act that was precipitated by our country dropping atomic bombs on two of their cities. The uranium and plutonium that made those bombs so devastating were mixed and made in the city of my birth, Oak Ridge—a city that was built for that purpose and that purpose only.

As I explored Oak Ridge this past week, all sorts of memories flooded over me: the backyard I captured fire flies in with a mason jar; the house where I made mud pies and cooked them on my little metal toy stove; my first grade classroom where my first boyfriend, Bobby, sent me a note asking me if I would be his girlfriend, check ‘yes’ or ‘no’. (With my mother’s approval I checked ‘yes’.) The memories kept washing over me. Everywhere I looked I felt my fingerprints could visibly be seen, left by a child who once romped in this place.

While my childhood was filled with mostly happy memories, there are some dark ones that loom just to the side—memories that once tried to hold me captive. Fortunately, I broke free of those many years ago, but coming back to Oak Ridge made those old scars tingle a bit.

The mix of happiness and sorrow is a strange one. Most of our histories are made up of both. The good news is that we get to choose which one will reign and form us. By the grace of God, and I mean that literally, I chose happiness and used it to beat down the sorrow with a big stick.

Next week, I’m back home in Wisconsin and finally LuLu and I will be reunited. I’ve got some catching up to do, much to the chagrin of the Fake Knee and cowgirl. See ya’ll back at home.

deb

The Secret City

2011-08-09T08:51:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: Some of the first housing in Oak Ridge were trailors... lot and lots of trailors.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I’ve been in Oak Ridge, Tennessee for the past two days. It’s the city of my birth. Yep, 60 years ago, little Debbie Doughty made her debut and joined her big brother and parents in our country’s Secret City. I was born in 1951, but a few years earlier in 1943, these gorgeous green hills felt a disturbance in the force as bulldozers and atomic reactors shoved their way onto the peaceful landscape. By August 6, 1945, the proud, but clueless citizen’s of Oak Ridge woke up to the news that they had help build the first atomic bomb that had wiped Hiroshima from the world map.

So, why am I here and not out riding LuLu across the Wisconsin countryside with abandon and flourish? Research. My next novel has the 1943 Oak Ridge as a backdrop and I needed to come ‘home’ to get my bearings. I haven’t lived here since first grade, but it has been amazing how I’ve been able to sniff out schools and houses and other landmarks I can only vaguely recall. Of course, my mom is along and has been sniffing right along with me. Yesterday she showed me the very first little house I ever lived in. She’s also shown herself to be a pretty good research assistant as I had her in the local library and up to her eyeballs in copies of old photographs she needed to catalog for me.

Our work here is nearly finished and tomorrow we’ll head back to Memphis, and then by weeks end, I’ll head home to Wisconsin and my sweet hubby… oh, and LuLu.

I’ve been blessed this week two-fold: I’ve had a homecoming of sorts and have been able to reconnect to a part of me that has been almost lost, at the same time, had the fun of digging in old, dusty files and discovering long forgotten photos (one of my most favorite things to do); AND I’ve gotten to spend some special time with my mom. I’m one blessed giddy gal.

Say, have you had anything good come your way lately? Anything? If so, smile and thank our Creator for such loving attention to detail—I hear it’s one of His specialties.

Blessings,

deb

THOSE WERE THE DAYS MY FRIEND...

2011-08-03T21:28:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: The Fab Four who gave my teeny-bopper life its music...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 23: If you think paisley bell bottoms were to die for, paired with ‘Beatle boots’ and a guru shirt no head was left un-turned.

The reunion with my childhood friends has gone great. Last night we sat on the couch and went through all of our childhood/teen photo albums together. It just doesn’t get any better than paisley, madras, surfer shirts, white jeans and ‘Beatle hats’. If nothing else the three of us were certainly trendy in our fashions. We laughed at the times we ironed our hair on an ironing board with a real iron and taped our bangs to our foreheads. Another beauty aid was to sit in the sun with real lemon juice on our hair to lighten it. I don’t think it ever made us ‘blond’, however, we did smell a tad like a fruit bowl at the end of the afternoon. What a bunch of goobers we were.

Then we started all of the “remember when’s”. Good thing there’s three of us, because what I couldn’t remember someone else could. We probably had one complete memory between us. We have chattered non-stop for about 24-hours now and my sides hurt from laughing at my goofy friends. They, of course, have absolutely no reason to be laughing at me because I was the picture of decorum and sophistication during my teen years. Those blue pointy glasses did too make me look so mature and wise beyond my age!

Then we got serious and today, we got out all of the pictures of the husbands, the grown children, the grandchildren, and anything that would bring us up to date on each of our lives. After all, we haven’t all been together in the same room since 1970. I, of course, showed off pictures of LuLu as if she was my most favored child. My friends are pretty impressed with her sleek frame and shiny basket. But what they’re most impressed with it how good I am getting around. They knew about the Fake Knee ordeal and half expected me not to be able to get out of the car when I drove up into the driveway. I’ve given all the credit of my new found mobility to LuLu and our 12-mile bike rides.

We discovered a black and white photo of the three of us at about age 15 standing together wearing our madras Beatle hats, hip hugger jeans and laughing—laughing only the way fifteen-year-olds can— nothing held back, future all out in front of us, and with a look in our eyes that oozed dreams and hopes and adventure. What a gift to once again see myself through those young eyes.

I thank God for today and my sister/friends, for the way He has protected us and brought us to this moment of reunion and restoration. How He must love us.

Later,

deb

Promises...Promises

2011-08-01T21:45:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: A little yard-trinket I have in one of my flower beds that reminds
me of a promise I made once... a promise I'm still trying to keep.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #22: If at first you don’t succeed, quit your whining and get over it; then start again— only be better at it this time around.

LuLu was looking good when I got home on Saturday. Her chain well oiled; Her spokes shiny; Her pedals mud free. She looked perfect. Untouched. A vision of loveliness. We both hated it. She should be more scuffed up if you ask me, not looking new and un-ridden. She thinks so too. If she could talk, she wouldn’t be talking to me. Unfortunately, I’ve neglected her in favor of my stint at camp. I came home for a day and a half and now, I’m sitting in a motel room in Elizabethtown, Kentucky on my way to 1) a reunion with a couple of my childhood friends, 2) a research trip for my next book, and 3) and a road trip with my mom. Those are all good things, but my bike is getting the short end of the deal… so is my Fake Knee and my health in general. How long does it take for your body to revert back to its general unhealthiness after you’ve interrupted you regular exercise routine? I don’t know the answer to that, but I’m afraid I’m about to find out.

I’ve worked hard since April to build up my stamina, my flexibility around the Fake Knee, and the tolerance level of my cowgirl only to undermine everything with my absence. I really must get myself a bike rack. I’m thinking LuLu would love a road trip, don’t you? I’ll have to make plans for that.

Anyway, I’m gone again. But, I’m writing to promise you and LuLu I will try and get some kind of exercise while I’m gone, even if it’s just stretching and flexibility stuff for the Fake Knee. Of course, I’m traveling south. When I pulled into the motel parking lot tonight at 8 p.m. the temp was 94 degrees. I’m going to get in touch with my southern sweaty roots right quickly I do believe. Anyway, that’s my promise: exercise of some kind.

Have you made any promises lately that you’re having trouble keeping? Whether it’s developing a healthy exercise routine, or a new diet, or praying more, or promising to be more encouraging to those around you—whatever it is that you want to do but are failing to do, I want to encourage you to keep trying. If you fail at it one day, forgive yourself, wipe yourself off, lay your head down on your pillow and wake up the next morning determined to try again. Promises are sacred and are meant to be kept.

A happy more successful tomorrow, ya’ll,

deb

Last Days

2011-07-28T09:35:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

PHOTO: Some ferns growing along Robinson Creek.

Hey, friends,

I’m still at camp. LuLu is still sitting in the garage having sleep over’s with the old fridge. But as for me, my heart has blended with the sand and the pines up here and it’s beginning to become hard to distinguish where I begin and they stop. Robinson Creek has become life sustaining; campfire devotions have become my manna.

Have you ever seen a sixteen-year-old laugh so hard they lose their voice? I have this week and it is a beautiful sound. Have you ever had a fifteen-year-old cry so hard on your shoulder from heartache that she was dripping in sweat and gulping for air? This week I have… and it was a healing sound. Have you ever cried at the sound of a hundred teens singing in harmony at the top of their lungs and heart about God’s love for them? Yep, that sound has filled nights.

Only a couple more days to go and LuLu and I will be reunited for a few days. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get in a couple of rides before I’m off again to do research on a new book in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. But, I must stop and thank my trusty, pink bike for the new health she has given me. I’ve been tromping around this camp for over twenty years, and for the first time in many, many years, the Fake Knee has been able to do the many stairs around here without much complaining. It was just a couple of years ago at a camp session that I was only able to get around with the help of a walking stick. One year, I had to leave early because the Fake Knee just couldn’t function on this sifting, sandy soil. But not this time. With the help of LuLu, the muscles around the Fake Knee are now strong. The pain that I usually feel as I walk or bend has been considerably less. That my friends, is LuLu’s doings. My twelve- mile bike rides have made a difference. So thanks, LuLu, and thanks dear hubby, for the gift of this new, pink bike given to me for my 60^th my birthday. You’ve both given me back my health… at least as good as it’s going to get considering I’m about as old as dirt. As for the cowgirl, she’s just about as healthy as she cares to get. To her, bike seats are nothing more that a torture device and always will be. Too bad for her.

