The people-pleasing side of me wants to post only happy, congenial, peaceful topics on View from the Prairie Box. To shy away from hot topics, however, goes against my staunchly-held value system and I cannot and will not ignore what I believe to be true. So, here and there you will read blog entries like the one below. This is an election year afterall! One thing I ask is that you write your comments respectfully. I have no qualms deleting entries that are excessively rude. And, when possible, provide a link to back up your comments.

That being said, I’m totally annoyed at how many people are protesting the Republican National Convention in NYC. I’m all for the freedom to protest, I just think it’s creating hazardous conditions, a ticking time bomb, in an already congested city.

One more thing… I refuse to be apologetic for being a Republican. It’s not popular to be conservative these days. Believing that “life begins at conception” and that abortions should never be allowed, saying that marriage is an institution for one man and one woman only, is definitely not smiled upon in most circles. I know many of my friends believe differently, but I’ve had it with trying to tone down my position in order to pacify others. I’m politically conservative with no apologies.

I’ve been wondering why this group in particular should not be allowed to voice their opinions regarding the current political race. Isn’t this America, the land of free speech? If their comments can be proven libelous, only then should they be forced into silence.

(Thanks, Keith. I pulled the link from your blog.)

I used to think adoption was simple: There are baby girls in China that need homes? Let’s go get one!

And then reality set in. Private vs. agency. Domestic vs. international. Open vs. closed. (Good luck trying to do a closed adoption domestically. I doubt too many folks do them anymore.) Paperwork for the lawyers. Paperwork for the social workers. Paperwork for the state. Paperwork for the birthparents, which is probably the toughest paperwork of all. It’s a fairly odd challenge, writing “Dear Birthmom” letters and profiles of yourself. What if birthmom was an athlete? Okay, make sure to write about your soccer days. What if she is a Christian? Alright, include something about your beliefs in Jesus Christ. What if she hates Christians? Uh, let’s not go over the top with the Christ talk. One could really go crazy while filling out all the forms. All I can say is that we heavily relied on faith in God’s providence. If He wanted us to adopt a baby, we knew all the paperwork in the world couldn’t stand in our way.

The truth is that the adoption process doesn’t end once a placement occurs. (Isn’t placement a stark word to describe the incredible joy of being handed your new baby?) Usually you’ll have meetings with your social workers, bills from the lawyers, letters and photos passed to the birthparents, new social security cards and birth certificates to order, insurance to arrange. And someday, meaningful adoption conversations with your little one. The process continues.

Adoption is not simple. But adoption IS wonderful. I could write “wonderful” and all it’s synonyms over and over and over on this blog and still not get across how wonderful it is to love and care for Livia. I’ve decided that having a child is like having a chunk of your heart cut from your chest and placed within another little body. There will always be a piece of me within her. My thoughts will never be centered solely on myself again. Forever there will be a part of me in this child. Wonderful.

I had a very interesting grocery shopping experience at SunMart the other day. SunMart, in my opinion, is notorious for it’s poor produce section… Suffice to say I’ve ended up with mold on strawberries and wilted green onions on too many occasions. Knowing I only needed items like cereal, eggs and bread, I made the quick trip to SunMart.

Walking through the front doors, apparently I caught the eye of this 30 to 40-something dude. And I’m thinking, darn it! Why haven’t I had my wedding rings repaired yet? (I had them cut off when my arthritis was at it’s worst in May.) This guy looked like he had three young wives back home in Turkey or something so I counted it as a cultural thing that he was openly gazing at me. But then he started to follow me. I’d go into an aisle and he’d go into the same one. I’d move on to another section, he’d walk past on his merry grocery shopping way, and then wait! turn immediately around and pretend to look for something on my aisle. Grrr… I’m a survivor of a previous negative shopping experience, one where I was highly intimidated by a much older man, one who didn’t care one iota that I couldn’t have dinner with him because I was MARRIED. So this time I was prepared to tell SunMart dude to bug off boldly if he tried anything. (Girls, don’t ever be intimidated by creepy guys! Be straightforward and rude if needs be.) This is highly anticlimactic. My apologies. SunMart man purchased his groceries and apparently went home without a fourth wife. My aggression was tempered by the Lady in the checkout lane…

This Lady looked like a victim of Auschwitz. Though I’ve had some experience with women with bulimia or anorexia, I have never never never seen someone is this state. She was ahead of me in line, we were separated only by a young mom and her toddler. The rosy-cheeked, chubby, healthy tot accentuated the utterly starved, skeletal being in front of his cart. It was such an odd experience. I kept racking my brain, wondering if somehow her condition was not self-imposed, that perhaps it was a medical condition. Did she have cancer? I don’t think so. Her skin was almost translucent, cheeks drawn tightly over thin, high cheekbones. Her eyes were enormous behind large, round glasses perched upon her bony, pointed nose. Her teeny shoulders were caving in and her old-fashioned clasp purse seemed like much too much weight for her delicate arms. I was horrified. I wanted to do something desperate, like call 911 or some hotline, but that seemed reactionary and ridiculous. I watched her pay for the three items on the conveyor belt, then walk out of the store. My heart still feels heavy with concern for her. I bought my fatty Pop Tarts and called it a day.

Ugh. SunMart. Whatever your ethnic, economic, religious, health background may be, you’re welcome to shop here. Just don’t expect fresh veggies.

This just in…

Livia Tredway has discovered her legs.

The fifteen week old was previously unaware of appendages other than her arms and thus all play was reduced to the reaching and grabbing of toys and the sucking of fingers.

“It’s quite remarkable!” her father exclaimed late yesterday afternoon. Her mother simply stood nearby, watching in awe as Livia kicked toys and held her chunky calfs with her tiny fingers.

