Tag: maryville

Southern Spring

With apologies to my family in South Dakota, where the snow Just. Won’t. End.

Sometimes spring in the south skips the balmy 70-degree days and goes right for the over-80 crowd. But just over 80, without so much humidity that you feel compelled to turn on the AC, but enough heat that you gasp for air and turn on the fans and open the windows and sweat through dinner prep and dinner and cleaning up, only to appear downstairs at 8 p.m. (after tucking the sweating kids into bed, turning on their ceiling fans, and hoping the Stinker Bear doesn’t climb the bunk bed ladder and bust his head on the moving fan blades) and realize that it’s still quite toasty, that going outside won’t get you the breath of fresh, dry air you’re dying for and it’s only April and how can it be so hot already?

For an Idaho girl, where you can watch your coffee steam on a dry, cool summer morning, I find this climate hard to take sometimes. But I almost feel as if I’m a real southerner now, as if I can move with the seasons and sweat through a too-warm spring without cranking up the central air and do it the way they used to, with fans and cool drinks and light food and by letting the body do its thing, shining a glistening sheen on the forehead and sweating out those 8 pounds I wanted to lose anyway.

(Speaking of those pounds. I’m exercising, watching what I eat, and they are not melting away. My metabolism and I are not on speaking terms.)

But really, how can I complain? I read a book about a Knoxville girl in the 1800s, and they had it bad. All that underwear, those layers of petticoats, corsets, long-sleeved high-necked dresses, and still no air conditioning. No wonder girls fainted so much back then.

And the truth is, we live in one of the most beautiful places I can imagine. It’s not breathtaking like some exotic locations, but it’s everyday lovely. The blooming dogwoods have my attention now. A few weeks ago, it was the pink redbuds and the white blossoms on the Bradford pears. Our bulbs have been out for more than  a month, and soon the crepe myrtles will sprout their beautiful pink blooms. Everywhere you look is green and flowers and almost-bloom. Every day I wake up here and look around me and thank God for putting us in this unlikely, unknown, totally amazing place.

And now, it’s nearly quarter after eight, and I think I felt a cool breeze come in the window and cool my neck just now. I also hear multiple door-slammings upstairs, along with a “Jonathan, GO TO BED.” So I must go and investigate, and then I will get back on the treadmill and sweat my way through another Tennessee spring workout. Good night.

 

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April 16th, 2013
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Winter Weather

Snow: The Terror of East Tennessee.

Snow: The Terror of East Tennessee.

A few weeks after we moved to Tennessee in January 2006, Derek took Kate to preschool and I settled in for a productive morning of work. A few minutes later, he called.

“I’m bringing Kate home,” he said. “Today’s a snow day.”

I looked out the window. No snow. Not even a flake.

The “snow day” was confounding, but even more so was the panic people engaged in at the mere mention of “snow” or “ice” or “freezing.” Having grown up in Idaho, where you put snow chains on the tires when traveling in the winter, and South Dakota, where you go as planned even when a blizzard is in the forecast, the fear of snow seemed, well, kind of wimpy.

Fast-forward seven years, and I’ve become one of those panicky East Tennesseans who refreshes the weather page with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, runs to the store to stock up on supplies just in case, and would rather risk my job than drive in any frozen or white stuff.

Just how did I get to this point, and why does it seem legitimate?

Half of me is ashamed. I know how to drive in snow. My dad lives–and survives–in Siberia, for goodness’ sake. But half of me says, “No one else knows how to drive in snow.” We don’t have snow plows here, just salt. I-40 is treacherous with semis and Alcoa Highway is treacherous with too much traffic. The roads are often narrow and curvy and hilly, with steep dropoffs in some places.

I’m freaking myself out just writing about it.

Last week we had Snow Panic here. I left 45 minutes early on Thursday and it still took almost two hours to get home. At home, on our mountainside retreat, the snow was peaceful and lovely. The kids played with their new sled. But I turned the TV on and saw I’d come just in time. A certain place on Alcoa Highway where my tires had skidded out over and over was ice an hour later, and the television showed car after car trying to get up that little hill and sliding sideways, down, and into cars behind. Pretty snow looks downright evil in that context.

Tomorrow, freezing rain is in the forecast, and the employees are restless and refreshing the weather pages on their computers. I’m pretending to be on top of it and in control so they don’t worry, but inside I’m just quaking along with them, refreshing my own weather page, and wondering whether I should stop for bread and milk. Or at least a good Lutheran beverage.