Must run. The huge bell in the bell tower is about to ring and I’m off to the nature center to teach class. Hug a teen today and try to make them laugh while they drink a glass of milk. Milk coming out the nose is a beautiful sight… for the ones watching.

Love you,

deb

Bald and Happy

2011-07-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: My granddaughter, Zella, standing in Robinson
Creek at camp--God's Country.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Okay, so I’ve left LuLu again. I know that the cowgirl and Fake Knee are going to be in for a rude awakening when we return to her waiting pedals and bike seat, but trust me; it has been for a good cause.

Sometimes we feel a calling to leave our normal orbit and give ourselves over to something bigger than ourselves. We can get too comfortable with our lives and grow lazy. So, for the past week and a half, my husband and I and our oldest son, Joshua, have been counseling at a Christian youth camp. It’s a camp we’ve been coming to for over twenty years. I mentioned this place before back in June when my family came here for ‘family camp’. Now Gary, Josh and I are back and sharing God’s Country with about a hundred teenagers and thirty other staff members. We’re up at 6:30 a.m. and our heads don’t hit our pillows again until around midnight (which is about the time I’m writing this).

I love this place. When I’m here, I get a glimpse of the me that God sees. For two weeks, I lay down my will and allow God to have His way with me. Campers tug on me, challenge me, exasperate me, and prick my heart into being as close to Christ-likeness as I ever come. I listen to broken hearts, hug sagging shoulders, love up on, and generally ‘parent’ any child who needs it. Here’s a smattering of what I’ve been involved in for the last eight days: I’ve taught a Bible and an Improv class every morning; volunteered to work in the canteen every afternoon; Cheered wildly at “Washer” tournaments (a game where you toss metal washers into a hole. I know, I know, doesn’t sound like much but is); Played Capture the Flag; Became a living, breathing “Snipe” in a snipe hunt; Battled against determined campers in the middle of Robinson Creek over a huge Zorb ball; Was a cheerleader at the staff/camper soccer game (staff won by the way); Sat on a log next to a child and simply listened and then listened some more; and sat under the stars around a campfire every evening as these one hundred children have blended their voices together in the most touching praise songs ever; My reward? After ‘lights out’ for the campers, me and a couple of other counselors sneak down to the creek and plop our weary bottoms down into the middle of the coldest stream of water this side of Alaska. We sit there until the sweat turns to frost. Don’t have a clue what I’m talking about? Can’t relate? Keep reading…

I’m a Christian. And, I’ve made a promise to try and give myself away until as the Skinned Horse said to the Velveteen Rabbit as he was trying to explain what it means to be real. “Being real is when your hair is rubbed off and your eyes have fallen out from being loved.” I’m paraphrasing a little bit, but you get the meaning. If you’re truly being real to the folks around you, there won’t be any part of you that you’ve held back.

I wished I could be myself through God’s heart all year long, but two weeks here may lead to two week there. It’s a start.

I know LuLu misses me, but don’t you think she might be proud of me just a little? If you haven’t totally giving yourself away to another in a long time, I challenge you to try it for a day or an hour very soon. You might be surprised how good you’ll feel bald and loved to pieces.

deb

Can’t Have One Without The Other

2011-07-21T12:43:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Well, she’s at it again. Deb has once again left me in the garage whilst she gallivants across the country. She’s back at that camp of hers frolicking with about a hundred teenagers at Senior Camp. To hear her tell it, those four hundred acres of pine trees and waterfalls are quite special.

In the mean time, here I sit alone in a hot garage with only the hum of an old refrigerator to keep me company. For those of you who don’t know, I’m a bicycle. My name is LuLu and my person, Deb, was gifted with my presence on her sixtieth birthday. She has this wild idea that if she pedals me around the country-side long enough she’ll some how morph into some kind of beauty queen/athlete. She’s cute, so I allow her her fantasies.

As Deb pedals along imagining herself an Amazon on wheels, I’ve learned a thing or two about myself. I’m cute too. I’m pink. I have a front basket to die for, and as Deb has told you, I’m sporting the largest bicycle seat this side of the free world. Yet, with all of that going for me, if Deb doesn’t come and sling that Fake Knee over my seat and start pedaling, I’m just another bike sitting in the garage unused. It is Deb’s contact, her love if you will, that gives me my zing. So, to quote her, “there’s a lesson in that somewhere.”

From what I’m gathering from you folks, you need each other. What one of you lacks, another has. When one of you is weak and limping, there is a strong one who gathers and carries. One cries tears, the other wipes them away. One lacks, the other picks up the slack. It’s a neat system you’ve got going. I applaud you. Don’t take it for granted or else you might find yourself sitting in the garage alone next to a rusty fridge.

Later,

LuLu

A Piece of Me...

2011-07-19T12:17:00.000-07:00

The LuLu Chronicles

LuLu-ism #21: Chocolate found in coat pockets or in the cracks of your sofa is still chocolate. Enjoy.

On Saturday’s ride, LuLu and I biked five miles. It was in the 90s and humid so I didn’t want to push it. When we turned into the wind it was harder to pedal, but the blowing air helped, albeit, a breeze that felt more like a dragon’s breath after he’d burned down a small village of smurfs or hobbits or something than a cool, rejuvenating breeze. But anyway, I got through it even without the aid of steroids like other more high profile athletes have been known to do. Hey, if I want more pep in my pedal, chocolate is my drug of choice. Before Saturday’s ride, I found some left over chocolate Easter bunny parts downstairs in my family room so I was good to go. Now, don’t snarl at me for eating three-month-old chocolate (Mom). Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, my friends.

I’m now comfortable enough to start doing some of my childhood ‘bike tricks’. Saturday I got crazy and started pedaling a zigzag pattern down the middle line of the road with abandon. I haven’t tried pedaling without hands yet or standing on my bike seat, but who knows, maybe by the end of summer I’ll look like Annie Oakley on wheels.

LuLu has made me feel like a kid again. Every time I ‘saddle up’ I’m transported back to the streets of my old neighbor where after dinner playing cops and robbers on bikes was more regular than dessert. My Wards Signature was my ticket to freedom and my entry into childhood games. I became a player.

Now days, I don’t know how much of a ‘player’ I am, but I sure am enjoying my new found freedom again. Freedom to enjoy nature. Freedom to explore my neighborhood at a leisurely pace, and freedom to return to something that gave me joy.

If there is something like this out there for you, grab it. Don’t let another excuse keep you from whatever it is that gives you back a piece of yourself.

Blessings, ya’ll,

deb

Heart's Desire

2011-07-14T06:17:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 20: Be careful what you wish for, it may come with a pile of manure.

Yesterday’s ride was recorded at seven miles. The Fake Knee settled in nicely, well, as good as a glob of titanium can settle in with all that flexing and pedaling going on. The cowgirl whined like a toddler who was refused a cookie before supper. But other than that, all was well until a manure truck passed me. Remember what I said the other day about how wonderful bike riding was because you see everything in detail that you normally miss while driving a car? Well, let me tell you, seeing a truck full of cow dookie up close and personal almost made me recant those words. That was one ugly truck and what it started dumping on the field next to me was about as ungodly as it gets. I flipped LuLu’s gears and got out of there as quickly as I could.

Down the road I passed a house I used to drive by every morning going to work. I remember one winter morning passing this house during a heavy snowfall. School had been canceled and the children I normally saw standing at the end of their driveways waiting for the school bus, were all happily tucked in bed rejoicing in their good fortune… except for these two kids who looked to be fourth and fifth graders. They were out shoveling their driveway. I remembered thinking what would possess these children to do this at six thirty on a miserable snowy morning? Well, yesterday I found out. Their dad must have promised them a pony. Because now out behind that garage was a fenced in area. A stable lean-to had been added to the family garage and grazing as pretty as you please was a pony.

In fourth grade, I would have done anything for a pony. I asked for one every Christmas. I promised to wash dishes every day of my life, or wash the car every week, or mow the lawn or dust the furniture or keep my room clean from now on, if my parents would just consent to buy me a horse and allow me to keep it in the utility room right next to the washer and dryer. “The neighbors won’t care,” I whined. I lived on the same street as Beaver Cleaver with front lawns and sprinklers and houses that were sandwiched next to each other. My parents smiled at my cuteness and then ignored me.

When you were a kid, did you have a hearts desire, something that you wanted so badly your bones ached? Did you ever get it? Was it as good as you thought it would be? Or, was the anticipation and wanting it way better than the actual getting it? There’s a lesson in that somewhere.

