Author Archives: lynnettedobberpuhl

About lynnettedobberpuhl

I write, read, work in children and youth ministry, and try hard to be better about managing my time.

Sharing Bloggy Love

Hi there, friends and visitors! I am in an exceptionally good mood right now because I have had two very good things happen (no Mom, not published yet, but still good things!) Good Thing #1: I was nominated for the Most Versatile Blogger Award the same week I was having that meltdown you may remember from the post entitled This Blogger’s Prayer. Katie Leigh, young educator and writer with a theological bent, nominated me and I want to thank her (see the link to her blog, below!) The rules to fulfill the nomination are as follows:

You must give credit to the person that has nominated you and create a link to their blog in your post, (as I have done below).
You must create a list of 15 blogs that you enjoy most and link to those as well. Then you must go and tell them you have nominated them. That means if you do not have 15, you cannot do this step. If you do not complete this step, then you cannot claim this award.
Finally, you must create a list of seven things about yourself.

I smiled and got all warm and fuzzy, I might have even done a little dance, and then I got to thinking…Fifteen Blogs? Confession: I don’t follow a lot of blogs. It took most my time and effort to get this little wordtabulous dealio underway and maintained, but I did have a few. So I got to researching and took my time to make sure I was only picking high quality blogs that I think you might enjoy. Good Thing #2 is that I have completed my selections which are listed below in no particular order. And to help guide you, I have made some notes along the way.

Hot off the Wire at http://thompsonkelly.wordpress.com/ is written by mi compadre of 26 years (wait a minute…good lord–26 YEARS?). Writer, journalist and radio host (among many other things) she blogs poignant essays and fiction with intelligence and wit.

The Greenery at http://aviatrixkim.wordpress.com/Nature, cooking and food, Otis the Cat, travel: intriguing writing and vibrant photography. Aviatrix Kim is truly versatile and has pointed the way to other great blogs.

Lucy’s Football, http://lucysfootball.com This girl makes me laugh so hard! Hyper, irreverent, out of left field and great with words (she does sprinkle in the profanity but it works in the context.)

Ree Drummond, the Pioneer Woman at http://thepioneerwoman.com I especially love the cooking portion of her blog. She does amazing things educating with food and photography, and is so approachable and entertaining!

Rosie Says at http://rosiesays.com/ Smart, amusing and political, Rosie helps readers think about issues, and then nudges them to funny, random things.

Kathryn Leigh, Still Growing at http://kathrynleighaz.wordpress.com Katie, who I mentioned above, is unabashedly Christian and exploring the righteous life while working toward publication and killing digital targets on Assassin’s Creed. (Way to go on beating the first installment!)

the wuc at http://thewuc.com/ Dark, funny, and QUITE naughty, the wuc offers a surreal take on work, romance and pop culture.

Kana’s Notebook at http://kanatyler.wordpress.com/ Kana blogs authentic and gritty. She is evidence that smart and amazing women don’t mark success with dollar amounts, but with gratitude for second chances and the love of family and friends.

Kate Hopper, Mother Words at http://www.motherswhowrite.blogspot.com/ Kate is a great writer and an inspiring writing teacher as well as a woman who makes her motherness an intrinsic part of her writing. I took one of her classes last spring and the essay I wrote there was one of the first things I posted on wordtabulous.

Julie Nordine at http://creditriverartglass.blogspot.com/ Julie combines wearable art and craft in the form of lampwork beads and I am a huge fan! Visit her blog to admire her beads, her photography, and her passion! Afterward, you can shop her site on etsy.com.

AG at http://regectedriter.wordpress.com My token male blogger? I didn’t think I was biased, but only one guy out of fifteen choices is telling. This guy is a playwright (it says so on his MFA :p -see the blog) and has witty observations on writing and culture.

So then SHE said at http://dobberpuhlthompson.wordpress.com Okay, this is a cheat. This is a second blog I do with Kelly, a back-and-forth format experiment we are trying. I have long said that my best writing is in the emails I exchange with her and we are trying to work up to that level. Stop in, let us know what you think!

