Scrapbook Treasures

A couple of years ago, our daughter Mary became interested in scrapbooking after spending some time with our friends in New York. Their daughters were very artistic and showed her how it’s done. Mary’s scrapbook creations from back then are a beautiful keepsake and reminder of her time with those girls.

When she returned home, she expressed interest in doing more of it, so Tom bought her what she needed to create her own scrapbooks. I am not very artistic, but I think it looks like fun!

One reason the hobby seems so attractive to me is that our family photos are unorganized and few are in albums. We have a large storage container filled with envelopes containing our family’s photos from the last 15 years. Trying to put that many in albums now seems overwhelming. I’ve long lamented this fact, but don’t have the time and energy to start on the daunting project.

Then my sister-in-law, Kris, came for a visit earlier this fall. After we had dinner at home, she said she had something to give us. Out came the most beautiful scrapbook! Page after page of photos cleverly put together with little decorations on the page. The photos started out with Emily at the hospital after her birth, and then moved backwards in time to a photo of Tom and me at our wedding. There were fun snapshots of Charlie and Sam when they were little, of William as a baby, of Jon and Mary, it was just wonderful. Having the photos in an album would have been great enough. But in the scrapbook they were displayed in such a memorable way that it was a real treasury of our family’s life.

It was the best gift I could have ever received. Thank you, Kris! (See you soon!)

I’ve been thinking about trying it myself, but maybe you have to have an eye for that kind of thing. Mary definitely does. She is artistic and creative, so she can maybe help me make a few pages. Kris gave Mary some more scrapbook supplies, so we’ll have to get started on the project soon. Maybe a holiday scrapbook from this year’s Christmas photos would be a place to start!

Here is a collage of photos of our family from one of the scrapbook pages. (Sorry about the flash on the camera…) Grandma pictures, supersoaker battles, birthday parties, a trip to the pumpkin farm, a small Sam having “coffee” with his stuffed bear, snow shoveling with Uncle Mike, Perky, the family parakeet who lived for 14 years, wow! All on one page. That’s why scrapbooks are so much fun to look at. After years of admiring others’ handiwork in scrapbooking, I’ll see what I can come up with.

While We Still Can…**Updated**

**Update**  **Second Update on Fox Today – The White House lashes back. Busted!**Well, it looks like I am not alone in my concerns about health care rationing thinking on this. It’s the lead story at the moment on Fox News. Wow.**

I was idly going through my voice mail messages and deleting out-of-date calls when I heard a businesslike female voice say,

“Ingrid, this is the imaging department calling regarding your X-rays. Please call us when you can.”

Something was wrong, obviously, or they wouldn’t have called. These sorts of messages are always found after hours when you have to lie in bed awake all night, wondering what the problem was. I had had my first mammogram in three years (I have gotten them annually for several years due to my doctor’s advice.) But I had put things off for a couple of years, and then with Emily, I hadn’t been able to have one for an additional year.

When I called the next morning, the radiologist told me that I would need to return for more testing because of “two different spots” of concern. I swallowed hard and made an appointment as soon as I could get in. It’s a real moment of clarity when you get a call like that. Suddenly, the fragility of life is made sharply real. I told Tom and asked if he would go with me for the additional tests. After 8 months of ups and downs with the baby this year, I suddenly didn’t feel up to facing more drama alone.

When we got to the appointment, the technician showed me the first X-rays. There were two rather impressive areas visible even to my untrained eye.

“Well, Lord, whatever it means, it won’t be the first shocking thing to happen and a whole lot of women have had to deal with this before me.” I prayed silently. I felt a resignation to whatever God had. What else can you do at times like this but realize your time is in God’s hands?

There were two additional tests which essentially took pictures from different angles with different equipment.

The ultrasound technician on the second test was so amazingly kind. (The professionals at this medical group have always been great.) She asked all about Emily which helped get my mind off the test which took a few minutes. I knew a doctor would be coming in to explain the results to me which would require waiting a while. Time sure drags in situations like this. While waiting, I flipped through Oprah’s magazine and began reading a fascinating article on meditation and what a great way it is to find peace. No thanks, Oprah. Finally, the doctor came in and took some time looking at the results of the tests.

I caught myself holding my breath.

Then she turned to me and gave me a big smile. “It’s fine,” she said, explaining that what she saw was not cancer at all. “But come back in 6 months for a follow-up.”

Exhale.

So why am I writing something so deeply personal on the Hope Blog? This news yesterday is why I am writing about this. The federal government shocked even the American Cancer Society yesterday by announcing that women should not get mammograms until age 50 and that self-exams are a waste of time. Nobody can figure out why the about face on information that women have been told for decades—mammograms yearly, starting at 40. I have no doubt why they did it. We are seeing the beginning of what government rationed health care is going to look like.

