Mike and Jen.....

August 26, 1994. Edmonds, Washington.

• Were both born in Edmonds, Washington, lived ten miles apart from each other for the next 19 years, attended Lynnwood High School together, yet while aware of one another's existence, did not meet until the year after Mike graduated. Mike was even friends with her brother for years before they met face to face.
• Were married on August 26, 1994. This year they will celebrate their eighth wedding anniversary.
• Love to travel, especially to tropical locales. They try to go somewhere interesting at least once a year, and had been to the Hawaiian islands four times from 1989 to 1995. In 1996, they had the pleasure of witnessing the wedding of Mike's brother in beautiful St. John of the U.S. Virgin Islands.
• Are dedicated Children of the Eighties.  Call us "Generation X" only at your own risk.
• Own a home, two cars, and have 2.3 kids.

More pictures...

I'm Going to Follow You

Walk a little plainer, Daddy,
Said a little girl so frail,
For I'm following in your footsteps,
And I don't want to fail.

Sometimes your steps are very plain,
Sometimes they're hard to see,
So walk a little plainer, Daddy,
For you are leading me.

I know that you once walked this way,
Many, many years ago,
And what you did along the way
I'd really like to know.
For sometimes when I'm tempted,
I don't know what to do,
So walk a little plainer, Daddy,
You know I'm following you.

Someday when I'm grown up,
You are like I want to be;
Then I will have a little girl
Who'll want to follow me.
And I would want to lead her right
And help her to be true,
So walk a little plainer, Daddy,
I'm going to follow you.

Ode to My 5th Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth
Hang out the washing, make up the bed
Sew on a button and butter the bread
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye, too.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye, too.

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo"
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye, too.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait til tomorrow
But children grow up as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cabinets!  Dust go to sleep!!
I'm nursing my baby, and babies don't keep.

- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package.  "This," he said, "is not a slip.  This is lingerie."  He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip.  It was exquisite; silk, handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace.  The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached.   "Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago.  She never wore it.  She was saving it for a special occasion.  Well, I guess this is the occasion."  He took the slip from me and put it on the bed with the other clothes we were taking to the mortician.  His hands lingered on the soft material for a moment, then he slammed the drawer shut and turned to me.   "Don't ever save anything for a special occasion.  Every day you're alive is a special occasion."

I remembered those words through the funeral and the days that followed when I helped him and my niece attend to all the sad chores that follow an unexpected death.  I thought about them on the plane returning to California from the Midwestern town where my sister's family lives.  I thought about all the things that she hadn't seen or heard or done.  I thought about the things that she had done without realizing that they were special.

I'm still thinking about his words, and they've changed my life.  I'm reading more and dusting less.  I'm sitting on the deck and admiring the view without fussing about the weeds in the garden.  I'm spending more time with my family and friends and less time in committee meetings.   Whenever possible, life should be a pattern of experience to savor, not endure.   I'm trying to recognize these moments now and cherish them.

I'm not "saving" anything; we use our good china and crystal for every special event - such as losing a pound, getting the sink unstopped, the first camellia blossom.

I wear my good blazer to the market if I feel like it.  My theory is if I look prosperous, I can shell out $28.49 for one small bag of groceries without wincing.  I'm not saving my good perfume for special parties; clerks in hardware stores and tellers in banks have noses that function as well as my party-going friends'.

"Someday" and "one of these days" are losing their grip on my vocabulary.  If it's worth seeing or hearing or doing, I want to see and hear and do it now.  I'm not sure what my sister would have done had she known that she wouldn't be here for the tomorrow we all take for granted.  I think she would have called family members and a few close friends.   She might have called a few former friends to apologize and mend fences for past squabbles.  I like to think she would have gone out for a Chinese dinner, her favorite food.  I'm guessing; I'll never know.

It's those little things left undone that would make me angry if I knew that my hours were limited.  Angry because I put off seeing good friends whom I was going to get in touch with - someday.  Angry because I hadn't written certain letters that I intended to write - one of these days.   Angry and sorry that I didn't tell my husband and daughter often enough how much I truly love them.  I'm trying very hard not to put off, hold back, or save anything that would add laughter and luster to our lives.

And every morning when I open my eyes, I tell myself that it is special.

Every day, every minute, every breath truly is a gift from God.

Don't rush or eliminate those cozy family rituals
by Lori Borgman
Indianapolis Star and News
Posted at 07:30 p.m. PST; Saturday, March 27, 1999
Copyright © 1999 Seattle Times Company

There's only so much a woman can take before she reaches the boiling point. I went from simmer to full boil three days ago.

