Thank you, Jeremy!

I have this super cool brother who can do anything with a computer. And a camera. Even take super cool photos of himself. See?

They are so small because I just quickly pulled them off of his amazing website. You should check that out here.
Anyway…this particular amazing brother of mine just designed this blog for me. I left a note for him on FB. It said:
Someday…when you have absolutely nothing better to do…will you make my blog into something really cool?I want it simple, and light, and cool. And reflective of me…is that impossible? Simple, light, cool AND reflective of me? Ummm…that might be impossible.”
 
And then HE said:
 
“‎🙂 sure.. I’ll give it a try ! What blog? :D”
And now I have this. Isn’t it perfect??!?!?! Isn’t he amazing?!?!?!
Thank you, Jeremy!!!! I love it. And I love you.
 

Names Change Things

Somehow, everything around here seems so trivial today. I’m going through the motions…weeding the yard, preparing a roast for dinner tonight, piddling around, checking the weather, looking for updates…
I keep imagining a mother in a hospital bed, seriously injured, learning that her 13 month old child is dead. That her daughter is with her in the same hospital somewhere, also seriously injured. That the little one she carries inside of her still has a heartbeat…and that no one can find her 3-year-old son.
There is nothing I can do…but pray. I’m not near enough to go help with the search. I don’t even know these people. But my grandmother does and that makes it real.
Joplin is horrific. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of stories just as heart wrenching as this one right there in one smallish city. It’s overwhelming.
But this story is different to me. That missing little boy’s name is Ryan. His mother is Catherine. Kathleen is the girl, and Cole is the one who is gone. For good.
Names and faces make a difference.
Yesterday I spend quite a bit of the afternoon and evening sitting here at my computer watching the live stream of someone named Mike, I think, on Oklahoma’s Channel 4 storm coverage. We’ve watched a lot of weather information the last few days, but when they show the maps of Arkansas and Missouri I’m still so unfamiliar with names and distances that somehow it doesn’t mean much to me. Watching this yesterday was different. I knew those places. Those towns. Those road names and intersections. I watched as Mike showed a projection where the storm could go and ran his finger right over the top of my family and home…right between Seward and Waterloo. He didn’t know that it was my family he was possibly dooming…but it was someone’s family. And even if it didn’t take that path….it was someone’s home and family.
I didn’t worry for us. Whether or not that old Indian legend is true that a tornado never hits where two creeks meet, a tornado has never come within a mile of our place for the whole twenty years that we’ve lived there. That doesn’t make us immune, I know. And I also know it could happen anytime. I imagine most people hit by tornadoes probably don’t think it will hit them. Then again…I know a lot of people who go into their cellars instead of out onto the front porch like we do. So maybe that’s not so true.
I wanted more information, but I didn’t worry. I stayed on the phone with Tera for quite a bit of the time, giving them updates and listening to their updates…and wondering how in the world a tornado can stay on the ground for 50 miles, and how many people would be killed because of this, and why this year’s tornadoes are so much worse than ever I remember them before. I admit that I DID worry when I heard my brothers went out to see if they could get some pictures of the storm. But they stayed smart and safe.
And all the while, my mind returned to Joplin. What those people are going through. How much more devastating it is there, since it was so much more populated.
But what was that? Was he mentioning Edmond? Yes, he was. And Guthrie? Yes, again. Mike, that’s where my grandparents live. And right there on the map? Right where you’re pointing? That’s where our friends live, Mike.
But Mike isn’t in control. He’s just reporting. I am so thankful to know who is in control. I am glad to know that wherever little Ryan is…Jesus is holding him. But please, Lord…let him be found.
The barn where Anna works was torn apart. They have injured horses out there…three so injured they had to be put down. But the houses and families on the ranch are okay. Praiseful.
And now, the day after, there are pictures and stories and videos.
We’ve been seeing almost constant footage from Joplin over the past few days. I can’t wrap my mind around it.
Here’s a photo from Guthrie:
It’s striking to me because I sat there last month and watched my cousin play softball on her college team. I can name the field. I can say those are bleachers blown up against that fence thing behind home base.
 
But this:
 
This is incomprehensible to me. I can’t wrap my mind around it. I can’t fathom it. I can’t accept it. I can’t name it.
 
I watch in shocked wonder at the footage from Joplin.
 
I cry when I think of Catherine and Cole and Kathleen and Ryan. Especially Ryan.
 
Father, please let them find Ryan…

The Ancient Ones

I have spent quite a bit of this year with my grandparents. I call them “The Ancient Ones”. They laugh when I do…but really, at 91 and 88 they’re older than most people I know. The name of this blog was almost “Adventures with the Ancient Ones”, but I decided I don’t want to be confined to just that.
I am very pleased to introduce you to “The Ancient Ones”.
Jack first. He’s the 88 year old. I call him Jack because he is my step-grandfather. My grandfather died before I was born, and Jack has been married to Grandma for as long as I can remember. Still, I call him Jack.
Jack was born in Arkansas. He loves beans and cornbread, biscuits and ham, peanut butter, pineapple, and ice cream. He lied about his age so he could join the Navy at 17, and the Navy took him through a couple of wars and all around the world. He was a pilot. He likes everything just so, and is only comfortable when he knows he is as prepared as possible. For anything. And everything.
Grandma is my mother’s mother. Mormor. She came to this country from Sweden when she was in her 20’s. I wrote a blog about her here: Mormor’s Loom. She likes smoked salmon and strong cheeses and cinnamon rolls with her coffee. She’s the 91 year old…and yesterday she swam 7 laps at the local indoor pool. Everyone around here thinks she is amazing. I do too.
There, now you’ve met them and become good friends. There is a storm blowing in, and my windows are all open.
Till next time!

Breaking Through

Why would I be intimidated by a blog? I am, you know. Just in case I haven’t made that painfully
obvious…I am.
Intimidated by naming it, designing it, titling the posts…yeah, even writing it.
People say I should be a writer. It would be fun to be a writer, but I don’t want to learn to write. I just want to BE a writer. Blogging could be a really good way to figure out how serious I am about writing.
But then there is this whole strangeness of content in an online blog. What will I write about? Can it be anything? Shall I write about day-to-day adventures…or day to day blah, as the case may be…in the same blog that I may at times use to vent about all the evils of the world and MY excellent ideas on how to save it? Shall I be anonymous…hiding my identity so I can more freely express my real self…doing away with inhibitions about how I will be judged by my friends, neighbors and enemies…all who may find themselves reading ABOUT themselves through the eyes of Sage. (I think I may have just blown the anonymous option with that last sentence.)
But if I can get past all those questions and just break through…a blog could be perfect for me.
For one thing, there is no real commitment. Unless I make one. But as it stands, I can come and write here whenever I so desire.
I have trouble with finishing things. Lots of beginnings, very few “The End”..s. But with blogging, there doesn’t have to be an end. I can just write till I click the “Publish Post” button down on the left hand corner of my screen, and even if it’s in the middle of a sentence, voilà! It’s done. That is a freeing thought.
I can keep up the blog as frequently or infrequently as I’d like. No deadlines. No word counting. Just me and “Something Sage”. (Really? Something Sage? Is that really what I want the title to be?)
With a blog, I can make a mess of all grammatical rules. If my readers don’t like it…they can write their own blogs and strictly adhere to all standards of the written word. I will use as many ellipses as I can….whenever I can…however I can. By the way, I just learned that the plural of “ellipsis” is “ellipses”. Cool, no?
So really, blogging could turn out to be the PERFECT past time for me. We shall see. We shall see…