This sudden discovery has taken the Tredway household by storm and has succeed to surpass in greatness the previous talents, ear-grabbing and hair-twirling.

Summer walks
Late-night porch talks,
Over a firepit outdoors
Chocolate and marshmallows for s’mores,
Tomatoes and cucs off the vine
Warm breezes, feeling so fine,
Picnics and bbq’s in the yard
Summer fun isn’t hard…

Fall is now coming
Bringing it’s own times of fun
What will you miss most
When summer is done?

-RLT, channeling Dr. Suess (albeit poorly!)

Does anyone else think it’s strange that there are so many open seats left in the men’s gymnastics team final at the OLYMPICS? Wha??? Had I known there was a spot with my name on it, a plane ticket would have been purchased long ago!

I am a great fan of the Olympic games. I can remember crowding around the television set with my parents and brothers, cheering on athletes of the likes of Mary Lou Retton. My best friend from Augusta, Georgia, and I even got haircuts like Mary Lou (as did many other all-American little girls of that day)… Sarah looked exactly like the gymnast and I looked like a little boy. Another haircut for the photo album.

Tonight props go to the Japanese men’s gymnastics team for winning, fair and square, the gold medal! Of course, I was rooting for the USA guys, but totally happy for them and the Japanese. These events are so intense… I hold my breath during the rings and everything gets paused for the vault. Love the vault! If there was one single Olympic event I’d want to compete in, it would be the vault… “flying through the air with the greatest of ease!”… So much power and airtime, it looks like fun.

It’s too bad our Blockbuster-pseudo-Netflix-dealie is done this week, because baby, the Olympics are on!!

The sunflower heads bloomed a few weeks ago and now we can admire the lovely and enormous flowers in a new way. The tallest one’s head is so large that the body is bent underneath it somewhat like a geriatric case of sunflower scoliosis. (It’s a virtual planetoid!) The rest of the garden is faring decently, though I’m sure a few more hot August days would be perfect for the tomatoes. We’ve been having the most beautiful fall-like weather… Temps in the 70’s, sometimes going down to the 40’s at night. It’s been a very, very unusual Nebraska summer.

Yesterday we joined some friends at Mahoney State Park. It was a great opportunity to get out of Lincoln and enjoy being together as a family… First we strapped on the Baby Bjorn and climbed the observation tower to enjoy lush views of the rolling hills near the Platte River. My knees began to buckle a bit halfway up the tower but I told Livia that her mom’s not a weenie and thus ignored my shaky, heights-fearing innards. I couldn’t help but chuckle empathetically at this young couple on the top of the tower… The girl was really nervous and wouldn’t step foot any closer to the railed edge. The edge is fairly unnerving, as the floor is made of metal links and you can see straight through to the ground, however many feet below.

After checking out the landscape, we popped Livia into her stroller and walked around the Butterfly Garden (presumably more interesting in early summer), the James Conservatory and wandered various foothpaths and bridges. Mahoney is a family place—perfect for kids a little older than Livia. You got the swimming pool and waterslides, the marina and paddleboats, horseback riding and carriage rides, and a fairly new activity center. Wintertime (and snow) sees sleigh rides at Mahoney. Hmmm… Romantic birthday outing, perhaps? With the start of the Olympics and our out-of-town afternoon, the weekend was quite enjoyable.

Tasting – Burt’s Beeswax lip balm on my teeth.

Aching – In my sinuses.

Buying – Eats, Shoots and Leaves from Barnes & Noble.

Behaving – Like a procrastinating mom. It’s time to mix up some formula and I’m blogging instead.

Desiring – More time (and money) to spend at Barnes & Noble. I had forgotten how enticing their book selections are… and how aromatic their coffees are… and how comfy their furniture looks…

Planning – To spend a long weekend of relaxation with four old friends at a lake house next month.

Snuggling – With a blanketed Pookie on the front porch during a gentle rain.

Choosing – BBQ Chicken Pizza and Crème Brulee for dinner tonight.

Regretting – Too low an insulin dosage.

Living – As a stupid diabetic and a satiated diner. The two are quite compatible.

I’m an escapist when it comes to literature.

When I read, I want a book that takes me away from my familiar living room sofa to a land or time far away. I want to become someone else, to feel what they feel and experience what they experience. Perhaps this mentality explains why I never make it through a book that is overtly trying to teach me something. I have the best intentions of reading books on grace, marriage or apologetics, but I rarely get further than halfway through the publication before it begins to gather dust on my bedside stand.

So here I am, an escapist reader, saying out loud that I love a good John Grisham novel.

Last night I finished up The Last Juror (Doubleday, 2004). Classic Grisham, it tells the tale of a young newspaper publisher and editor in small Mississippi town in the 1970’s. Of course, being a Grisham novel, it also encompasses passionate crimes, a host of attorneys, one crucial jury decision and racial tension. Ah, good stuff. I was drawn further into the story by the following description of Calia Ruffin, an elderly black woman, and her prayer before lunch with the young protagonist:

It would be a lengthy prayer. She thanked the Lord for everything good, including me, “her new friend.” She prayed for those who were sick and those who might become so. She prayed for rain and sun and health and humidity and patience, and though I began to worry about the food getting cold I was mesmerized by her voice. Her cadence was slow, with thought given to each word. Her diction was perfect, every consonant treated equally, every comma and period honored. I had to peek to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I have never heard such speech from a Southern black, or a Southern white for that matter.

I peeked again. She was talking to her Lord, and her face was perfectly content. For a few seconds, I actually forgot about the food. She squeezed my hands as she petitioned the Almighty with eloquence that came only from years of practice. She quoted Scripture, the King James Version for sure, and it was a bit odd to hear her use words like “thou” and “thine” and “whither” and “goest.” But she knew precisely what she was doing. In the clutches of this very holy woman, I had never felt closer to God.