ex(PR)essed

–when people don’t do what they say they will do.

–by my own inability to ask for help.

–by my own high expectations.

–when I’m inconvenienced–again–by a situation that wasn’t my own doing.

–when trying to transfer my cell phone from a corporate account to my personal liability.

–when the clock seems to stand still between the hours of 8 a.m. and 5 p.m.

–when people share too much personal information.

–when people don’t understand introverts.

–when I don’t understand extroverts.

–when your childbirth instructor makes you sit on the floor for an hour. What makes her think there’s any way for moms-to-be to be comfortable on the floor at this point in their pregnancy?

–when Keith gets too much camera time on “Deadliest Catch.”

–when sleep alludes me.

–when I dwell on the negative.

List finished. Going in search of a better attitude.

By now most everyone knows that I had some excitement last Thursday. Jeff had left in the morning for South Carolina so that he could celebrate this brother Tim’s high school graduation. I was going to a doctor’s appointment…a “peace of mind appointment”…to make sure everything was ok with the baby (and it is!). On my way home from the appointment, I was side-swiped on Route 15 by a white Buick, a car with a bit more girth than our sporty Honda Civic.

My first reaction when I got out of the car and saw the damage was tears. I know it’s just a car, but us Bertrams take a lot of pride in our vehicles. I was also suddenly realizing that I would be left to deal with the details and mess that accompany this type of event without Jeff. (But, worry not, independent, capable Beth soon came roaring to the surface and the tears were replaced with a plan that involved many phone calls and some quiet time for her and Baby Lorow.) And, I was overcome with gratitude that I was standing there, hand on my stomach, feeling the baby bounce around.

Thankfully, Baby Lorow and I were at the furthest point from impact, and we were both fine after the unexpected jolt. As a matter of fact, Baby Lorow felt like a hamster on one of those crazy wheels in the minutes after the accident. I’ve never been so grateful to feel the little one move so much! Perhaps he/she was just keeping pace with my rapidly-beating heart?!

I keep reflecting on that day’s events and feeling so incredibly grateful for the provision of my safety, the baby’s safety, and the well-being of the people in the other car. I’m also grateful for the wonderfully kind people at State Farm Insurance and at Thomas E. Brown body shop where we’ll be getting our car repaired.

So, here a few pictures of our poor Civic: $3,100 of repairs and six days in the shop await the car.

And, finally, thank goodness for electrical tape!

–Scrapbooking
–Playing Yahtzee with Jeff on our screened-in porch
–Having a picnic with Allyson, Natalie, and Emma
–Enjoying wine and cheese with my parents on their deck
–Playing bocce…barefoot
–Fixing a delicious dinner with a gourmet dessert
–Napping in Clifford, my big red chair
–Browsing an antique store or flea market
–Eating cinnamon roll french toast at Schooner or Later in Seal Beach, CA
–Soaking in a whirlpool bubble bath
–Hiking a national park
–Taking pictures

I love long weekends. I love a Sunday night with no youth group and then having Monday off work. It makes the whole weekend feel wonderfully relaxing. So, I was very much looking forward to Memorial Day weekend!

The weather was gorgeous. And, Jeff and I did a pretty good job, I think, of accomplishing a few things around the house while still enjoying the nice weather and doing things we each wanted to do (him=cycling; me=stamping). We capped off a weekend of running errands and preparing for Baby Lorow (stroller purchased and assembled!) with a picnic at the Pattons.

Natalie proved she is quite the batter during an informal pitching practice with softball coach Matt.

Emma stuck a lot closer to me, so I have more pictures of her. As always, I found her completely adorable. She was very interested in the “baby in my tummy” and had lots of questions. “Does the baby have a bed in there?” “Can the baby get stung by a bee in my tummy?” Every time she poked my stomach she said, “The baby is squishy!” And, she is totally convinced that the baby is a girl who will look just like her, Jeff, and me. I like the sounds of that!

