Fres-YES!

I have endured the looks, the comments, the eye rolls. The sorrowful gestures that say, "I am so sorry you live in Fresno." The worst was the pity I received from a woman while passing through Barstow, California. She sadly nodded her head and clucked her tongue as she said, "Oh, you live in Fresno? I am so sorry for you." I couldn't help but lean forward and whisper, "You know you live in Barstow, right?"

I will declare here and now, without shame and downcast eyes, that I unabashedly LOVE Fresno! While I now live on the outskirts of town, I still consider Fresno my home. I have lived here since 1987 and now I am raising my own family in this amazing place.

Everyone hears and focuses on the negative media that Fresno receives. Yes, the city certainly has its fair share of problems. But, what about the good parts of Fresno? Yes, there are indeed good parts...oodles of them!

Fresno is centrally located in this grand state of California. We sit with the beautiful Sierras on one side and the rolling Pacific Ocean less than three hours away on the other side. We have repeatedly satisfied my husband's craving for fresh clam chowder with  day trips to Pismo Beach and we love to spend winter days playing with our children in the Sierra snow just west of our home.

Yosemite National Park sits grandly in our backyard attracting visitors from all over the world. No less than five times have I gotten up early to hike Half Dome and been back to sleep in my own bed that night. I marvel at the sheer beauty found in the park. It is breathtaking and inspiring. I don't think one can visit Yosemite and doubt God's existence.

Fresno offers more beauty found in the great agricultural landscape. I relish traveling home from business trips to be greeted by the fragrant smell of orange blossoms. The rich, citrus smell is the smell of home to me. It is comfort and security. A seasonal trip through the Fresno Blossom Trail is an amazing trip for one's senses. From the incredible beauty and colors found in the Almond, Plum, Peach, Nectarine, Apricot, Citrus and Apple blossoms to the incredible sweet and savory smells to the buzzing of hundreds of dutifully busy bees.

Fresno offers an array of great places to shop and there are numerous places to treat your palate to any number of cultural cuisines. Fresno offers the best Mexican food I have ever tasted. While some towns boast Taco Bell as true Mexican cuisine, Fresnans know that has nothing on Sal's, Javiar's, Mexicatessen, or Casa Corona.

One thing I truly love about Fresno is the small town feel it has managed to maintain while growing steadily in population. I love running into friends in random places. From the Woodward Park Library to SaveMart to The Shops at Riverpark, my husband and I always seem to encounter the friendly face of someone we know.

Fresno may not sit at the top of a list of the best places to live, but for me, it truly is the only place I can imagine raising my family. My kids are learning good, solid values not only from me and my husband, but from the community that surrounds them. They are seeing the rewards of hard work and the joys of a more simple life. They don't require 8-lane highways and skyscrapers dotting the skyline. They enjoy trips to the movie theater and swim lessons. They love picking fruit from our own trees and adventures to the coast and mountains.

Fresno offers many of the perks of a metropolitan city without the congestion and delays. Fresnans appreciate a less-intense lifestyle than the larger cities to the north and south of us. To me, Fresno is home.  To those who pity me because I live in Fresno I say Fres-YES!

See 'em, but don't hear 'em

There are people who still subscribe to the notion that children should be seen and not heard. While I admit that my children are adorable to view, I think of what I would miss if they were never heard.

I likely would never puzzle over why the sky is blue and not pink. I might not question the differences between a one-hump camel verses the two-hump variety. And, I might never be curious enough to dig a hole in my backyard in hopes of finding a real dinosaur bone.

I understand that children can be loud and down-right obnoxious at times. And, I freely admit that I am able to tune them out while others cringe and claw at themselves in sheer agony at the piercing screams and giggles of childhood. I believe this is a trait of parenthood. We train ourselves to listen for sounds outside the normal and drown out the rest. If my children are quiet, my senses immediately perk up. I can tell the difference between a shriek of annoyance at a sibling and a shriek of pain due to falling. The sound of children is part of being a parent. And, though I ask my children to bring the noise level down a notch at times, I would never beckon them to be completely silent.

If children were seen and not heard we would see the chocolate smeared on their faces but would never hear about the yummiest chocolate chip cookie they ever ate. We would see the sadness in their eyes but never realize it was because their "bestest" friend in the whole world wanted to play with someone else at recess that day. We would see that their clothes don't match but never know it was because they chose to wear all their favorite clothes together regardless of color. We would see the dinosaurs in piles in holes in the backyard but never learn that it was the grandest imaginary fossil treasure.

I don't want my children to be spit polished and tucked in. I don't want them wearing sweater vests with nary a hair out of place. I don't want them to sit quietly and never wonder or be curious. I love that my children need to have their dirty feet scrubbed in the tub each night. I love that they have actually tasted mud pies. I delight in their laughter and marvel at their profound questions. And, yes I love their bright eyes and genuine smiles. Those things are all part of the marvelous package of childhood. Let's let children be children because childhood is short enough as it is. Let's see children and hear them too...we will surely learn a thing or two.

