Our power went out late last Friday afternoon for no apparent reason. There were no storms in the area, no sirens alerting us to a possible crash into a pole, just the initial alarms from our various appliances as they shut down and followed by the quiet. I reported the outage to our electric provider via my phone and we hopped in the car in the hopes that our local pizzeria would be open. It was and not long after returning home, the power came back on and life was almost back to normal except for the fact that our phone, cable and internet were still out.
Predictions from Xfinity in the texts they sent kept moving the restoration time further into the evening past our bedtime. Since we are creatures of habit and lean towards evening couch potatoes, we were a bit at loose ends. I pulled out my Kindle and continued a novel I’d started and Dave grabbed a professional journal that had been sitting on his side table for a bit and we began to read. While I was being whisked away on a WWI spy adventure, he was reading about actual military intelligence- not so much of an adventure. Eventually he put it down. “Want to play a game?”, I asked. “No.” Then I remembered how we spent our time back in the day.
Our college days predated the internet by decades and almost no one had a television in their room so our primary connection to the outside world was through the radio. Music was our language and most evenings, Alison Steele, WNEW’s “Nightbird” would take us on themed musical journeys into the late night. It was the golden age of rock and when we weren’t listening to our favorite groups on the radio, we were trying to pick out the chords on our guitars.
Dave has continued to play but I have not. So, on this very low tech evening with no other form of entertainment, I suggested he pull out his guitar and play for me, just like the old days. Soon, we were going through his notebook, singing together as he played.
I’d forgotten how much fun it was to just spend time in the moment.
Transitioning into a new community is always a challenge. There are so many necessary connections you need to make; doctors, dentists, auto mechanics but one of the most important for any woman is her hairdresser. A bad haircut can ruin not only your day, but for however long it takes to regrow what you’ve lost to make reshaping possible. Finding that perfect mix of skill, personality and availability can be difficult and require a fews trials and errors.
When we moved here ten years ago, I hit the jackpot! About six weeks after moving in, without so much as a referral, I drove to the place nearest to my house and walked in to make an appointment. The owner greeted me and although she was booked for the day, made an appointment with her sister later that afternoon.
My first impression of Brenda was one of uncertainty. Having moved to this small town from Virginia Beach; a city that has long refused to label itself as such, I was more accustomed to flashy salons with large posters of men and women with trendy hairstyles, pulsing music and several stations with hip looking technicians with spiky hair in black smocks. This shop was the total opposite. There were four stations, two on either side of the room, but it was obvious that only two of them were ever used. The decor was simple but clean and soft country music played in the background.
Brenda was anything but flashy. In fact, there was no pretense to her at all. She was tall and very thin, with straight brunette hair, dressed simply in jeans and a top. She had a deep voice and country accent that I loved. She was also precise to a fault.
When cutting my hair she would cut it wet, blow it dry and then go over it again, trimming until my cut met her exacting standards. Sometimes I would tease her and ask her if “we were there yet?” like a kid on a long car trip. She would laugh and have me shake my head one more time to make sure the hair lay perfectly and then comb and clip away some more.
This morning, as I was in the midst of running errands, I received a text from a friend telling me that she’d seen an obituary for Brenda in this morning’s paper. Incredulous, I quickly pulled up the local paper on my phone to search the obits and was crushed to see that it was true.
At my last appointment, just about ten days ago, Brenda colored and cut my hair in preparation of my son, Andy’s wedding as she’d done eight years ago when my daughter Maggie was married. In fact, in the past ten years, no one else has cut my hair. I always looked forward to seeing her not simply because she was a good hairdresser and she made me look good but because over these past years she became my friend and she always made me feel good too.
Brenda was salt of the earth. She was grounded in her faith and deeply dedicated to her family. She loved to go fishing, tend her garden and her many cats. She was not a chatty soul but we shared much of our lives through the many hours I sat in her chair. I will miss her throaty laugh and most of all the big hug she gave me before I left the shop.
I know it’s cliche, but you really never know when the last time you’ll see someone you love will be. I am grateful that the last time I saw Brenda it was a happy time and that I got and gave that one last hug.
Last Saturday evening, while standing in the check-out line at the new Trader Joe’s, Dave and I were trying to mentally determine the most efficient path out of the new shopping center parking lot (which is one of the most poorly designed I’ve seen lately). I reached into my purse to check one of my navigation apps and noticed I’d missed a text message.
I moved the green puzzle piece down to the lock and opened a photo of a delicate hand sporting a shiny engagement ring. Under the photo were the word, “Surprise! Jan and I are engaged!”
