Category: Everyday Life

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In Humble Thanks

I didn’t want this Thanksgiving to pass without comment.  This year I feel especially blessed, or at least have had the time to recognize and note my blessings.

This year, as it turns out, I again was able to escape cooking the Thanksgiving dinner – something to be truly thankful for!  When I finally determined that no one was relying on my hospitality this year, I promptly invited myself to the Berryman’s and booked a room at the nearest motel.

So, first thing Thanksgiving morning, Dave and I loaded up the car with our bags and a couple of side dishes and a pie and headed east to Suffolk for dinner with family.

Norman Rockwell’s “Freedom From Want”

Naturally our family meal didn’t look like the Norman Rockwell painting with the crisp white table cloth and perfect bird.  And, thankfully, Nana and Poppa have managed to hang on to their youthful facades a bit better.  But the essentials of family celebration were all there; warm fellowship, kids bouncing in kinetic anticipation and more food than rightly should be assembled in one kitchen at any given time unless you are raising a barn in your yard.

Before sitting down to eat, we gathered in a large circle in the family room and joined hands in prayer.  Caleb offered a sincere and comprehensive prayer and asked for God’s blessing on us and our meal.  Then, in traditional fashion, the children’s plates were filled first and they were installed at the “kid’s table” in the kitchen followed by the adults who retreated to the dining room.

From the dining room, where the silence of serious eating had set in, the giggles and hoots from the kitchen were often heard, reminding me of the years I spent at the “kids tables” at my grandmothers’ homes.  In my teen years I resented my exile there, but last Thursday, I tried so had to put myself back in my full skirted cotton dress with the crinoline petticoat, white bobby socks and mary janes sitting at a wobbly card table with the companions of my youth; siblings, cousins,  as well as younger aunts and uncles all exiled from grown-up company. Even though it seemed like torture at time, with the boys’ rude noises, the whining of some little one who wanted their mommy or the occasional glass of milk that tumbled over onto a plate or lap, it was nonetheless, as much a part of the Thanksgiving ritual as turkey and pumpkin pie.

Yes, I have so much to be thankful for this year but first and foremost, I am thankful for my family; old and new, past and present.  Collectively they have given me more than I can even begin to express.  For this, I offer a concise prayer of thanksgiving.

 

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Engagement – The Ring and the Kiss

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!”
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What I’ve Learned From Izzie About the Power of Persistent Prayer

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.

 

 

 

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Three Hours at the Repair Shop

I meet the nicest people everywhere I go.  Today, for instance, I took my car in for some routine service and since I was told it would take about an hour, decided to wait there at the shop instead of inconveniencing someone to pick me up and take me.  Besides, I was just down the road from Target and I figured I could always stop in for a quick look afterwards.

To keep me occupied, I packed my knitting, my IPad, this week’s grocery adds and a book on Ignation Spirituality as well as two cheese sticks and an apple to tide me through lunch.  Sounds like a lot of stuff to bring for an hour’s wait but this, as they say, was not my first rodeo, and as it turns out, the mechanic broke two of my lug nuts as he took off my tires for rotation.  This resulted in a call to the local parts store and an additional wait for delivery.  My one hour wait turned out to be three.

When I arrived there were already two men in the waiting area having a discussion about retirement.  I pulled out my grocery adds and began to scan them for bargains. Every so often, I would dial into their dialog, peering over the top of the newspaper.  Needless to say, it didn’t take long for me to find a way to impose myself into their conversation and we were off; finding all the many ways our life paths had criss-crossed each other.  All of us, as it turns out, had not only had prior ties to the military, but all of us had lived in Denver, affiliated with Lawry Air Force Base.  What are the odds?  We talked about yesterday’s election, gun control laws and gun ownership, motorcycles, our pets and life in central Virginia.  Even though we were strangers, it was as if we were just catching up instead of meeting for the first time.

As we talked, I knitted.  The hours flew by.  My scarf grew longer.  One by one, my companions left.  For a while I was alone. I ate my apple and cheese sticks.  Then, another younger man came in and took a seat.  Soon a conversation was born and we were trading stories.

All in all, it was a very good way to spend the day, or at least three hours of it.

 

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On the Way to Church

This morning as I drove to church, the aroma of warm Virginia ham wafted from the casserole on the floor; my contribution to the morning’s  “Get Acquainted” potluck breakfast. All my senses told me it was going to be a good day.