First, I happened across a piece on how to expedite a child's bedtime routine. The article suggested you combine dinner time, bath time and bedtime by doing the following: Give your child a bath and put a cheeseburger on a float toy, which you set sail alongside junior in the tub. While the child is bathing and eating (and no doubt grabbing at shipwrecked pickles), read his bedtime story. Dry the child and dress him in the clothes you want him to wear the next day so that when you pull him out of bed in the morning, he'll be all ready to go.

The second jolt came from a book in which the author suggested saving time by feeding kids breakfast in the car on the way to school or day care.

She said youngsters are particularly fond of dry Cheerios (can you say bye-bye to milk, juice and oatmeal?). Older children might like to eat their breakfast on the school bus (would you like a Little Debbie or a frozen waffle to go?).

Parenting has been reduced to 60 seconds on a stopwatch. If parenting is nothing more than perfecting our time-and-motion efficiency, I think I can help.

Here's my time-management tip: Take this newspaper you're reading and lay it on the floor. Now, place two bowls on top of it. Fill one with dry Cheerios and the other with water. Let the little tykes have at it. You'll have to freshen the bowls two, maybe three times a week, but other than that, it's a highly efficient system.

A revolting idea, you say? I agree. It was a momentary overreaction on my part to all this nonsense about how to hurry and rush and cram huge chunks of living into smaller and smaller slices of time.

It's not healthy to live at breakneck speeds for children or adults. The very rituals we are rushing and eliminating are the ones that keep us connected as families.

Bedtime rituals are a way to bring closure and warmth to long, hectic days. Reading favorite stories, singing songs, saying prayers, getting tucked in tight or being blown a good-night kiss bring a security and comfort that gently yields to pleasant slumber. Bedtime is a time for giggling, cuddling, tummy tickles and lots and lots of talking. Bedtime rituals are not the enemy; they are a long-lost friend.

Likewise, may I suggest we stop viewing meals together as a pain and a drag? Sure, dinner time together is harder and harder to come by, a casualty of our fast-paced lives. Maybe your entire family can't swing dinner together seven nights a week (we don't come close), but maybe your family can manage dinner together four nights a week, breakfast together or gathering for snacks and homework in the kitchen once everyone is home. Those relaxed and lingering moments of sharing food and conversation provide a sorely needed platform for expressing concerns, hopes and tidbits that reconnect us before we again dash off in 16 different directions.

We don't need more tips on how to shorten or eliminate the rituals that unite us as a family. We need more tips on how to revive the routines and rituals that connect our daily lives so that, as families, we might have a few good memories stored for the years to come.

Lori Borgman is the author of a new book, "I Was a Better Mother Before I Had Kids" (Pocket Books).

Preparation For Parenthood

Preparation for parenthood is not just a matter of reading books and decorating the nursery. Here are 12 simple tests for expectant parents to take to prepare themselves for the real-life experience of being a mother or father:

• Women: to prepare for maternity, put on a dressing gown and stick a beanbag down the front. Leave it there for 9 months. After 9 months, take out 10% of the beans. Men: to prepare for paternity, go to the local pharmacy, tip the contents of your wallet on the counter, and tell the pharmacist to help himself. Then go to the supermarket. Arrange to have your salary paid directly to their head office. Go home. Pick up the paper. Read it for the last time.
• Before you finally go ahead and have children, find a couple who are already parents and criticize them about their methods of discipline, lack of patience, appallingly low tolerance levels, and how they have allowed their children to run riot. Suggest ways in which they might improve their child's sleeping habits, toilet training, table manners and overall behavior. Enjoy it - it'll be the last time in your life that you will have all the answers.
• To discover how the nights will feel, walk around the living room from 5pm to 10pm carrying a wet bag weighing approximately 8-12 lbs. At 10pm put the bag down, set the alarm for midnight, and go to sleep. Get up at 12am and walk around the living room again, with the bag, until 1am. Put the alarm on for 3 am. As you can't get back to sleep get up at 2am and make a drink. Go to bed at 2:45am. Get up again at 3am when the alarm goes off. Sing songs in the dark until 4am. Put the alarm on for 5am. Get up. Make breakfast. Keep this up for 5 years. Look cheerful.
• Can you stand the mess children make? To find out, smear peanut butter onto the sofa and jam onto the curtains. Hide a fish finger behind the stereo and leave it there all summer. Stick your fingers in the flower beds then rub them on the clean walls. Cover the stains with crayons. How does that look?
• Dressing small children is not as easy as it seems. First buy an octopus and a string bag. Attempt to put the octopus into the string bag so that none of the arms hang out. Time allowed for this - all morning.
• Take an egg carton. Using a pair of scissors and a pot of paint, turn it into an alligator. Now take a toilet tube. Using only scotch tape and a piece of foil, turn it into a Christmas cracker. Last, take a milk container, a ping pong ball and an empty box of Coco Pops and make an exact replica of the Eiffel Tower. Congratulations. You have just qualified for a place on the play group committee.
• Forget the Miata and buy a Taurus. And don't think you can leave it out in the driveway spotless and shining. Family cars don't look like that. Buy a chocolate ice cream bar and put in the glove compartment. Leave it there. Get a quarter. Stick it in the cassette player. Take a family-size packet of chocolate cookies. Mash them down the back of seats. Splash an 8oz cup of apple juice across the back seat, let dry. Run a garden rake along both sides of the car. There. Perfect.
• Get ready to go out. Wait outside the toilet for half an hour. Go out the front door. Come in again. Go out. Come back in. Go out again. Walk down the front path. Walk back up it. Walk down it again. Walk very slowly down the road for 5 minutes. Stop to inspect minutely every cigarette end, piece of used chewing gum, dirty tissue and dead insect along the way. Retrace your steps. Scream that you've had as much as you can stand, until the neighbors come out and stare at you. Give up and go back into the house. You are now just about ready to try taking a small child for a walk.
• Always repeat everything you say at least five times.
• Go to your local supermarket. Take with you the nearest thing you can find to a preschool child - a fully grown goat is excellent. If you intend to have more than one child, take more than one goat. Buy your weeks groceries without letting the goats out of your sight. Pay for everything the goats eat or destroy. Until you can easily accomplish this do not even contemplate having children.
• Hollow out a melon. Make a small hole in the side. Suspend it from the ceiling and swing it from side to side. Now get a bowl of soggy cereal and attempt to spoon it into the swaying melon by pretending to be an airplane. Continue until half of the cereal is gone. Tip the rest into your lap, making sure that a lot of it falls on the floor. You are now ready to feed a 12-month old baby.
• Learn the names of every character from Postman Pat, Fireman Sam and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. When you find yourself singing, "Postman Pat" at work, you finally qualify as a parent.

