Slopes

By Layne-Michael Alten

It was a sunny Saturday morning. I was at my grandma’s house. My gear was already packed and the special clothes I needed were ready to go. Dad would pick me up from Grandma’s house when he got off work, which was around four or five o'clock. That meant we wouldn’t have much time to go to the sporting-good shop before it closed and rent the equipment we still needed. However, the way my life had been going, I suspected that the plan might not work out.

My grandma and step-grandpa, Jerry, begged us to go to dinner with them. And, of course, my dad said that we couldn’t really say no.

“We can’t say no, because that would be rude.” he whispered to me. “We’ll just have to wait one more week. Trust me buddy, it’ll be the shortest week ever.”


Of course, it wasn’t the shortest week ever; in fact it felt like the longest one ever. But eventually, Saturday came again and it was time to rent the equipment and nothing was going to let anything stand in our way.

My dad picked me up, and off to the store we went only to find that it was closed for the holiday weekend. It was closed!! I couldn’t quite remember what holiday it was but I remember that I was mad, mad because I was let down again. I had been waiting for this for about three and a half months, and I couldn’t wait any longer!

The next weekend Dad picked me up on Friday instead of Saturday. This way, I could go to work with him and get the equipment before anything else. And the plan worked! We actually pulled it off this time.

“I’m glad we finally got the snowboards, Dad,” I said with much excitement as we put them in the trunk of the car on Saturday evening. “We’re still gonna go on Sunday morning right?”

We did. Early the next morning, before the sun was up, Dad and I drove to the mountain resort in time to rent the lift tickets. And that’s the only thing I was rather afraid of, the lift at Mountain High.

The drive there didn’t feel long at all but my dad said it did to him. He kept telling me to go to sleep and get some rest, but I couldn’t because I was so excited. I could tell that we were close when I saw the big white sheet of snow on the mountain and a bunch of little tiny specks going down it. A shivering chill went down my spine. This was my first time ever seeing snow.

“Dad, Dad! Look! I see it, I see the snow!” I shouted with laughter and joy.

We got out of the car and put on the snow boots, jackets and beanies. We grabbed the boards and walked on towards the main office to pick up the tickets. The boards are very heavy to carry after about five minutes so I put mine down and sat while my dad was getting the tickets.

Finally, we were able to go on the lift. As we waited in line I was scared to death, but I wasn’t going to let that ruin our day so I didn’t tell my dad. It was our turn to go, the seat came at us pretty fast. It hit my knees and my butt practically fell on the seat. My dad laughed but I ignored him. I was shivering of fear and my dad saw me, he told me its ok, and about halfway there, I realized it wasn’t that bad.

As we got off, I remembered something a friend had said to me. He knew how to snowboard and taught me the fundamentals. It sounded really easy but he kept on saying that its way harder than it sounds for your first time. So I expected to be falling a lot. I fell about seven times going down my first time! But my second time, it looked like I had been snowboarding my whole life! I sped down the slope like a natural. It felt like I was flying, dodging everyone in my way who fell. I don’t know how I did it, I told myself it was instinct and this sport was meant for me.

After the beginners slope, I moved up until I got to the third highest level slope. I think there were about eleven slopes. On the eighth slope I fell. And I fell hard. I went on it a second time and mastered it. I even went on some jumps. In fact, I went on the biggest jump out of the eight slopes. On the uphill fun-box grind I couldn’t make it all the way up so I jumped off and still I was proud of myself for trying.

We snowboarded all day until it was five o’clock, when our lift tickets expired. It was actually four-fifty-eight and asked my dad if we could go one last time. We did and barely made it in time before our tickets expired. The last time was the most fun time we went down the slope. I did everything I taught myself that day from burm tricks, jumps, spins, grinds, and when I hit the bottom, I ended it off with a three-sixty.

But the most memorable thing that happened to me that day came up next.

Somebody saw me do everything from top to finish and said to me. “Wow kid, you’ve been practicing that for your whole life hah?”