This was an announcement by Barack Obama’s government—the same one that wants government-run health care. Mammograms are expensive. Women will expect to have them, starting at age 40, just like usual, under Obamacare. They aren’t going to get them, even though they have saved lives over and over again as tumors are caught in their early stages. Just because they save a FEW lives doesn’t warrant everybody getting them, you see. That is how government healthcare works.

In the news article, it’s interesting that women interviewed say they are going to get one anyway. That’s because they currently can with private insurance and private medical care. Unless the catastrophic takeover of healthcare by the feds is stopped, we will have no such choice. Barack Obama and the doctors who lined up to support this “new thinking” on mammograms would like to determine when you get that mammogram, not you. Americans who voted for the man are in for a serious shock when the most personal details of their healthcare are decided by an out-of-control bureaucracy in Washington.

Each day I read multiple papers online from Britain and Europe. The government decides which medicine you can get, readers. It tells you when they will shut off your child’s life support or not. The news I have read over and over again about Britain’s NHS is enough to shake you to the core. There is a very real human toll.

Government has no business running healthcare. Medicare is bankrupt, the postal service is bankrupt. The entire government is bankrupt. Yet these federal apparatchiks will be telling you when you can have a mammogram. They’re prepared to lose a few younger women to breast cancer if it saves money in the long run. You are a number, a statistic to them.

If it had been cancer in my case, my excellent doctor’s insistence last month that I get a test could have saved my life. I know that early detection has saved countless lives, because breast cancer is highly treatable in its early stages. Self-exams are essential. How many lives have been saved because of those? My advice? Keep being cautious and don’t put off routine tests.

I frankly have zero regard for what “government” tells me when it comes to my personal life and health. It is run by the corrupt, liberal fools America has elected to public office. The photograph of doctors putting on coats handed out by Obama aides at the Rose Garden appeal for government healthcare said it all. It’s all about hype and political spin, and all of it is with one end in mind – handing over more of our personal choices to the great god, government.

I am deeply thankful for the freedom we have had up until now to make choices about our own healthcare. To readers, I know I am veering onto an out-of-the-way topic today, but I feel strongly that our own doctors should be the ones who give us advice, not some doctors hired by Barack Obama for an entirely different aim.

I came out to the waiting room and gave Tom a big hug. My smile told him what he needed to know. Will and Emmy got a long hug also when I got home. Something extra this Thanksgiving for which to thank the Lord.

A Few Pictures

Before the concert on Friday

Will doesn't like his "geek" picture, so I am duty bound to include the one with the football.

 

A Date with Anton Bruckner

I knew that header would get some attention. Tonight, Tom, Will and I are going to hear Bruckner’s 8th Symphony. Before you yawn, please get a taste in these absolutely (visually, as well) gorgeous videos of the last movement.

It’s Vienna and there isn’t a better orchestra to play this music by their fellow Austrian, Anton Bruckner. A couple things: Notice the shift from the raw power of the opening measures, and then at 1:44, hear the contrast of the lush and rich strings. That contrast is heard throughout Bruckner’s music, not just this symphony. Also, for those who say that classical music is sleeper stuff, listen to 5:54 on the first video. It’s my favorite part, except for the unbelievable ending. I love the way European conductors don’t immediately turn to the audience for applause, but stand there for a moment in silence to let the full impact sink in. The audio ends, but you see the crowd rising in respect for a standing ovation in the last few seconds. That, my friends, is some of the greatest music you will ever hear from what’s left of Western civilization.

After 9-11, Zarin Mehta, Executive Director of the New York Philharmonic, introduced the Brahm’s requiem in memory of the victims by saying that classical music was the highest musical expression of our Western culture. We are privileged today to be able to hear it any time, right on our computers.

Will heard a recording of this symphony when he was 3 and threw up his small arms at the end. “Awesome!” he shouted. Exactly.

Home Work

I have worked primarily out of my home for many years. I began working at home back when I married Tom. That was two years before I was online (how in the world did I do my job without the internet?), but I used a fax machine and my telephone, and I would book guests around my home responsibilities. With the internet, things got a whole lot easier. Suddenly, I didn’t have to have newspapers delivered to my doorstep, I could read news online. More than I ever wanted to know was available at my computer, every day, 24 hours a day.

I also could do radio interviews as a phone guest from home very easily. Back then, I had published something on a UN Treaty with implications for parents’ rights and did 150 interviews on some major media. All of it was done with my children upstairs playing in their room. There are some funny stories from that era that I won’t bore you with, but on one occasion, I did an interview in our closet with my face pressed against my husband’s shirts to blot out the happy ruckus my toddlers decided to make while I was being interviewed by WABC in New York.

