I hate feeling sick. I started sneezing last Thursday hoping I was just reacting to flying dust particles in the air. By Friday it was clear that I was cooking something more acute than occasional nasal irritation.
So, I spent the warmest, sunniest weekend we’ve had in months flat on the couch, sneezing, blowing my nose and feeling down right crappy. My horizontal time on the couch extended into Monday and I’m beginning to see a light at the end of the tunnel.
This morning I got myself up and moving, showered the sick from my body, styled my hair and drove myself the the auto dealer for my car’s first oil change and tire rotation. To the unknowing, I appear reasonably healthy with my tinted CC cream evening my skin tones and the slightest brush of blush adding a hint of color to my cheeks. The dripping in my nose has sub- sided which as it turns out is a very good thing since I neglected to grab a handful of tissues before I left the house and I am now relying on a wad of “borrowed” toilet tissue from the ladies’ room.
A few minutes ago I called the my dentist to cancel my afternoon appointment. I told the receptionist that I didn’t think I could keep my mouth open long enough without coughing or sneezing for the dentist to deliver my “clown”! My head is so fuzzy. Being sick just plain sucks the joy from my day.
Yeah, they’re calling my name, my car is ready. Off to Kroger to fill the cupboards. I hope I feel better tomorrow .
When we moved up here a couple of years ago I was excited at the prospect of enjoying a more pronounced seasonal change; summers would be a bit shorter, fall and spring a bit longer and winter would provide more snow than we were accustomed to in Virginia Beach. Our first winter here I hastily purchased a snow-blower to move these large quantities of snow from our sixty foot drive. Sadly, it sat unused the first winter and only once the second. The rest of the year it sat in the back of the garage taking up floor space and I felt like a dope for having bought the thing in the first place. For the past few winters, our shovels have been all we’ve needed to clear things up until the sun could do the rest.
This winter has been very different from our first two. In fact, the children here in Greene County have had so many days off from school due to snowy and icy roads that they won’t even have to make them all up. If there is one thing I am thankful for this year is that I don’t have one of those little people around my house to keep entertained day after day of confinement. Sometimes it’s challenging enough just having Dave working from home! Most of the storms we’ve had haven’t really provided so much precipitation as just plain frigid temperatures, keeping what little ice there is intact on the country roads. Last night was different.
For the past week we’ve been warned that a big storm was coming with expected accumulations of between ten and sixteen inches of snow. Yeah right! As of six last night we had just the smallest flurry of flakes in the air. Our first hint that something was headed our way was when we sat down to watch the Duke/ UNC game and learned it had been postponed because the roads between Durham and Chapel Hill were impassable. Hmmm. When I went to bed, there was maybe an inch of snow on the deck. Not very impressive, but it was still snowing.
When I woke up this morning, I made a bee line to the window to check things out. Even in the predawn light, it was evident that a major amount of snow had fallen overnight blanketing everything and hiding all evidence of property lines, driveways and the street. I could just barely make out the tops of the solar lights lining the front walk, a couple of them were even still glowing from under their snowy cover.
Unlike past snowfalls, I didn’t run for my camera. I’m really sort of over the whole “isn’t it beautiful?” thing. Yes it’s pretty but it is also cold, wet and heavy and a great deal of it needed to be removed from my driveway. At this point I’m just too over it all to wax poetically, reminiscing about snow angels and tobogganing. I just want it to go away for a long while.
So after finishing my second cup of coffee I geared up and went out to the garage to begin the job of snow removal. As the door went up I knew my job was going to be tough because there the snow had blown against the door leaving a wall of about fifteen inches of snow. It took me a few minutes to remind myself how to start the snow blower; first trying to pull the cord and then finally finding the red “start” button. I gave it a push, held it for five seconds and I was in business.
It was really difficult at first, the snow was deeper than the blower was high but I eventually figured out a way to make it work and began to work my way up and down the driveway, shooting snow off onto the lawn and feeling rather proud of myself for having made such a wise investment. About half an hour later Dave joined me (he’d been on a business call earlier) and began shoveling. After a while we traded tools and in less than an hour we had the drive and walk cleared.
