Author: Monica

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Still Falling

Yesterday afternoon as I sat in the family room in a mild coma with the evidence of an Orville Redenbacher’s snack size popcorn and a Tootsie Pop wrapper and stick on the table in front of me and the mesmerizing sound of the the dryer running upstairs lulling my head ever closer to the pillow on the sofa, the phone rang.  It was my friend Angela.  “I’m going drive around the county for about 40 minutes and take some pictures.  Want to come along?”

I was tempted, but the spell cast by the sugar and appliances was great.  I began to list all my reasons for staying a body at rest.  Angela, who after four months of living next door to me is already immune to my whining and excuses, said “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes, grab your camera.”

Our first stop was the parking lot behind the Advance Auto Parts off 29S.  Not only did it prove to be an excellent vantage point for the mountains in their resplendent autumn beauty to the west but also, to the north, out of nowhere, a rainbow appeared in the distance providing an excellent photo op.

 

Our next stop was Lowes.  We parked in the lot and then headed into the brush to get the best vantage point; Angela with her professional camera and assorted lenses, me with my Nikon CoolPix.

Our last leg of our afternoon adventure was down Fredericksburg Rd.  where we pulled off in a couple of places to capture the scenery, to ogle each vista and spot of color.

This fall has been almost like an extended Fourth of July fireworks display; each brilliantly colored tree is more striking that the last.  We ooh and ahh as if each were the first and last we’ll ever see.  Nature has gone HD and we didn’t even have to pay extra or get a special converter box.  It’s all there to see, if you just pick yourself up off the couch and go look.  Oh, you might even want to bring your camera!

 

 

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Fall!!

Fall is my favorite season.  I love the colors of the leaves; the yellows and reds and especially the vibrant waxy orange leaves that seem to project their own source of light.  I love the smell of the leaves, that dry musty smell that takes me back to my childhood like a time machine.   And, I love the sound the dried leaves make when I kick them or crush them under my feet.  I’ve looked down at my feet from the beginning of my memory, in velveteen oxfords, matte black rubbers, platformed shoes, heels and most recently, cross-trainers as they scatter leaves with every step.   Although the footwear has changed, that delightful sound of crispy leaves crunching under my feet remains a constant.

Last weekend Dave and I spent the weekend up in the mountains with our friends Mark and AJ.  I took my very first chair lift ride.  We glided over the autumn colored treetops with the hawks, the sun warming our faces in the nippy morning air.  It was glorious!  After taking two lifts up to the tops of the sky slopes, we hiked to the summit where we were rewarded by far reaching views of the Shenandoah Valley.  John Denver was right- it is almost heaven!

Yesterday, we took a trip up to the Skyline Drive with Dave and Vanya who’d come up for the weekend.  The leaves were a little past peak and the sun not as cooperative, but the vistas and views were still beautiful. It was Vanya’s first visit to the Blue Ridge and she said it reminded her of her home in Tasmania.  Funny how I never thought of fall being anything but a northern hemisphere sort of thing.  Vanya said they have the same change of leaves and fall, obviously,  as we’re enjoying our springtime here.   It might be fun to visit downunder sometime and experience fall twice in one year, but then I would miss some of the spring here.  Hmmm.

Spring is also my favorite season……..

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Ecumenical Me

It appears that it takes more than one church community to keep me happily connected to my faith.  Sundays Dave and I attend the one (very early) Mass at our tiny nearby parish and on Wednesdays we go to choir practice (yes, I’ve finally joined).  Worship there is on a small scale, both intimate and isolating.  Although we are not having difficulty in becoming involved,  we are having more of a challenge in feeling connected.

On Thursdays and Fridays though, I hang with the Lutherans.

It all started when soon after moving here, my neighbor, Angela asked what I liked to do to keep busy.  She mentioned that her church had a prayer shawl ministry that met on Friday mornings and asked if I’d be interested in tagging along with her.  I thought it would be a great way to meet more people and to spend time doing something I love.  So, a few weeks later, I met her at Peace Lutheran and became one of the prayer shawl ladies.