The long awaited, highly anticipated ring!
We’d been waiting a long time to hear those words (or see them) and we couldn’t be happier. Jan is a good match for our Maggie. When she first brought him home, he seemed too good to be true. I pulled Maggie aside and asked, “Okay, what’s wrong with him?” It wasn’t that Jan showed any signs of obvious flaws, but because he seemed perfect; just the kind of guy you want your daughter to bring home. From the beginning, I hoped we could keep him, and now we can!
This Friday, on our way home from Thanksgiving festivities in Suffolk, we stopped in Richmond to get together with Jan’s family to celebrate our children’s engagement.
It has been clear for a while that Jan’s parents, Arved and Teresa, have been waiting for this moment in the same joyful anticipation as Dave and I. Last Thanksgiving, when we were all together at our house, Teresa and I shared moments in quiet conspiracy washing dishes and comparing notes, looking for signs of any upcoming nuptuals. We knew it was bound to happen, we just didn’t know when. So, we have spent the last year with hopeful resignation of children waiting for Santa to finally pop down the chimney.
And now it has happened! The ring has been given and accepted, the search for the perfect dress has begun and a date at the venue is about to be set. Our dreams have come true and this chapter of the fairy tale is about to end. And what better way to end it than with a kiss!
In the words of the immortal Ren and Stimpy, “Happy, Happy. Joy! Joy!”
I believe that God speaks to us in a variety of ways, connecting to us on an individual basis, tuning into our own personal frequencies. Our challenge is to pay attention, to first tune into and then become part of the conversation. When this this all comes together, epiphanies result.
Saturday morning as Dave and I lazily sipped our coffee and tentatively mapped out our day with “What do you want to do today?” and the dreaded response, “I don’t care, what did you want to do?”, Izzie sat at the back door crying. She knew exactly what she wanted to do; she wanted to go outside.
Months ago, after Izzie’s emergency trip to the vet, we’d decided to keep her indoors for her own safety and our peace of mind. At first she didn’t seem to mind so much, but over the past several weeks, Izzie has made it known that she has had a change of heart and wanted to rejoin the wild world of moles and mice in the back yard. Long episodes of pleading by the door and several unsuccessful excape attempts have caused us to rethink our decision.
We considered Izzie’s current quality of life. Yes, she’s safe, but she’s also become increasingly lazy and withdrawn. Worst of all, she’s been very irritable, growling every time she even catches sight of Purrl.
We tried to ease the situation by allowing Izzie supervised playtime in the back yard. We’d let her out while we were working on the gardens or just to sit in the sun. That worked fine, and Izzie came in when she was called. The problem was that she wanted to go out all the time.
So, after careful thought and consideration, weighing the quality of life issues against the safety issues, we decided to let Izzie be free to roam the yard unchaperoned during daylight hours. For the past few days our arrangement is working. Izzie still asks for our company when she goes out. Sometimes we go and when we can’t, we peak out the door or window, to get a bead on her. Even though we aren’t together, Dave and I are still looking after her, ready to help her in a time of need.
OK, so you may be wondering how a cat crying at the door has taught be about the power of persistent prayer. What was my epiphany? Here goes;
God only wants what is best for us. He loves us and cares for us, despite our best efforts to “run out the open door without supervision”. When we make requests, God doesn’t always give us quick answers. I see that like our consideration in letting Izzie roam free, God must consider the pros and cons of each request with a measure of just how much we yearn for our request. The duration of the requests doesn’t necessarily translate into a positive response, but it certainly reminds God that we are still asking.
Like Izzie, I’d like to know that God is out there with me when I’m out in the world, and because God is God, I know that is the truth. God doesn’t merely peak out the window to check on me.
Aside from The Prayer before supper and the occassional off the cuff conversation with God, regular thoughtful prayer hasn’t been a part of my daily life. It is a goal that I continue to attempt to attain. I think God just might have been tuning into me through Izzie’s pleas at the door, to remind me of the old acronym P.U.S.H. – Pray Until Something Happens. Izzie asked and she received, she “knocked” and the door was opened to her. I just need to follow her example.
