Creative Constipation--a top-of-mind musing

 This year, I wanted to improve my writing rhythms so I decided to restart my blog. I did well for the first few months of the year, but then things got busy, especially in my writing life, and as with all intentioned New Year's resolutions, the posts began to wane. So now I am just checking in to say I haven't forgotten you blog. I am here to write.

Sometimes writing is wonderful, but sometimes writing is hard. Some folks call it writer's block; I call it creative constipation. I can tell it is in there, but I can't seem to get it out. It takes a lot to produce it, and when it appears it is a bit clunky, not smooth. Lately I am creatively constipated. There is no Metamucil for my creative efforts, but continuing to sit down to do the work seems to move things along. 

In the recent past, the whole writing process seemed to come easier for me and insight seemed more accessible, but lately, putting my thoughts to paper and forming a cohesive essay takes much more concentration. Because I am a worrier, I tell myself that this is how things will always be: I think I must be losing my mind because writing has lost all its joy. But in reality, here's what I know to be true. God wants me to write for him. And if I write, I am being obedient. Sometimes this writing is easy and sometimes it takes more effort. But I will do it because it is what he has placed before me right now. If he wants me to do it, he will give me the power to achieve it. My worrying only makes me tense. When I am tense, nothing comes out.

I don't always enjoy writing, but I am always glad to have written--even when it feels like I have waded through Molasses to complete my task. As a writer, I can't always wait until I feel like writing or until inspiration hits. To be a good writer, I have to sit down and do the work whether the words flow out of my fingers or not. Obedience in my writing life looks like getting to work when I have no idea what to say. Discipline in my writing life means I continue to write one true sentence over and over again, trusting that God is truly in control and will give me what I need. And joy in my writing life looks like relaxing my creative sphincters and trusting that I truly have what it takes to drop words on the page. 

God is pleased with my effort--even in my straining--so I will keep working and waiting till my writing becomes more regular again. 💩

Rodent Redaction

I seem to be having a rodent problem. 

Example #1: Several months ago, while cleaning a bedroom where a guest had just slept, I lifted the knit blanket from the chair in the corner and I jumped. Stuck to the bottom of the blanket, seemingly sleeping serenely, was a petrified baby squirrel. Yes, I was appropriately mortified. And no, I don’t know how it got there or why I didn’t smell its putrid, decaying frame until I picked up the throw. Evidence below:

Example #2: I had decided to clean my screened porch because spring weather had arrived. I was hoping to sit on the patio furniture and drink my coffee on the upcoming cool mornings. Again, this incident involves a blanket. And again, I was lifting the blanket off the couch when I screamed and started. Under the red, tapestry-like throw, I found a mouse scurrying away with five babies attached to her bottom. Either she was birthing them or nursing them. Judging by the size of all the babies, I decided they were nursing. She was a slow scurry-er with the attached babies, so I got to view her actions for several minutes. In her panic, a few babies detached from her bottom and were laying in the corner of the couch. She tried to grab one of them in her mouth and found another hiding place for them under a pillow. By this time, I was freaking out and had no idea how to move this little family without mouses climbing up my arms. I ran to get the kitchen broom, pushed the pillow away with the broom, and was finally able to prod her onto the floor and out the porch door. In her surprised haste, she dropped several of her babies on her way down the stairs. I gathered up the dropped furless babies carefully in a dustpan and put them on the grass below the stairs. They were making pitiful squeaking sounds. Then I went back into my porch and found the perfectly round hole in one of the screens where mama mouse had chewed through so she could nest in a blanket that lay upon my patio furniture. I didn’t have time to fix the hole in the screen, but I placed a mouse trap just below it on the windowsill and yelled down to mama mouse, “I saved you and your babies but now you must stay out of my porch.” Apparently, mama mouse did not understand English and apparently, she thought some of her babies were still on my couch because she made her way through the hole, stepped onto the mousetrap, and got caught by her head. RIP mm. See very fuzzy screen shots from video as evidence below:

Also, I am not a bad housekeeper.