Later,

deb

12 MILES OF ROSE SNIFFING

2011-07-12T06:04:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: LuLu smelling the roses

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Enjoyed a twelve-mile bike ride the other day! Maybe LuLu and I will make our goal of fifteen miles on a regular basis before summer’s end. One of the things I noticed on the last ride was how much more detailed the scenery is when on a bike verses driving in a car. It dawned on me how much we miss in our hurried, blurring lives. The route I took was the one I used to drive everyday on the way to work. I saw the same houses everyday for six years. But Friday when I pedal my bike past those same houses, landscaping, shade, light, sounds, smells, delighted my senses—all things I missed zooming by with the windows up and making ‘to do’ lists in my head so I could hit the ground running at work.

I didn’t realize that one of the houses had a quaint little horse barn in the back. Another yard had a pond in its side yard surrounded by towering cattails. I waved at folks, some actually waved back. I actually stopped and picked some flowers out of a ditch. Yeah, they were wilted by the time I got them back home, but I sure did enjoy them in my basket for the rest of my ride. And, I must say, LuLu looked quite fetching all dolled-up that way.

When Gary was at the worst part of his cancer ordeal, everything thing fell away except for the truly important. My vision became so clear. My priorities made sense. The hustle and bustle of living stopped and was replaced with savoring all that was precious. That’s what it felt like the other day on my bike ride. I savored. I didn’t hustle. I saw my surroundings clearly for the first time on that route. The joy of just truly being in the moment was intoxicating. Nothing got past me—the cardinal perched in the cedar tree, the red door on a particular house, the breeze on my face… the ache from my cowgirl (just kidding, the cowgirl enjoyed the ride as well… sort of…).

That saying is true and life affirming: Stop and smell the roses. Some things are only with us for a season. Don’t miss them.

Happy rose sniffing,

deb

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, LULU

2011-07-07T06:19:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 19: To read or to ride- that is the question. But, I’m thinking why not do both. Throw a book in your basket and ride until you find a nice shade tree.

Well, LuLu and I have been a bike riding team for three months now. I got her right before my sixtieth birthday in April. My husband wanted to buy me a Kindle for my birthday. You know what that is, right? For those who don’t (Mom) it’s a little computer-like contraption you can download on to it every book that has ever been written so that in the middle of the night if you can’t sleep you can turn on your little contraption, the size of a hand mirror, and read, let’s say, War and Peace or Harry Potter, or There’s a Monster in my Closet, whatever you’re in the mood for. That would have been nice, but I’m still a hold out where Kindles and other e-readers are concerned. I’m a page-folder-downer. I’m a book sniffer. I still think piles of books around my bed, the coffee table, lying under chairs, etc., are charming. So, I told the hubs that if given the choice, I’d rather have a new bike.

Thus, LuLu, came into my life all pink and shiny and ready for adventure. I fancied myself riding her great distances and losing a ton of weight… literally. Well, I’m up to riding eight miles or so, and as for the ‘ton of weight’, does eleven and a half pounds count? I’m disappointed I haven’t lost at least a hundred pounds by now, after all, I’ve risked my life to start this new healthier lifestyle. If you will recall, I’ve been chased by a rooster and pretty near hit in the head by a duck. But if I’m honest, my eating habits may be hindering my weight loss just a tad. I’m still debating which is the better for me— carrots or a Hersey candy bar… with almonds. That’s a tough one. I’d like to see the research on that. Until I do, who’s to say?

So, happy three-month anniversary, LuLu. So, far it’s been great fun, at least most of me is having fun. The Fake Knee and Cowgirl would have voted for the Kindle, but I didn’t ask them.

If you’ve dusted off your bike this summer and rode along with LuLu and me in your imagination, I’d love to hear some of your tales. Keep riding, friends. We’ve still got a lot to learn.

Still pedaling,

deb

BIKE TOUR

2011-07-05T07:21:00.000-07:00

The LuLu Chronicles

Happy Post July of Fourth, Ya'll!

Look to your right and you'll see me and Cian Maccrae Cleveland hanging out right before eating our Independence Day bratwurst. It was a great day of thanksgiving.

Okay, so then this morning, LuLu and I are back at it. I decided I'd like to share with you one of my bike routes and give you a tour of what I see every morning. I feel so privileged to live in out in the country. While raising our three boys, Gary and I tried selling our house in town several times to no avail. So, we raised 'city kids'. Which was okay. Our house butted up against a soccer field (eventually all our boys got soccer scholarships that helped pay for their college tuition) and the boys could all walk to school. Cedar Street was our holy ground for twenty-three years. Then, when then the last chick flew the coop, we finally sold our house and moved to the country.

As LuLu and I pedal along, we greet all kinds of mailboxes. Nothing too fancy out here cause, well, they get bashed in by naughty teenagers on a regular basis. It seems it's a right-of-passage out here. Mailboxes give me comfort. They speak 'home' and 'place' to me. Someday, with all of our technology, they'll probably become obsolete; But out in the country, we'll just incorporate them into a flower garden of some kind along with our tractor tires and old bathtubs.

Now keep in mind, I'm pedaling and steering and trying to take pictures all at the same time. Hence, you will see a lovely shot of LuLu's basket-- oh, and the Fake Knee, and a blurred landscape (almost fell over on that one).

We pass several fields of corn. And yep, it was "knee-high by the Fourth of July." I had my doubts this year with planting being so late because of such a wet and cold spring. Have you ever heard corn grow? You can. If you get a chance, go out late at night and sit in the dark by a corn field. You'll be amazed... if not slightly creeped out.

I'm so excited to be able to show you a picture of our neighborhood donkey. He/she hee-haws at me every morning when I pass by. Today, I snapped his/her picture. This is where the peacock lives as well. The Plumed Prince has hiding in a large, round corn crib behind the donkey. However, I thought it best to move on. After all I was trespassing.

On the road where our house sits just down a bit, is were the Wascally Wooster lives. Didn't see him this morning, but his barn-mate, Trigger, the horse, was out grazing. I've never seen this horse being ridden, but my grandchildren and I sure love feeding him apples.

You'll also see a pic of a bit of road and a 'no passing zone' sign. That my friends, is the Danger Zone. Where no kitten is safe and no bike rider is free from low flying ducks.

The last photo on the tour is of a stop sign. A very important stop sign. I've almost gotten flattened here a few times. I try my best not to stop at it, because if I do, it's a bugger to try and get back on my bike and begin pedaling again. So when I come to it, if a car is coming, I circle. You know, do a one-eighty in a circle until the car has past. This corner annoys me because I've been known to run the stop sign, and my city-slicker upbringing haunts me when I do. I don't give hand signals out here either. You know the ones, we teach our children to use when biking in the city when turning left or right or slowing down? Do we still teach our children those hand signals? I wouldn't know, but I feel guilty when I don't use them. It's one of the dilemmas of country living.

However, there are way more joys than dilemmas to the country life. I think LuLu is settling in nicely. I'm sure she had her hopes of being owned by some classy lady in the city who bikes her to the farmer's market on Saturdays and fills her basket with cut flowers and scones. But alas, she got me-- just a broad trying to lose a bit of weight, keep her knee from freezing up and who tries to smell the roses along the way...when she's not trespassing on other's property, being chased by a rooster or running stop signs.

Hope you enjoyed my little bike tour. Think of LuLu and me in the mornings and we'll think of you and hope you're having as much fun as we are.

blessings,
deb

THE LULU CHRONICLES

2011-07-01T10:10:00.000-07:00

LuLu and I wish you all a happy and grateful Independence Day!

PEDALING & PRAYING

2011-06-30T05:33:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: My baby boy, Joshua, a few years ago now...

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #18: "Life is like a box of chocolates." Phooey! It’s chocolates that have gotten me into this mess… overweight and pedaling for my life…

This morning LuLu and I had a perfect ride. Cool, sunny, and no wind. It was like the air was just there; draped around me like one of those plastic shredded curtains you see separating you from a meat locker. Not a pretty description, I know, but that’s what it reminded me of. No windy movement, just air. We rode a little over eight miles. Remember, my goal is to work up to fifteen miles. I could probably do that now, but I’m not sure I’d be able to walk or sit down if I did. I guess I better just slowly work up to it.

A perfect ride for prayer.

If I let my mind and heart wander on it’s own I naturally start asking The Father to keep watching over my kids. Yeah, my kids are 37, 34, and 32, or there abouts, but they’re still my kids… my boys. I’m a mom. It’s what mom’s do. Today, my heart was on my youngest. He’s a father of a daughter that is six and three quarters. If I just told you she was six years old, she’d correct me. My son is about to transition into a full-time campus ministry position. He interned on the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh campus last year, and this year he was invited to join the team. God has been very faithful to this son of mine, as he’s tried to find his way. Gary and I knew when this guy was about five years old that he was going to be a minister. Of course we didn’t tell him that. We just watched and pondered on our hearts all the little clues that kept popping up- like the night I found him crying in his bed at age four. When I asked him what was wrong he said, “I’m not dead yet. I want to go to heaven to live with God but I’m not dead yet.” His tears were real and his heart so tender.