The past few weeks have flown. My “few” volunteer activities seem to have all geered up for the fall and I am happily finding myself busy again. I feel well-rested from my year off and am enjoying the increased activity. Sadly it doesn’t allow much time to sit and write, so in brief, here are a few of the things I’ve been up to:
1. Helping to reorganize the Parish Hall. My buddies and I have spent on average one long morning a week focusing on cleaning areas of the hall that have been long overlooked. We’ve shifted furnishings, washed windows and floors and have generally tried to transform the entry area into a homey, welcoming area where folks can sit and have coffee together after Mass on Sundays. Now the cleaning is out of the way, we are concentrating on paint colors and decorating.
2. Knitting with Gail. Last November I started meeting one afternoon a week with a lady from church who had begun knitting a sweater for her daughter in law about a year earlier with the help of a local yarn shop owner. Sadly the shop closed and Gail was left with a bag full of pricey yarn and a half completed sweater back. We met for several Monday afternoons to work on her project until her husband suffered a series of medical issues and she became housebound. Almost the whole summer passed until she called to see if we could begin meeting again. So, one evening a week, I go to Gail’s and we knit. In the past few weeks she’s completed all but the last sleeve and best of all, her husband has graduated from Hospice to Continuing Care.
3. Working with the Greene County Habitat for Humanity Steering Committee. Way back in May, Dave and I signed up to volunteer with HFH and not long afterwards I began meeting with the Vista volunteer assigned to our local group to brainstorm and start to discern where I could fit into the program. After some consideration, I decided to join the Steering Committee as the Record Keeper. A few weeks ago, Dave and I worked our first event; a spaghetti dinner fundraiser at a tiny country church. We sat at the ticket table schmoozing eight dollars a plate from our patrons. It was great fun.
4.Working out at the gym. Yes, I continue to let Lorenzo call the shots in the gym. I am still amazed at what I’ve accomplished over these past ten months and what I will push myself to do to see him smile! Never in my life would I have imagined myself feeling so comfortable in a gym, confidently using the machines and lifting weights. Whenever it really hurts, I tell myself that I’m in physical therapy and it has to be done. The pain doesn’t go away,but I feel more determined to complete my task.
5. Volunteering with Organizing for America. Through a series of unrelated events, I was invited to volunteer with the Greene County organization to help re-elect the President. Last November was the first election I hadn’t worked in almost ten years. As weird as it sounds, I missed not getting up at o’dark hundred and working the polls. My offer to work here in Greene County wasn’t taken, so I am working with OFA to help register voters. I also answer the phone at the campaign office for two hours on Monday afternoon. The last election I worked was in 1972 so the technology has changed but one thing that hasn’t is the excitement and dedication of the youth – the big change is thatIam no longer one of them!
6. Playing with friends. At least one day a week I play with my friends. Friday afternoons I usually spend exploring with Angela. At first she helped my get my berrings by taking me around to different shopping areas and local eateries. Now we choose from a variety of destinations for lunch and shopping. She has done such a good job at acclimating me to the greater Charlottesville area that I have now become the “old-timer” showing newer transplants around. This all makes for a great deal of lunches out and laughing, it’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it!
So, these are a few of the things I’ve been up to. Each of these activities have led to others as my circle of friends grows. Greene County is so small that I run into many of the same people in more than one venue. All of this has given me a real sense of belonging here in my newish home. My roots have taken hold and are thriving. I just need to put a bit of self discipline in place and get back to regular writing.
It’s hard to believe that a year ago today as we celebrated Independence Day, we were saying our good-byes and preparing ourselves for a new life outside of Virginia Beach. Looking back on my blogs from those days, I can feel that sadness that I thought I was avoiding.
Leaving Hampton Roads was a difficult choice for Dave and I. After all, we’d lived there cumulatively over twenty five years; longer than either of us had ever lived anywhere. We began our careers there, our babies were born there, we bought our first house there. Our roots were deep and the decision to pull them and move on, even if it was best for us, was still not easy.
But now, a year later, we are settled in our new home and lives in the Piedmont. This morning we are off to a Fourth of July parade in Standardsville, the Greene County seat. Later this afternoon we will gather with our neighbors for a barbecue and fireworks. I even baked a pie.
Yes, life goes on. Our roots are not fully set here, but we are in good soil. Sadness has been replaced by contentment. It has been a good first year.
Spring seems to be the perfect time to celebrate motherhood.
In the traditional sense of mothering, I have my roll as mother to my children and grandchildren. This roll is getting tricky at times, especially since Andy moved in. For the most part, he is good company and I am fully enjoying the opportunity to spend this time with him. Occassionally, I find myself asking him what I consider normal questions that he interprets as something akin to maternal interrogation. Honestly, I don’t think I have a hidden agenda, most times I’m only making conversation to connect with a person living in my home. Uggh!