                       

Example #3: As I was drinking coffee on my now rodent-free porch this morning, I glanced out the screen door and saw this:

This was not a pleasant sight first thing in the morning, especially with my recent rodent problems. I wasn’t sure who had pooped on my porch stairs, but I knew whoever it was had been eating lots and lots of seeds. I proceeded to finish my coffee, then go to the garage and gather up a trowel. I used the trowel to scoop the poop and plop it onto the grass below. As I walked outdoors, I noticed that the pooper had also visited the nearby swing set and decided to leave a seedy deposit on the lofted playhouse. No one wants a poopy playhouse, so I also removed the poop via trowel and threw it out into the yard. After I had performed all this stinky seedy scat removal, I googled “dark brown seedy rodent poop” and discovered that a raccoon was the most likely culprit. I also discovered that raccoon poop is VERY TOXIC because it often contains Baylisascaris worms and, according to the CDC, I was supposed to be VERY CAREFUL when removing it. These are the directions listed for clean-up. I have placed a check mark after the ones I followed:

• Wear disposable gloves.

• Wear a N95-rated respirator. 

• Avoid stirring up dust and debris.

• Wear rubber boots that can be scrubbed or cover your shoes with disposable booties that can be thrown away.

• Feces and material contaminated with raccoon feces should be removed and burned, buried, or sent to a landfill.

• Treat feces-soiled decks, patios, and other surfaces with boiling water or a propane torch. ✔                

I read these precautions AFTER I, gloveless, maskless, and bootless, had quickly discarded the poop. I did not burn, bury, or send the poop to a landfill. I threw the poop in the yard where my dog and my grandchildren play. 

Reading further, I learned “Raccoon droppings are dangerous because many contain tiny roundworm eggs that can infect humans and cause serious illness if accidentally swallowed or inhaled. Although these infections are rare, they can lead to irreversible brain, heart, and sometimes eye damage and death.” Because I am a worst-case scenario kind of person, I was certain that I had inadvertently ingested Baylisascaris larvae and that I would die within the month. Wanting to spare my husband (who would mow over the poop and also ingest the larvae), I quickly went inside (and after spitting a lot and gargling with salt water to kill any worms in my mouth), put the kettle to boil and proceeded to pour boiling water on the scattered poop pieces and upon any stairway surface the poop had touched. I chose the boiling water method because I did not desire to burn up my house, yard, or swing set. After pouring all the water out on the feces pieces, I boiled another pot and poured it on the poop spot on the swing set loft. Then I carefully looked in the river rock under the loft because I was sure that my granddaughter would play in those pebbles, pick up the poop, eat it, and become disabled for life. And it would be my--and the absent raccoons--fault. So, excuse me now as I contemplate my recent rogue rodents and the uncertain fate of myself, my husband, my current and future grandchildren. 

Finally, as with all experiences, I have gained a few droppings of insight, so I will leave you with some solid advice: Check your blankets carefully before you entertain guests, use wisdom when choosing to assist a mother mouse, and never ever invite a raccoon to share your bathroom. 

'member that time?

Hey friends, I had a busy weekend and am just trying to catch up, so I'm talking a break today from the devos to share a couple of 'member that time? Monday posts from January and October 2011.  But first, a little context:  

When I was 7 years old, my mom taught high school kids with learning disabilities.  One of those kids was named Bruce Campbell.  Bruce was the youngest of 9 kids and he had faced some tough circumstances...one of them was being homeless at 17.  Since my mom was his teacher and had developed a close relationship with him, she and my dad took the "Foster Care" classes required by the state of Minnesota (where we lived when I was young), and after completion, brought Bruce into our home as part of our family for a time. I was thrilled to tell everyone that I had a big brother! Even though Bruce eventually moved out on his own, my parents have maintained contact with him over the years.  Bruce is now in his early 60's, but every time I think of him, an artistic, long-haired, soft-spoken teenager shows up in my brain.  

Today, Bruce had a stroke and is in the hospital with an uncertain prognosis.  Will you pray with me for my dear foster brother as you read about him in the posts below?  God is good and he is listening.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

‘member that time?

'member that time when the gerbil died in the winter and our foster brother Bruce, was babysitting us? And member how he didn't know what to do with it when it was dead and he put it down the garbage disposal and it sounded really crunchy for a long time? 

Member that? 

It made me have bad dreams. I miss my crunched up gerbil.

Monday, October 3, 2011

‘member that time?

This ‘member that time is for my foster brother, Bruce, whose birthday is tomorrow.  Happy Birthday Bruce! 