I now find myself working again with a small child in the house. After over a decade of greater freedom to go to the studio or anywhere else I needed to at a moment’s notice, things are once again complicated. There is an ISDN line in my home that allows me to broadcast live from here, but I have not used it yet. It is somehow disorienting to do a radio show from home. For a year in South Carolina I used one, praying the entire time that the neighbor’s two hunting dogs would not decide to start yowling next door during that hour, but that was before I had a baby around again. Also, we live in the flight path of an airport, and I am quite certain that the guy who owns a P-51 Mustang is going to decide to fly over my house on the first day that I host from home. A demented dog whose bark sounds like a scream lives in the cul de sac behind our house. He will be left outside, without doubt, on that day.

Additionally, the kids who live near us who own a hot rod car and who like to rev the engine for hours while they noodle under the hood will most assuredly decide that 2pm central on the weekday that I choose to host from home is the perfect time to install that new master blaster muffler and try it out. You can bank on it.

Working from home, however, has its compensations. I recently answered my cell phone at home. An angry female voice was at the other end.

“Ingrid, I want you to listen, I don’t want you to argue, I have something to say to you!” she snarled.

Whoa. Reeling from that friendly greeting, the woman continued.

“I’d like to talk to you about your piece on (name of hip and popular celebrity pastor.) What gives you the right to criticize his sermon series on sex? Who do you think you are? What’s wrong with a pastor answering sex questions in church?”

“Ma’am———-” I tried to break in but was cut off by her angry voice.

“YOU LET ME FINISH!” She shrieked.

After two attempts at informing her that she had reached me at a bad time and that my baby was crying and was needing to be fed, I hung up on her. How in the world had this woman gotten my cell phone number in the first place, I wondered. I headed to get Emily who was crying in her crib. Just then, my phone went off again in my pocket. It was my antagonist calling back. I looked at my phone and then at Emily and smiled.  Opening the phone, I held it up to Emily’s mouth which was emitting deafening roars. I held it there for a few moments, and then closed the phone. Emily said it better than I ever could have. Unfortunately, the woman then began texting furious messages defending her Dr. Ruth-style sexpert/pastor in Seattle, but by then, Emily was happily imbibing from her bottle and the phone was shut off.

Working from home has its ups and downs, but all in all, it is wonderful to have technology that makes it possible. And when it comes to outraged callers, Emily couldn’t be a better assistant.

P.S. Yes, that’s Emmy checking out the headlines.

Friday Reverie

It’s finally the weekend after quite an incredible week. I am sitting here enjoying a French love song with a concertina in it, imagining myself at a little cafe in La Ville-Lumière at night…no crackpots harassing me (I have several at the moment)- doing their work in Christ’s name, no children issues, no laundry, no telephone, no email, no political outrage. Just for a moment, I’ll daydream…

I hope everybody has a peaceful weekend. Enjoy what is good that God has given, and thank Him for it. Every good and every perfect gift comes down from the Father of Light. When the enemy sends his sulfurous breath down your neck and tries to remind you of what a failure you are and your past, remind him of his future.

Baby Talk

done

Duet in Autumn

By the time most of you read this, the month of October will be gone. Last year’s autumn was slow and gradual, culminating in the most glorious color. I remember many Indian summer days where the temperatures were in the high 60’s and 70’s. I went walking on those blissful afternoons, the spicy scent of the leaves under my feet rising up to greet me as I went along.

This year was different. We had a chilly September with some premature leaf color in some places, but the leaves on other trees stayed green longer than usual. Then a couple of weeks ago, all the trees on our street turned a brilliant color all at once. Overnight, they also all decided to drop right into the street. They’re still there, sodden and rained on, their bright yellow contrasting with the new blacktop streets  in our subdivision.

Last Sunday, the sun was shining and the skies were a lovely blue. “How about driving to the lakefront and taking a walk?” Tom suggested after church. It was a splendid idea, so we set off to drive east to Lake Michigan. It was windy at the lake, and there were white caps as far as the eye could see. We walked on the beach for a while and watched the parasailing on the lake. At least, I think that’s what it’s called. These people were wearing wetsuits and were being lifted over the water by these large sails. It looked terrifying to me, and pretty chilly with the wind blowing across the lake.

After a while, the wind got too cold on the water, so Tom suggested we drive north into the village of Whitefish Bay, park and take a walk. I love Whitefish Bay. Every block of houses is an interesting mix of architecture, with large old trees, white picket fences and lots of pedestrian-friendly sidewalks. There are cute little cape cods, vine-covered brick colonials with white trim, grey saltboxes, comfortable clapboard homes with big porches and sturdy brick bungalows, with dozens of variations on those themes.

The wind was better away from the lake and the sun felt warm on our heads as we walked along, enjoying the remnants of the autumn color against the blue skies. We walked and walked and walked.