Then there are my four legged children, Izzie and Purrl. I’m not really their mother, but I do sort of mother them. They too at times suspect I have a hidden agenda, but they would be right. I am truly guilty of subterfuge in my attempts to lure them onto my lap for cuddles.
My mothering is not limited to the confines of my home and family. I have recently discovered a very young squirrel living under the hose reel in the back garden. He too, has become an object of my concern. He seems way too small and vulnerable to be out on his own. I give him a daily ration of birdseed to give him a boost. It’s probably not the wisest idea to feed rodents so close to the house, but babies have to eat, don’t they?
Transcending species, genus and kingdoms, I have a nursery of baby plants. Up on the crest of the back yard, I have a small group of pots containing a dozen seedlings I received from the Arbor Society. I tend them carefully, gently stroke their budding leaves and give them daily pep talks. I have only one hold-out dogwood that I’m still pulling for, the rest seem to be off to a healthy start. On the deck I have a flat of zinneas in jiffy pots almost ready to go in the ground.
Aside from my own mothering, this spring we have been treated to several families of house finches who visit our feeders. The parents gather seed while the young ones sit on the top of the feeder or on a nearby branch flapping their wings with mouths open wide. Soon the fledglings in the nests in my Boston Ferns will join them. Andy checks on them daily for me since he is tall enough to see over the top of the fronds.
Mothering seems to come naturally to me, probably because I come from a long line of women who each in turn loved, nurtured and launched the next generation. I know I am blessed in that respect. I guess it’s in the genes; they’re the only kind of “Mom-Genes” I will proudly wear.
Last week a small band of hearty Virginians, in the spirit and tradition of other great explorers like Lewis and Clark, piled into a Honda Odyssey minivan in search of adventure. After taking on provisions at McDonald’s, the group headed west on US 33 bound for the Skyline Drive.
The day was clear but cool in the Piedmont and the road dry. An air of uneasiness filled the back seats as the minivan climbed the curving mountainside and ears began to pop. “How high are we going?” one anxious explorer asked, “I’m afraid of heights.”
Upon reaching the park entrance, a friendly ranger greeted them and provided some suggestions and good hiking trails. Thanking him for his kindness, the van headed north in search of clear trails and a bolder or two to climb on.
Impressed by the expansive vistas, the explorers remarked to each other about the beauty of it all. One of the boys, the youngest of the group, was still fearful of the elevation until his trusted older companion explained he was looking down, he was looking across. After mulling on that for a moment he exclaimed, “I’ve overcome my fears!” to which the older members of the expedition quietly chuckled.
As they drove up the trail, one of the leaders of the group noticed that the temperature was dropping. “It’s 35!” she exclaimed. They knew it would be cooler on the the mountaintop and had brought along extra sweatshirts and jackets but this was a bit colder than expected. “Is that snow?” asked the driver.
“It’s not snow.” declared a veteran explorer from the back seat. “It’s probably just pollen.”
“It looks like snow.” the driver asserted, not giving an inch.
Soon, a camping area appeared on the right. The boys were antsy from riding and in need of stretching their legs so they pulled over for a short while to look around. It was a quaint camping area dotted with rustic duplex cabins. It was very cold; much colder than they had expected. The extra sweatshirts provided little protection from the strong wind and blowing snow. The decision was made to cut this walk short so they all piled back into the warm van to see what other adventures were in store for them. As they drove further north, there was no denying that the white bits floating into the windshield were indeed snowflakes and not pollen. The temperature began to drop below freezing and fearing for icy roads and poor visibility, the decision was made to turn around and head south. The road into the icy north..
Heading south of the park entrance at Swifts Run Gap, the weather improved. The sun shined warmly on the road and the temperature shot into the high 40’s. Finding a promising spot to pull over, the group again piled out of the van and this time headed into the back country in search of adventure.
Unfortunately, not long after hitting the trail, one of the boys tripped and fell hitting his knee on a large rock. After taking a moment to assess the extent of his injury, he took a deep breath and let out a blood curdling scream that was sure to protect the group from any and all wildlife that may have been lurking in the woods. Once he was steady on his feet, the explorers decided to return to the van and drive on to a less rocky .
Resting on the trail
The second back country path was a steep climb up a mountainside. Having survived the snow of the north and the dangers of the rocky path, the seasoned hikers climber higher and higher up the twisting trail all the while noting the signs of the wildlife along the way. There were several piles of skat* (poop) and trees that looked as though they’d been used as scratching posts with tufts of black fur nearby. The leaders of the group grew worried that they were wondering into dangerous bear territory and called a halt to the hike just before reaching a pile of boulders. Again, the hearty troop headed back to the minivan.
