#11 Angels on a first name basis

1/29/2018

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Previously Chapter #10...

Chapter #10 Gateway of Three Infinite Changes

Next Chapter #12...

Chapter #12 The Watchmaker

This not my Saab, Picture Credit Webmiscallany.com it's just like it!

Credit Joe Mable,

Armored order of angels: wakey wakey continues. My husband Don is a master technician. One-side to the benefits of having a mechanic in the house, acquiring cars is never an issue. The other side, is timely repair, versus "infinite" storage. At the time, I was driving an adorable old white Saab convertible. The top was a little worse for wear, and it had a great sound system, with an iPod adapter. Pinch me I'm in heaven. Year round the top of my car was open if it wasn't raining; during the winter, seat heaters turned on high. Tunes cranked. I was born a convertible girl. It was a beautiful late spring day in Oregon, with my faithful little Yorkshire terrier companion, Nikki. Early in the morning, a friend of mine had invited us for a walk along the Willamette River. I gathered my checklist: water, snacks, beach chair, and Nikki and I were on our way across town. I was cruising southbound through downtown Corvallis, music loud, top down on the car, just about to pass the historic Benton County Courthouse.

The last time I hollered Wakey Wakey!

Family Camp, Timothy Lake, The Spirit of Moses

Timothy Lake Mt Hood Range, Credit Erla Richards my Mom

Around the Campfire Credit Erla Richards

Jacob, Justin stacking rocks. Timothy Lake Credit Erla Richards

Justin, stacking rocks now a tradition Credit Erla Richards

My honey, Don, with sons Jace and Joseph Credit Erla Richards

Grandpa telling stories Credit Erla Richards

Jacob banjo, friend Christian, Credit Erla Richards

Jacob in his happy place Credit Erla Richards

Justin stacking rocks is now a competition Credit Erla Richards

Our boys, cousin's on the O'Day sailboat

And there is the annual "family camp": Providential or sending chills down your spine, five days, no showers only outhouses, campfires, sleeping in a tent; well those of us without an RV. More dogs than family members, an overdose of cured pork, and grandma always wants us to move the gazillion-pound park tables closer together. Families are an ever-changing foundation we call love, with a few other emotional tics in there. My folks, through there RV-ing "Recreational Vehicle" years, have graciously reserved a group campsite at Timothy Lake (Mt. Hood range,) closing in on twenty-seven plus years. It has been a re-occurring event ever since "Bob" was in a box! That's an inside joke for when my niece, Geordie, was a wee babe on her first camping trip. Her folks put her in a cardboard box because there was no elbow room next to the fire. It was raining cats, dogs, and elephants and all the young moms were holding toddler size jeans and boots over the fire which was covered with a fraying blue tarp. Oh, the memories. As a family, we have tried, off and on, a few other camping locations but returned to the peaceful, non-motorized lake with so many activities accessible in the shadow of magnificent Mount Hood.

Benjamin Angel testimonies