So, we pondered, I guess not unlike, Mary, who stood watching her young son of twelve debate with the priest in the temple. Something was up with her little boy as she placed her hand over her heart and emotionally handed him over to God.

So, this morning while riding on LuLu through the countryside, I prayed for my little boy, who’s 32. I asked God to bless this man whose heart is still tender. I asked Our Father, to help my boy find the financial support needed (you see, if your calling is to a small, struggling campus ministry on a state campus far away from the Bible Belt, you have to raise your own support if you want to eat and pay your bills, it’s unfortunate but necessary). I unashamedly and boldly asked God to bless this child and give him wisdom to cope with what is ahead. And, like, many mothers before me, I pleaded with God to guard my boy’s heart and spirit and to make his paths straight.

By the time LuLu and I were rolling back up my driveway, God and I had had quite a talk. The Fake Knee was starting to swell and the cowgirl was fussing up a storm. But, a mom’s got to do what a mom’s got to do, right?

Keep pedaling and praying, my friends,

deb

DANGER ZONE

2011-06-28T05:19:00.000-07:00

LuLu-ism # 17: Friends accept the apology of friends for their neglect, however, there is great satisfaction in making them grovel for about three minutes or so.

I’m back in the saddle. LuLu and I have been getting to know one another again. She’s a little ticked that I’ve left her for so long. But what’s a party girl to do? Gary and I have had a month of fun and now it’s time to get back down to business. So, I hopped back on LuLu early Saturday morning for a spin. And then this morning she and I were at it again.

It was windy and cool. The Fake Knee was creaking, but what else is new? And the *cowgirl- cranky. But other than that, it was a lovely ride, until…

… I came upon a dead kitten in the middle of the road. She was about six or seven months old. I spotted her at just about the same place where the duck almost knocked me in the head that time. I think I’m going to have to give that place in the road a name- Danger Zone would be appropriate. Seeing the little critter in the road instantly reminded me of the cat we had when the boys were growing up. Tinkerbell was her name. The sweetest cat ever. One time we let her have kittens and it was such a joy to watch her mother her brood. She was Joshua’s cat, so Tinker and all her kittens ‘lived’ in his room during that period. Get him to tell you about the time he woke up to five kittens chewing on his hair and knocking his nose around.

Tinkerbell had a pretty long life, but met her doom one day when a neighbor backed over her. My heart was broken. So was Josh’s. That night we had a funeral for her in the back yard, complete with songs and a final word. Josh’s older brothers did their best not to laugh in the middle of her eulogy, however, they didn’t succeed. I may have grounded them for that. I can’t remember.

Anyways, the kitten in the road made me sad. As I pedaled around my three-mile neighborhood block I thought about life and death and pets and the cycle of life. Pretty heavy for a morning ride, but then as I turned onto my road, I was greeted by a mother chicken and her chicks crossing in front of my path. Thank goodness the old wascally Wooster (rascally rooster) wasn’t around. A dead kitten and being chased by that ornery rooster on the same ride would have been too much. The chicks were a feathery white and stayed close to their mama. Cute as buttons. They made me smile.

Life is a cycle. Mine, cats, chickens… yours. The best we can do is to try and make the most of our lives while we can. Live. Love. Laugh. And, thank God for all the precious moments given.

Later,

Deb

*cowgirl- butt

DEB'S OFF AND ABOUT... AGAIN!

2011-06-19T20:29:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #16: A friend doesn’t leave a friend alone, sitting in the garage as spider webs form on her handlebars. It’s not right.

Hello. LuLu here. Deb is gone… again. I don’t know why she wanted a bike so bad if she was going to skip town every other week. So here I am just hanging out in the garage. If I don’t get out soon my fenders are going to get saggy and I think I’m starting to get a little thick in the spokes.

This week, Deb and that handsome husband of hers have gone canoeing on the Wisconsin River with some teens from their church’s youth group and with a couple of other special folks. I hear it’s supposed to rain every day this week. Heh-Heh. Bet she gets wet… really, really wet. Heh-Heh. Poor baby.

She’s promised that once she gets home, she’s getting back in the saddle. Of course that means she’ll probably start whining about that silly cowgirl of hers again. Enough already!

Even with all of her complaining, I can’t believe I kind of miss her. She’s determined; I’ll give her that. Deb’s not in great shape, yet she imagines herself a female Lance Armstrong. It’s kind of cute, really. Yeah, Deb can grow on you in a kudzu kind of way. Well, that’s it for now. I’m sure she’ll want to write to you when she gets back. But, until then, I guess I’ll spend my time getting my tires pumped. As you wait for her return why don’t you say a little prayer for her. No telling how much trouble her cowgirl is going to give her sitting in a canoe all day… wet, cold and neglected. It’s not going to be pretty.

We’ll both see you next week…

LuLu

I'M AT CAMP

2011-06-16T20:33:00.001-07:00

Just a quick note. Once again LuLu and I are separated. My family and I are on a retreat at our Christian camp. Fall Hall Glen in Black River Falls, WI is a gorgeous spot on the earth that covers about 400 acres, a creek and two water falls. The cabins are rustic (by rustic I mean, mice and bats are the natives and campers in flip flops and t-shirts are the interlopers), the pines are majestic and the sound of the rushing creek is a little slice of heaven as far as I'm concerned. I wanted to bring LuLu with me, but alas, I own no bike rack. It's a bling thing I haven't purchased yet for my pink fendered beauty. And, I couldn't fit her inside the van because it was stuffed full of the essentials needed to survive four days and nights in the wilderness. Bug spray, sun screen, sleeping bag, pillow, towels, hat (I never wear a hat at home but for some reason I think at camp it is one of those can't- do-without-items), blanket, sheets, all sorts of creams, make up, bottled water, creek shoes and other assorted necessary shoes, after all, one can't wear the same shoe to play volleyball in and to the evening devotional now can one? And well the list goes on. Hence, no room for LuLu.

What I've discovered on our little jaunts into the woods, is that apparently, I'm a high maintenance woman. I love roughing it, if I get to bring all the things with me that makes roughing not so, well, rough. I wished I could tell you that I'm a regular Grizzly Adams type and that I like eating bugs off trees and rubbing pine sap on my face as sun screen. But I don't. Spiders make the hair on my neck stand up, and mosquitoes, as far as I'm concerned, are from the devil. And, those little tiny flies that bite you through your clothing are the direct spawn of Satan himself. So, why do I find myself year after year loading up the car and heading out to Fall Hall Glen?

Because, no where on this planet do I feel as at peace as I do here, even though I'm sleeping in the most ridiculous bunk bed with springs missing and every time I roll over it barks. Truly it does. My bed barks. The metal it's made of was forged during the first week of the industrial revolution and it simply does not like human contact. Yet, I'm in my bliss the minute my sandals hit the sandy top of the hill of this God-kissed place.

We're here just one more night. Our cabin is full of precious ones. This year our five granddaughters slept in the bunks just an arms length away. A son and daughter-in-law slept on their own barking beds and also made our cabin with the name of Merry Breezes holy ground. If I can't ride LuLu, then sharing a little cabin in the woods with such dear ones is the next best thing. God is good.

blessings,
deb

Ride On!

2011-06-13T22:15:00.000-07:00

The LuLu Chronicles

LuLu-ism #15- If you don’t put your *cowgirl in the saddle for over two weeks, she’s gonna pay…

We’re home. Our travels to the South were sweltering but fun. Now it’s back home to Wisconsin. And, finally, after a two-week absence, LuLu and I are reunited. She’s classier than I remembered, with her pink fenders and shiny basket and all.

As I hopped on and started pedaling down the driveway, I felt light and young and ready for a long ride. Of course a three-mile ride wasn’t going to happen, not if my cowgirl had her way. It seemed she didn’t remember LuLu at all and it didn’t take long before she was complaining like a diva rock star.

And, if the whining cowgirl wasn’t bad enough, about a quarter of a mile down the road, my eyes started itching as if someone had rubbed poison ivy on my eyelids. Next my throat started closing up as tight as an elevator door. What was happening? The fact that my white shirt had turned a dingy, spotty yellow should have been a clue. I’d been pollened! Before I could even squeeze out a sneeze, dusty, mustard-looking spores shellacked my eyelashes, nose hairs, and contacts. Benadryl here I come!

Will there ever be a day when I can hop on LuLu and not have something or go wrong? Is there such a thing as a perfect bike ride? You know, a day when I don’t swallow bugs, get chased by a chicken, almost get hit in the head by a duck, have my pedal fall off, given the evil eye by a honking peacock , or discover a hole chewed in my bike shorts half way through my ride.

I don’t remember ever having these troubles as a kid riding my old Ward’s Hawthorne. Back then you couldn’t tell where I ended and my bicycle began. I don’t really want to recapture my youth. I’d settle for just not doing half bad for my age.

I will pedal on. After all, what else could go wrong? Well, I guess if a dragon flies over and drops poop on my head, I might consider that a sign that maybe bicycling isn’t for me. But until then, tomorrow is another day. Get a good night’s rest, LuLu. In the morning, I’m strapping a pillow to the cowgirl, a mask over my nose, goggles over my eyes and carrying a squirt bottle in my basket just in case some wild life longs to attack my head.