Butterfly Kisses
Author unknown

We often learn the most from our children.  Some time ago, a friend of mine punished his 3 year old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper.  Money was tight, and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put under the tree.

Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you, Daddy."  He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found that the box was empty.  He yelled at her, "Don't you know that when you give someone a present, there's supposed to be something inside it?"

The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, "Oh, Daddy it's not empty.  I blew kisses into the box."  The father was crushed.  He put his arms around his little girl, and he begged her forgiveness.  My friend told me that he kept that gold box by his bed for years.  Whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as parents has been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children.  There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

Children Learn What They Live

• If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn.
• If a child lives with hostility, he learns to fight.
• If a child lives with ridicule, he learns to be shy.
• If a child lives with shame, he learns to feel guilty.
• If a child lives with tolerance, he learns to be patient.
• If a child lives with encouragement, he learns confidence.
• If a child lives with praise, he learns to appreciate.
• If a child lives with fairness, he learns justice.
• If a child lives with security, he learns to have faith.
• If a child lives with approval, he learns to like himself.
• If a child lives with acceptance and friendship, he learns to find love in the world.

Risks

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach out for another is to risk involvement.
To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.
To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To hope is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing.
They may avoid suffering and sorrow, but they cannot learn, feel, change, grow, love, live.
Chained by their attitudes, they are a slave, they have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who risks is free.

For many, living takes so much time there's just no time left for life
by Rev. Dale Turner
Seattle Times, December 4, 1999

During this exceptionally busy holiday season, I have been pondering the counsel of Henry David Thoreau: "Simplify you life. Do not devote your life to unessentials or the acquisition of unnecessary possessions. Avoid clutter. Simplify."

I am sure that was wise counsel for Thoreau's day, as it is for ours, but living simply today is, paradoxically, one of life's most complicated problems.

Achieving the sane and balanced life in the presence of the many unrelenting demands to buy this, do that, join this, or hurry here or there is a high accomplishment. Many seem to run all the time, living with such a sense of urgency that they miss much along the way.

Impatience - waiting in a hurry - is an American disease. Our prayer is, "O God, please give me patience, and I want it right now."

Will Durant said, "No one in a hurry is quite civilized." It is a difficult lesson to learn.

Years ago, if a person missed a train, he simply waited for the next one, knowing that it would be along in an hour or two. Now, if we miss one section of a revolving door, we are impatient. It is not unusual to see someone running up an escalator. I really do wonder what folks are doing with all the time they save.

Many are afflicted with what psychoanalyst Karen Harney calls "the tyranny of the should - I should be doing this, I should be doing that. Above all, I shouldn't waste time."

Perhaps none of us escapes this frantic pace entirely. We do not lament busy-ness, for idleness is the devil's workshop.

But inefficient scurrying hither and yon brings fatigue and failure. We are wise to realize we can't do everything, to learn to choose between what is prmary and what is secondary; what is urgent and what can wait; what is of great value and what is of little consequence.

It is an art to learn selective procrastination - putting off indefinitely what we can delay another hour, or what we never need to do at all.