I said back with enthusiasm, “Nope, today’s my first day snowboarding, and I love it.”

“What?” he shouted with astonishment. “Dang kid, if you keep practicing, you’re gonna make it big.” That blew me away. I told my dad what had just happened, and he smiled and believed it.

Well, finally we went back to the car and put on normal clothes, which felt great. And on the way home I slept, which also felt great. It actually felt so great that I couldn’t wake up. My dad had to carry me inside. When I finally woke up, my dad had hot cocoa for me. We relaxed on the sofa and discussed our extraordinary day. It was the most fun day I have ever had with my dad. And I swore to myself that as soon as I was sixteen and able to drive, I was going to get my own board and go every weekend. Well, almost every weekend.

Gianna Reese Dado

Well, welcome, precious (isn't she). Actually this is not a picture of Gianna. I'm still waiting for one. She was born, um, sometime over the weekend. Proud papa, Eric (I believe) and mom doing fine. I'm just the cousin here, and living a few hundred miles away. I don't know all these details.

Oma Sylvia will have to update this. In the meantime , congrats to all. We'll see you this summer.

Come And Dine

Don't forget Mom's cookbook
Come and Dine.

Sate, Bami, Nasi Goreng, Pisang Goreng!


Click here or on cookbook cover to order.

deQuilettes Update From Washington

Summer is here. I believe the deQuilettes clan in Washington has probably worked all year, or most of the year, to prepare for FreedomFest. It's a ministry, I'm sure, has impacted the area for the last four years. You can see for yourselves at www.freedomfest.org

One of these years the CA clan will make it up there. In the meantime kudos to Don, Holli and kids, Cyndi, Byron and Chip, Opa Derek and Oma Thirza de Q and any other I forgot to mention. Rock On, we say!

Oh, If Only I Was A Lifeguard

Sam and Sarah Ready For the Prom

The Senior Year

Charley and Me/NonFiction

By Linda Moreland (aka Grandma)

(This was first published in an online magazine but Grandma can't remember the name of it!!)





I’ve always considered myself to be a strong, independent woman who had worked in the retail-drug-store industry for most of my adult life. I raised two wonderful children and was now enjoying grandchildren in my life as well. I really did feel that I had it all.

In late March of 1999, while I was at work, I tripped and fractured my right foot. From that point on my medical condition progressively declined until, after extensive testing, I was diagnosed with Fibromyalgia.

No longer able to work, at the job that I loved so much, and within the space of a very short time, I found myself totally isolated. There was no one to talk to or even keep me company. After talking to an average of 200 people a day at work, this was a very hard adjustment. I decided, as my depression began to overwhelm me, that maybe I needed a pet to keep me company.

As I sit here, on my old but comfortable gray sofa, reflecting on my life, I am holding my little Shih Tzu, Charley close to me. I can't help but think back to the time when he first entered my life.

We had always had pets when my children were growing up, but I had not had an animal for years. Recently I learned that there were animals put up for adoption. I never heard of such a thing! This would be great, I thought and found myself driving to Petco one Saturday morning in August of 2000 "just to see what they had to offer."

I did not intend to bring ANYTHING home with me and when I walked inside all I saw were big dogs (I live in a condo, so that wouldn't work). I started to meander towards the back of the store when I almost tripped over a cage that was on the floor. I looked down and locked eyes with the most adorable small black Shih Tzu in the whole wide world. He just stood there on his back legs, like he was frozen, staring straight at me and begging me to take him home. I could not take my eyes off him! The lady asked me if I wanted to hold him. I said, “O, no! I’m too afraid.”

They wanted $150 for him and I had never paid for a dog in my life. I went home to think it over. Three hours later I went back. I decided that if he was still there he was meant to be mine.

He was still there, of course, and I had no doubt he was waiting for me. When I was told the history of his physical abuse in a "puppy mill" I was almost sick to my stomach and I vowed that this dog would never know that kind of pain again. What I never realized was what this dog was going to mean to me. What he has meant to the quality of my life is beyond description.