Ride on!

deb

* cowgirl means 'butt'

My lighthouse on the shore

2011-06-08T21:30:00.000-07:00

PHOTOS: (below) A picture of mom taken just yesterday at an old country store where we had a pre-birthday lunch.
(right) Mom & me last winter.

Today is my mother’s 84^th birthday. She’s beautiful, graceful and still has a sparky spunk about her. Born and raised in Tennessee, my mom is a true daughter of the South... and I owe her everything. Whatever goodness I process, it was first placed in me by my mom. Whatever problem solving skills I have, or wisdom, or humor I learned from watching my mother. She was and is a warrior mom, who protected, nurtured and loved her children as fierce as a storm.

I keep thinking, ‘”When is she going to act old, for Pete’s sake?” She can still out walk me and let her loose in a T.J. Maxx or a flea market and she is just short of magical the way she can hone in on a bargain.

Her own mother died when she was just nine years old- a baby really. Her father and sisters raised her. When she married my dad and became a mother herself, she’s confessed that she was never confident in her mothering skills. But Mom was an old soul even though she had her first child in her very early twenties. She mothered by feel, gut and heart. And, I must say, my brother and me didn’t turn out half bad.

At my age, remember I just turned 60 a few weeks ago, I am lucky to still have my mother with me. I can’t imagine my life without her. I mean, who would tell me my hair needs to be cut, or that I need to go on a diet, or that I’m not getting enough sleep? I am still my mother’s baby girl, albeit, shaggy, over-weight and always tired. Just by showing up, I make her day. We live twelve hours apart, but talk every day. She is as much a part of my physical make up as my arm or a kidney. Emotionally, we’re very different, yet, our hearts pick up on each other’s beat and fall in sync the minute I hear her voice on the phone or I enter a room where she is.

She is not my best friend. She is my mother. Mother trumps friend by my way of thinking. There is only one of her. I’m hers. She’s mine. My cheekbones, eyes, little dent on the side of my cheeks all are perfect matches to hers.

It is Mom who taught me to pray, and if she had not ever taught me another thing, that would have been enough.

Happy Birthday, sweet Mommie. Thank you... for the nest and the wings.

Sissy

.PHOTO: A Glamour shot taken just a few years ago... a gorgeous lady inside & out.

Southern Belle Returns Home

2011-06-07T18:17:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: This picture hangs in my
mothers' den. It's my brother and me in 1955.

THE LULU CHRONICLES

Sorry, I’m so late in getting this out. Gary and I are in Memphis visiting my folks and it’s hard to write when you can actually see your body parts melting before your very eyes. It’s 104 degrees here, folks! Sweat has taken on a new meaning for me. Don’t think a little perspiration under the armpits and a dainty few beads above the lip. No sir. Think pools and pools and pools of sopping body-oozing fluids leaking from every pore of your being. Then, think of the added discomfort of humidity- the kind of humidity that makes your arm hairs frizz, and where the air is so thick you could plop it on a stick and lick it like a Fudgesicle. I’m in the Deep South and my blood has had 34 years of living in the North. It has thickened up like 10W-30 motor oil. Believe me, I’m not at my prettiest here.

I’m missing LuLu. I wanted to bring her with me. I imagined myself riding through the shaded lanes of Magnolia trees around my parent’s home. I saw myself, with Murphy in my basket, tooling through the dogwoods and crepe myrtles humming ‘Dixie’ like a local yokel. But the truth is, at 104 degrees, I would have stroked out at the first corner. So, it’s just as well that she’s sitting in my garage in Wisconsin relaxing as only Schwinns can do and awaiting my return.

I’m a Southern girl, born and bred, but I’ve lived in the North now, more years than I lived in the South. However, the minute I cross the Mason/Dixon line, my ‘ya’lls’ displace my ‘you guys’ and I start slanging twang better than Scarlett O’Hara.

I’m home. I walk into my parent’s house and am embraced by all that helped make me who I am. No matter how long I’ve been gone, I come back to find my fingerprints everywhere. It’s where I’ve always been loved unconditionally. It’s the place where my hopes and dreams where ingested into my blood stream along with butter beans and pot pie. My people are here; at least some of them are still with us. But, the aunts and uncles who have passed on are here too. Their pictures are hanging in the hallway and den. My Aunt Ozella’s watercolor still-life of orchids is hanging over my mother’s couch. My Aunt Sis’s clock is still not working but is still hanging on the entryway wall. My grandmother’s red chair sits at the foot of my parent’s bed where it has the last twenty years.

I’m home. People here fuss with me; yet, I know they’d die for me if they had to. They don’t let me get away with nothing, but let someone say something negative about me outside this family and talk about a Queen Bee on attack! My mother would make an over protective mother grizzly look like a weenie dog if she heard you say the jeans I have on right now make my cowgirl look fat.

Yep, I’m missing LuLu and our morning rides. But, I’ll be home soon… my other home. But for the rest of this week, I think I’ll just enjoy the God-made sauna called Memphis and the limitless glasses of sweet tea… and my mama.

Love ya’ll,

deb

three acres, four bedrooms and a barn

2011-06-01T16:26:00.000-07:00

Okay. I can't help myself. I'm still basking in our weekend spent with the Cleveland/Truitt Clans. Forgive all the pictures. Anyone who has tried to plan a reunion of more than two people knows the logistic nightmare planning an event can be- especially if the folks whose schedules your trying to mesh are scattered among five states. But, we did it!

For three days, twenty-four people from ages two months to sixty-something co-habituated on three acres, four bedrooms and a barn. Josh Cleveland and Todd Truitt even treated us all to a concert they gave at the Harmony Cafe in Appleton on Saturday night. Other events and happenings: Bonfires, s'mores, canoe rides and paddle boat rides on the pond (even though the paddle wheel fell off in the middle of the pond at one point and we had to pull of a daring rescue of the Matt Clevelands with a canoe). A couple of tournaments of WCYC-style Washers, mini-hay rides with Papa's tractor, hours of jumping in the blow-up jumpy-house (no one over eight years old allowed); little girls playing dress up; little boys sword fighting. A basset hound and a bischon chasing each other's tail (which meant major poop-scooping duty); Lots of cooking and breaking of bread; Lots of plastic cups, soda pop and lemonade; Some of the big girls did some major shopping; A couple of doting grandmothers got to hug their grandkids or each other's grandkids any time we wanted, and a couple of Papas played with the same said grandkiddoes anytime a little one came and grabbed their hands and pulled them off their lawn chairs (which was often); And last but certainly not least, was the highly anticipated soccer match. You would have thought we were at the World Cup at the competitiveness demonstrated on our make-shift field, tiny goals and even tinier goal keepers.

There was also a lot of observing adult children being better parents than we were. Their tenderness and nurturing toward their young ones made me so very proud of them; Then there was a lot of laughter over silly games played way too late at night, such as Apple to Apples and Balderdash (Never will I forget Beuford and his BQ beach Bunnies- but, oh, how I wished I could!)

One of the highlights for me and Nana Truitt was sleeping down in the basement with four granddaughters. Judy and I still have it. Can to you believe we outlasted the little girls each night, and even talked until two a.m. our last night together like school girls. Of course we paid for it the next morning when we were forced to crawl out of our futon for breakfast.

But one of the most precious moments for me was Sunday morning as we all scurried around getting ready for church. All of our children were raised in church. When Judy and I were young mothers, there were many afternoons our children took their naps at the church building together if we had a bulletin board to create or a classroom to paint. We taught each other's children in Sunday school. Our traditions as friends began because of our faith. It has ripened over the years because of that same faith. By God's grace, certainly not our own doing, we were able to pass it along to our children, and now I see that my own sons and their wives, and Judy's children and their spouses have done the same. Church, worship, praise, prayer, and Sunday school is all a part of our fabric. The Sunday morning hunt for shoes, socks, Bibles, 'church toys', diaper bags, and pacifiers, all while downing a bowl of Cheerios, is now a tradition for a third generation. My heart overflowed as I watched the beautiful chaos around my kitchen island.

I don't know when the Truitts and Clevelands will do this again, who knows, maybe not until we meet at the Pearly Gates (who's bringing Balderdash?) But whenever and wherever the reunion will be, I have no doubt that it will take place on holy ground.

Thanks for allowing me to share. I love you guys,
deb

REUNION MADNESS

2011-05-31T06:19:00.000-07:00

Hey, Friends,
No time to write much today, but here are a few photos of the Truitt/Cleveland Reunion. I'm having technical difficulties, so these are the only ones I could upload. We had such fun. God is so good!

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE... IT ALSO STINKS!

2011-05-26T05:02:00.000-07:00

PHOTO: LuLu pre-basket

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism # 14: Waiting is for the birds… and apparently Deb Cleveland.