‘member that time when Bruce got me a brown fuzzy rabbit for my birthday and member how I named it Tarzan?  And member how one lazy summer day I went out to feed my beloved pet and his head had been ripped off by a dog or some other ferocious beast?  

member that?  That was an unpleasant experience for an 8 year old.  Not to mention gross. No more swinging in the jungle for that Tarzan. 

Pretty sad stuff, huh?  But I have recovered by now and developed into a normal human being even after that horrific experience.

And I even have more pets and all of them still have their heads.

Red Bird Devotions #5

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A Tale of More Than Two Pineapples

When my daughter, Tess, was in college, she shopped at Aldi. In fact, she still shops at Aldi because my children have an almost religious-like devotion to this store. (At least I did one thing right.)  One day, as she was gathering groceries, she noticed that fresh pineapples were on sale.  Tess really likes pineapples and Tess really likes bargains, so Tess bought several pineapples (I’m not sure how many, but I know she was riding her bike home, so as many as her bike basket would hold.). When she got back to her dorm room, she told her roommate, Dakota, about the amazingly cheap pineapples; the next day, both girls hopped on their bicycles and sped back to the store to load up on the fruit.  When each girl had gathered as many pineapples as they could safely carry in their backpacks and on their two-wheeled vehicles, they paid for their purchases and made their way home.  When I visited their dorm suite and looked into their tiny kitchen, I saw the counter filled with pineapples!  I said to Tess, “What are you planning to do with all the pineapples?”  And Tess replied, “Well, we will put as much pineapple as we can into our smoothies and eat some of it fresh.  The rest, we will cut up and freeze for future smoothie making.”  I thought this to be reasonable planning.  But then Tess said, “And we are going to save the crowns of some of them so we can grow our own pineapples right here in our room,” I started to doubt the veracity of her future plans.  Why?

Pineapples are the fruit of trees deeply rooted in tropical soil, not in dirt pilfered from outside one’s Iowa dorm room and placed in an Anderson Erickson Cottage Cheese tub.  Pineapple trees grow pineapples by keeping the pineapple branches attached to the tree; pineapple crowns placed in shallow dirt in a sunless kitchen are no longer connected to the source of life which made them grow; they may shoot out a few sickly roots, but with no attachment to the actual tree, these roots soon shrivel and die.  Does this remind you of anything? 

^“Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine. Neither can you bear fruit unless you remain in me. “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” (John 15:4-5)

Jesus tells us in John 15 that we must REMAIN in him if we desire to bear fruit.  If we try to produce “fruit” based on our own goodness, or achievements, or merit, our effort is like trying to plant pineapple crowns in Anderson Erickson Cottage Cheese tubs; it won’t work.  And we will wind up with withered pineapple leaves all over our table.

To grow in Jesus, we must stay attached to the vine. We must press into the "nutrient-rich" soil of his Word and pray for the flourishing of his will.  We must deny ourselves and our own attempts at growth.  We must believe that, with his Spirit in us, we can choose holiness and health. We must stay connected to our Savior. If we refuse to abide, we will be fruit-less.

If we root ourselves in the life-giving soil of Jesus, we will receive the crown of life which God has promised to those who love him (James 1:12)!  

Oh, so much better than a pineapple crown!

But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. 

Galatians 5:22-23

*You might be wondering, “Were Tess and her roomie able to grow a pineapple tree?”  And the answer is “No.” Because pineapple trees don’t grow in Iowa college dorm rooms and sometimes college students have grand plans that make no sense. 

10 Easy Steps to Personally Prepare for Your Daughter’s Upcoming Wedding

Since our youngest daughter gets married in two days (!) I thought y’all might benefit from a quick checklist on what needs to be accomplished when YOUR daughter gets married. Please keep in mind that it has been an incredibly busy semester here at the Haverkamp home place, so most of these suggestions have just been completed in the two weeks prior to the ceremony.

1.    Purchase Dress.

I pretty much deplore shopping and do lots of clothes shopping online.  A few months ago, I saw a dress that seemed appropriate, ordered it (with the sandals the model was wearing) and received it in the mail within a week.  Surprisingly, the very sparkly, sequined, and glittery dress fit relatively well, and I decided to keep it (and the sandals) for the upcoming event even though I normally am not very fancy.  

2.  Make Sure Dress Fits.

Even though the dress fit well when it arrived, I became increasingly paranoid that it soon would not fit if I kept putting large amounts of heavy whipping cream (left over from making the frosting for my granddaughter’s birthday cupcakes--which I also ate) in my coffee every morning, so on Sunday (three days before writing this), I stopped eating food and didn’t start again until Tuesday afternoon.  I was so hungry by Tuesday night that I ate one of the aforementioned cupcakes--with ice cream.  For some reason, the dress is not much looser.

3.  Research Spanx Online.

Since the whole fasting thing backfired, I seriously looked at all of my “fat-holding-in” options on Amazon instead of just going to my local department store lingerie section to ascertain the advantages of these very tight undergarments.  I was too embarrassed to order them (since the confirmation email goes to my husband who would text me a screenshot of the order with a “Did you order this?”) so I took the more acceptable road of control top panty hose that made big promises: “Built-in Shaper Short tones and flattens the tummy.”

4.  Try out Shaper Shorts with Glitter Dress While Home Alone.

I was determined to make the dress look fantastic even if it meant I had to suck in my gut while wearing the Shaper Shorts, so I carefully pulled them up to my waist and stepped into the full-length glitter dress.  The dress has a zipper from the derriere to the neck, and normally, I could probably finagle this process even though it would require some nimble gymnastic maneuvers.  However, presently, I have a condition called “frozen shoulder” on my left side and my arm does not extend all the way up, nor does it stretch behind my back. Temporarily forgetting my disability, I used my right arm to zip up the dress behind my back as far as I could then I reached over my shoulder with the same arm and pulled on the zipper from the top.  It was not a graceful or easy process, but I was successful in closing the entire zipper.  And I had to admit, the Shaper Shorts were doing their job and I looked darn good in that fancy garment. 

5.  Take Off Glitter Dress Without Passing Out.

After putting my sandals on with the glitter dress and admiring my reflection in the full-length mirror, I decided I needed to switch out the bra I was wearing so the straps wouldn’t show on either side.  So, I reached back with my one good arm and attempted to pull the zipper down as far as possible which ended up not being very far at all.  I slithered around trying to make the dress ride a little higher on my waist so the zipper would be accessible, but the Shaper Shorts were being held in place by little rubber strips around my thighs and they were keeping my muffin top AND the dress firmly in place.  I bent over forward--as if the motion might enable the zipper to unzip--and then I did a little hula hoop movement to see if I could get the zipper to go to the side. Nothing worked.  Since Brent was gone out of town for the night, I envisioned myself preparing for bed and climbing in between the sheets--all while wearing the form-fitting glitter dress--and trying to sleep.  I’m serious, folks, I couldn’t get the dress off!  I thought about calling 911 but then decided that would be bad judgment, so I chose to pray and ask God to release me from my bondage.  God, probably laughing in his own God-like way, soon smiled upon my predicament, and I was able to scoot the dress up ever so slightly on my waist so that my good arm could grasp the end of the zipper pull from the bottom and tug.  Viola!  The zipper was loosed!  As I stepped out of it, and over the massive pile of glitter on the floor below, (Really!  I had to get a broom and dustpan to clean it up!) I sat down on the cool tile of the bathroom floor in my Shaper Shorts and caught my breath. When I was fully oxygenated, I did try the dress on with another bra, but I only clasped the top loop of the dress and did not zip it all the way up.