When I tell people that Charley "saved my life,” I really mean it. He was sent from God. He loves me unconditionally and only asks for the same in return. I guess you could say that the two of us were just meant to be.

A Little Taste of Aussie

So Sarah and I found an awesome store in San Dimas. They actually sell delightful (and I mean delightful) things from down under and Holland too. Sarah didn't get a chance to go shopping with us. So Layne and I chose stuff for her.

Sarah quote: "Hide the chocolate in my room. Lock the door. Hide the key and tell me where it is."

Magazine Contract

I received my little contract from the magazine, The Upper Room, yesterday. Signed, sealed and mailed it today. My article/devotional will appear in their May-June 2007 issue. Yikes, hope I remember.

Sunday Trials Victory Pic

The smile (the best we could get anyhow), after she is given her car back; new hoses and an oil change. If we could only get those brakes fixed now. And . . . give her that Hummer. Oh wait, she'll settle for a Jetta from Uncle Josh' car lot. Heehee.

Family Pictures/Oma & Opa

aka Mama & Papa, aka Tante Leny and Oom Willy,
aka Helaene & William Cody

Sunday Trials

"Hi, Mom, my car has a gas leak. I can smell the gas inside the car."

That's pretty much how my Sunday went. I'm actually laughing now. Wasn't so fun back then. Sunday morning, that's 6:00am, got in the shower. Layne, bless his heart, got ready in time to leave at around 7:10. We stopped at a gas station to put air into my almost-flat tire. Spent some money on breakfast with Mr. Box and went on our way to church.

On our 70 mile journey to San Dimas we saw a car upside down in the cow pasture. This is the third time we've witnessed this. Last Sunday a car was upside and on fire.

I dropped Layne of at his Grandma's house so his dad could pick him up later to go to Auntie's house for dinner.

"Hi, Mom, my car has a gas leak. I can smell the gas inside the car."

Oh yes. So 140 miles later I'm home trying to figure out what to do for Sarah. She's at work till 6:00pm. Disney is 70 miles the other way from the previous 70 miles to San Dimas. Make sense? Mom and Dad follow me to Disneyland where we met Sarah who drove her car to Del Taco while leaking gas.

Yep. Gas spouting out like that thing at YellowStone Park. We call AAA. They won't come near us. We have to call the fire department. Hehehehehe. Opa deQ springs into action.

"We don't need the fire department!!!!" he hollers and disappears across Katella, which has eight lanes and a trillion cars rushing by. He comes back with a screwdriver. Puts his head under the hood. Five seconds later, says "Start the car." Walla (spelling unknown, it's french)! He cleans up the gas leak. We have a good laugh and do some Oma, Opa, Mom, daughter bonding. God is good. We eat fish tacos.

Then, I follow Sarah in my car, Oma and Opa follow me in their car and we all drive another 70 (actually I think it's more like 90) miles to El Monte where we drop off Sarah's car at Opa's church because our mechanic is across the street. I give Sarah my car, kiss her goodbye, get into Opa's car, turn on Celtic Praise and drive another 90 miles home. It's 12:30am.

The Sarah Update

From little girl, to young lady, to well . . . in one more week, a woman. May 29th, 2006 that little thing who kicked into my ribs to get attention, will be turning 18. No mother ever believes their babies are all grown up.

Well, a few more weeks at Arroyo High School, then graduation, and she'll be headed for Biola University.

She'll major in Music/Performing Arts/Media, because they don't study whales and dolphins at Biola.
Bummer for her.

She has long brown hair and drives a convertible which she has already wrecked once, blew a tire on Arrow Highway, and . . . heck, she blowed up the engine on the 57 Freeway. Dad and AAA to the rescue.

Biola is a good fit for her in more ways than one. Amongst other things the school is located in La Mirada, CA, which is about a 10-15 minute drive to her work, Disneyland.

She'll be living on campus where she'll have everything a young lady could ever want; olympic-size pool, training room, cafeteria, coffee shop, Library etc. She even gets her own mailbox.