A young mother had an intelligent assessment of one of life's priorities. She practiced the philosophy about which she wrote:

Cleaning and scrubbing can wait 'til tomorrow
The babies grow up, we've learned to our sorrow
So quite down cobwebs - dust, go to sleep
I'm rocking my baby, and babies don't keep.

It is wise to learn how to apportion the hours and the relationships that are ours.

Seminary professors teach students to do all the good they can, but also to learn how to say no to requests for talks or sermons when there is not adequate time to prepare. It is unfair to those who come to worship and listen when a preacher tries to do more than his or her schedule permits. There is nothing sadder than an empty speaker pouring himself out to a full house.

The need for our day is for a balanced life - activity and receptitivty, going and resting, a time to be still and a time to enjoy, a time to laugh and dance and a time to observe and reflect.

Work unrelieved by play and play unrefreshed by work grow equally stale and dull. Activity without reflection loses its grasp, and meditation without action sinks into a dream.

Frances Greenwood Peabody, a former professor at Harvard University, tells of a naturalist in Cambridge, Mass., who experimented with a pigeon.

The bird had been born in a cage and had never been free. One day he took the bird out of the house and flung it into the air. To the naturalist's surprise, the bird's capacity for flight was perfect. Round and round the bird flew as if born in the air. But soon the bird grew excited, panting, and his circles grew smaller and smaller, until at last the bird dashed against the master's breast and fell on the ground.

What did it mean?

It meant that the bird had inherited the instinct for flight, but it had not inherited the capacity to stop. If he had not risked the shock of a sudden halt, he would have panted his out in the air. Is this not a parable for many in modern life?

Sometimes God stops us abruptly by some sharp blow of trouble, and we fall in despair at his feet. Then he bends over and says, "Be still my child, be still and know that I am God." By degrees the despair of trouble is changed into submission of obedience, and our poor, weary, fluttering life is made strong again.

I have been asked many times for a copy of the following prayer. It seems very appropriate for today:

"Slow me down, Lord. Ease the pounding of my heart by the quieting of my mind. Steady my hurried pace with the vision of the eternal reach of time. Give me amidst the confusion of my day the calmness of the everlasting hills. Teach me the art of taking minute vacations - of slowing down to look at a flower, to chat with a friend, to pet a dog, to read a few lines from a good book. Slow me down, Lord, and inspire me to send my roots deep into the soil of life's enduring values."

Thought for a Lifetime

Thoughtful people, creative people, people who try, who care, people who are concerned, pay a price - but the rewards are indescribable.  It is these rewards which are returned from respect for one's own values, one's own way of living - in trying to be incorruptible, at least in trying not to be corrupted.  The state of internal contentment we call happiness means using the resources of the mind and the heart - as deeply and fully as you can.  - Leo Rosten

The Struggle of the Butterfly
Author unknown

Along a dusty road in India there sat an old beggar who sold cocoons.  A curious young boy watched him from a distance day after day.  Unexpectedly the beggar beckoned to him:  "Do you know what beauty lies within this ugly chrysalis?  I will give you one so that you might see for yourself.  But you must be careful not to handle the cocoon until the butterfly emerges."

The boy was enchanted with his gift and hurried home to await the butterfly.  He laid the cocoon on the floor and became aware of a strange thing.  The hidden butterfly was beating its fragile wings against the hard wall of the chrysalis.  It appeared it would surely perish before it could break the unyielding prison.  Wanting only to help, the boy impulsively pried the cocoon open.  Out flopped a wet, brown, ugly thing which quickly died.

The boy sadly returned to tell his story to the beggar.  When the beggar discovered what had happened, he quietly explained to the boy:  "In order for the butterfly's wings to grow strong enough to support, it is necessary that it beat them against the walls of the cocoon.  Only by this struggle can its wings become durable and beautiful.  When you denied that struggle, you took away its only chance for survival."

The young boy had been taught a very valuable lesson:  May the walls of your cocoon be just thick enough to allow you to struggle just long enough to emerge the beautiful person you are designed and destined to be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn't looking,I saw you feed a stray cat, and I thought it was good to be kind to animals

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favorite cake for me, and I knew that little things are special things.

When you thought I wasn't looking,I heard you say a prayer, and I believed there is a God I could always talk to.

When you thought I wasn't looking,I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared and I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I felt you kiss me goodnight, and I felt loved.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked - and wanted to say thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn't looking.

Back to Kohary's Cove

I'm sorry to say that my e-mail has been spammed out by lowlife spammers.  I can't provide an e-mail link here, because the spambots will simply invade my newest e-mail addy.  You can reach me manually, though - just send your e-mail to mike at kohary dot com (simply turn the bolded text into an e-mail address by inserting the appropriate symbols in the right places).  Thanks, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience.