We Thought It Would Never Happen

On Tuesday, Barack Obama took the oath of office to become the 44th president of the United States. (Later he retook it, after he and Roberts both messed it up, and neither one had the brains to say, "Let's start over.")

But there was a small part of me that kept thinking, even after Election Day, even after the Electoral College met, even after the House counted and ratified the Electoral College vote (or do they certify?), that perhaps Barack Obama would never actually become president and the Bush administration. In fact, even after the oath was taken, the speech given, the luncheon attended and the parade ran its route, there was still that feeling of suspicion that something was going to again delay Barack being able to get to work and sort things out.

How glad I am that I was wrong, and he did walk into the Oval Office on Wednesday morning, take off his suit coat and get to work.

President Obama is already the target of criticism, but that is how it should be. We cannot afford to live in a society that pays obeisence to the president.

We should be respectful to the office (e.g. booing President Bush at the Inaugural was tacky -- wrong time and place), but the man is just the man. There is a reason the president is referred to as "Mr." and that reason goes back to George Washington. He recognized that for the Republic to work, the president needed to be not a king but a man from the people. The requirements for the office are only age and citizenship; there are no requirements for education, other political experience, or social standing.

So we should cut Barack some slack -- after all, how many new heads of any organization can move in with no learning curve? -- but not too much.

After all, we asked him to be there. And it has really happened.

Night Snow

It is snowing tonight

like the inside of a snowglobe

Silver shimmers that leave a blanket of white that sparkles

like in a Disney movie

in the soft light that spills out from the kitchen

The sweet and spicy fragrance from my steaming cup of tea beckons

As I sip my tea and watch the snow fall

I am wrapped in a warmth that is part tactile and part ethereal

connecting me with countless happy moments watching other snowfalls

But the comfort of my bed beckons me

Children

As it did to many people this past week, the death of John Travolta and Kelly Preston's son Jett deeeply affected me. And, typical of a parent, it caused me to think about my own children and how essential and wonderful they are in my life.

I found myself praying: not only for the Travolta family and friends as they grieve and celebrate Jett's life, but for my own children, to bless them and help me remember to appreciate them.

In the midst of all this, my younger daughter slipped into our room one night at the end filled with verbal wrestling. She silently left a small note on the foot of the bed, scurrying off before we could unnecessarily remind her that it was past her bedtime and she should stay in bed. (It was folded, and she had written in pencil on all three sides, with arrows directing me to the next page.)

The note made me glad I hadn't said anything. It also gave me another example of how unconditional God is in his gifts and love. Read it for yourself, and you'll see why (I couldn't find an arrow symbol, so I used text in italics; the rest of the text is hers):

Dear Mommy,

I love you!

I thank you for giving birth to my big sister

and I. You (open) with an arrow

give us food.

You married a great man.

You let us

have a dog.

You give us toys to play

with. I love

you and you

love me. But... flip with an arrow

I LOVE YOU MORE, MOMMY!

(I think so)

Y

There it was. The evidence of God's unconditional love reflected in that of a child. Just what I needed, and I hadn't even asked for it. Kind of like a parent.

Glenn, The Rat Killer

After ten days of unseasonable cold and snow that threw a wrench into Christmas (but did not stop it from coming -- it came! Somehow or other, it came just the same!), the snow was gone except for patches, the roads were clear, and things were getting back to normal.

Then, the stench.

First Glenn blamed it on the unruly pile of toys in the corner of the family room, hypothesizing that there was rotten food or undetected leaked water. After sorting through it all (and the corner is much neater!) I found no food, no signs of a leak, and the smell remained. My sluggish sense memory finally recalled, "Dead animal."

An investigation by Glenn the next morning in our storage space under the house yielded a dead mouse and a dead bird, as well as a couple of holes proving that something came in from outside.

Still the stench remained.

So back into the stench Glenn went, and off I went to run errands, kids in tow. Suddenly my phone rang. "I found it!" he cried triumphantly. It turns out it was a huge dead rat right on top of the vent, snuggled into insulation. Oh, and three other dead mice. Bravely he removed the carcasses and sent them into the wooded spaces behind our house.

He then again braved the stench, the small space, and the insulation, and removed the feces-infested insulation, sprayed a full bottle of smell-killing freshener, and replaced a lot of chewed-through wire mesh. Oh, and filled in holes with foam filler.

The house once again smells normal, except for the lingering scent of Glade carpet freshener over the spot where he found it, down below in recesses under the house.

Glenn has, once again, triumphed.

Wait until I tell you about how he took on the gas/power company...