Well, stay tuned for more updates.

Love

One way to check out our love for others is to analyze the first thoughts that come to mind when we think of a particular person—your neighbor perhaps, a friend, or your spouse’s friend.

Is it their shortcomings or weaknesses we recall about them or do we see the good qualities: compassion, kindness, generosity, loyalty and honesty?

Remember, love thinks no evil. However, it doesn’t mean it is blind to the weaknesses of others as if they didn’t matter, or exist. Rather, it looks beyond them, accenting the best qualities in people, even those we find hard to love.

We constantly need to examine our response to others in the light of a passage such as 1 Corinthians 13:4 and 5 which says . . .

Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end. Love never dies
(From “The Message” by Eugene Peterson).

If negative attitudes quickly surface, if glaring defects always loom up before us, try to see others through God’s eyes. Through the eyes of Love.

Pastor Willy

Layne 2005

Yep! Following in his father's footsteps. Read Layne's poetry at
The Gate Webzine.

Family Pictures/Layne 2006

Waiting

I waited patiently for the Lord; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry, He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings (Psalm 40:1,2).

When you find yourself in a crisis, don’t panic. Calm yourself and be still. Maybe you should sit in the quiet of a closet until the pulse returns to normal and the fear ceases to disturb.

Do not say in your heart what you will or will not do, rather wait upon God till he makes His way known. So long as that road is hidden, there is no need for action. How often have we taken the wrong path because we simply did not wait?

It is good to learn how to wait, listen, and take the right road.

Pastor Willy de Q

A Family Project

Helaene’s Kitchen
A Daughter’s Collection
Of Photographs
And Recipes
From the Islands of Indonesia and
New Guinea

The Desert Land of Milk and Honey

(A fictional account of our beginnings in Australia)
By
Debby Alten

He will comfort all her waste places; and He will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the Garden of the Lord; joy and gladness shall be found therein, thanksgiving, and the voice of melody (Isaiah 51:3).

“Mamma, is that our new home?” I whispered.

“Yes, Deborah,” she whispered back. My hand reached for hers as Papa surveyed the dry dusty earth that swirled endlessly in the hot summer wind.

“Rather creepy,” he said, “the way the wind stirs the dirt and howls around the house.”

“But it’s our house, Papa,” I said with all the wisdom of an eight-year-old.

He looked lovingly at Mamma and smiled. “It is indeed.”

In the dusk hours, the Australian sky bloomed with purple and orange clouds. The last of the sun’s rays bounced off the dusty windows and did its best to light our path. Mamma said our house was in the middle of nowhere.

“Nonetheless,” she continued, “it stands guard like a lighthouse ready to signal ships to safety.”

The desert, no doubt, was like a rough sea to us, with hidden rocks and sandy imprints of slithering snakes.

Eventually, to separate this sea from his family, Papa built a brick wall that loomed up and around the house. At its peak it stood parallel to the red shingles of our roof.

“Play within the wall,” Papa told me. “It is by far safer on the inside.”

I trusted his words, even though I didn’t quite understand them. I might not have believed them either. It seemed quite safe outside the wall. What lives out there that could possibly hurt me? Papa knew, he always knew. And so I trusted.

“A good life,” he said. “A very good life.”

Our wall of golden bricks had a white wooden gate that led to the ominous outside world, as Papa would call it. I was not allowed to walk through that gate without him. However, that restriction, of course, was much too great a temptation for a young girl. Many times I walked upon the wall with fearless abandon to examine the land from east to west. Nothing, I thought. No enemy to rush the walls of my fort.

Once, and only once, did I open the rusty lock of the white gate and attempt a doomed-from-the-beginning escape. A few good yards away from home, just when I was celebrating my freedom, a long brown snake, with its skin nicely camouflaged against the desert ground, skidded inches away from my ankles.

But before I could yell, “Papa!” it was Mamma who came running to my aid. She screamed in anger at the snake and frantically waved a yellow broom. She pounced on that snake who must have regretted the day he slid too close to Mamma’s child. She was a small woman, but at that moment she was strong, gigantic and heroic. From that day on, as she carried me to safety, I would never see her in any other way.