Remembering the day in the woods.
*Although previously thought to be bear skat, further research on the Internet revealed that it was coyote skat which, according to the experts, is often found on trails marking territory. So while indeed bears do poop in the woods, it was not bear poop observed on this trip.
For the past several weeks we have been struggling in a choice for the perfect color to paint our bedroom.
Initially, we bought a couple of samples to provide a soothing background for our turquoise and brown bedspread. We started with a soft grey and taupe. Neither worked.
Our next step was to find a light turquoise that complemented the spread. Two more samples; one too green, the other too much the same color. More time passed. Each time we had a new idea, we’d trot down to Lowe’s with a couple more sample pots of color and put it on the wall to ponder.
A couple of weeks ago, I was looking through a catalog and found a pretty quilt that I thought would solve our problem. It was white with splashes of spring flowers and foliage. We could easily pick out one of the flower colors with a quilt like that on our bed, so I ordered it.
The new quilt arrived and I spread it atop my bed full of hope that one of the colors on the wall would work. Naturally, none did. So, off to Lowe’s we went with a new pillow sham in hand in search of the perfect color. We came home with a sample of what we believed to be the perfect green yellow. Once on the wall to transformed into an electric green that was anything but soothing. Back I went to Lowes and home I came with two pale yellows. Again I was convinced, I’d picked the winner.
The yellows were better. I put large splotches of each on the walls to help decide which was best. After about a week, I’d decided and convinced Dave that the lighter of the two was “our color”.
As the days passed and I looked at my lighter patch, I became disillusioned with my yellow. It seemed flat.
Yesterday I took my sham back to Lowes for one last try with the greens. I came home with only one, a light leafy green that looked right under all the lighting samples. Even the gal who mixed the sample was sure this one was it.
Without even changing from my gym clothes, I got out my mini roller and began to cover the yellow with my new color. It looked pretty good. I tried another area of the room. It looked good there as well.
This morning as I opened my eyes, I gazed across at my new burst of green on the wall and decided this new color, “Spring Reflection”, was indeed the perfect color. All I need now is to find the time to transform my entire room. Until then, I’ll be reflecting on the possibilities.
This morning as I was drinking my coffee, listening to Into the Woods, my thoughts drifting along with the music, I realized yesterday was a day of journeys for me, highlighted by where I’ve been, where I am and where I’m going. How is it that a day can be so randomly constructed?
Where I’ve Been… Journal Journeying – After months of putting it off, I finally cracked open the journal I kept during our trip to the UK in 2010 to do what I’ve been saying I would do for more than a year – transcribe the data and capture images from the Internet to replace the photos we didn’t get to take after our camera broke. I only got through the first two days and already have four typed pages with photos added. My plan was to get the whole thing transcribed and give it to Dave as a gift. I’m finding my fatigue played a big part in my writing ability on the road, so editing is needed but the rough story is there and I’m enjoying the look back and searching for pictures on the web.
Where I am….Content to Be… I went on an errand run all myself. This was special because I get so little alone time since Andy moved back in. While he’s not intentionally intrusive or disrespectful of my space, he’s just here. I guess I’ve become accustomed to having the house to myself during the day. And, since he’s always up for an adventure, it’s been easy to get him to come along when I go somewhere, so I don’t have tobe alone. My concern has been that I will become dependent on the company and fall back into old habits that make me fearful of venturing out the door by myself. So, I made a short trip to the Mall, stopped by Lowe’s for paint samples and then popped into Kroger for some groceries. It was as exciting as a trip to the UK, but it was important in maintaining my independence.
Where I’m going….on to the Unknown Known…..Early in quiet of the morning I made the first steps into a self-assessment program called “Life-Keys”. With my friend Deb leading me, this journey will be to help me sort out what I can do from what I love to do, to discern my God given gifts which give me energy from the skills I’ve learned that drain me. At the end fo this journey I’m hoping to have a better sense of direction so I can choose what I want to do with the rest of my life opposed to just reacting to what comes my way.
So, is it just a coincidence that I’ve connected these three journeys from one day or am I like the fellow in “A Beautiful Mind”, finding meaning in totally unrelated events? I’d like to think there is a plan. In the next few weeks I hope to make more connections, finding the key pieces to the puzzle that is me.