 

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January 24th, 2013
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Down in the river to play

But first, the good news. We got an offer on our house! It’s a good offer, too. We’re cautiously optimistic about it. Why cautiously? Because the offer is contingent on the buyers selling their home, and that’s sort of a crapshoot. We’re countering with an addendum that gives us the right to keep the house on the market and give them the first right of refusal. And, as our agent said, better to have a little fishy on the hook.

(Naturally, I Googled them to death and learned that they’re wanting to buy in the neighborhood because they’re invested in it, which makes me so happy. I do hope it all goes through one way or another for our sake and for theirs.)

And speaking of fish…. Last year our friends Christopher and Sarah introduced us to a little piece of paradise on the Little River near Walland. Even the drive out, toward the Smoky Mountains, is lovely enough to feel like a getaway in itself. And then you’re at the river, with the gentle current, the sand, water, sun in some spots and plenty of shade for pale-skinned little boys, and you’re sucked into a vortex of relaxation. Hours later, you emerge, having done nothing in particular, and yet you’re relaxed, content, and incredulous that so much time has passed.

The first thing you need when you go to the Little River is canvas chairs. Because the chairs go right in the water, and you cool your feet while sitting around drinking beer. That’s called river-sitting.

You also need water shoes, because the middle part of the river is rocky, and you’ll need to cross it to get to the swimming hole. And if you wear flip-flops like I did the first few times and you trip on the rocks and fall in and your shoe floats away, anyone river-sitting in a chair near the shore will laugh at you.

Floaties are optional, but they make the experience that much nicer. Be careful not to float downriver like Sophia did, so your mother doesn’t have to chase you and try to cut you off on shore while you scream bloody murder like only a five-year-old (who is not in any danger whatsoever) can.

There’s plenty of sand and skipping rocks at the Little River. The sand is fun to play in. It will also, as the day goes on, end up in your beer and your chips and your strawberries and your guacamole. But a little grit never hurt anyone. I’m sure it all comes out one way or another.

When you sit in the Little River, you’ll see hundreds of tiny minnows, as well as bigger fish that nip at your toes if you stay very still and quiet. (That said, I spent about an hour trying to catch one and totally failed. They love jalapeno Sun Chips, though.)

Sarah thinks we should do all our church baptisms down here. So I have to leave you with this, as well as an invitation to come to Tennessee. We’ll bring you out to the Little River, but you’ll be blindfolded so you don’t discover the exact location of the secret spot. Just kidding. Sort of.

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July 6th, 2012
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Foothills

Sophia and I went to register her for Kindergarten on Friday. She got a new t-shirt, which made her extremely proud, but I had a hard time getting her to stand still for 20 seconds to snap a photo:

[Sophia sidebar: I was telling my dad that I was concerned about Kate making the move and all the changes, and he said, "Don't worry about Kate. It's Sophia you need to worry about." I was like, "Sophia? She's cool." But as it turns out, dads are always right. Kate's been fine; she made friends quickly and is adjusted and having a blast. Sophia? Overtired, overwrought, overeverything, and the whiniest of whinies. I'm trying to be extra-patient with her, but it's been difficult. This, too, shall pass.]

Multiple times a day I am blown away by the stunning views we have here. In Knoxville, our kitchen window faced Sharp’s Ridge, a beautiful line of trees that I mourned for when we moved. Now, everywhere we go, we are truly in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains. They are on two full sides of the city, and I am forever stopping the girls’ conversations to tell them, “Look at the mountains!” and remind them that they are blessed to live in such a beautiful area.

Here is Kate’s new school next year:

And the view from her school:

Sophia’s school:

And her view:

They’ll either be inspired or distracted.

On another note, the kids and I went up to First Lutheran this morning. Kate’s school choir was singing, and we were all excited to visit. It was wonderful, worshiping there and seeing everyone again, but I felt so sad as we drove away. Even good change is hard. Then we came back here and spent the afternoon with Maryville friends, and I thought about how God fills these holes in our lives in unexpected and different ways. And how, being a German Lutheran, I just want everything to stay the same.

But we are getting into a nice routine here, which will ease up in 2.5 weeks when the girls get out of school. Little by little, pieces of the puzzle are falling into place (or, as I like to tell Derek when he says that, they are falling into place because I have orchestrated them to). Either way, we’re looking forward to summer: trips to the library, walks on the Greenway, wading in the Little River, exploring Chilhowee Lake. School starts August 1 here, so we’ve got to have our fun fast.

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May 6th, 2012
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This installation is brought to you by the letter P and the number 3.

Derek’s installation at Praise Lutheran on Sunday afternoon was lovely.

Most of the circuit pastors came, as well as the District President.