As time would have it, there was nothing I viewed in quite the same way. The narrow path that meandered from the front door to the gate was like a big red stop sign—do not travel. I came to adore and respect our wall as each morning the sun kissed every brick and made it warm and inviting to the touch. Bathing in sunshine and dew, sparkling like a million jewels. Our shield, from the harsh winds that whistled a haunting song, was strong. We were safe after all.

And even though the land’s barrenness stretched out as far as the eye could see, I felt something divine about our little place under the sky. Mamma felt it too.
“It’s the soil,” she said. “There’s a secret in this soil.” Her voice was soft and her eyes dreamy as she smoothed the dry cracks in the ground with a gentle hand. “The dust won’t choke us.”

Mamma and Papa worked tirelessly, tilling the parched land with only a rusty shovel and their bare hands. Their skin bronzed by the burning sun. Soon the sea of dry dust no longer swirled inside our wall. It drank the cool clear water Mamma sprinkled generously over it. She knew there was fertile soil under the desiccated desert.

I watched her as the water fell, in slow motion it seemed, touching the thirsty earth with glistening pearls. The sea of dust and dryness brought forth waves of blue, yellow and fiery red flowers. All danced in perfect harmony to music not heard by human ears.

A short journey through the high gates, their wrought-iron bars decorating each side of the house, would bring one to the oasis Mamma and Papa created and called the out-back-garden. Here the sea of blue and red flowers gave way to a cool ocean of fresh, green grass.

The hidden soil here produced large, juicy red tomatoes and fresh, crisp cucumbers. Brilliant orange carrots of flame and fire snapped loudly as Mamma broke them in half to fit in her old cast-iron pot.

“What’s your favorite part of the garden, Mama?” I would ask.

“Oh, that’s a hard question,” she answered. Then she added,

“Did you finish reading the book I told you to read.

“No, Mamma, not yet.”

It was hard being home schooled. There were so many distractions for a girl such as me. A cascading grapevine that crawled up the side of my bedroom wall was a constant source of daydreaming. Thick clusters of green grapes poured down the walls like a waterfall.

“I’m going swimming, Mamma,” I would tell her.

“What?” She laughed. “Stop looking at the grapevine, Deborah.”

I sunk my head deep into my book but soon was watching the banana tree that towered over the brick wall. Always swaying it was, ever so gently when touched by the breath of the wind.

After my studies I was allowed to pick mangoes, guavas, passion fruit and papaya for Mamma to adorn a few baskets for the mailman who never minded the long trip to our house. The baskets were garnished with sprigs of mint and bordered with red and yellow bell peppers.

Mr. Peevey, more of an everything-delivery man, came in a small twin engine plane carrying a bag with a months worth of mail and a dozen large boxes with supplies.

“Hello, Mr. Peevey.”

“Hello, Taylor, and how are you?”

He handed me the bag of mail as I surrendered the empty one from the month before. Mr. Peevey enjoyed his time with us which was usually a couple of hours or so as he enjoyed the fruits of my parents’ labor. He was our connection to the world beyond our oasis and he usually brought gifts like ice-cream and candy. By the time he left, Mamma and Papa had caught up with world events and local news—all for the price of mangoes, guavas, passion fruit, papaya and other garden delicacies.

“Bye, Mr. Peevey!” I hollered. “Come back soon.” I watched his plane, waved as he did a fly-by, until it disappeared over the hues of the horizon.

Maybe one day, I always thought, I will fly away with him. Will I ever be old enough to walk through the gate without Papa?

The day, of course, came. Mamma and Papa had raised me for it. They could only assure my safety for a time and I could only reassure them they had done a good job.

As I moved away to go to school far across the ocean I remembered our miracle garden. When the dry, dusty desert, where nothing grew, came to settle in my heart, God the Father gently reminded me that He is that living water I thirst for.