Even Walmart looked enchanted with the backdrop of late autumn colored foliage and the steel blue mountains rising behind. The Blue Ridge were certainly living up their name. The sky had the same cold steel tone of blue but in billows of variegation’s of light and dark, blue and white.

The color and the vastness reminded me of the beach; the feelings of smallness in the infinite, of being a tiny part in the greatness. And, I suppose that’s a good way to feel on your way to church.

Have I told you how much I love living here?

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Memories of Ocean Beach, NJ

Grandma and Grandpa Waugh’s beachside summer cottage in Lavallette, NJ.

My husband Dave spent practically every summer of his early life at the Jersey Shore.  His Grandma and Grandpa Waugh had a small summer cottage in Lavallette, just north of Seaside Heights.  In June, the five of them; Dave, his sister Ginny, his parents and dog, Blondie, would pile into the car and make the journey east from Des Moines, IA where his dad would drop them off for the summer at 16 E Shore Way in the beach side community of Ocean Beach.

Compared to the McMansion beach homes we rent down at Nags Head, it was a modest (tiny) square home with two bedrooms, a living/dining area, galley kitchen and bath.  It had a small heater, but no air-conditioning.  It sat on a sandy lane in a row of identical summer homes in a variety of pastel beachy colors.  Life for the summer dwellers revolved around the beach and surf, the house was merely shelter from the sun, a place to eat, clean up and sleep.

Dave’s dad was an only child so naturally Dave and Ginny were doted on for the summer.  Their days were spent on the beach playing in the sand or fishing with Grandpa.  Grandma, whom I had the pleasure of knowing, was the sweetest of woman.  Every Friday night she would make Chef Boyardee pizzas (the mix from the box) for the kids and serve them with ice cold Coca Colas.  Years later she told me that she had never even tasted either of them, they were for the grand kids.

Dave and Ginny on the beach at Lavallette in the 60’s

After his Grandpa passed on, Grandma moved in with Dave and his family.  By then they had moved back to New Jersey and eventually, since his mom went back to work, it was only Dave and Grandma making the annual trip back to the shore house.  It was there he worked his summer jobs ranging from life-guarding to pumping gas.

Not long after we began dating in the spring of 1974, Dave and I and another couple (whose names I can’t even remember) went down to the shore for the weekend.  Dave had kept a key to his grandma’s house and I guess you could say we were there “under the radar”.  As it turned out, the water had been turned off so we didn’t spend as much time as we had planned since the closed bathroom was TeePee Subs down on the corner!

Through the years, I would go spend a weekend when my work schedule allowed and Dave and I were “on”.    I remember the warmth of the sun, the expanse of pristine beach and quiet evenings on the glider on the screened porch with the sounds of the surf mixing with the “Carol Burnett Show” from the TV inside.  It is a sweet memory.

The last time I saw the beach house was ten years ago.  Dave, Ginny, her husband George and I were together in New Jersey following their mother’s memorial service.  After leaving her ashes at the family plot in Elizabeth, we decided to drive down to Toms River to spend the night.  We made a pilgrimage to Ocean Beach and walked down E Shore Way, noting that air conditioning had been added and many of the homes had been knocked down and larger structures put in their place and then walked further and up over the dunes to survey the beautiful beach as the setting sun played across the water.  The memories flooded back for me, I can only imagine what it was like for Dave and Ginny with the ghosts of so much of their childhoods running through the shallows, bobbing in the waves, building castles in the sand or casting their lines into the surf.

These past few days these memories have become even more precious to me.  I suppose it’s because if this place no longer exists, my memories become less grounded.  The pictures of the area in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy are those of total devastation.  The Jersey Shore has been physically altered by nature such a way that it will never be the same.  That doesn’t mean it can never be a place for families to go and build memories again, it just won’t be the same.  So many of the older homes are gone for good, it is unlikely that they will be rebuilt in the simple, post-war style.  Perhaps an era has been washed away to make way for the next.

I hope it’s a good one.

Aerial view near Seaside Heights

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Morning in the Office with the Girls

The girls and I have spent the entire morning working in the office. For the past several hours I have been transcribing minutes from this month’s Habitat for Humanity Steering Committee Meeting, preparing bulletin announcements for the dreaded Annual Diocesan Appeal and finalizing the reservation for the HOA Annual meeting in January with the vice principal at the local elementary school.  As always, Izzie and Purrl have been keeping me company.

