WHERE'S NATE WHEN YOU NEED HIM?

I am never so aware of my lack of interior decorating skills as when I pick out paint colors. No matter how much I study those paint chips I always, ALWAYS, get it wrong. (Well, not always. I insisted on Martha Stewart Bee Balm Red for my office space, and I LOVE IT.)

My dining room had three shades of yellow on it before I found the right one. And even then I made the mistake of painting the ceiling the same color, when it should have been a lighter shade. Some day when I'm feeling brave I'll change it. My bathroom paint was in shades of gray to match the tub, etc. but in that room with so little natural light, the paint looks blue. I hate blue. Our bedroom is a disgusting shade of "antique green" that has a blue tint, and the carpet is a tweed of lighter greens and browns. I let Michael pick that out. I hate it too. The two don't go together at all.

Obviously carpet and I don't do well either. I ripped out the last one we put in, and put in another, and in the past year I have seriously come to not like it either. It's in the living room, and that's the room I'm currently trying to paint. I'm on my third paint color....tested on the small wall the stairs are on...and I hate it. Oh, it is SOOOO wrong.

I am just not cut out for this. It's ovioulsy not in my genes. I'd had the job over to my hubby, but he's not interested....tho he does (USUALLY) make better choices than I do. He stands back and lets me do my thing, and then comes to the rescue with a suggestion that usually works out better than my original plan.

Sometimes I think I'm expecting too much from a little can of color. I would love to have the entire room magically transformed, and paint is not up to the task. The needs of this old house go deeper than any can of paint can fix, and what we really need is discipline....to dig in and get to fixing and finishing all the undone projects around here.

VULNERABLE

A few weeks ago our church was robbed. In the middle of morning service, thieves came in and stole all the monies from the giving boxes in the hallways. Those of us who had checks stolen were advised to close the accounts and open new ones. We went through that process...getting new checks, canceling auto debits from ins. companies and the like, applying for new ATM/debit cards. That was two weeks ago, and our new materials just arrived today.

I was thinking we had things under control when our pastor mentioned that the sheriff had mentioned that we might be vulnerable to robberies since the thieves had our names and addresses, and knew where we were on Sunday mornings. I needed to hear that like a hole in the head.

So today I am trying to do what I can to safeguard some items....I can stash the better jewelry, credit cards, a bit of cash...but in reality, it seems kind of futile. I know the "pros" can think of any place "I" can. I can lock up pertinent personal information in a filing cabinet...but is it really break-in proof? We have a small fire-safe lock box, and that could be carried away. Where do I put all the boxes of financial records, payroll records, investment records that won't fit into the "locked" filing cabinet? If someone wanted to steal one's identity, it wouldn't be too hard. How does one lock up and protect one's life?

I don't like feeling vulnerable, but I'm not going to worry about it too much. What happens, happens, and if so, you deal with the mess it will create and start over. This has been a wake up call. It certainly has me thinking of things we can change....and we'll be doing a few things differently.

TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON

Okay, I've been holding off on expressing my joy that it is finally FALL because, frankly, it's been more like a Northwest winter out there. But today....today is FALL.

Was it in the 30's when you got up this morning? I don't know what it was when Michael left at 5, but when I crawled out from the down comforter this morning it was a chilly 35. There was a low-lying fog, and the sun was trying to break through. Ahhhhhh.....everything a fall morning should be.

I love this season. I love the darkening days, the warmth of a fireplace, the fact that there's less running around and "making hay while the sun shines." I can put away my sleeveless clothes and hide myself in warm, comfy sweaters. I'm ready to gather-in, find some new quilt projects and good books. Bring out my heavier winter meal fare, and try out some new soup recipes. Think about the holidays. Get those fruitcakes ready for Thanksgiving.

The maples in my yard are turning a gorgeous shade of red. There is snow in the mountains. A fuzzy catepillar was climbing my front door yesterday. (I don't want to talk about the spiders that are hanging EVERYWHERE.) The northern hemisphere is getting ready for rest. Ah, bliss.......

IT'S A BIRD....IT'S A PLANE.....

Google tells me today that this is the 50th anniversary of the launch of Sputnik. Fifty years ago Russia launched this tiny satellite into the sky, and millions of Americans gazed into the night heavens hoping for a glimpse. I can remember well standing out on the front lawn with my Dad, looking and looking until we finally spotted it. What an amazing thing it was! This man-made object floating around in earth's orbit. We looked at it many nights, and as a 9-year-old I remember it as an exciting, happy thing. Now I wonder what my parents were really thinking.

The fact that Russia was the first in space was definitely not an occasion for celebration during the years of the Cold War between our two countries. Rather, it was something to be feared, for it opened the door for attack from space. What an idea! I had no inkling of the tensions created by this little satellite...not something we discussed around the dinner table.

But, as a young student of the American school system, I was very aware of the dangers of the Cold War. It was in grade school that we learned to "duck and cover" and for goodness sake, don't look at the light during an atomic blast! We also had a drill that involved our getting to a "safe house" within 10 minutes of the school. My grandparents lived within that range, so on drill day, we would race out the back door of the school, across the sports field, and then the three blocks to their house. These same grandparents would move in 1962 from the city out to our neighborhood in the country, and would build a new home that included a built-in "fall-out" shelter room. We were very much aware that this other country wanted to blow us off the map. I don't remember now if I ever had nightmares about it, but it was very much a part of our lives.

Still, I don't recall Sputnik ever being anything other than a really cool thing....and an opportunity to share some fun time with my Dad.