Jane Hall at http://mustardmoon.blogspot.com Jane is one of several occasional shop owners in the Carver, MN area and she finds amazing stuff to use creatively in the home. She is generous about directing visitors to the sites of other dealers and the photography is inspiring and fun!

Lisa Sheppard at http://sheppardgirls.typepad.com/ Lisa “upcycles” new and used decor items and inspires others to create a fun, original and beautiful home. I enjoy looking at what she is up to while ignoring my own neglected domicile. I interviewed Lisa for an article about her home and garden, and while we were talking outside, a bug flew into my ear and settled in. I still have the tape–a full twenty seconds of barely controlled panic and hysteria. I swear I was on the verge of begging her to dig into my ear with tweezers when it flew out. Tiny wingbeats sound like a helicopter when they flutter against your eardrum. Good times.

Amy at http://amysmuddledmusings.blogspot.com/ Amy writes with clarity about the sometimes difficult path of living an authentically Christian life, while keeping a cheerful and encouraging tone. She is a new find for me and I look forward to getting to know her better!

Seven Things About Me

I am a recovering overachiever.
My teenage sons are my most important work and I still don’t know what the hell I am doing as a parent. I pray daily they won’t need too much therapy once I am done with them, and that they will still call and visit when they no longer need financial support.
I wrote a 92,000 word memoir with and about a friend of mine from Rwanda, and would love it if you happened to know an agent and/or publisher who would be interested in looking at it!
Fiction (writing and reading) is my escape and anti-psychotic.
Exercise endorphins are my anti-depressant.
I have had the most interesting string of jobs over the years, starting with my first “real” job, as a tour guide for the Laura Ingalls Wilder Memorial Society in De Smet, SD, aka Little Town on the Prairie.
I love the movie, “Whip It.”

So now I have completed my obligations! Thanks for tuning in, and check out my nifty new badge! Oh, and Fifteen? Tag! You’re it!

A Groupon Breakup?

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My email inbox overfloweth. There is a lot of cool stuff in there: new post alerts for blogs I subscribe to, snappy back and forths from my friend, Kelly, important updates about stuff going on at school and with the family. I also get a staggering number of “deals of the day,” from the school, from amazon, and from Groupon, among others. In the interest of taking some sort of control in the areas of my life where I should reasonably expect to be able to do so, I decided to do some unsubscribing. This is what popped up after I ditched Groupon:

And yes, I did click “Punish Derrick.” Brilliant. I have to admit, I loved Groupon the most. Their deals have not saved me that much, and I actually lost money on one that expired (aarrrghhh!) but if you take the time to read their copy, they are very funny and that stuff is free, delivered just about daily on your email or smartphone. Almost makes me want to resubscribe…

This Blogger’s Prayer

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Oh my God, oh my God, please. Please let someone read it who gets it. Please let someone read what I wrote and say, “Wow, that is so [cool, right, inspiring, funny, ANYTHING.] Please let me not be just another asshat who is obsessed with being noticed, even though that is what it feels like I am. Please help me understand what it is I am doing or what it is I am supposed to be doing. Why do I keep feeling like putting words on a page? I mean, I am glad my mom and a couple of my long-suffering friends take the time to check in, but does this whole writing endeavor make sense? All this effort and angst for what? There is so much crap out there, God, have you SEEN all the crap out there? I don’t want to be putting out crap. I know I shouldn’t care about being liked, God, but then why did you build me so I care so MUCH about whether people like what I do or write? That is freakin’ mean, God. Harsh. To make me so insecure and so exhibitionistic at the same time, and then to wrap me up in the culture that says “If you can dream it you can achieve it,” but then make me so cynical that I know that is idiotic. Is this is a joke? Am I amusing you? I didn’t take you for snarky, Lord, but I am feeling like the dork stumbling past the cool kid’s table, and you are snorting milk out of your nose. OK, that’s not true. You wouldn’t laugh at me. But you are keeping some secrets and it sucks. I hate not understanding the direction or the point of this.

And that, right there, is the point. Understanding is my anchor; research and analysis is how I control my world. You want to be my anchor and want me to know that control is an illusion. Dude. I don’t have to like it, but I see your point. As always, God, oh my God, 1) help me, and 2) thanks.