When will it be spring?
I came inside and sitting on the garage steps struggled to get my tall rubber boots off and noticed how wet my jeans and gloves were. I began pealing off my layers of wet clothing and felt my hair. Ooooow. I looked in the mirror and saw what I looked like, the lenses in my glasses were still darkened from the bright light outside and my hair was wet and tangled. This was the picture I wanted to take. In an age of “selfies” I wanted to share the real me today; in the winter of my discontent.
You never can tell what direction a day will take when you first open your eyes and greet the morning, with or without enthusiasm. This past week I have added prayer to my morning routine. As soon as Dave heads for the shower, I turn on my bedside light and reach for my little book of daily centering prayers. They are short, simple and direct; gently guiding me to tune my mind into the right station before my feet hit the floor. My goal is to acheive the opposite of “garbage in; garbage out” focusing on “good in; good out” instead. With five days under my belt, I think I’m on to something.
My first project of the day was to go to the post office to mail off the pile of invitations I’ve been working on for a local dinner sponsored by Habitat for Humanity to rally community support. I’ve spent some long hours at my laptop, burrowing into local websites and Googling to amass my list. I spent hours designing and finally printing out the invitations and matching evelopes so by the time I was sliding them into the local and out of town slots at the post office, I felt I’d really accomplished something and was ready for the next task.
Today, that task was going to be in the form of addressing some housework that had been sorely neglected while I was doing my volunteer job. I’d planned on finally mopping the floors and clearing some clutter. But, as the saying goes, ” the best laid plans….”
Soon after I returned from the post office, my friend Vanya called to chat. We usally FaceTime on Tuesday and Thursday mornings but our routine has been compromised lately for a variety of reasons. We were due for a talk.
I went into the family room to sit and relax while we talked when I noticed the sound of running water coming from my upstairs bathroom. Hmmmm. I knew the load in the washer had ended. There shouldn’t have been any water running anywhere up there, or down here for that matter. I decided to investigate.
As I drew closer to my bathroom, I could hear the faucet in the garden tub running. What I found was something I never expected to see; the tub almost full to the point of over-flowing and all the plants I’d lovingly placed on the bottom of the tub to save them from the kittens, were floating in a pool of emusified potting soil, liberated leaves, a Longerberger basket and a purpleTopsy Turvy hair towel thrown in for a little color. It was a good thing I got there when I did, because even though the drain stopper was up, the drain itself was clogged from the debris. I turned off the water, removed the plants to a drier place and opened the drain with the aid of my trusty plunger. How did this come to pass? My only guess is KITTENS!
My mother keeps telling me how lucky I am to have to opportunity to see the two of them at play and for the most part, I have to agree. There are other times however, when they are prowling the house that they remind me of the evil velosoraptures in the first Jurassic Park movie; their sleek dark bodies and bright, intellegent eyes, drinking in everything and learning from every experience. But, more times than not, they will end a tear through the house by running up my chest and rubbing their little heads against my chin. What’s a mother to do?
Tomorrow I will finally take them back to the shelter to go off on an “adoption event” this weekend. I may never see them again. It hurts to see them go, but it is time.
The second part of my day that was unexpected was the call from my daughter Maggie telling me that her father-in-law, Arwed, was killed this morning in an accident. She had little information other than that and was on her way home to meet up with Jan. I was in shock. How could it be? How horrible for his wife Teresa, his children, Jan and Isolde, Maggie and for all of us who knew and loved him. How could it be?
My filthy tub moved way down on the priority list, I began my calls. I called Andy first, so he could comfort Maggie and then I called Teresa.
At first I wasn’t sure I should. Would she want to hear from me? After a few moments of wrestling with myself, I picked up my cell and pushed “call” by her name. I’d figured I’d probably get a machine and leave a comforting message so when she picked up right away, I was a bit shakey but that was okey; she was very shakey too. I let her tell me the story of what had happened to Arwed and how unexpected his death was. They were going to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary this year with a big party. “So many plans”, she said.