Dry Hole

Living where we do comes with the knowledge - or fear - that there will come a time when the well will run dry. For me, that fear was realized on Saturday afternoon. As I watered our little makeshift garden I noticed our water pressure was low. I mentally noted it, but wasn't concerned by it. It was later when I asked my son to start his bath that the universe paused a moment. I was fussing with the kitchen sink and wondering if the faucet was plugged when my son came in all smiles and giggles telling me how the water was only trickling into the tub. My world slammed to a halt and I felt my blood run cold. I called...rather...I hollered for my husband and together we tromped out to the pump.

The pump was humming along but no water was being pulled up into the tank. The pressure rested at 15%. I pleaded with myself to not pass out. At that moment, I could only think of the hefty price tag we were facing. Wells don't come cheap and in these difficult economic times we are financially strapped.

After my initial breakdown where fear collided with tears, my husband and I were able to plan for the worst. Hoping that just the pump motor was bad, but sensing the whole well was dry, we took steps to pull a loan out against my 401K. On a Saturday night at 9pm, there is not much one can do. But taking a few steps towards a resolution along with an Ambien at least provided for some sleep.

Now, here is where I get to be extremely grateful. I called our pump company at 8am sharp on Monday morning. A crew arrived and by 9:30 we knew the pump motor was shot. Still waiting on a verdict on the water level, I contacted my 401K provider. After hearing my plight, a representative faxed me the paperwork to sign for tan emergency loan against my retirement fund. By 11am I had the paperwork signed and faxed to my fund manager and the loan was approved. It was moments later that my husband called to let me know that the well was indeed dry.

I choked down this information with a bit of ease since we would have the funds to cover the expense. I arrived home just prior to the arrival of the manager of the drilling crew. He provided us with a 5-digit estimate and told us he would file for permits that afternoon. In a move not typical, the County approved our permits in minutes rather than days. This allowed the drilling crew to come out yesterday evening to bring out their equipment to get set-up for an early start today.

We found out that sometimes it takes several months to get a new well drilled. We found ourselves with a dry well completely out of sync with the normal pattern so our wait was a mere 24 hours.

I am anxiously awaiting the free flow of water. It takes about 5 business days to complete a new well and destroy the old one. With luck we will be showering in our own home by next Tuesday at the latest.

My feeling of gratitude for the funds and quick response of the pump company is currently out-weighing my feelings of inconvenience. It is not convenient to be without water. It is not especially inconvenient with two small children who are home for summer. It is frustrating to fill the toilet tanks with water and to wash dishes with a two-gallon jug. It is incredibly difficult to suck up our pride and accept the use of parents' and siblings' showers and washing machines.

In a stroke of irony, on Sunday, a friend let us know we could have his old above-ground pool. We have no water but we have a pool! I can't wait to fill that pool up with water fresh from our 500 foot well! That will be a wonderful reward for these past few days filled with challenges.

The Sprinkler

A couple summers ago I was training very diligently for a half marathon. Though I would run early in the morning, the heat would often become so oppressive I would have to cut my runs short.

On one such morning, I had become so overheated that I changed course and began my run home after only a couple miles. As I ran through the sleepy streets, I couldn't help but notice how many homes had sprinklers running full tilt. They were drenching lawns with lovely, cold, and inviting water.

I was thirst-quenched. The sprinklers wrecked havoc with my dehydrated body. I focused on getting home where I would reward myself with a brimming glass of ice cold water.

But, as I passed house after house of sprinkler-soaked lawns my thirst became absolutely unbearable. I began to not only notice the sprinklers, but that the blinds were drawn on most of the homes. The people inside were still asleep with their air conditioners churning. My mind turned to that of a criminal. "Who would mind if I took one sip of water from a sprinkler?"

Well, these things never play out the way we expect them to in our minds.

I did indeed attempt to take a drink from a sprinkler. However, in my dehydrated state, the sprinkler I chose was one of those high-powered doodads that rocket-launch water across the lawn. They spray out with a rat-tat-tat-tat and then they fire back with a tattattattat! I bent over the sprinkler and tried to get any amount of water to stay in my mouth while the power of the blast threatened to launch a hole through my cheek.

It was in that very undignified position that I saw them. I glanced to notice the two slippered feet standing just inches away from my head. I shot up in a flash and came face-to -face with a most confused older woman. She looked perplexed and none to happy that I had tried to syphon a sip of her water. Her hands were on her hips and her pj's were covered by an old fuzzy bathrobe.

I stammered that I was sorry and that I was just incredibly thirsty but she spoke not one word. She just stared at me as I sprinted down the street with my thirst forgotten and my shirt sopping wet.

When I got home, I ran the hose over my head and sat on the patio. It took a few minutes for the me to grasp the hilarity of the situation and to have a good laugh. I thought that next time I should pick a gentler sprinkler, but then decided that next time I would be better off to carry my water with me.

My floors

I have heard that when it comes to housecleaning everyone has their "thing"; their one thing that matters. If that one thing is clean, all is well with the world. My thing is the floors. If I can walk barefoot on my floors without succumbing to grit, I can conquer the world! If my floors are dirty and grimy they will so haunt me that I can't accomplish a thing.