Izzie and Purrl always keep me company in the office.

It’s our routine; I go upstairs, they follow.  I work, they snooze.  They perked up a bit when they heard the camera go on, but usually they are oblivious to my trials and tribulations as I volley between four different email accounts; two of mine, one for the parish, one for the HOA.  It is tricky sometimes, keeping track of where I am and which hat I’m wearing but so far, so good.

Of course our togetherness isn’t always welcomed.  Izzie will still from time to time demonstrate her displeasure at her life as an “indoor cat” by crying at the door, knocking small objects from table tops or “arranging” flowers from vases to the floor.  Purrl has frequent spells of “needing to play, NOW!”  She dances around the family room floor demanding in a high pitch wail until she is appeased.

In turn, I pester them as well.  I pick them up and give them loving.  Surprisingly, Izzie enjoys the attention and will nuzzle her head under my chin making a wheezy purr sound that is her own.  Purrl does not take to being held but does like to climb in my lap from time to time for pets.  As her name suggests, she is accomplished at purring.

Purrl’s spot is overlooking Izzie, ready to pounce!

In their quiet presence, they keep me focused on my office tasks.  Without them, I would be constantly looking for distractions to get me out of this chair and this blog would go unwritten. I owe them a great deal, my furry entourage.

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Autumn, Day One

One of the best perks of living in Central Virginia is our proximity to dozens of small local vineyards. Aside from the enjoyment of driving the winding byways through some of the most of the most breathtaking scenery ever we have welcoming destinations offering a place to comfortably sit and enjoy the view as well sample some pretty decent wine.  (Californians not withstanding.)  So, at the invitation of our friends, Jay and Wendy Oliver, we joined them for a Saturday afternoon trip west to Afton Mountain Vineyards.

We left about 3:00 and I think it took about an hour to get their.  I’m not really sure because we “girls” sat in the back seat and that always makes a trip seem longer.  It wasn’t so bad while we were still on I64, but when we turned off onto the local roads, woof!  The last time I remember taking those kinds of turns in the backseat of a car was when we drove up to Waimea Canyon on Kauwai’i;  lots of twists and hairpin turns to keep your equilibrium off kilter.

Jay had me pose on Dave’s lap. What a great time!

Once we arrived at our destination, we found a table with a great view in the covered picnic pavilion.  Wendy and I began to unload a few goodies and Dave and Jay headed off to pick up a few bottles of wine from the tasting room.  The weather was perfect, the high just about 70 degrees, just a bit of a breeze, and just a few clouds on the horizon. [I took the new header photo from our table at sunset.)  It the afternoon turned to evening, it was nice to pull on a light cardigan for the first time since summer began.  The long, hot, muggy days of summer gone, we began to relax into autumn, and it was good.

Wendy packed an amazing meal, cold cuts, potato salad with kielbasa (I know it sounds odd, but trust me, it was wonderful!), caprese salad, a cheese plate and even chocolate-raspberry mouse with whipped cream and a raspberry on top!  I filled in with odds and ends I grabbed from the fridge; a block of NY State white cheddar, apples, grapes, carrots and a salmon spread I threw together with left-over salmon, cream cheese, capers and red onion.  I also had a small boule loaf that I sliced nice and thin.  To complement our meal, the “boys” brought back bottles of Afton Mountain Merlot and Gewurztraminer.  What more could we have asked for?

Dave and Jay solve the world’s problems from atop the mountain.

After we finished eating, Dave a Jay moved their chairs over to the perimeter wall, put their feet up and begin solving the problems of the world in general and the Presidential election in particular.  Jay took the side of the Elephants; Dave of the Donkeys.  At times their discussion got a bit heated, requiring Wendy and I to provide a swift but gentle kick to our partners’ leg, to get them to back off.  In the end they agreed to respectfully disagree, which is really anyone can ask for.  After all, friends are much more important than politics!

Jay and Wendy have a laugh as Jay tries to take photos with his phone.

After the sunset, we packed up our coolers and headed back onto the road.  We’d been teasing Wendy (who is from Scotland) with many an “aye”, “wee” and “augk”.  Jay came to her defense in the car by playing her favorite CD by a Celtic Rock band called Runrig.  She responded in kind by waving her fist in beat with the music.  Aughk, aye, t’was a bonney time!

So there you have it.  Our trip to Afton Mountain Vineyards wasn’t exciting in that we spotted a celebrity or were attacked by killer beas, but it was a time of growing a friendship and a memory that will stay with me for a long time.

 

 

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Political Politeness

Not much of a choice here, is there?

I’ve studied enough American history to know that ugliness in political campaigns is nothing new.  In our nation’s infancy, signs like these appeared setting the backdrop for the Revolution.  Seeing this as the beginnings of a theme as opposed to just a piece of quaint Americana, is disheartening and makes me wonder just what percentage of American colonists really wanted to break from England.  What would have been our consequence for not breaking?  Would we now suffer through life as the Canadians do?  Doesn’t seem that bad. Anyway, the question I wrestle with is why there is so much political intolerance in this country.  Here, in the land of the free and the home of the brave I actually had to think twice about putting an Obama bumper-sticker on my car, not because I am ashamed or have doubts about my convictions, but because for the past four years I have decided to keep my mouth shut (for the most part) to avoid the onslaught of heated discussions, debate and sometimes downright rudeness from others who feel comfortable in spewing ugly innuendo half truths with the intensity and conviction of a evangelical preacher.  Is this really necessary?

We don’t seem to be able to quietly discuss issues from differing viewpoints.  Instead we poke fun at the opposing candidate, making them seem totally idiotic or worst of all, vilifying them.  PACs run ads and post ominous signs like the Americans for Prosperity who have large black signs posted here in Greene County adjacent to the Republican candidate sings that read “November is Coming” in bold white letters, as if we’re facing the apocalypse.  Why the fear mongering?  Are people really that afraid?  I’ve heard many folks say the whole election process is too long.  I know that by Election Day I will be ready for the whole thing to be over – God willing and the chads don’t hang.  I also know who I hope will win. Until then I am willing to sit down and have a cup of coffee or glass of wine with anyone who’d like to chat with me about why they support who they do, as long as they listen politely to me as well.

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My Heinz Birthday

Monica Chronicles – the early days.

Tomorrow is my birthday; my 57th birthday to be precise.  I now have had as many birthdays as Heinz has varieties.

  I don’t know why it always comes as such a shock as each September rolls around and my age clicks up a notch.  Because my birthday falls later in the year, I’ve been thinking I’m a year older since New Years.

Crazy huh?

When I was much younger, I never gave much thought about actually “being” in my 50’s let alone racing towards 60.  I did have a notion that 40 would be a nice mature age, the “ripeness of womanhood”, I called it.  It was a nice age, but it sure didn’t stick around to enjoy for long.  Before I knew it, I was into and then out of my forties and into my fifties.

No matter what I thought my life would be, it always has been, is for the foreseeable future; good.  For that I am exceedingly grateful.

I was very fortunate to be born into a large, loving family.  Even though I was the oldest of six children, my father was deployed when I was born so when I came home from the hospital, Mom and I came home to my Grandma Gray’s house with at least six of her siblings still in residence.  My Aunt Sue was only 14 months older than I and my grandmother was two months pregnant.  This serene photo of the infant sleeping was not to be replicated in real life for a while.

After my Dad returned from Hawaii where he fought the “battle of Waikiki”, we moved into a place of our own and my younger siblings  began to arrive in rapid succession.  I wonder how my folks did it; raising such a lively brood while they themselves were so young.  When I look at my own daughter and realize that by the time Mom was her age, she had just had her sixth baby, I am in awe.

Our family was big and loud but despite the crying and shouting (from the kids, not the parents) we were still loving and caring.  We still are a bit loud when we get together, but without the crying and shouting.

Dave and I before a night on the town in Standardsville!

Early in my adulthood I was fortunate in finding my soul mate.  There was also some crying and shouting in the beginning, but over the past thirty-two years we have built a good life for ourselves and raised two great kids.  We have an extended family that includes two incredible grandsons and their parents and friends and relatives in almost every major metropolitan area in the country where we can visit if we find the time.

Yeah, I guess I could whine about another year passing and the number attached to my name is one digit higher, but I’d much rather have a glass of wine and remember all the wonderful memories I’ve packed into these past 57 years and look forward to the many more to come.