Emma charmed us all while eating her ice cream cone. She had a chocolate goatee for most of the evening!

It is 3:14 p.m. on the Friday of a three-day weekend. Not just any three day weekend. The one that kicks off summer. Wahoo! There were times this winter, when it was so, so cold and so, so dark, that I never thought this day would come.

I am ready for summer! I love the sunshine, the feel of a warm car, the green grass. I am so definitely a summer girl.

Jeff and I don’t have big plans for the weekend, which is just fine with me. I basically just want to relax, get organized, and take every opportunity to show off my newly pedicured toes!

Happy summer, friends. Enjoy your weekend!

For the past month or two, I have heard many reports on NPR about torture policies and the Obama administration’s stance on some of the questionable practices prior to his presidency. I won’t lie and tell you that I have been an active and loud voice against torture. But, now that I’m more informed, I’m certainly more interested in the topic.

So, today when I was reading the Patriot-News and came across a commentary written by Cynthia Tucker on the issue, I was intrigued. She is talking specifically about how conservative Christians view torture, citing that a Pew survey says 62 percent of “white evangelical Protestants” believe torture can often or sometimes be justified.

She then writes, “It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Conservative Christians tend to be conspicuously pious, loudly proclaiming themselves moral, righteous, just. Yet, their support for torture–even against an avowed enemy, even in times of peril–seems out of step with the radical gospel of a carpenter who preached peace, forgiveness, and mercy.”

Ouch.

Now, I don’t necessarily consider myself conservative, but I am certainly a Christian, and Tucker’s comments sting. I know the world perceives Christians in a largely negative light, thanks in large part (if not entirely), I think, to the uncompassionate, mean-spirited way we both represent ourselves as well as the way we have allowed loud-mouthed right wingers to represent us. I do not feel victimized because of my faith, and I have no patience for American Christians who lament their “hard” lot in life because prayer isn’t allowed in schools but homosexuals are. Please.

It shouldn’t be a novelty when a Christian speaks out against torture.

I guess this is just an issue that has been on my mind (and heart) for weeks now. I’m amazed that as human beings we even need to talk about whether torture is acceptable or not. But, then again, empathy is one my strongest personality traits, so maybe I’m just wired differently. Or maybe I’m just wired correctly.

I hate Walmart. I’m not exactly sure when or how it happened, but my distaste for Walmart has increased over the years, reaching a fevered pitch as I traveled the state in my previous job and saw desolate downtowns and large, outlying, abandoned buildings left in Walmart’s wake. I don’t shop there and haven’t in nearly ten years.

That’s why it’s so incredibly puzzling that Walmart Discover card sent me a random check for a little over $130 in early April. With the check came my Walmart Discover card statement, which was in my maiden name, but sent to my correct address. I have never, never, never even contemplated a Walmart credit card, let alone carried one in my wallet and used it at their store. I was puzzled and called customer service immediately.

They were stumped. While it seems I did have an account with Walmart (which is curious and spooky in its own right), my card was inactive, showing that I had actually never used the card. Yet, somehow $130 had been credited to my very inactive account.

So, at the advice of the customer service lady, I voided the check and sent it back.

Then, last Saturday, a second check arrived for the exact same amount! In the 30 days that have passed, I still have not darkened the door of a Walmart. So, cleary the mistake prevails.

I called again and stumped another customer service lady. (I must admit, the customer service people I have spoke with have been very kind. They’re puzzled by my situation, but they are very polite, which I appreciate.) She also tells me to void the check and return it. Jeff is wondering whether they’ll start paying for our postage if this crazy trend continues.

I suspect that someone out there is growing increasingly angry at Walmart for never properly crediting their account while I grow increasingly frustrated at their inability to close mine properly. Either way, they’re not making friends, which is fine with me.

I’m pretty sure that we’ll cash the next check they send.

Jeff ran the Pittsburgh Marathon on Sunday. So did my cousin Chris, Jamie’s husband Brad and brother-in-law Kevin, our neighbor Sheila’s son Bill, and about 7,994 other people. We met up with my parents, my aunt and cousin, and Jamie, Brad, Silas and Jamie’s parents for a weekend of marathon fun in the Steel City.

I spent the week feeling a bit unsure about our travels — I was fully immersed in swine flu preparations here at the College and knew exactly enough to be completely paranoid about spending two nights in a hotel, eating out, and rubbing elbows with 15,000 people at the marathon. I also wasn’t feeling well, thanks, I think, to a snuffly bout with allergies. So, I left for Pittsburgh a bit hesitantly on Saturday. However, once we arrived, it was impossible not to love being with all my favorite people in one of my favorite cities!

Marathon day was grand! It was overcast and cool — perfect for the runners and not too shabby for us spectators. I met up with my parents and aunt at their hotel so we could watch the start together before jetting down the street a few blocks to catch our runners again at mile three. It was quite a sight — runners and spectators as far as you could see! Much different than any of the other races I’ve seen Jeff do.

All the guys that I was there to cheer on were running different distances and different paces, so it was going to be a challenge to keep up with everyone. Of course, I was most devoted to my guy and wanted to see him as much possible. Therefore, I not only rushed to the 16th Bridge, but then back into downtown Pittsburgh, onto the subway, over to Station Square, and down to the street, just in time to see him pass by there. Then, it was back into downtown on the subway, walk to the hotel, and scout out a spot at the finish line.

Because the course was headed into eastern Pittsburgh, an area I couldn’t get on foot, I was going to go 16 miles without being able to see Jeff. So, we signed up for text messages so I would at least get a sense of how he was progressing, whether he was keeping on pace, and when he might finish. I was estatic each time I got a message because I knew he was keeping a perfect pace for a PR, a personal record. Sure enough, at 4:07:55, he crossed the finish line, minutes ahead of his Harrisburg Marathon time and a significantly better showing of his fitness and training than the awfully hot Erie Marathon.

I’m not always a good sport about Jeff’s training; I get frustrated by the hours he spends running and the money he spends on shoes. I don’t understand his dedication, but I admire it. And, on Sunday, when we parted ways so he could find his pace marker and I could get to the start line, I felt choked up like I have at every other one of his races. It’s just such a significant accomplishment to run a marathon, and, in those moments, I couldn’t be any prouder of him. He competes with such a great attitude.

It was also especially fun to spend this marathon with my parents! They yelled as loud as I did, and I know their hearts swelled with pride when he ran across the finish line. I’m so appreciative of how involved they are in our lives…how much joy they take in our accomplishments (big and small). Their love and appreciation for Jeff is such a wonderful sense of support and security in our marriage.

After the marathon, our gang headed to the Strip District for a celebratory meal.

Jeff and I wrapped up our Pittsburgh stay with a blissful 11 hours of sleep on Sunday, delicious breakfast on Monday morning, and rainy trip to the Pittsburgh Zoo. Before you feel bad that it rained on our zoo trip, let me tell you that I’m now convinced that rainy days are the best days to be at the zoo. No crowds and many of the animals seemed especially active and playful. We had a lot of fun…even if we were soaked and chilled to the bone!

And, though it was a fun weekend, I must close on a sad note. I posted more than a week ago about a sick fish that I was keeping an eye on at Bethany Village. When I checked on the fish last Tuesday, I found the little guy washed ashore. I was sorry to see that he didn’t make it. I hope the small acts of kindness that mom and I showed him brought at least a little sunshine to his last days.

I was sad to hear the news that GM was going to eliminate the Pontiac brand in its efforts to reduce costs. My first two cars were Pontiacs, and if they held their value better, Jeff and I would be driving a Vibe now instead of a Honda Civic.

When I got my license, I was the fourth Bertram to sit behind the wheel of a 1985 (or was it an 86?) Pontiac Firebird. The car had been my Aunt Susan’s, and when she was killed suddenly in a car accident, my grandparents gave the car to my brother. He drove it throughout his time at Nyack College, and then got a new car –another Pontiac, by the way! By then, all of us were pretty attached to this car and the sentimental value of it having belonged to my aunt, so my dad started driving around town. When I got my license (after learning to drive on my mom’s Pontiac Grand Prix), I learned to drive a stick, and then I, too, drove (and loved) the Firebird until I got a new car — a 1996 (or was it a 97?) Pontiac Sunfire.

I loved my Sunfire. I cried, literally, when I traded it in for a Honda CRV. The people at the car dealership certainly thought I was a ridiculous, overly emotional girl. But, in the Bertram family, you love and cherish your cars. You don’t eat in them; you wash them on Sundays; and you care for them in ways that most people would never dream of. Therefore, after pouring all that time and attention into your vehicle, you tend to get a little attached!

It’s funny though — I never got attached to my CRV, and when I traded it in, I didn’t even look back. I guess there’s just something about Pontiacs.

I live in a neighborhood adjacent to a large retirement village called Bethany Village. The location has advantages, including plenty of areas to walk. Yesterday afternoon, my cute mom and I walked the trail around the newest section of the retirement community, and then stopped to visit the Koi pond so I could check on the fish.

Last summer, Jeff and I started taking our stale or moldy bread over to the small pond and feeding the fish. For those of you know me at all, you won’t be suprised to hear that I got attached to the little critters, and, off and on all winter, I wondered how they were surviving the cold. I looked forward to seeing and feeding them again in nicer weather. (And, I can hardly wait to take Baby Lorow on walks to see the fish this fall!)

Jeff and I “visited” the fish last week and found the pond looking a bit sparse (no vegetation), but the fish looking healthy. They swam right over to us and began begging…it was just like old times.

Yesterday afternoon, however, when my mom and I stopped to see the fish, we observed an orange one with a terrible growth on it, sunken to the bottom in an area all by itself. We watched it for quite awhile, noticing that it always avoided the others and seemed quite lethargic.

Now…I have a compassionate spirit when it comes to animals. I don’t like the circle of life. I don’t want to hear about deplorable conditions at chicken farms; I don’t like mounted animal heads on people’s living room wall; and I don’t support our youth group boys who think it’s “fun” to randomly shoot groundhogs and squirrels. I also don’t throw paint on people who wear fur, and I’m not a vegetarian, so I understand animals’ places in God’s kindgom. But I still don’t like to see them suffer (I don’t think God does either as they are his marvelous creation as well), and I don’t want to know anything about them being harmed. (Remember, empathy is one of my top five strengths. Apparently that’s not just empathy for humans but for animals as well!)

So, mom and I head home, and I tell both Jeff and my dad about this sick fish. Both are completely unconcerned. We eat dinner, and at the end of the meal, there is one piece of sourdough bread left. I decide that it might be a nice treat for the sick fish. It’s almost dark outside, but mom and I put on our shoes and jackets and bustle over to the pond. (My mom is a wonderfully good sport with a good, kind heart!) It takes us awhile to locate our sick fish — it’s so dark that we can barely see more than a foot or two into the pond. But, we do find the little guy — still off by itself — and start to throw bread its way. The poor thing would gobble up a piece and then spit it back out. It just didn’t seem to have the energy to eat. Heartbreaking.

When I left for work this morning, my mom was setting off to check on our fish. I’m not hopeful that she’ll find him in any better condition this morning than he was last night. I suspect he has an advanced case of ich, and I hope the disease won’t affect the entire pond.

I’ve loved a few fish in my time — in particular my college betas Hamlet and Naaman — who both eventually succumbed to ich, a prevelant disease in the fish community. I’m afraid that I will find that this sick Bethany Village fish will suffer a similar fate, though I doubt the maintenance staff will give the fish a proper burial like we did with mine. To this day, a small cross marks the burial of both Hammy and Naaman outside my bedroom window at home.