For the remainder of the day I have made calls to other family members to pass along the news but in the inbetween times, I’ve been very quiet. My whole body feels like I’m weeping and my eyes feel heavy and wet. A voice in my head told me to go back to the prayer that started my day. When I re-read it, the words took on new meaning:
Arwed and Teresa at Magge and Jan’s wedding in September.
Last Friday morning I was supposed to take Kayla and Allie on their last ride to the Humane Society. Having had some time to heal following their spaying, it was time to take them back so they could travel to Northern Virginia for an adoption event. The day before I’d suffered more than a few weepy moments as I looked forward to saying goodbye to these little characters I’ve nurtured and cared for these past several weeks. So deep was my sorrow that I experienced a heart wrenching sobbing jag like I haven’t had in years. It must have been what I needed because by the time I was ready to put them in the car the following morning at 7:30, I was as prepared as I was going to be. I took a deep breath and backed out of the driveway.
The drive to the Humane Society is truly awesome, not in a “hey dude” sort of way, but in the traditional, spiritual way. Driving west on US Route 33 with the peaks of the Blue Ridge Mountains on the horizon as far north and south as the eye can see, always makes me feel as though I’m driving toward heaven. Maybe it’s because it’s the route we take to church on Sunday but nevertheless, it is a good reminder than I am never alone.
There were no other cars in the gravel lot when we arrived at the shelter. I waited a few moments and then got out of the car to peek in the windows but saw no sign of Penny, the caretaker. I thought she came in each morning at 7:30 to feed the cats but given the lack of activity, I guessed I was mistaken. I saw on the door that they opened at 10:00 that morning so decided to come back a few hours later rather than sit in the cold any longer. So, off we went, back to the house to set Kayla and Allie loose for a few more hours in the only home they’ve known. They leaped from their crate, happy to be out of the car and scampered off to find Izzie and Purrl, batting at toys and jumping up and down the furniture on their way.
Too soon it was time to gather them up again. A little before ten I put my charges back in their crate and we were off. This trip was a little easier, because I’d already survived it once. As I carried them through the door, I was met by the little girl who cried so hard when I took them home the first home. She was Penny’s granddaughter, the original Kayla, who had named the kittens after herself and her sister. I asked her, “Is your name Kayla?” Shyly she answered yes. “Guess who I have in this crate?” I asked and then pausing continued, “Kayla and Allie!”
Her eyes opened wide as she carefully approached the crate to peek in. “Can I hold them?” she asked. After asking permission from her Grandma Penny, I opened the door and both Kaylas were reunited. Both were amazed at how large the kittens had grown from the blue-eyed babies into the sleek mini cats they are today. When I first picked them up little girl Kayla was able to hold both kittens in her lap at one time. Now she was barely able to hold kitten Kayla’s feet off the ground when draped in her arms.
Kayla, Allie and me enjoying some quiet time.
Once on the floor, Kayla and Allie were ready to go on an adventure and explore the shelter. They never even looked back to see if I was there. I was reassured that the transition to a new home wouldn’t be so bad. I’d done my job well taking two tiny kittens into our home allowing them to grow into well socialized, loving kitties, open to making new friends. They were ready to leave, whether I was ready to leave them or not.
Then, just moments before I turned and left, I had Penny look at their tummies to make sure they were healed well enough. Nope, “They won’t pass.” she said, “We’ll have to keep here another week unless you want to take them home again.”
She didn’t have to ask me twice. I scooped my little ones back into their crate and took them home. I’d been given one more week with my babies and wasn’t going to pass it up!
This coming Friday I will load them back up and drive them back towards the mountains to their new lives. It will be a bittersweet moment to see my little ones go but it is necessary, just like letting my children leave home. It is their time to go and mine to let them.