As I was tackling the floors today I realized what a story those tiles could tell. While I mop them and scrub them, there are little hints of life with children that are seemingly permanent.

When I open my closet, I see tiny drops of bright pink nail polish that remind me of the time that my daughter dropped the bottle and it shattered. While I cleaned up the most evident spots, I overlooked a few. They really don't bother me. They remind me of my precious daughter and her love of bling and beautiful.

In my front room, you will see googly eyes stuck to the floor. Every time I mop over them I am reminded that I really ought to scrape them up. But, then there wouldn't be anymore googly eyes on the floor. And, honestly, they make me smile. I don't know how they came to reside on my floor, but googly eyes are just fun.

There is also the streak of brown from when I vacuumed over a non-washable crayon and a patch of turquoise where some little artist decorated with a non-washable marker. The carpet in the kids' rooms is littered with colored sticker stars. I vacuum over and over them but they remain. They are all bits of evidence of life in my home. Life with color, vivaciousness, and Crayola products.

All these little blemishes just need a few moments of time to tend too. Yet they remain. I guess my decorating style right now is "Early Childhood in Progress." And, I am good with that because the floor isn't gritty. It may have googly eyes and modern art, but there is no grit to drive me crazy! And, I know that some day, the googly eyes will wear away and I will long for them. My house with be quiet and peaceful and I will long for the chaos of raising children.

Skippyjon Jones is muy, muy Excellentito!

I have just become a huge fan of Skippyjon Jones. I visited a bookfair at my son's school and picked up two different Skippyjon Jones title-itos. I am not sure if me or my children laughed harder as we followed the adventures of this Siamese Cat who fantasizes about being a Chihuahua and running with a wild gang, Los Chimichango's!

As I read the words, I found myself attempting to channel Speedy Gonzales to muster up my best accent. My accent was muy, muy lame at best but my rascalitos thought is was totally loco and insane-ito! My son even pleaded with me to read it again...yep, in his eyes, I was that good!

I ordered two more Skippyjon Jones books and have to admit I am pretty excited for them to arrive. With these and just seven more episodes of LOST, well, I am a pretty excited El Skippito Friskito myself-ito!

Mean Girls

Today, I had coffee with a dear friend from high school. As happens, we drifted apart to be reconnected just a few months ago by random circumstances. While enjoying our coffee we reminisced a bit about high school before catching up on our lives now...which with both agreed, are quite stellar!

As I left the coffee house, I started thinking about my high school days and drudged up some old memories that were probably better left buried. I recalled my skirmish with the "Mean Girls" who were once my friends. These "Mean Girls" - who we will call MG's because they don't really rate a full set of letters - were atrociously awful. The meanest MG was a girl named Ana...oh yeah! That's right! I am naming names! And, I can do this with confidence because I am pretty certain she is not one of the five people that read this blog.

Anyhow, Ana, was a spindly little wrench. She would whisper secrets about me to the other girls in our group while I was sitting right there. Once I called her out on it. With nerves so tense I thought I would vomit, I screeched, "Why don't you just say what you want to say to my face?" Well, that catapulted her to center stage where she unleashed a verbal lashing so harsh I honestly do not recall the words. I only remember her contorted face and being mesmerized by how large her mouth was as the words spewed out.

It was on this day that Ana had one of her evil minions deliver a note to me between classes. This is how lame high school is...the messenger had typed up the note in her typing class! Anyhow, all the girls...um...excuse me...MG's signed the note which declared that they were not friends of mine anymore. I remember looking at the note and being horribly embarrassed. I had just been kicked out of the lamest group on campus...in writing! I felt hot and nauseous...a theme of my high school years. But, I refused to shed a tear on campus

Whenever I choose to recall my high school years it seems this is the memory that pops into my mind. I recall the snotty look on Ana's face and the smirk of her messenger (her name was Jennifer by the way) as she handed over my walking papers. I tend to forget my friends like the one I met with this morning. I forget the times we laughed and had silly conversations and dreamed about how our lives would turn out.

Whatever happened to Ana? I am not sure. No amount of Facebook stalking has turned up information on her. I have seen her twice since high school. Once while Christmas shopping with my son when he was an infant. I was strolling through a shop when I heard her itchy voice talking to the cashier. She was talking about how her hair used to be long and actually had her high school picture in her wallet to show the cashier as proof. I thought that was weird because I certainly never carried around my senior portrait. The second time I saw her was outside of a home improvement store. My hubs and I had just loaded up our truck with whatever gear we needed to complete some forgotten home improvement project and Ana walked by with her dad. She caught my eye as I watched her pass and her reaction was to speak louder so I could hear her say, "so Denise says to him..." It was at that moment that I felt pity. I was hanging out with my family that I had created with my husband and she was walking with her dad and talking like a 30-year-old high school student...oh hey! That's like the cast of 90210!

I am so thankful for the few good friends I did have in high school. We have moved on and gone separate ways but it is a treat to reconnect with them and hear about their lives and successes. I will work on remembering the fun moments of high school and letting my memories of the MG's slip away. Maybe one day I will run into Ana again...perhaps I will ask her to show me her senior photo.