Perhaps I should I have bought a golf cart instead of a bicycle. At least, it would have a top on it to protect me somewhat against the elements. And believe me there are elements galore right now. Yesterday, it rained all day, didn’t get much above fifty degrees and the wind was strong enough to could blow the hair off your arms. Today, not much better. So what’s a girl to do when she has this awesome bike waiting for her out in the garage? Her shiny new basket is just waiting for Murphy to hop aboard. Her white-walled tires are itching to hit the road. She wants to get out there and flaunt all of her ‘pinkness’ like a runway queen. And her bike seat is just waiting there perched at the ready taunting my cowgirl to hop on and see if she can conquer the saddle like a bull rider at a rodeo.

But alas, no can do. Our weather seems to be stuck in this ‘spring from Hades’ mode allowing neither man nor beast the pleasure of the tiptoeing through the tulip experience. So what can I do? I long. I drool in anticipation of a warm day. I walked around LuLu like a man on a car lot eyeing the red Corvette. I kick her tires (gently of course). I run my hand over her pink fenders. I play with her gears. And, I wait.

Waiting isn’t easy for me. I’m a ‘right now kind of gal’. I see things to be done and do them. I buy a Hersey candy bar and unwrap it right there on the spot. I prepare and then I do. This waiting business is for, well, those who can wait. So, I’m sensing I have yet another lesson to be learned. Waiting and anticipation can be good. Good for what I’m not yet sure, but apparently they must build character. That’s what life lessons are supposed to do, right? I’m wondering when my character is actually going to be built. You’d think by age 60 I’d be pretty ready to get on with it, with character checked off my ‘to do’ list. God is funny that way. I guess we aren’t truly done learning until we round the bend and see those Pearly Gates.

So, I will wait. When the day is right, I will ride once again. And, I will be a better person for it.

Wishing all of you a warm, dry, perfect Memorial Day weekend. And, small plugs for not waiting… get your flags up. Honor our country and those who didn’t have the luxury to wait.

deb

Control feaks

2011-05-24T06:56:00.000-07:00

I hate to keep talking about weather but it seems that the nasty, windy, chilly, rainy, tornadoey Mother Nature thing is enjoying being in the headlines. My prayers once again go out to those who have suffered the most. This time the dear ones in Joplin, MO.

On Sunday as Gary and I were heading over to the Mayo Clinic for his check up, we ran into hail, wind, rain coming down in sheets, and a tornado. We didn’t see the tornado, but it hit the town we were driving through as we were driving through it. LaCrosse, WI suffered damage, but fortunately no deaths. We and about fifty others were huddled together at a rest stop as Mother Nature had her tantrum.

It dawned on me how little control we really have, especially against something as big as nature. We are at its mercy. We cannot stop a downpour, or for that matter, make rain fall on a dry, parched land. The wind will toss us where it will, and hail will pelt us like a bully on a playground whenever it wants. We are helpless.

The control thing is only a myth we like to perpetuate. We like to thump our chests and shake our fists and prance like roosters and pretend we’ve got it all covered, but we don’t.

While at Mayo, we got another good report. Gary is cancer-free at the moment. But as we waited all day for the results of his PET scan I didn’t feel any different than I did as we huddled at the rest stop waiting out the storm. I had no control. Nothing I could do could influence the results one way or the other. I was at something else’s mercy.

The good news in all of this out of control, powerless, helpless realization? I’m not the best one qualified to be in control. I’m a little lacking when it comes to telling a thundercloud where to go or a cancer cell to scat. But I know Someone who excels at it. His wisdom rates off the charts. His track record at standing firm and fearless at our side in times of trouble is pretty impressive. Evil fears Him. Angels worship Him. So, I will trust Him… with nature and my husband’s health. But, I must remember, He never promised easy. He promised faithfulness. That is good enough for me.

Later,

deb

A peacock, a hill & crutches

2011-05-19T05:28:00.001-07:00

LuLu-ism #13: Pedaling up hill is good for
you. So is slurping down some cod liver oil.But, who in their right mind would want to do either on purpose?

THE LULU CHRONICLES

I was up early and on LuLu trying to beat the rain. We did our six-mile route that takes us up three hills, past two Labradors, one weenie dog, a peacock (he screeched at me this morning and made me almost fall off LuLu), a burro (yep, a tiny little donkey) and my favorite yard. This yard is one of those ‘hermit’ yards with discarded farms tools as planters, daffodils blooming out of old coffee cans and car parts made into yard art. Since it’s at the top of one of my hills, I get a good look at it because by then I’m going pretty slow and gasping for air.

Well, today, as I crested my mini-Mt. Everest, I noticed something in the yard I’d not seen before—crutches hanging from a clothesline. A first for me. These crutches hit a nerve and not because they were bungee-corded to a clothesline; but because it was about this time last year that crutches came to live at our house. My husband, Gary, had this huge bump removed from his ankle that stumped all of his doctors. As he was recovering and learning how to hobble on crutches, it was decided we should head off to Mayo to hobnob with doctors who were used to seeing unusual ankle bumps that resembled the chin of Jay Leno. Our eventual diagnosis: an atypical cellular blue nevus that had metastasized into a rare form of stage three melanoma. A mouth full, I know. To make a long story short, it’s been a year of firsts, fear, and faith. But, the good news is that at the moment Gary is cancer free.

However, next Monday, we’re off to Mayo for his every four-month PET scan. His last scan in January was clear. We rejoiced and came home and tried to put this all behind us. But, as Monday draws near, I can’t help but get a little nervous. I’m trying to beat all of the “What if…” thoughts back down into that rabbit hole of worry. Most days, I win. Some days the rabbit hole wins. Seeing the dangling crutches didn’t help. It would have been better if they would of had little bird feeders welded on to them and propped up with hubcaps; then I would have thought them cute and clever. Hey, that gives me an idea. If Gary’s PET scan is clear this time, I just might come home and hot-glue gun some birdhouses on our set of crutches. What better way to celebrate a cancer-free report? We’d appreciate your good thoughts and prayers.

Until next time,

deb

BFFs

2011-05-17T07:24:00.001-07:00

Photo: Me & Judy Truitt during our Florida vacation a couple of years ago.

There’s no LuLu story today. I haven’t been able to ride my bike since Friday. I love Wisconsin. It’s been my home for over thirty years. We have the most beautiful summers on earth. It hardly ever gets in the 90s or 100s and during the summer, and we have the greenest grass this side of Ireland. Most summer nights, we sleep with our windows open, no need for air conditioning. Our autumns are even more beautiful as we watch our trees being slowly painted with bright yellows, oranges, and deep reds by a Holy hand.

Our springs, however, suck. They’re cold, wet, and windy and behave like a willful child. They give us just enough warmth to fool us into thinking we can pull off our socks. And when we do, wham! It snows one more time, or drops twenty degrees.

Hence, the last few days have not been conducive for an outing with LuLu. But, I haven’t just sat in the house eating bon-bons. No sir. I’ve been getting ready for the Truitt/Cleveland Reunion. The Truitts, Clevelands and another dear couple planted a church together in here in Wisconsin. Everyone has since moved away except for us. However, that didn’t keep the Truitts and us from raising our kids together. We are best friends, and our kids are best friends. Now, it’s time that our grandchildren become best friends as well. So, over Memorial Day weekend, the twenty-four of us are going to gather at our house for fun and games. We’ve started ‘trash-talking’ over the airwaves as we prepare to compete in horseshoes, washers, red rover and duck-duck-goose.

Once on Josh’s sixth birthday, all he wanted was a weekend with his buddy, Todd. So, the Truitts met us half way (about a three hours trip) at a Hardees. When we walked in the restaurant, there sat a huge decorated box in which Todd jumped out of. Josh got his birthday wish.

The Truitts are the folks we’ve laughed together with until our toes curled from the exertion. They are the friends that sometimes words just aren’t necessary. For over thirty some years we’ve been there for each other during births, deaths, weddings and life’s other celebrations. Last year, when Gary was diagnosed with cancer, the Truitts met us at Mayo for his surgery. When the Fake Knee came into my life, it was Judy Truitt who came and nursed me those first critical days. We haven’t lived in the same town in years, but a phone call is all it takes.

So, I’ve been cleaning and preparing beds and sprucing up things for our first reunion where all kids and all grandkids will be present and accounted for. This special friendship is one of God’s sweetest blessings.

How about you? Got any soul mate friends you’d like to talk about? I’d love to hear.

Later,

deb

My first bike

2011-05-13T12:35:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

When I was ten-years–old, one Friday night, my parents took my brother and me to Montgomery Wards and bought us both a bicycle. It was so exciting because it wasn’t our birthdays or Christmas or anything. It was just an ordinary Friday night. Our bikes were twins, meaning mine was a female version of my brothers. My first ‘big’ bike. I had been limping along with the same bike that had had my training wheels—minus the training wheels now. And, if its chain had falling off once, it had fallen off a bazillion times. But, now, I had moved up to the big leagues. My beauty had a big tubular belly, fenders, a ‘tow seat’, and neatest of all neats, a headlight. Actually, that bike looked a lot like LuLu does now, except my Wards was teal.

It was the beginning of summer and I bet you I put a hundred miles a week on those fat tires for the next three months. I biked everywhere that summer. If my mom needed bread or milk, I was the first to volunteer. Off to the Seven/Eleven I rode. I ventured far beyond my neighborhood and explored unknown territories. Like the swamp where I met my first up-close and personal alligator (remember I grew up in Florida). I was a ‘ditch explorer’ so if I got wind of a new ditch being put in, I’d be the first one there after the workers left to crawl down into that big, shiny, new tunnel underneath the road. I caught my best tadpoles in those things. And, it was amazing how far one could travel if one didn’t constantly have to stop and finagle a bike chain back on. My best friend, Loopie and I were a matched set all summer, as our bikes became our wings. Did you ever play hide & seek on a bike? We did. Races around the block became an evening ritual when five or six of us would meet at the corner after supper. Cops & Robbers was another favorite.

But in that entire summer, I never once thought about riding my bike as ‘exercise’. It never crossed my lips to say, “I guess I better go give my heart a good workout.” And as for my cowgirl back then, I had ‘bike-cowgirl’ for maybe three seconds. Ah, to be ten again. However, every time I hop in LuLu’s saddle a little part of me is transported back to that summer; to a time when joy was to be had just by a little pedal down the road.

How about you? Tell me about your first ‘big’ bike. What did she look like? What magical places did she take you?

See you next week. By the way, I’m changing my post days to Tuesdays and Thursdays. I hope you’ll keep joining me on those days. So, see you next Tuesday.

Blessings,

deb

Feel the fear, but do it anyways...

2011-05-11T07:27:00.001-07:00

The LuLu Chronicles

LuLu-ism #12: A cowgirl hanging off a bike seat is not the worst thing in the world.

This morning as I was plotting out my bike route it occurred to me I was trying to decide in which route would I encounter the fewest people. Now, I’m a pretty passionate people person, however, not so much when I’m on LuLu. In the back of my mind, I’m wondering what people may be thinking of this middle-age, over-weight woman riding a bike with her cowgirl hanging off her seat (yeah, I’ve got the widest seat known to man on LuLu, but my cowgirl hasn’t met a seat she doesn’t mush around and hang off like a yarn-ball curtain fringe.) I care what people think. And what gets my goat is that I care what those kids on those yellow school buses think when they pass me from behind. Arrg! Suddenly, I’m a middle-schooler again!

Why do I care? Well, my imagination has those pimpled-squirts taking pictures of me with their cell phones and passing it around at lunch. Then I have them making up little songs about the fat lady on the bike. Then I think that teen girls are looking at themselves in school bathrooms and praying they never have a cowgirl like that old lady riding that pink bike.

How many of us have not done something we enjoy because we’re afraid of what someone may think? Like, it’s a hot as molasses afternoon, but you wear long-sleeves because you don’t want people to see that your upper arms are large enough to be used as a tablecloth? Or we don’t get into the pool afraid, well, everything about that situation.

It’s not only our weight, its our teeth, or our hair, or lack of education, or our clothes or whatever! Caring what others think of us is so imbedded into our fiber, we at times, don’t do what we love or what would give us joy because we fear what someone may think; even those we don’t know, like whiny teens on a school bus. We don't want them thinking less of us, or heavens to Betsy, laughing at us.

I say, let’s stop that foolishness. Put on that sleeveless dress and let the arms flap wherever they want. Tug on that bathing suit and splash all those little toothpicks out of the pool. And, ride your bike where you darn well please.

Lesson learned: Life is simply too short not to do something that gives you joy.

Later,

deb

Hob-knobbing with a Celebrity

2011-05-09T07:55:00.000-07:00

LuLu-ism # 11: Bugs are protein. Protein is good for you. Therefore, bugs are good for you.

Happy late Mother’s Day to you all. Mine was full of family and friends- a lovely way to start a week. I’d planned on a bike ride, but the day just got too full and it came down to a nap or LuLu. I won’t tell you which I chose, but it didn’t involve a bike seat.

But, this morning I was back at it. Up bright and early and out on the road. It was in the 50s and windy. Riding along against the wind I experienced a milestone when I got my first bug in the mouth. I’d forgotten about bugs. After a harsh winter you’d think they’d all be wiped off the face of the earth. But, no, they’re hardy little buggers.

To keep my mind off the fact that my hair was being blown all to one side of my head and that the Fake Knee and its pedal were having a scrimmage over who would rule, I sang. Which wasn’t a hard thing to do since I’ve had this one tune in my head since church yesterday. The words went something like, “Jesus redeemer and friend…” As I’m half humming, half singing this song, it hits me how simple yet powerful the lyrics are. Jesus, the Son of God, the Creator of all, the Savior of the world, the King of kings, is my actually my friend. You see, in my fantasies I’m being interviewed by Oprah about my latest book. I’m hob-knobbing with Mitford series author Jan Karon and Harry Potter’s J.K. Rowling, and bantering book ideas with Stephen King. Although I could never read a King novel and ever hope to sleep again, I’d love to have lunch with him. These are cool, important people to me who I’d love to meet. However, they don’t know me from Adam as they say. Yet, there is One who is greater than all who does know me, seeks me out, and rejoices when I acknowledge him.

Jesus, my redeemer and friend.

I sang/hummed that song the whole six miles. When I put LuLu away, the Faked Knee ached and the Cowgirl wasn’t all that happy. Yet, my soul was full of Light.

Lesson learned: I best start keeping my mouth closed while riding, and a bike ride with a Friend who also just happens to be the Son of God can go a long way.

Blessings,

deb

A FRIDAY MORNING RIDE

2011-05-06T08:33:00.001-07:00

LuLu-ism #10: If you find yourself ‘walking’ your bike instead of ‘riding’ it, make the smirky nine-year-old waiting for his school bus watching you think that that was your intention all along.

Got up early. Limbered up on Rusty. Headed out on LuLu. A gorgeous morning. Sunshine. Clear skies. Birds chirping. The only downside was that a headwind was pushing into me the minute I turned west, and just as I was plowing up a hill. I call it a hill. Lance Armstrong might call it a bump, but who’s asking him? I was feeling strong. The Fake Knee was complaining, but I didn’t listen. The heel stayed stuck to the pedal. I finally turned south and out of the wind. All is going great. Until… my right pedal falls off. I’d seen no cars this morning until just that moment. I hobbled to get out of the way just in time to watch the car run over my pedal.

Reason Number 503,567 Why God Made Cells Phones: When you’re a mile and a half away from home and you have a pedal malfunction, you can call the Hubs for help. Actually, I walked home (exercise is exercise, right?), but I wanted to make sure he’d still be there when I got back to fix my pedal. As I’m walking LuLu home, I’m also thanking the good Lord that this pedal mishap did not happen on yesterday’s ride. It was at about this same spot yesterday I stopped to take off my sweatshirt only to discover that I had a hole in my pants- a Murphy-sized hole. You could have put your fist through it. Picture if you will, black exercise pants and white undies. Remember LuLu-ism #9? It wasn’t fiction, folks.

Anyway, Gary was home and my pedal was no worse for the wear.

All pedaled-up, I tried it again, but this time I had a passenger. Yep, I decided to give Murphy-dog his inaugural ride in the basket. He took to it like a duck in water. He sat right up there with his ears perked. You’d of thought he was born to ride! We rode to the end of the road and back (almost a mile). When we got home and I let Murph down, he pranced like a Tennessee walking horse; he was so pleased with himself. Being cute is his salvation. If he wasn’t, I’m afraid he’d still have yesterday’s holey exercise pants tied around his neck in a very tight knot.

Lesson learned: Forget Plan B, at times you got to have a Plan C or even D. Check your pedals before you roll, and the back of your pants.

Have a great weekend, ya’ll.

deb

SOLID CONTACT

2011-05-04T08:51:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #9: Don't leave sweaty biking pants on floor where tiny, white dog can get to them, unless you don't mind riding all over creation with a hole in your pants. Trust me... it happens.

Missed me? Yeah, sorry about that. I hate to repeat myself, but the weather here has been depressing. If it wasn’t raining, it was too windy. If it wasn’t windy the temps were in the low digits. And, there were days, it was all of the above. Simply not good bike riding weather. Of course, I suppose if I was a die-hard bike rider I wouldn’t let any of those things deter me. But I’m not. I’m a whimp who fancies herself more dedicated and committed than she really is. However, as luck would have it, this morning—no wind, no rain and the temps were above freezing. So, hop on LuLu I did.

I’ve spend a great deal of time ‘tricking out’ LuLu. First, I was on a quest to find the perfect bicycle seat. After three tries, I’m telling ya folks, there ain’t one. But I did find one my cowgirl could live with. Then it was trying to find the perfect basket for Murphy to ride along in. It took two tries there. I still haven’t taken Murp on his inaugural ride, but that’s coming soon. And then, I had to find the perfect pedals. You see with the Fake Knee, I can only bend it so far and to do that I can’t put my entire foot on the pedal. I can only peddle with my heel. Hence, I needed pedals with little spiky thingys on them to hold my heel in place. My first two sets of pedals just could not do it, and I was forever having my foot slip off the pedal making it slow going. But this morning, I tried out third pair and Wa-La! Heel stayed in place. A firm connection was made. A side note here: My sweet hubby has been rolling his eyes every time I’ve taken something back to the store and every time he’s had to put yet another seat on LuLu or a new set of peddles. I don’t know why he seems so surprised. I’ve been a high-maintenance gal ever since he’s met me. After thirty-nine years wouldn’t you think he’d just expect it from me? I guess he can always hope. Bless his heart.

A great ride this morning. My foot made a solid connection. I was able to peddle with confidence and no slipping.

Make solid contact. Have confidence. No slipping.

Makes sense doesn’t it? In bike riding and other stuff. I have found that in my spiritual life if I am making solid and repeated contact with my God either through regular prayer, meditation, or reading the Word, I am less afraid. I can participate boldly in my own life with confidence and without slipping.

Just a thought.

Love you guys,

deb

THE ROYAL WEDDING AND A PINK BIKE

2011-04-29T10:01:00.000-07:00

LuLu-ism #8: The test of a true princess should be sitting on a bike seat without flinching.

In honor of the royal wedding of William and Kate I will be writing with a British accent. Yes, I set my alarm this morning at 4 a.m. stumbled to the couch, snuggled in my blankie and watched on the telly Princess Diana's little boy, Wills, marry the love of his life. Thirty odd years ago, I did the same for his mum. I must say, this seemed like a much happier event in retrospect. Lots of pomp and circumstance as they say, but despite all the hoopla, it came down to just a boy marrying a girl. The romantic in me wishes them the 'happily ever after' part as well. It would do us all good to watch a healthy marriage play out before us, now wouldn't it? Let's pray for them, shall we?

Since my day started so early, I was hoping I'd get my bike ride in early as well. For the first time in two or three days, we have sunshine and no rain. So, out I went with only a sweatshirt. Well, I had clothes on and stuff, but no coat, or gloves or hat, which has been part of my riding gear since I started. I limbered up the Fake Knee on Rusty before I saddled up on LuLu, then off we went.

I wished I could tell you I had a great time. In my mind's eye, I see myself tooling along these country roads with butterflies fluttering about, bluebirds singing and the breeze in my hair. You know, very princess-like. I'm sure Kate was thinking the same thing this morning as she dressed for her wedding. Everything would be perfect. And, far as I could tell, everything was... for her. For me, not so much.

The Fake Knee still doesn't like LuLu. At one point, I thought I was going to have get off and walk, the pain was almost too much. The scar tissue that has built up behind the fake knee cap is pretty pleased with itself and isn't budging, at least not yet. By the end of my four mile ride, I felt a slight bit more of flexibility, but not much. It hurt, plain and simple. I've got a long way to go, friends.

So, here's my questions for today-- First the royal wedding question: If you had been invited to the wedding, would you have had the nerve to pin one of those silly hats on your head and waltz in front of millions of folks pretending you didn't look like some bird died on your head? And second, the pink bike question: Why is the good stuff like exercise, eating right, not lying (I just threw that in) so hard?

Well, it's time for me to tootle on as they say across the pond. Long live the Queen and all those other folks traipsing about with fruit baskets as hats.
Cheerio,

deb

SOMEDAYS...

2011-04-27T14:48:00.001-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #7: Somedays they ain’t nothing go right.

Ever have those days when nothing seems to go your way? When every step is like pulling your feet out of mud? Can’t you hear that messy, suction-y slurp right now? You know what I’m saying. Well, that was my yesterday. I was anxious. I couldn’t stick with anything. And, I kept dropping stuff and stumbling over stuff and running into stuff. When I laid my head down last night on my pillow, I thanked the good Lord that I got through the day without losing a limb or accidently putting the dog in the refrigerator.

Today has been much better. I’m on task and I’ve even been able to check a few items off of my ‘to do’ list. So, I figured it was safe to hop on LuLu and go for a spin. I mean, I hadn’t bumped into a wall today or lost anything. So, here I am peddling, against a blustery wind by the way, but still enjoying the scenery, when all of a sudden, I guess my peddling startled this duck floating in the ditch beside me, and wouldn’t you know, that silly duck flapped so close to my head I lost my balance and almost toppled over into the ditch myself. Who knew it was so dangerous out there? Suddenly, all of yesterday’s mishaps and anxieties dropped before my eyes like a projection screen and I felt my confidence leave. What should I do? Turn around and walk LuLu home? I was about a mile from the house. Or bravely trudge on?

I got right back in the saddle, my friends and started peddling. As I turned the corner on to Old Country Club road, I was humming the theme song to Chariots of Fire at the top of my lungs. Da da da da da dum… da da da da da! No duck was going to keep me from accomplishing my goal of a three-mile ride! No brisk wind was going to make me skip my date with LuLu! The only thing that could have defeated me… was me.

Needless to say, LuLu and I got home safely with no more duck malfunctions. And I must say, I was a little bit proud of myself. The old gal still has enough balance in her legs to keep from sprawling into a watery ditch, and the Fake Knee rose to the occasion and kept me upright.

Got challenges? I say, meet them head on and stare the duck down!

Later,

deb

Chocolate Bunnies & Bikes

2011-04-25T09:19:00.000-07:00

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #6: There’s riding bikes and then there’s riding bikes with a grandchild. Priceless!

I'm hoping all of you had a life-affirming Easter Sunday yesterday. We got to worship with kids and grandchildren, so that was special. Plus, Gary has healed enough from his infection ordeal to be able to preach again. That was very special. The Lord could have returned at that moment and all would have been well. As it turned out, He didn’t, so we came home and had a delicious lunch, holiday-style. Then outside to play. We actually had some warm weather and sunshine. And then… the bike ride!

Ever since LuLu and I hooked up, I’ve been looking forward to the day that Paisly, age six, and I would ride bikes together. Yesterday was the day. LuLu was introduced to Paisly’s little blue Schwinn and off we went. Happiness! We were both kind of wobbly at first. Paisly from inexperience and me from too much experience. The Fake Knee didn’t much like the impromptu ride. I usually limber it up with a few spins on Rusty first, but not yesterday. A whole lot of complaining ensued, as I tried to ignore the creaking coming from the knee area. Paisly giggled. I giggled and then I almost go us both run over by a passing truck. Note to self: Just because the road is in front of your house, you do not own it. So keep an eye out. But all was well. The nice truck driver slowed down and waved. At least I think that was a wave…

As I peddled down the road with Paisly, I felt this wave of gratitude flood through me and this overwhelming sense of joy. The Fake Knee no longer had my attention and the Cowgirl did not even register on the pain-scale. I felt otherworldly. I was riding bikes with my granddaughter! Who gets to do this? Who gets to look to her immediate right and see this beautiful child with golden hair and dimples peddling beside her and looking at you with such light in her eyes? My breath became wisps of spring air, the road underneath us became clouds and for one brief, sliver of a moment I got this overwhelming, serendipitous feeling that God’s eyes were watching me and that they had just crinkled up from a smile. This was the day He rose from the grave and it was on this day a couple of thousand years later, He gave Deb Cleveland another gift… and it was good.

My prayer for you all is that you be on lookout for what He has done and is doing for you as well, because not all of His gifts will include a pink bike.

Blessings,

deb

2011-04-22T13:46:00.000-07:00

LuLu-ism #5: Don't say something out loud, unless you're darn well sure you mean it. It could get embarrassing.

I had a first yesterday. While LuLu and I were riding , we had to dodge snow lumps in the road. Crazy. And, today, it's raining-- a cold, icy rain that grabs your bones and gnaws on them. No outside riding today. But, here's a little recap: Since my birthday, LuLu and I have been out on the road three times and two days before that; Pounds lost: 2; Fake Knee: Still, complaining, but I noticed yesterday that I could peddle with the middle of my foot instead of just the heel, so my flexibility is getting a tad better; Cowgirl: On a pain-scale of one to ten, with TEN being the worst, she's at a six.

While I'm a little excited that the Fake Knee has improved a tad, losing the two pounds is just ho-hum. You see, I've lost the same exact two pounds at least a hundred times-- this year. They keep returning. Then I lose them, then one of them creeps back. Then I lose three, then I gain two and then... well you get the picture. Since January I've lost eleven pounds-- a couple of times now. Hopefully, with LuLu's help, I'll be able to stop this silly yo-yo-ing thingy and finally drop down to a weight that feels good and doesn't give LuLu a flat tire. That's my goal. In fact my true goal, and I can't believe I'm going say this out loud, is to lose 60 pounds this year. That's right. In my sixtieth year, I want to lose 60 pounds. Can it be done? Well in the words of Vinnie Barbarino, "Is a bear Catholic? Does the Pope live in the woods?" (If you don't know who Vinnie is, Google John Travolta.) Yep, I'm gonna do it. And, I'm expecting you guys to keep me honest. Deal?

Have a thoughtful and thanks filled, Easter, friends. See you on Monday.
blessings,
deb