I’ve heard of the prayer shawl ministry before and at one time thought about getting one going at St. Marks but my time was already too full with work, home, church and friends to find the time or focus to do so.  The concept is simple, you knit shawls and blankets for folks in the community who need some spiritual support.  As we knit, we are updated on the sick of the community.  When a project is completed, it is carefully folded and tied with a ribbon and labelled with the name of the recipient.  At the end of the session, the group gathers in the sanctuary where the shawl is draped lovingly upon a cross-shaped mini quilt rack in the center of the main aisle.  We join hands and offer prayers for all the sick and dedicated the new shawl.  The shawls remain in the sanctuary through the weekend so that the congregation can touch them and offer prayers as they approach the table for Communion.

The idea is so simple, so loving, so meaningful.  Mind you, not all of the knitters in this group are as experienced as me.  For many, this is the only knitting they have ever done so each stitch is ever so carefully and intentionally placed on the needle.   But the results are anything but second rate.  There is no pressure to rush through a project, only words of encouragement.   I can only imagine what it must feel like to receive one of these special items, so tenderly crafted for the express purpose of providing comfort, like a warm hug from the community.  I am truly enjoying my time with them and find myself drawn into the greater community through the prayer and caring for its people in a way that I seem to lack in my own parish.

Yesterday, I began a Bible study with a small group of ladies at Peace Lutheran.  Again, my friend Angela was the catalyst.   It has been a very long time since I’ve had the opportunity to participate in a concentrated study like this and I have hungered for it.  Until yesterday, I didn’t realize just how much.   The name of the course is “Jesus the One and Only” by Beth Moore.  My Protestant friends all seem to know of her but she is new to me.  It took a while to get past the more vibrant and at times down-right sappy sentimentalism of her style but her scholarship is good.  She takes great pains to going back to key Greek words and expanding the translation.  I love that!

Although this is a new group of women, I already feel a part of the community because of the insight I’ve gained from my time with the Prayer Shawl ministry.  I feel so drawn to the people in this church.  As always, I trust there is a plan for all of this.  Until the blueprints are revealed to me, I will continue in both places.  After all there is only one God and if as we believe this God is present in three persons, why can’t this presence also be in more than one church?  I’ll keep you posted but for now, I’ve got to grab my knitting!

 

 

 

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I Got Rhythm….

Today is the first rainy day we’ve had in a while.  The rain in steadily falling filling the house with a faint hissing sound.  I have the windows open just a crack to let in the clean fall air.  As I sit here writing, I’m delighting in watching water bead up on the deck outside the window.  We just finished sealing it on Monday.

It was a three day process to actually complete the job but it seemed like it took months of planning and preparation.  “When do you want to do it?”  “I don’t know.”  This was how the conversation went.  Then, Saturday morning we decided we would go to Lowe’s and get everything we needed to complete the job.

Unlike other projects, where we assemble the required items and leave them stashed in the garage for several months, we set upon this task immediately.  In no time we were clearing the outdoor furnishing down to the lawn and Dave began to spray on the deck cleaner from our new handy dandy pump sprayer.  It didn’t take long to realize that we were going to need more than we bought.  I was a little annoyed since I wanted to buy the big bottle in the first place but, grabbed my keys and headed back to Lowe’s before the conversation of “Do you want to go, or do you want me to go?” progressed any further.  In half an hour I was back and the cleaning continued.

Sunday we decided we would go on a mini “date” before hitting the deck again.  So, after Mass, we headed over to Green Hills to hit a few buckets of balls on the driving range and then grab a sandwich at the clubhouse grill.  It was a glorious day!  The sun was out, the sky was blue and the temperature was just right.  Taking the time to stop and enjoy the day before working was a wonderful idea.  If we’d tried to work first, we never would have made it to the driving range and would have grumped about it all week. Instead, we went home, rested a bit and got back to work on the deck.