Last week was one of those weeks where practically every activity I’m involved in converges into what I will call a “volunteer vortex”. A volunteer vortex results when the number of commitments you makes to community activities overtakes the ability to keep up with them as well as the requirements of everyday life resulting in your home and family being pushed to the back burner or possibly even never even removed from the refrigerator and put on the stove at all. Anyone who has experienced this can assure you that it is not a very pleasant state of being. Instead of being able to enjoy any one moment fully, you have to stay mindful that you’re on a timeline. In my case, I am left both energized and drained and most of all frustrated that I haven’t learned to keep my commitment more inline with my priorities.
I know, everybody’s busy and I don’t want to play the martyr, listing the variety of activities that occupied my time last week and I wouldn’t want you to think that it was all bad. In fact, most of what I did last week was rewarding and recreational. (Including a great haircut so at least I looked good as I hoofed up and down the highway!) It’s just that there was so much stuff packed into each day that it left little time for me to just be; to so the necessary mental homework associated with my commitments. And, on a personal note, even though I can’t seem to avoid offering to help people, there is a part of me that really needs quiet time, to connect with my soul and recharge.
So now I’m at a crossroads. Do I keep going as I have been, with my vortex of activities in all things that interest me or do I step up into a real leadership role in one of them and let some of the others go?
Perhaps it’s the “oldest child” syndrome that drives me to be a constant helper but beyond that, I do enjoy helping. I have long thought of myself as a professional facilitator; I like to put people in contact with who and what they need to the best of my ability. I am an idea person; I have pretty decent brainstorming skills and can think so far outside of the box that I forget there is a box. I look for potential and possibilities in all situations and the silver lining in every cloud. I’m not afraid of speaking to people I don’t know and public speaking doesn’t scare me too much. That being said, I don’t think I’m that good of a leader.
Even though I possess the organizational and people skills a leader should have, I still lack the discipline and focus to complete the follow-up tasks. I’ve stepped into a few leadership roles recently and have done what I would grade as a poor job due to the time crunch and Letting things fall through the cracks is something I can’t abide; especially when I’m the one allowing the falling. Maybe I’m too afraid of letting people down to take that step; I don’t know.
I do know that I’m going to try to spend some “me” time this week out of the vortex to recharge and reconnect, clean out the frig and pay closer attention to what I’ve got going on the stove already. Hopefully with a clear head and clean frig I’ll be able to see which path is best for me.
It’s still looking a lot like Christmas here at my house. No, there isn’t magic filling the air and the morning paper isn’t bursting with ads, but the mantle is still sporting its spray of artificial greenery and the stockings are still hung with no hope of St. Nick’s imminent arrival. The tree stands by the front windows, looking as pretty as the day we set it up and we still turn the lights on every evening to enjoy its beauty.
Why could this be? Are we waiting for the return of a deployed family member, keeping things just so to celebrate later on? No. Have we been struck down by the flu as we were years ago and have been physically unable to stand long enough to bring in the boxes and take the holiday stuff down and repack it? No. Perhaps we are turning into the kind of people who keep their lights up all year round because we’re just too lazy to get to it. Nope. What’s really going on is that we’ve just been so busy since the New Year began that we haven’t had a moment we’ve cared to care about packing it all up!
In fact, the reason we only have a mantle to clear and a tree to dismantle is because I never got as far as putting any decorations anywhere else in the house! Silly me; I thought by putting out less would make for faster clean-up. Somehow it hasn’t turned out that way and honestly, I don’t care!
Last Saturday Dave and I managed to clean the whole house, top to bottom, put away all the gifts, vacuumed up piles of cat hair and dusted every possible surface. The kitchen and all three bathrooms were deep cleaned until they downright sparkled. The only thing we didn’t get to was the Christmas decorations. Oh well, you can’t have everything.
A couple of days ago my cousin Rick posted this short video clip on Facebook taken twenty-six years ago at his wedding reception featuring my Grandma Farner on the dance floor. As it begins, Grandma is dancing with my Dad to the song, “Misty”. Soon my Uncle Ronnie came up and tapped him on the shoulder to cut in, followed by their brother Bob then my cousin, Rob and his brothers, our cousins, etc., etc., etc. as if they were lined up of screen to dance with Grandma; each taking a few turns with her before being tapped on the shoulder by the next.
It is such a sweet scene and to say I was enchanted by it would be an understatement. Aside from the fact Grandma’s been gone for many years, I’d never seen her dance before! Mesmerized, I tapped the start arrow over and over again to catch a glimpse of the family gathering one more time with Grandma gliding across the dance floor in the arms of some of the men in her life who loved her very much.
More than a few times this week, I’ve sat here at my desk, blank screen before me, attempting to wax poetically about the experience of seeing these people so dear to me in a way that fully expressed my feelings and emotions but it’s been tough. Since Rick’s wedding, we’ve said goodbye to several of the featured “stars”. Grandma, my uncles, Bob, Ronnie and Bruce and my Beautiful Aunt Dorothy, Rick’s mother, have all passed on to the next life. Being able to see them for even a few seconds, to recharge my memories was a Christmas miracle to me and a priceless gift.
It was like peeking into heaven; a grainy vision of family celebrating family, smiling and dancing, and mostly, loving. I’ve always imagined heaven to be something like that. In my mind’s eye, I see my grandparents sitting at their kitchen table, with Grandpa in his chair at the head and Grandma at his side, in close proximity to the stove. As each family member passes on, I see them entering the kitchen from the side porch door, grabbing the coffee mug with their name on it from the shelves on the wall and then joining Grandma and Grandpa at the table for some coffee. The room is warm, everyone is happy. What could be more perfect?
Thanks Rick for sharing that little glimpse of your special day. I can’t really say I miss the people in the video who have passed, because I feel them with me all the time; we are all woven from the same cloth. But to see them, to be reminded again was so precious. There just aren’t words.
After so many years of changing calendars, the thrill of increasing the year value by one seems so trivial. Who celebrates the end of the month with a party with cries of; “Yeah, it’s February!” for instance? Why does the end of a year hold so much value to us as a culture? It’s not like we place any special meaning on particular years as they arrive as the Chinese do. For them 2014 will be the Year of the Green Wood Horse which is full of meaning for those who follow these things. 2014 in the western world is simply the year following 2013 and prior to 2015 with little meaning in its own right. So, what’s the big deal? Really? Why should today be any more of a day for personal reflection than any other day?
One thing that traditionally makes New Year’s Eve special is that it is an excuse to have a party. My limited web research yielded a history of new year celebrations in western culture dating back to the ancient Babylonians. Their calendar, like that of the Chinese was based on lunar cycles and had a mystical quality to them. It seems their world view was so dependent upon staying in favor with their gods that when the new year actually arrived, it was cause for celebration.
These days we just don’t tie God in too much with our calendar. Oh sure, we all know when Christmas is and that it is Jesus’ birthday and we make a point of knowing when Easter is so we can plan our egg hunts and family dinners accordingly, but how many of us really think about God at New Year’s? Do we celebrate that we are given another year to again try to get it right or are we just celebrating for the sake of celebration? I’m not sure. Certainly many will profess to celebrate God all year, and truthfully, many do. But how many of us, myself included, can really say they actively see the power of God in each and every day?
As happens so many times when I sit down to right, I’m not sure where I’m going or where I’ll end up. This time I’ve apparently given myself something to think about as we say goodbye to the old year and ring in the new and I suppose I’ve just challenged myself to begin to celebrate the end of each day, month and year in a new way; to open myself to the possibility that there was a lot more to the way our ancient forbearers perceived these annual new beginnings as linked to the divine and not just some silly superstition.
I guess that is my resolution for the New Year; to keep my eyes and mind open; to listen and hear. I’ll let you know how that works for me. Thanks for listening to me.