Learned! + Spooky Book Faves

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Mr. Clean Magic Erasers may not be magic, but when my bathtub is gross, they are close enough.

People who mock you are annoying but you shouldn’t knock them down.

Even a person who is making progress on the path to becoming a better person fantasizes about knocking someone down occasionally.

Just because nobody is listening doesn’t mean you don’t have something important to say.

It isn’t all about you.

Seasonal Stories

I have always loved spooky tales: Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Sleepy Hollow and The Dark is Rising as a young person, and then Stephen King and Dean Koontz in college. I love the Harry Potter books but Twilight? Not so much. Don’t get me wrong, I read them–I read them like crazy and then had a latter day goth romance hangover for two weeks afterward. It is just that this time of year, I get a hankering to read Harry Potter all over again, and I will never need to read any of the Twilight books again. One Stephen King book I haven’t read is ‘Salem’s Lot, and it is on my shelf. I think this October its time has come.

One of my new author favorites is Kat Richardson, who writes a detective series superimposed over a supernatural story line that starts with Greywalker and develops with each subsequent book. After dying and being resuscitated Harper, the protagonist, discovers she can see “The Grey,” the world between this and the next. It is populated with ghosts, echoes, energies, spells, vampires and other supernatural creatures which are very distracting and often dangerous. Her journey of discovery of this new world can be as bewildering to the reader as it seems to Harper, which becomes part of the charm of the series. She is a strong and gritty hero without being overly masculine.

The cable TV show “The Dresden Files” was one of my guilty pleasures on the SyFy channel a few years ago. Urban wizard Harry Dresden solves mysteries and tries to keep ahead of the bill collectors and murderous supernatural creatures while sorting out his own romantic quandaries. I love a self-deprecating hero who doesn’t take himself too seriously, and both the TV and the book series by Jim Butcher offer laughs as well as action and tension.

We are halfway through October, and there is plenty of time to pick up a spooky read from a new author or old favorite.
Enjoy! (Mwa-ha-ha-ha!)

Wrath Averted

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It was several years ago that a friend called me, asking for my help. “I have a problem,” she told me. She worked at a high school and a family of one of the recent graduates was demanding an apology because their graduate’s diploma wasn’t available at the ceremony. It had been withheld because the student had some library fines, which the family said they had paid. My friend agreed the fines were paid, but not in time to get the diploma inside the folder for the ceremony. The student felt humiliated, and the family was aggressively seeking payback and even threatening litigation. The school wanted my friend to write an apology to make the incident go away. My friend, who is very intelligent and empathetic, had had it. “I am so upset I can’t even think, anything I come up with would just make it worse,” then she schmoozed me, “You are so good with words, can you come up with something?”

My friend was more than capable of coming up with the words, but she had lost the objective distance she needed to frame her response to the family. It is so difficult to overcome our own feelings of pain or anger, especially when we are feeling attacked. Like a contagion, retaliatory instincts had spread from the student’s family to my friend. It happens between people, people and institutions, cultures, and governments. I often wonder how much litigation, property damage and even death could be avoided if it was easier for people to slip out of their own experience to see and feel events from another’s perspective. When I was a little girl, weeping in sadness or frustration over troubles with my friends, my mom would urge me to look at the situation from the other girls’ point of view. It was highly unsatisfactory. “Why aren’t you on my side?” I wailed, picturing myself adrift on a raft of self-righteousness in the stormy sea of injustice. (Even for a little girl, I was very dramatic.) Eventually, I caught on to her philosophy and over time became more analytical about conflict. It helped me “simmer down,” as my dad would say when my temper threatened to boil over (which is helpful because I had inherited a temper that is constantly threatening to boil over.) I felt that I had some of the skills needed to help my friend out.