Pastor Bushur, the senior (and now only) pastor at First, preached. He made sure to tell everyone that Derek is not perfect or all powerful, but a pastor. (The three P’s.)

Jonathan found a banana I’d packed and decided the middle of the sermon was the appropriate time to eat it.

The girls sang the first verse of “I am Jesus’ Little Lamb” after the Old Testament reading.

The pastors gathered around and reminded Derek through Scripture readings and blessings what the Office of the Holy Ministry is about. I love this part; I think it’s good for everyone–the pastors, the congregation–to occasionally be reminded what the Bible says about pastors. Hint: it has nothing to do with business or marketing.

There was a beautiful reception with yummy finger foods and a delicious homemade cake.

A couple of blurry family photos (you don’t want to know how many times I got everyone in the same vicinity and either Derek or the photographer would get into a conversation and the kids would disappear)

…and our new life begins.

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February 14th, 2012
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It’s a house!

Why bury the lede? We bought a house. It’s the house from my previous post. It’s in the city, which means the top-rated city schools. It’s high on a hill, with gorgeous views.

And now, I can finally decorate in my head with abandon. Here’s the full tour.

  •  The front room (photos 8, 9, and 10) will be my office. We’re going to install two doors in the doorway (or, rather, find someone handy to do it) so I can sneak away to do interviews even when the house is in full chaos.
  • The back room (photo 11) will be our living room. It has two doors leading out to the screened-in porch and a fireplace.
  • The dining room will be repainted immediately. Besides replacing the worn upstairs carpeting and getting doors on the office, this is Priority 1. I think I’m going to paint the dining room red, and the entry hallway (which is a horrible seafoam green) a shade of cornflower blue pulled out of our long hall area rug.
  • The kids’ bathroom (photos 24 and 25) has light blue wallpaper and plastic towel bars that need to be replaced. I’m going to paint it an aqua blue, but probably down the road since the wallpaper is ugly, but doesn’t make me physically sick.
  • The little room (photo 27) where they have a treadmill will be the kids’ playroom for now. As they get older, we will likely reconfigure.
  • The bedroom with three windows (photo 28) will be Jonathan’s room/guest room. When we have company, he can crash in the playroom.
  • The other bedroom will be the girls’. We’ve promised them bunk beds and they are beyond excited–so much so that they would rather share a room and get bunk beds than have their own rooms.
  • The basement pictures look pretty horrible, but now that it’s empty, it’s a nice, clean space with lots of room for storage, beer-brewing, and anything else we can dream up.

One long-term project: replacing the kitchen cabinets and possibly adding some to the back wall and turning the section that juts out into an island. You can’t tell in the pictures, but the cabinets are cheap. They’re great for a family with three little kids who bang and push and smudge things, though.

Timewise, we’ll close on the new house at the end of March, do the carpet and office doors, and, depending on what’s happening up here with our house, move some time in April. Derek will commute back and forth for now, and then for a bit we’ll all be running back and forth with the kids finishing the school year up here and him teaching 7th-grade confirmation in the mornings.

This isn’t in the photos, but there’s a cat next door that brays like a lamb. It’s the oddest sound, and I was thinking, “Maybe we shouldn’t buy this house!” the second time we visited and heard it. But Sophia went out and immediately made good friends with it. A sign? I hope so.

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February 12th, 2012
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Homes, Sweet Homes

I have a bunch of law firm website pages to write, and Jonathan is napping soundly upstairs, but, hey, I’ve got house fever. Won’t you join me? Since everyone keeps asking, here’s the latest in the Roberts buying/selling saga.

Our house

has been on the market for two weeks now. We’ve had five showings, and the last couple to look (on Sunday) asked for utilities information on Monday. Good sign! Later that day our agent said she thinks they’re preparing to make an offer. Squee!

…and then days go by with me palming my phone 24/7 lest I miss the all-important Offer Phone Call.

…and they don’t call, and I go from high hopes to impatience to despair to acceptance. And, after all, it’s only been two weeks. There are other fish in the sea.

…and then, today, our agent tells us they’re lining up financing today. Squee! We’re back in the game, baby. Which is fabulous, because I’m already tired of keeping the house in Show Shape.

Maryville houses

Most of the drama has been 20 miles south of here. Maryville is a smaller community, so there are fewer homes available in the first place. Once you narrow down our criteria (in the city limits because the city schools rock, at least three bedrooms but probably four because I need an office with a door that shuts, and, for Derek, a not-so-old house that has a lower heating bill…not that we don’t love ya, KUB!), we’re left with a pretty small number of homes.