I have to say I enjoyed sealing the deck with Dave almost as much as enjoyed our time on the driving range.  Working together towards a common goal, our hands rhythmically guiding our brushes back and forth, provided a kind of intimate sharing.  Sometimes we chatted, others we were quiet in our own thoughts.  But all the while, we were together, working, sharing and just being.

We have come to know just how special our life here has become.  Aside from the house, the neighborhood and the spectacular views, our new life here has given us more undistracted time to be “us”.   We have fallen in to a rhythm here that is pleasing and easy to follow.  Anyone want to sing along?

 

 

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Snow White and Rose Red

I am the oldest of six siblings.  This fact is generally only mentioned in passing these days, and then only rarely but is such a major part of the fabric of my being.  From the moment my parents brought my sister Ann came home from the hospital when I was the ripe old age of seventeen months, I have been “the big sister”.  I have been programmed to be a helper, to look beyond myself to others and assess needs.

Since we were so close in age and I was puny and Ann a chubby thing, we were also pretty close in size.  This lack of age and size difference, compounded with the rapid additions of other brothers and a sister, allowed me to pretty much share the role with Ann.  Until our sister Barb came along years later, we were simply “the girls”, co-big sisters to our younger brothers, “the boys”, John and Scott.

Here we are in 1960 – I was 4, Ann was 3.  Did you notice the kitten squirming on my lap?

Ann and I were like Snow White and Rose Red; I had the light hair and eyes, Ann the dark brown hair and eyes.  I was shy and easily frightened, Ann was outgoing and seemed to have little fears.  We shared a bedroom for seventeen years.  She was tidy, I was a pack rat.  We spent almost every hour of every day together until I went to school.  Because of her birthday, Ann had to wait two years more at home until it was her turn to board the yellow bus.  It seemed so unfair.  Of the two of us, she was probably more ready to go to school.

My school age years ushered in a very awkward time for me.  Along with exposing me to reading, writing and arithmetic, I was exposed to a new set of bacteria and viruses.  In kindergarten I contracted the measles and spent two weeks at home on the couch.  Ann and the boys were rushed to the doctor for shots of gamma globulin.  Subsequent years offered me the full line of childhood ailments from mumps to chicken pox.  Each assisted in maintaining my bony waif-like appearance.

My next step into self consciousness was the addition of eyeglasses in first grade.  Although I could see better, I also felt limited by what kind of physical activity I could do.  I was forever afraid my glasses would fall off my face and break.  Once time they did and in those days prior to super glue, my dad repaired them with some electrical tape and a piece of coat hanger – not so attractive, but effective.

At the end of first grade, after my first holy Communion, my front teeth which were hanging my the tiniest of fibers until the photos were taken, were allowed to come out to make way for my permanent teeth.  Sadly, only one tooth came in.  It’s partner finally took its place almost four years later following a couple of surgeries and the addition of braces. This completed the look – I was a shy, skinny pale kid with glasses and braces and one front tooth.   Comparatively, Ann was the poster child for good nutrition, with beautiful glowing skin and perfect white teeth.  To me, she was the epitome of beauty.

In many ways, she still is.  Ann exudes grace.  No matter what challenges life offers, Ann is not a whiner.  In fact, when I talk to her on the phone, I can actually hear her smile.  We don’t get to talk as often as either of us would like, living on opposite coasts makes the timing tricky.   I think of her constantly, probably more now because the noises of my own life have quieted and I have more time to reflect.  Ann was my first playmate, confident and sparring partner – yes, of course we fought! But most of all, Ann is my sister and together with our other sister, Barb, we share a bond that can not be broken by years or miles.  For better or worse, we are tethered tightly together.  No spoken vows are required, just the bond that is sisterhood.