I congratulated the student on reaching the milestone of high school graduation. I thanked him for paying the fines. I commiserated with his disappointment that the process didn’t work out in time for the event, but celebrated that he had had experienced a beautiful ceremony with his friends to mark the successful completion of twelve years of hard work. I thanked him for letting the school know his concerns and wished him well. It was easy for me to do because I knew all those things were genuinely felt, even by my frustrated friend. “Yes! This is perfect!” she said. She still had a kind regard toward the student, but it had all been choked back behind fatigue and anxiety in the face of the family’s umbrage. Was the family satisfied? I have no idea, but there was no lawsuit. Is it fair when only one side acts compassionately? As Dad was fond of saying, “life isn’t fair,” and as I would say, “that’s not the point.” Even if it doesn’t feel fair, it is best. I sometimes think it is only simple proverbs like ‘Walk a mile in another’s moccasins,’ and ‘A gentle answer turns away wrath,’ that keep the world from bursting into flames. It can sometimes feel like humanity is forgetting these ancient approaches; I know that I do at times, but I hope that there are still parents in the world aggravating their children by pulling them along to a higher road, one we can all travel together.

The Story Awaits

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It is 4:18 a.m. Forty-five minutes ago my cat, bored and perhaps a bit underfed, woke me with a leap and a brrrowp! Demanding food and attention, he instead received exile to the basement. Adrenaline from the ambush and thirst kept me up while my mind slowly churned into wakefulness, despite my better sense that cried out “No! Stop it! Sleep now, think later!” Too late, in so many ways. Dark-of-night true confession: my writing is bugging me. My unfinished article for this month judges me from my desktop. The grim grind of begging to get Hollywood University noticed, of laying it out there for rejection is almost harder than I can bear, though with only ten queries down I’ve barely started. My unfinished novel, on the other hand, is past the charming precociousness of youth and is entering awkward adolescence. I want to nurture it to maturity and beauty but it just seems to be glaring at me with that “you don’t get me,” kind of attitude. I think of the grim grind and wonder, what is the point? Maybe the naysayer, the practical one who points out for my own good that my manuscripts will probably never be published is right. I keep telling myself that naysayer is speaking of statistical probability, and not making editorial judgments, but it is impossible to shrug off the suspicion that I suck. Especially at this time of the morning.

But here’s the thing. Stories are powerful. I remember that when I read books like Imaginings of Sand by André Brink. I admit, I had trouble with it at the beginning. Firstly it is an intensely feminine story written by a man, and at the start I was annoyed by how masculine the main character, Kristien Müller, seemed to be. By masculine I mean lacking in emotional intimacy and unconcerned about the feelings of others. Sue me. As the story goes on it becomes clear that these qualities are important facets of Kristien, who returns to South Africa after a self-imposed exile to attend to her dying grandmother, the one person with whom she seems connected. While the country around them is heating up for the first post-apartheid elections, Ouma (grandmother) fills Kristien with shocking, rambling legends of family “herstory.” (I hate that word, but is accurate-tales of the unremembered women ancestors, who are carried forward both in the stories and in the bodies of Ouma, Kristien, and her sister Anna.) There are dichotomies here: male and female, black and white, but the divisions break down as the individuals are revealed in their complexities. Brink strings together flawed characters, the history and culture of South Africa, and gender and racial justice, and if that sounds dry to you, I ask you to trust me, it is far from that. The writing is vivid, the tension builds palpably and most importantly, perceptions of reality and status quo are challenged. After finishing this book today, I am looking at my own past and present with new eyes, and that alters my vision of the future. Like I said, stories are powerful.

So I will carry on. Morning approaches, though the October dawn is still a ways off. Today is another opportunity to get patient Hollywood University into the right hands, to finish my article and to nudge Sleepers a few steps closer to completion. The cat, the naysayer, and the grim grind are all only parts of the whole; the story itself is much bigger and it awaits.

Shiva & Hobbes

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I learned on TV some time ago that Shiva is the name of the Hindu god of creation and destruction. As it was explained, nothing is created without something else being destroyed. It is an interesting concept and in many ways it makes sense: if you paint a picture, a blank canvas is obliterated. A black hole is formed when a star dies. A human being is born: the mother’s bladder control slips away. Well, not entirely, but I do miss sneezing with equanimity.

