“Why don’t you ever post any more?” The girls asked me at retreat.

“I will!” I said. But what do I ever post about? What’s happening or what's on my mind. “I’ve even started a few times. But the only thing that’s going on and the main thing I think about is our wedding, our house, and my wonderful Packy, and no one wants to hear about that.”

“Why not?!” They were a little indignant. "Who says?"

“But it’s soooooooooooo sappy!” I sighed. Even though I'm now hopelessly in love, I am smart enough to remember that sappy people can just be annoying if it gets out of hand.
              They tell me I'm allowed to be sappy. So, here I am.

We're setting up housekeeping in a little square house that resembles a garage. (Probably because it used to be one.) It doesn't really resemble my original "dream house" idea that I've had for years except that it has lots of windows. But don't misunderstand me. I love it. It has become the home of my dreams.

I had a conversation with Jonny a couple years ago that might explain how I feel. I was making some comment about my "dream house".

"You know," he said practically, "You probably won't get your dream house."

"I know," I said. Then I thought a moment. "No, I think I could. It might not look like the house I'm describing, but I believe I will get my dream house. Any house could be adjusted to become my dream house."

He disagreed with me. "Anything? There's no way a cardboard box could be your dream house."

I told him that it could. . . depending on who was sharing the cardboard box with me. 

And so here I am, very fond of our cozy little house (which is highly superior to a cardboard box, just to clarify) and looking forward to moving in. I love it when the afternoon sun streams in the patio doors. I love it when I sit down to play piano and the sound fills the house. I love the little kitchen, the windows that swing inside for easy washing, the bedrooms, and even the wierd bathroom with the toilet out in the middle of the floor. I love to step outside and walk under the trees and imagine where we might put the garden or a flowerbed. I love the house -- but what I love most of all is when Packy and I are there together and it starts to feel like home.

   
A few very outdated pictures - looks different by now so I suppose I'll have to post again.

Quote of the Day: 
 "Want go to Grammy's house?"
               --Caleb, who wasn't at all impressed with our house after he learned that it didn't have any toys.

There are, I find, more ways to define a perfectly lovely day. . . for I've had another one. Even lovelier than the last.

I might even say that it was -- as someone once wrote -- "A rainbow colored day. . . one of those rare days when everything seems to go right."

Warm sunshine. . .

     Beautiful summertime. . .

          Sparkling lakes. . .

                Lighthouses. . .

                      Waterfalls. . .

                               Laughter. . .

                                          Love. . .

                                                 An engagement. . . 

Leaving me overflowing with happiness and praising the faithful God who has already given me so much, but continues to pile joy upon joys.

Could I possibly be more blessed?

Quote of the Day:
 "Will you marry me?"
         --Packy

I am in Osler, Saskatchewan . . . on a family vacation!

Relaxing. Eating too much. Shopping. Visiting. Playing with Caleb. Reading.

I am going to Calgary, Alberta on Monday, do to much of the same, I suppose.

Such a good boy, riding in his car seat for 18 hours!

Playing piano at Aunt Ruth's

The guys

Mommy and Caleb

Mom and Matt's Aunts Ruth and Betty making brunch

And that's what I'm up to for the next week or so!

Quote of the Day: "Ta-na-na!"
                     -Caleb, translation "Canada"

July, 2006.       At the name  that appeared in my inbox, my heart leaped and set off at a pounding rate as it always did when I received an email from him, rare as they were. Even more unusual was a note of this length. I kept my composure and hoped my flushed face didn’t betray me as life continued on around me while I sat in the living room and read the letter.

            “I had pretty much decided that God was telling me to move, but I wasn’t entirely sure where…” There was a short explanation about him eliminating two out of three places he’d considered, but he left the third place un-named and merely concluded, “So I guess that only leaves one place yet. I haven't decided for sure. or when it would be. Logic says it would be dumb to move there.”

            The galloping heart stopped to a halt at this point, then resumed it’s beating a little more normally as I slowly re-read the paragraph. What was he talking about? My logic told me, Its here. He means that he would move to Wisconsin, given the opportunity. Why else wouldn’t he have said where? Was that it? What does he mean? And…why…is he telling me this?

October, 2006.            We were seldom alone, but this time we were, talking easily, as friends do. He talked about his future plans. I wondered, hesitated, and finally swallowed hard and asked the question that I was dying to ask. As soon as I opened my mouth I could hear my common sense telling me Stop! Don’t even go there! But it was too late.

“Ummm…you know you said you thought maybe you should move…somewhere? Do you…still…think that?” My face was burning and I was sure he could see it. What had possessed me to actually admit my curiosity?

            He didn’t look at me, but didn’t seem to be disturbed by the question. Nor did he offer any more information. “I think sometime,” he finally said. “But not yet.” If I over-analyzed it, it could seem like he meant, wait.

            “Okay,” I said. I will.

April, 2008.      “I can have the job if I want it,” he said.

            I held my breath. “And?”  

            “And it looks like I’ll be moving down there in four weeks.”  

            Overcome with happiness, I could hardly say more than, “Really? That’s…great!” And suddenly the wait had a little bit more of a time frame.

So I was right. And much water has passed under the proverbial bridge since I got that mind-blowing email in which Packy hinted *gasp!* at moving here.

But now he comes! Soon! This weekend!

Quote of the Day:
Jenny: "Caleb, Laura and Jonathan are here!"
Caleb: "Packy?"
He's got it figured out.

Like any good Auntie, I like to try and think of things to make my sweet nephew happy. (Especially after he'd cried broken-heartedly when I'd scolded him earlier for not listening when I said "no".)

But now I had a splendid idea. "Caleb, would you like to make a tent?"
He nodded happily, but that was about as far as his interest went. I draped a blanket over the edge of my desk in the living room as a wall. This left two openings on the end of the desk for doors. "Let's go inside the tent!" I said and crawled in. Granted, it was cramped, but if I pulled my knees up to my chin and ducked my head down, I could sit...er, squat...quite nicely there.

"Caleb!" I said. "Come in and see the tent!" He picked up the edge of the blanket, poked his head in, and promptly removed it, grinning at me. "No,no,no," He said, shaking his head. This wasn't really working, Auntie sitting in the tent by herself. All at once, we heard my Mom drive in (whom he affectionately calls "Blammy"). One of his absolute favorite games...is hide and seek.

"Quick!" I told him, "Grandma's home! Get into the tent so you can hide from her." He giggled like he loved the idea, moved toward the tent, then back away. "Hurry, Caleb! Hide from Grandma!"

At that moment, Jenny came running out from the kitchen to help get him into the game. "Can I come too? Come Caleb, let's hide so she doesn't see us!"
  "Ummm...it's a little small in here, but if you think you can fit..." I began, but she apparantly thought she could fit and scooted in next to me in less time than it takes to tell it. Also at that exact moment the door opened, and Grandma walked in. Now think for a minute and picture - if you possibly can - the scene she arrived to.

Her 20 month old grandson was sitting in the middle of the floor, smiling up at her innocently. Her two "grown-up" daughters (ages 22 and 26) were crammed under the desk with a blue blanket thrown over their heads. . . hiding. Who can blame her for taking one look and howling with laughter?
Seriously though. How could we have known he'd take a stubborn streak and not get in the tent with us?