 

 

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Adventures in a Cat-A-Tonic State

Well, it’s been one week since the addition of a kitten into our household and for the most part, the adjustment period is going well.  Like any other home where there is a young one present, our family room carpet is littered with a variety of toys and household items that have been found to be amusing.  Much of our daily routine revolves around the little one, answering its cries, feeding, cleaning and comforting as required.  Unlike the addition of a new little human or canine baby however, there are no late night events to interrupt my sleep.  This is a good thing

Our first order of business in our early days with our baby was to find the perfect name.  The papers we received from the SPCA referred to our baby as “Sterling”; a three month old male kitten.    We weren’t crazy about the name, a little pretentious in our opinion.  I also was beginning to have my doubts that we indeed had a male kitten.  Aside from the total lack of evidence of any male paraphernalia, there was an incision scar on the tummy.  Our first visit to our new vet at the Ruckersville Animal Hospital, confirmed my suspicions and our kitten was declared a very healthy female kitten.  I’ve heard people say that kittens are difficult to sex, but honestly, you’d think they would have noticed when they spayed her and corrected their mistake.  Not that gender really makes any difference to me, she’d be just as cute as a he.

After much deliberation, we decided on the name “Pearl” which I soon modified the spelling to “Purrl” – a triple entendre referencing her color, her wonderful “motor” skills and my love for knitting.  I believe Purrl is destined to become a knitting enthusiast as well, trying her hand at assisting me with a pair of socks I was working on last night.

So far Izzie is accepting Purrl with great kindness.  I was so concerned that she’d been an only cat so long that she wasn’t going to be happy sharing the love.  After all, Izzie is the Queen and Dave and I her subjects.  But, the other night as Izzie sat perched on the back of the couch, Purrl approached her, wailing her baby cry.  Izzie extended her front paw and laid it across Purrl’s shoulders and began to lick her head and face.  It was a such a sweet moment.

I don’t know why I need these fur balls in my home, but I do.  They fill my house with activity and sometimes even mayhem and most of all love.  Izzie may not want to be with me all day, but she had set times when my presence is required – and it’s not only at meal time.  Lately, she’s made it known that she would like me to come take naps with her on my bed.  The funny thing is that I’ve been trying to get her to curl up with me on the couch forever (in her life terms).   The compromise is acceptable.

Since our move here, Izzie has been spending most of her daytime hours in the back yard.  She becoming quite a hunter.  At first her prey were the house finches at the feeder which was not a happy things as far as I’m concerned but the other day she caught a mole and brought it up to the house to present it to us.  She was ever so proud, and rightly so.

I know that there are a great many dog people who believe that their relationship has taught them much about God due to the characteristic traits we’ve bred into those animals since the first tame wolf came closer to a fire for some warmth or a scrap of meat.  Dogs are known for their loyalty, obedience and most of all, unconditional affection.  Cats, however provide insight into relationship with God that dogs, by their nature, just can’t.

Did you ever hear the expression “It was like herding cats”?  Cats provide a good workable image of free will.  You can not make a cat obey you, the cat must choose to do so.  Furthermore, in choosing to do what you want, the cat has decided there is something in it for her.  How human is that?

I’m not trash talking dogs.  I love dogs.  I’m just saying that a cats can provide a glimpse of what is must be like to be God.   This first week with Purrl has given me a little more insight in just how frustrated and disappointed God must get sometimes.  Like God, my intentions are all good.  All I want to do is insure that Purrl eats properly and is safe at all times.  In return, it seems like not too much to ask for her to at least acknowledge that all the blessings of sustenance and entertainment flow from me.  What do I want in return?  Just a little love – is that so wrong?

Maybe instead I’ll try to be more God like and patiently wait for Purrl to come to me. In the meantime, I might try curling up on my heavenly father’s lap for a while.  I think he’d like that.

 

 

 

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Meet Little “What’s His Name”

After months of debating over whether or not to get a dog, we marched ourselves into the Charlottesville Albemarle SPCA yesterday afternoon and adopted a kitten!  Andy and I had stopped by there last Monday to look at the pups and were smitten by an adorable one-eyed white cat called Casper.  He was a feisty fellow with a penchant for dangling earrings.  His one blue eye was enormous and twinkled while his closed eyelid gave the illusion that he was winking.  I was surely tempted to bring him home with me but we were heading out of town Sunday afternoon for an overnight and didn’t want to leave a new cat home alone.  So, I captured a great picture of him on my phone and left Casper behind vowing to come back in the new week to bring him home.