“You do know where we parked, don’t you?” I asked Tom at one point. When I’m with him, I rarely worry about things like that because he’s good with directions. I did ask, however. He blithely assured me that he did.

I was enjoying the day so much, I forgot how far we had gone. Because I am still recovering from low energy after Emily, I am like a jet with no fuel. No glide capacity. When my fuel runs out, it’s a quick crash. I realized we had gone quite a distance, so we turned back before I ran out of steam. We finally made it back to where we thought our car should be. But our car wasn’t there. I saw an uneasy look on Tom’s face. “We’re a block too far west still,” he said. But he didn’t say it with a lot of confidence. We walked another long block east. No car.

Now we were really perplexed. “I think we’re too far south,” he said. But this time, I got the feeling that it was a shot in the dark. My strength was flagging fast. I hated to sit down on the curb. The neighbors would wonder who the vagrants were, sitting on their street corner. We walked a block north. No car. By this time the lovely homes didn’t look so charming anymore. They all looked alike. Block after block after block of white picket fences, and maple trees and brick cape cods with cute shutters, laughing at us. I was growing so tired, I wondered if I could go another block.

“Stay here, I’ll go find it,” Tom said.

“I’m not standing on a street corner by myself,” I protested.

“Fine.” We kept walking.

By now I was not thinking poetic autumn thoughts at all. “This is so us,” I thought to myself. “Here we are, wandering around like a couple of yahoos. Imagine explaining this one to the police at 2am when they find us, shivering and hungry, wandering through Whitefish Bay.” I could see it now.

“Yeah, we’re looking for our car. We’re not from here, but we just park and walk around–we’ve lost our car. Honest!”

“We’re hauling you two shady-looking suspects in to the station, pronto!” the officer would say gruffly, handcuffing us. William and Emmy would have to post bail, I thought, enlarging on my imaginary scene.

Tom stopped when we saw a man playing ball with his children in his front yard.

“Can you tell us where the library is?” he asked. Tom knew where that was and figured he could find our car if we knew where the library was. The man pointed vaguely off at an angle and gave a convoluted explanation that involved lots of twists and turns. Fuzzier than ever, we trudged off again.

“He’s going to think that was a little suspicious,” I said. “The library isn’t even open on Sundays.” I still had the criminal scenario on my mind.

“Well, at least I asked for directions, take note of that!”  Tom replied.

We were looking despairingly down streets and up streets when suddenly Tom said, “Isn’t that the house we admired right after we got here?”

He was right. Then we spotted another, and another. We were on the right track. Like Hansel and Gretel looking for the breadcrumbs they had dropped in the forest, we looked for familiar houses that would lead us back to our car. There it was, at last, like a gleaming mirage in the distance. That vehicle never looked so good. I collapsed into the seat and put my head back. We were silent for  a minute and then looked at each other and started laughing. Just another memorable Schlueter adventure for us.

Of such comedic moments, life and marriage is often made. I wouldn’t trade that wonderful day for anything. Being with the man I love on that brilliant afternoon, lost in Whitefish Bay, will stay with me long after the pretty leaves are all blown away to dust.

Another Treasure from Laura Ingalls Wilder

Like most little girls, I was fascinated by the stories of Laura Ingalls Wilder. My mother read them aloud to me and my sister, Lisa, and they made a big impression.  I even had my mother braid my long hair in third grade and put ribbons on the ends because I wanted to be like Laura and Mary.

A few years ago, someone gave me a book called, Laura Ingalls Wilder: A Family Collection. At first, I thought they were stories taken from the series of books. But when I looked more closely, I found a true treasure for grown-up “girls.”  This book is a collection of articles originally written by Laura Ingalls Wilder for the Missouri Ruralist, a widely-read farm paper, between 1911 and 1918.

These articles were written before she undertook the writing of the Little House books later in life. The book contains articles, stories and poems, memories and her home-spun, common sense philosophy from her Rocky Ridge Farm in the Ozarks of Missouri. (It’s not far from where my mother grew up. When I was eight-years-old, I got to visit Rocky Ridge Farm and see the museum there. Pa’s fiddle was even displayed!)

The book has four sections: Life on the Farm and in the Country, Making a Home, the Ways of the World and A Woman’s Role. Her writing is a fascinating look into the character and life of the times in which she lived. You come away with a real understanding of why America was once a great nation. With fortitude, wisdom, moral character and integrity like Laura’s, it’s no wonder our nation was strong.

I noticed that Amazon has several very inexpensive used copies available. If you want a real reading treat some autumn/winter evening, this book will do it, and if you get one of these used copies, it won’t cost you much!

Please Pray for this Baby and Family

I want to pass on this situation for prayer. Because of our own new baby, this situation really breaks my heart. Please remember this family in prayer. More information and updates can be found here.