So, we actually found The House quite a while ago. Actually, a guy in the congregation told us about it, having heard about it from a neighbor who is also in the congregation. We looked at it. The house has great bones and horrendous decor, but even putting money in to update, we’d still come out ahead because it’s a buyer’s market.

I can’t explain the entire saga online just yet, but I will say we made a contingency offer on the house, went back and forth, and ultimately decided to go house-hunting this morning.

I picked out four houses to look at. Two of them had sold that week. I picked two more. One was already sold, and the other has renters in it who are “sick” today (the seller’s agent strongly implied they were lying). We started to freak, because really, there aren’t that many four-bedroom houses in Maryville, and these had been on the market for at least 6 months, and all of a sudden someone was buying them up like Monopoly properties!

We looked at two houses this morning and went back to The House. It’s still the one. We made another offer today and measured a bunch of things and I’m trying not to redecorate the entire thing in my head yet until we know for sure.

Key word: trying. Just don’t check Pinterest and bust me, okay?

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February 3rd, 2012
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Unmuzzled

Last night I read over Derek’s letter to the congregation asking for peaceful release to Praise Lutheran. It was long. He said it was long, and I began to read, determined to slash away and cut down to the basics.

Instead, I cried. And then, I cried again today when he read it to the congregation. A lot of them cried, too. It was a hard day. The part that got me sniffling last night:

I promise you, that we will not be strangers. Indeed, six years ago, we were strangers and you welcomed us. Now I reflect that, even though you can remove a man and his family from First Lutheran, however, you cannot remove First Lutheran from the man and his family. Thanks for that gift.

It’s true. First Lutheran was a bright beacon to us six years ago after Derek’s first call fell through because of synodical politics, leaving us devastated and in limbo for six months. We came to Knoxville with high hopes and were not disappointed. First Lutheran is an amazing congregation. We have been so blessed here. I am incredibly sad to leave.

But at least now I can talk about it. That in itself is a relief.

Part of me is really, really excited. Once my dad moved us to St. Louis so he could attend seminary, he unleashed a monster. We moved so many times after that, if a few years went by without a move or a major life change, I had to create my own change. So that part of me that’s always asking, “What’s next?” embraces the adventure. A new house! A new congregation! A new life! A chance to recreate and renew things I’ve always wanted to fix, and use my new mad skilz as a pastor’s wife on a whole new set of victims. And I look forward to seeing Derek grow and change and serve in a new chapter in his ministry.

That said, I’d also finally gotten to the point where I saw the good in longevity, in stability, in the same-old and the routine of a life with the same people through the seasons and the years and all the comfort that entails. It took about four years at First Lutheran to realize, hey, I’m really getting to know these people. I’m making friends! I know all the best places to shop! My baby trees are teenagers! I know how we run the children’s Christmas program and VBS and what we did the last five years in January in LWML!

Beyond my oscillating feelings, there are practical considerations. We have been busy making our house pretty to go on the market…just in case. Derek wanted to wait until he had made a firm decision and everything was official, but I did all the backwards math and with school starting August 1 in Maryville, the clock was ticking on selling our house and buying a new one. His thoughts are with the two congregations, but I have additional concerns: making the transition as easy as possible for my girls. They are nervous, reluctant, and excited, depending on the moment. I convinced Derek that if he decided to stay, we’d have a lovely house that finally looks just the way we want it to. I also discovered that painting is therapeutic.

Though the timing in some ways isn’t perfect for First Lutheran, it is good for our family. Sophia will be starting Kindergarten next year. Kate will begin 4th grade, when all the Maryville kids go to an intermediate school. One of the two is brand spankin’ new, so depending on where we buy a house, she might get to go to that school. Either way, all the kids will be “new kids.”

Jonathan, of course, is happy either way. His family is his home.

Kate asked me last night if Maryville was closer or further away from South Dakota, where their grandparents, aunts and uncles, and cousins live. I said, “It’s further away, but only by 20 minutes.” She sighed heavily. “That’s so far.” I laughed at her, but she’s got a point. Twenty minutes is so far.

 

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January 15th, 2012
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Happy thoughts

After yesterday’s post, I thought I should turn my thoughts in happy directions. Sometimes it’s the little things, like being able to eat again after a stomach virus. Like being able to eat this fresh, grassy olive oil sent to you as a Christmas gift from Jordan Estate winery in California.

 

Then there’s the bemusement of watching your 18-month-old son discover that he, too, can open Christmas presents!

 

And finally, the inside joke gift from your good friends in Maryville* (pronounced “Murvul”):

* Not intended to imply anything one way or another about the call. Just sayin’.

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December 29th, 2011
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