I watched a lot of TV recently after coming down with a crushing head cold. It hit right about the time my husband and I were going to the movie “Contagion.” Mr. Wordtabulous chuckled while I repeatedly sneezed, blew my nose and probably freaked the other moviegoers out. I was pretty much a waste of space on the sofa for the next 24 hours as I alternatively napped and watched the boob tube. After a summer of “take it or leave it” television, I was sucked into the new premieres. It didn’t matter if I was interested or not, the show was on and I was slack-jawed before it. I started to feel better but didn’t return to my usual activity level. It was so much easier to find a seat on the couch and plug in rather than try to think of something to blog or work on revisions or research new query prospects. My initiative, self-respect and IQ were all dissolving, and what was being created in its place? I can’t think of a thing.

One of my favorite comic strips is Calvin & Hobbes. He is such a charming bundle of creativity and nihilism, kind of a mini-Shiva. In one of the strips that really stuck with me, Calvin says to Hobbes: “It says here, ‘Religion is the opiate of the masses.’…what do you suppose that means?” As Calvin and Hobbes walk away, the nearby television muses to itself, “…it means Karl Marx hadn’t seen anything yet…” Hmmm. Yet, if it weren’t for TV I wouldn’t know about Shiva or have been inspired to write this particular post, so how bad could it be? I could probably think this through a little more, but I gotta go–my show is on.

Miss Perfect

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My friend Kelly is not what you would call churchy, but she and I do have interesting conversations which sometimes provoke spiritual insight. I have been troubled that Sunday morning church activities often leave me wrung out rather than strengthened and enlightened. She suggested maybe I am overly focused on others (teaching, helping, managing, welcoming, all as if my life depended on it.) It took a few hours to soak in, but she makes a valid point. On a plane, when the oxygen masks drop down, you put yours on first and then help the others around you. The woman drawing water at the well might die of dehydration if she serves everyone else before taking a drink herself. Mary as opposed to Martha.

I grew up reading and watching a lot of those “Moment of Truth” stories, where the hero’s actions at one decisive point make the difference between triumph and tragedy, possibly for the entire planet. Top that with “The Horseshoe Nail” ditty, the one that informs us that one never knows what tiny detail will be critical. Impressionistic and dramatic, I came to believe that I needed to be perfect in all things, or else. No one ever told me that, I picked it up all by myself. It is a terrible strain, being personally responsible for saving the world through good behavior. Ironically, striving desperately for perfection results in some pretty imperfect qualities. Fear of the fatal misstep winds me up tight and leaves little room for joy. It would be too embarrassing to reveal all the ways this unfortunate default thinking affects my personality, but suffice it to say if you met me during a fit of perfection stress you might wonder if I was nuts.

My thought is that, to varying degrees, a lot of people (especially women) have this same thinking. We take responsibility for our families, our communities, our fellow human beings. Many of us are acutely sensitive to perceived judgment from fellow human beings and from God. If we do everything perfectly, if everyone admires what we have accomplished and how fabulous we are, surely we won’t be judged wanting? But that is so wrong. Whenever I realize I am losing it, I remind myself of the Big Two: Love God, Love Others. Loving God has nothing to do with performance. Also, God’s goodness isn’t like a plate of cupcakes where you want to make sure everyone else gets served first in case there isn’t enough to go around. The well is bottomless and full and we need to draw on it. Loving others is second, because if you are full from loving God, you have plenty left over to share.

You prepare a table before me…you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Psalm 23:5

My Inner DJ

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After Michael Jackson died, I woke up every day for two weeks with the song, “The Way You Make Me Feel” playing in my head. For about that same period of time last July I had a variety of Lady GaGa songs greeting me in the morning and, as I recall, “Pokerface” was the one I was most likely to hear. As clear and abrupt as a clock radio, my inner DJ was hard at work. I am most aware of my own personal disc jockey when I am riding my bicycle on my own. Unfortunately, DJ seems to have limited material to work with. For instance, on my most recent ride of 24 miles (good weather, nasty road conditions, gear-shifting problems, and some serious saddle soreness,) I was rockin’ out to KISS, “I Wanna Rock and Roll.” Which was fine for the first ten miles or so, because it has a good beat and I can pedal to it. But after ten miles, it started to get annoying. I made a request for anything else. Apparently in my head the flip side to that party classic is Loverboy’s “Everybody’s Workin’ For the Weekend.” Horrible. Much worse. I tried hitting my mental “shuffle” and what came up was “Life is a Highway,” (by Rascall Flatts not Tom Cochrane, no idea why) and “Sweet Dreams” by the Eurythmics. Not what I wanted, but better. However, every time I hit a hill and had to really put my head down and work, I’d lose control of the playlist and by the time I’d crested the climb, KISS was back and we were rock and rollin’ all night long and partying every day. 24 miles. That’s almost an hour and a half.

For five years I taught an indoor cycling (aka spinning) class, and to this day I still hear songs I like and try to calculate if they would work in a set and how I’d use it to joyfully and sadistically impose fitness on my spinners. None of the songs my inner DJ is playing on bike rides are songs I’d have picked for class, and I have a library of hundreds of songs I’ve used. It is as though when my adrenaline and endorphins are pumping my brain goes back to the primitive state it was in the 80’s. This may also explain why I have a hard time doing math immediately after a workout–I don’t think the math center in my brain really got going until the 90’s. Mr. Janish, my high school algebra teacher, would back me up on this. In the early morning my DJ likes pop music and big hair bands are the thing for punishing bike rides. I need to work on the repertoire. As much as I like the absolute quiet I work best in, I need to pull out the iPod or turn on the radio and replenish my inner library. What would you recommend?

SOP? Really?

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We were at the bank, a small branch in Erie, CO. My mom and I sat at Samantha’s desk as I filled out the paperwork needed to recognize my ‘Power of Attorney’ role. It had been a long day of doing sitting-down tasks, there was a little more to do yet, and we were both getting punchy. After confirming all my data, Samantha the banker handed me a small form and asked me to select a password only I would know. I hate the password game, especially picking a password for something I probably won’t need for years and years. Who knows what I will remember when that time comes? I racked my brain, while I looked the paper over. The blank on which I would write the password was a field of black and white spots, to hide the writing. The directions said to write in black pen. “Is this pen black?” I asked Samantha. “What?” she asked. When I showed her what the directions said she looked at me curiously. “No one has ever asked about that before,” she told us. She’d been with the bank for five years, but I suppose power of attorney matters don’t come up that often. “I’m a reader,” I shrugged. Mom affirmed. I used my blue pen to write down my password and noted that I still couldn’t read it through the camouflaged field. I solemnly handed the form over to Samantha, who peeled back the top copy and peered at the carbon image of the password underneath before typing it into the computer. Mom and I looked at each other and burst into laughter. I could have handed her a plain slip of paper, or typed it in myself. Samantha looked sheepish. “It’s the system, this is how we have to do it.”

I received a privacy and updated minimum payment notice on two Sears credit accounts in my name the other day, one I didn’t even know I had. I never activated either account so I called Citibank up to close them both. Speaking to the nice young representative, Armando, I was relieved to find the process was simple, but a little amusing. He had to read me “a verbatim” to the effect that I understood my account was being closed, I wouldn’t be able to use it, I was losing any accumulated bonus points, would have to make alternative arrangements for recurring charges, and so on. He read it to me twice, once for each account. He seemed embarrassed about having to do so, but I knew his superiors were recording the call and he could get in trouble for not following directions so I told him it was fine. At the end of the call, according to script, he thanked me for being a loyal customer (for closing two accounts I had never used,) and invited me to call back if I had any other issues with which I needed help (presumably regarding my non-existent accounts.)

Some people might get worked up about this, and call it wasteful and ridiculous. I for one, am glad for the moments of humor. Sure, these kind of standard operating procedures can be ineffective, a little time-consuming, and kind of silly, but they were conceived in an effort to provide care to the customer. I think in general, most bad systems start out as a righteous effort to improve things but get a little (or badly) lost along the way. Sometimes old systems become outmoded and often new procedures need fine-tuning, but since humans make and use the systems, they are destined to be imperfect. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try to make it better, particularly when it affects people deeply. Speaking out when it matters makes sense. Speaking out with respect for the righteous intent makes those words easier to hear.