Over the course of the weekend, I showed the photo of my new love to several people.  I was surprised by how many found his unique appearance disturbing and even revolting.  When they looked at his face, they saw a damaged animal, something to be pitied.   Each time I saw his bright eye and perky ears, I just fell for him harder.

So, yesterday afternoon, as soon as we’d eaten lunch and gotten things squared away at home following our return trip, Dave and I went to the SPCA to bring Casper home.  Sadly (for me), Casper was not there.  His bright blue eye and cheery disposition had charmed someone else and he’d been adopted over the weekend.

Since I’d already set my heart to adopt a kitty, Dave and I made the rounds of all the different cages.  There are so many cats there to adopt.  As we walked by, many of them jumped up on the side of the cage, just begging to come home with us.  With so many sweet faces and pleading mews, it was easy to imagine how  people are tempted to fill their homes with cats.  After walking around in there for a while, you really want to take them all home.  But, one was all we wanted.

After test driving several little to mid sized kittens, we eventually chose a three month old male kitten called Sterling.   We’re not crazy about the name but will find one that fits his personality as we get to know him.  For now, Dave calls him “Junior”.

Compared to Izzie, Junior is a tiny thing, weighing less than three pounds.  He is mostly white, with grey ears and tail and a blotch of grey over his right shoulder.  He was pretty dingy when we brought him home so a bath was the first order of business once he’d had some time to settle in.  He took the wash well but just the sight of a wet cat is pitiful.  Most of the remainder of his first evening was spent wrapped up and cuddling on our laps.

Izzie is both indifferent to and curious about our newest family member.  She comes up to his pen every so often to sniff him.  If the top is open, she helps herself to the yummy kitten chow and his litter box.  We’ve heard a few growls and hisses out of her but so far have only heard one peep from Junior.  He has excellent “motor” skills however and will purr endlessly when petted.

I haven’t figured out exactly why I felt it necessary to adopt another cat.  We did decide that we are definitely not ready for a dog.  I was also a bit discouraged by the price of the one puppy I  saw advertised in the paper.  When I called, I was informed the placement fee was $1,500!  Even though we could have afforded the price, I found the amount excessive for a family pet.

So, one cat, two cats, it’s really no big difference.  Selfishly I am hoping this new kitty will remain a lovey lap cat now that Izzie has decided the great outdoors is the place to be.  In the next few weeks his little personality will reveal itself to us and a real name will replace “Junior”.  Until then, we’re open for suggestions.

 

 

 

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Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Hotdogs and the Homeless

This past weekend, the Clan Waugh assembled for no particular reason except for the fact all our calendars allowed it.  Andy flew in from San Diego, Amy took the train down from New Brunswick and Maggie and Jan drove up from Richmond.  Even Dave was able to be with us (his first weekend off this month).

In celebration of this momentous event, we built a fire in the pit out back and sat in the dark around it eating tasty grilled hotdogs imported from Buffalo with baked beans and crunchy pickles on the side.  Real hotdogs only come from western and central New York – just ask anyone who’s ever lived there.   Chicago hotdogs come close and there are those who would argue that Coney Island is the home of the hotdog.   But, if you’re lucky enough to have the opportunity to try a Sahlen’s Buffalo) or Hofmann’s (Syracuse) hotdog, after one bite, you’ll know I speak the truth.

After feasting on our dogs, we toasted marshmallows and made s’mores.  It was a perfect early fallish evening, with cool crisp air a sky so clear full of stars. The fire kept us warm and provided enough light to see at least a few feet.  At one point Izzie took advantage of the comings and goings out the back door and rushed out to join us.  I don’t usually let her out after dark because of the wild things. To ease the general concern for Izzie running around in the dark, I shared a story about how when I was a kid, we took our cat camping with us.  When we arrived at our site, she’d jump out the car door with the rest of us.  When we were ready to leave, she was right there, ready to go home.  I find that totally amazing, even now.  Then as now, we couldn’t see the kitty but could hear her bell jingling from time to time as she moved around the yard.