6.  Get Spray Tan So that Dress is Not the Same Color as Your Skin.

Okay all of you professional spray tanners out there, I had never had a spray tan before and I was a little anxious that I might exit looking like Donald Trump striped and orange-y. However, now it is six hours post-spray and I am looking like I sat at a track meet on a sunny afternoon even though it has rained here for the last 110 days.  When I first entered the tanning place, I interrogated the girl at the front desk and told her in no uncertain manner that I would hold her responsible if I came out freakishly streaky.  She assured me that I would look fantastic and that I should choose the medium blend (or maybe that was coffee) and then “seal” it with the clear coat (or maybe that was the car wash) so it would continually darken for the next several hours.  I dumbly agreed to this experiment and assured her I was over 13 and signed away my rights with my fingerprint and a credit card.  She gave me a teeny tiny package of “toner” (sounds like something for my printer) that she said would make my skin’s Ph be completely balanced--whatever that means--and that I should smear it all over my face and body before I entered “the chamber.”  Then, she led me into room 13 (isn’t that an unlucky number?) and showed me how to put on the little cap so my hair wouldn’t turn colors, how to spread the “neutralizer” on my hands after smearing the “toner” all over so my palms wouldn’t turn orange, and how to contort my body into four different poses so that I could “tan evenly”.  When she walked out and I had disrobed, smeared the lotion on, then taken it off my hands, and put the little cap on my head, I took a deep breath, tried to still my beating heart, and stepped into “the chamber”.  While some unknown voice in the speaker told me to stand in position “1”, I closed my eyes and held my breath until I felt a little shower of moisture hit my freezing cold self.  Then the voice told me to turn around, and I felt the cold little shower again.  When she told me to take position “2”, I got nervous because I couldn’t open my eyes to look at the picture on the side of the chamber for fear I would tan my eyeballs, so I just made myself look like I was impersonating king Tut by standing in a type of Egyptian pose--first to the right--and then after the little shower thing stopped--again to the left.  When the unknown voice loudly announced through the speaker that the tanning portion was done, I breathed in a long inhale of relief because I had survived and was now in the drying portion of the protocol--kind of like when you drive through the dryer vents very slowly at the end of your carwash--except just with your skin and no car.   I have yet to try on the glitter dress again--even though Brent is home to assist with zippering--to see if my skin is now darker than my dress.

7.  Use Crest White Strips to Make Your Coffee-Stained Teeth Whiter and Your Spray Tan Look Darker.

Okay, y’all, I know I am supposed to start the whole white-strip routine about two weeks or so before the event, but I have been incredibly busy and neglected that prep.  So, I started the teeth-whitening process yesterday (4 days before the wedding day) and have been wearing those puppies every chance I get.  If I seem to be slurring my words a bit when you talk to me on the phone, I am either wearing them or I am drinking coffee (between white strip rounds) that seems super hot now because my teeth are so sensitive.  But, my oh my, those pearly whites are going to make my fake tan look even tanner!

8.  Buy Press-On Nails So You Don’t Have to Waste Money On A Real Manicure.

Unlike much of the female population in the US, I do not enjoy getting a manicure.  First of all, I have pretty decent nails and they seem to get brittle and broken when I get them painted at a salon.  Secondly, when I do get my nails done for a special occasion such as a wedding, it lasts only about a day or so before it starts chipping away and I start crying because I spent so much money on the manicure.  So, to solve this unsatisfying conundrum, I checked out the fake nail options at Target and found a package of 35 self-adhesive nails for $4.99! I peeled off the clear backing on each little plastic piece and pressed those shiny french-tipped nails on my actual real-life fingernails!  They looked great and I thought I was a clever genius until I tried to open some Tupperware and found three of them laying on the kitchen counter.  I tried to re-attach them-- to no avail-- and then decided that I felt like a counterfeit wearing plastic fingernails and ripped the rest of them off of my hand disgustedly.  The once-ingenious manicure replacement items are now in the garbage. And I need to make an appointment with a real-life cosmetologist.

9.  Make Hair Appointment at a Place Called Groovy Katz.

Listen, y’all, I have difficult hair and I don’t trust myself to make it look good so I decided to find a salon in the Iowa City area--where the wedding is taking place--so I could have a good hair day when my daughter gets married.  First, I called the salons with names like Finesse, or Buzz, or Zen--all cool and chic-sounding--but found no one with openings on the day I needed them.  Then I called a place called Groovy Katz and they told me that I could get an appointment with them on Saturday morning.  I am hoping that the stylists there are NOT wearing little headbands with cat ears and that I will exit their doors looking purr-fectly stunning.

10. Enjoy the Very Special Day!

Now that I have all the important things done, I can focus on other things, like how to display 45 dozen donuts attractively on a table.  I can also think about how to decorate the very dark and industrial-looking auditorium with lights, eucalyptus and lots of imagination.  And I can think about how bittersweet I will feel as I see my sweet daughter walking down the aisle with her father to marry a wonderful man and begin an exciting new chapter of her life.  I can ruminate on all of these things as my heart anticipates the overwhelming joy that will bubble up as I praise God for all the lavish blessings in my wonderful life!