On Saturday we took a trip into C’ville to visit the Downtown Mall; a closed-off street in the old downtown area of the city, lined with a variety of shops and eateries leading to the nTelos Wireless Pavilion amphitheater.  Maybe I was just tired from the night before, and the day was cloudy, but I found myself really wanting to leave not long after arriving.

Instead of finding the charm of the late 19th century architecture or the beauty of the garden planters, I was distracted by the large number of panhandlers and homeless.  I just never know what to do when confronted by these people.  Their mere presence nudges me to take action on their behalf.  But what kind of action should I take?  Should I give them money?  Will they use it for food as their cardboard signs claim or buy drugs or booze?  Should I buy them food and give that to them?  Are they really in need or are they working the crowd?  It seems all I can do without hesitation is pray for them.

A woman approached Dave and I while we were waiting for the kids to finish up in an antique shop.  She blurted out her story without invitation or taking a breath.  She had spent the night in the hospital and was released in the morning without being fed.  She was a sad looking soul, probably about my age.  Her skin was pale and her nose was scabbed over as if she’d taken a tumble head first onto gravel.  A kind nurse had given her a pair of scrub pants to wear because all she’d been wearing the night before was a t-shirt and shorts and the weather had taken a turn.  She said her wallet was at home and all she needed was a couple of dollars to get a bite from the McDonald’s dollar menu.  Her boyfriend was going to pick her up when he got off work, she said, but really need something to eat before then.

I almost never carry cash, I so rarely need it.  My life is conveniently paid for electrically either online or with plastic.  Luckily, Dave had a couple of singles and offered them to her.  She thanked us and went on her way.

One on one, it’s easy to made a decision.  When a person comes to me for help, I’ll do my best to lend a hand or few dollars as the case may be.  After she left, I asked Dave if he thought her story was true.  He said he supposed it was possible since she was wearing scrubs and still had a hospital bracelet on her wrist.  In the end though, it really didn’t matter.

 

 

 

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The All-Nighter

My home has become a flop-house for exhausted men! Dave arrived home this morning after pulling his first all-nighter since retiring from the Navy.   As the proposal deadline neared, his team worked through the wee hours doing final edits and publication for delivery today.  Andy and I waited up for him until almost midnight watching an old Mystery Science 3000 movie from Netflix before giving up and crawling off to bed.

I woke up a couple to times during the night and was aware that he hadn’t come home yet.  Trusting that he was alright, I rolled over and went back to sleep.  When his alarm went off at 6:00 and he still wasn’t home, Izzie and I decided to keep to our routine.  We came downstairs, made some coffee and Izzie cried at the door to be let out.  Then I send Dave a text to make sure he was still alive.  Even though I had convinced myself I would have heard something if he’d landed in a  ditch on his way home or succumbed to a massive corinary, it was a relief to hear my phone’s melodic flourish when he responded to say he was indeed still alive and kicking.

Years ago, under similar circumstances, I would have been a basket case, working myself into a frenzy of fear.  Then, there wasn’t the easy non-evasive easy touch of texting him.  Instead, I would get up immediately the first time I woke up and found myself alone.  From there I would set a blast-off time; negotiating with myself the appropriate time to take action.  If I hadn’t heard from him in say, an hour, I’d make a call.  Calling wasn’t easy either.  Depending on where he was working, on a watch or shipboard, direct phone lines weren’t always the norm.   The combination of no word and frustration of failure to connect fueled my anxiety allowing dramatic emergency scenerios to take my mind further and further into the dark night of the soul – always unwarranted.  The next morning, and for the majority of the following day I would suffer dearly for the sleep I’d lost.  Thank God nothing bad ever did happen!  If it had, I certainly wouldn’t have been physically prepared to handle it.

I guess it’s part of that “with age comes wisdom” stuff.  I certainly don’t love Dave any less than I did then.  Simply put I have learned to trust that in most situations, everything will turn out alright.  It has taken a while to get here but I am certainly enjoying the stay!

So for today, I am sort of alone.  Andy has recovered from his jet lag and long work hours prior to his trip and is quietly working on his job applications.  Dave is snoring happily in our bed.  I am happy to have them both in the house, enjoying our non-together-togetherness.

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Togetherness

I’ve spent a great deal of time alone these past few weeks.  September is “Proposal Season” for the beltway bandit.   This means very long hours at the office for Dave and longer hours at home for me.  Sometimes I only see him at breakfast and then for a few minutes before bed.

Being on my own isn’t unbearable.  In fact, for short periods of time, I really enjoy it.  I don’t run around the house in my underwear playing air guitar and singing Bob Seager like Tom Cruise, but I will admit to going bra-less and eating popcorn for dinner.  My time is my own, no one is the boss of me (as if anyone really ever is) and I can do what I want.

Usually, in the beginning of my solitary confinement, I become a dynamo.  Last week I painted the master bath – not a job for sissies with all it’s nooks and crannies – and switched out the kitchen faucet.  The painting was an exercise in “oh, yeah…”.   I somehow forgot my hundreds of hours past painting experience and, after taping the room off, seemed to make uncountable trips up and down stairs, from bath to garage, assembling all the stuff required to paint a room.  The paint was especially drippy.  I stepped in and tracked drips around the room.  At times I felt that all that was missing was Ethel to complete my “Lucy” moment.   I did experience a moment of genius that I will pass along.  To make painting around a toilet easy, pull a plastic lawn and leaf bag over the top and cover the whole thing.  Not only do you protect your porcelain, but you have a nice big bag to toss all the newspaper and tape in when you’re ready to clean up! Take that Heloise!

Installing the faucet was my triumph.  On the heals of my painting mess, I carefully reviewed the directions, gathered my tools and downed my second cup of coffee before tackling the job.  As I happens, my biggest challenge was removing the old faucet – it didn’t come with directions for that.  It took me a really long time to figure out how to unhook the sprayer arm.  I looked all over the thing for a threaded end to unscrew.  Finally, after reviewing my installation instructions, I saw that the new one snapped into place.  It was worth a shot.  Unsnapping the hose was not so easy and resulted in a minor injury as my elbow flew backwards and smacked the cupboard door.  So it goes, nothing worth having comes easy.

The installation of the new faucet went well.  The hardest part was the contorting required to get myself under the sink and lying on my back.  You’d think that after all these years my body would know what to do when I want to move in a certain way.   Sadly,  it seems as though more conscious effort is necessary to twist myself in and out of a bottom cupboard.  Imagine that!

Once I was finished, and was satisfied there were no leaks,  I called my Dad to let him know what his little girl had just done.  I enjoy sharing my repair stories with him.  I get the same satisfaction telling him “I did it all by myself” as I did when I was little and I’m pretty sure he gets the same feeling of pride when he hears me say it.

The truth is that I really didn’t install that faucet all by myself.  If I hadn’t spent my childhood watching my Dad and fetching the odd tool when he asked for it, I wouldn’t have been able to tackle even the smallest of plumbing job, let alone installing a faucet.  Heck, I wouldn’t even know the names of the tools!

So, I suppose that even in my most alone moments, I am never truly alone.   I am always surrounded by those who have been a part of my life.  Mom is with me when I open the refrigerator and pull together a meal and Dad is with me when I put on my tool belt.  This morning, as I sit on my deck, watching the hummingbirds at my feeder, my Grandma Gray is with me (although she wouldn’t so much like to see my cat cuddling next to St. Francis).

Today my solitary confinement ends.  Andy is arriving for a week-long visit following by Amy, Maggie and Jan this weekend.  The house will be full.  More memories will be made.  I hope Dave makes it home to share it.