Having exceeded my annual allotment of sweets over the past two weeks, I dragged my now somewhat heavier butt off to the gym for a post-Christmas workout with Lorenzo. Surprisingly, my over indulgence over the past few days wasn’t reflected in my performance; I struggled at my usual pace, feeling extra good about myself for having made the effort.
When I got home, I was confronted by the array of Christmas goodies scattered across my kitchen counter; an opened gift box brimming with home-made candies, a chocolate orange, a Ziploc bag of my Dad’s caramel corn, the remains of a late-night cookie tray, candy canes and my absolute favorite, the last few slices of yesterday’s Christmas Stollen. At the gym I had vowed I was done with goodies for the next few days, but I just couldn’t resist. I grabbed a plate, peeled back the plastic wrap and helped myself to a couple of slices to enjoy with my second cup of coffee.
Of all the Christmas traditions I carry on for my family, baking and most of all eating stollen on Christmas morning is my absolute favorite. The sweet, yeasty, fruity, frosted bread sliced thin and smeared with butter is what I look forward to the most. Over the years I’ve tried a variety of recipes, finally settling on one my mother recommended from the Betty Crocker cookbook she gave me for Christmas in 1976. Every year I worry that perhaps my yeast will be too old and that it won’t rise and then that I will under bake it and it will be too doughy or over bake it and it will be too dry. I put a great deal of pressure on myself; that’s just how important the stollen is. But, despite my worrying, each year it turns out just fine and again we have tasty bread to munch on while we open our gifts.
I can’t remember a Christmas morning without stolen and hope I’ll never have one in the future. In a way, it is our family Christmas communion; linking generations past to generations present. Even when we’re not able to be together on Christmas, just knowing that we’re all eating stollen keeps us bound as family.
So thanks Mom and to all the grandmothers before you who have mixed, kneaded and baked stollen through the years to give our family something special to munch on as we surround the tree on Christmas morning year after year. It is in itself one of the greatest gift of all.
This morning’s big news story centers around the droves of people plunking down hard-earned cash for the chance of winning the Mega Lottery prize in excess of $550 million dollars. The dream of striking it rich and having all life’s problems disappear is a major motivator for giving up what you already have in hopes of making the dream a reality.
Years ago, when the Virginia Lottery first started, Dave and I bought a ticket every week, playing our birthdays and the anniversaries of our first date and wedding. They were lucky days for us, so it only seemed natural that all six dates combined would provide us with exponential luck. It was several weeks before a winner was announced and when it was, it turned out to be someone I knew. After that point I figured the chances of my winning the lottery after an acquaintance of mine had were astronomical so we quit buying the tickets.
I have to admit that in the current frenzy and rush for the convenience store I have been tempted to get in line myself but I have way too many items on my “to do” list that have to be ticked off today that I’m not about to drop it all to buy a chance on what Thomas Jefferson referred as “a wonderful thing; {laying} taxation only on the willing.” Today I am not willing.
Aside from having a great deal to accomplish today, I can’t really see the value in adding $550 million dollars (give or take) to my life will net any improvements. I saw what happened to my friend when her family won a mere $7.6 million and it wasn’t pretty. Suddenly they were inundated with requests from long-lost relatives and strangers all wanting to share in the pot. The hounding became so bad that one day they packed a few bags, locked their door behind them, left and never came back.
Today, as I think about it, I realize that our numbers were winners. Dave’s, Maggie’s and Andy’s and my birthdays along with the anniversaries of our first date and wedding were all winning days and combined have brought not luck but exponential joy to us that mere money could never replace.
So, during this season of family, friends and reflection, let’s all look back at what we already have and hold dear and consider that in some way, either large or small, we’ve all been mega winners. And, while the size of the prizes may vary, in most cases it has been the perfect size for you.
It’s New Year’s Eve – again.
This morning’s big news story centers around the droves of people plunking down hard-earned cash for the chance of winning the Mega Lottery prize in excess of $550 million dollars. The dream of striking it rich and having all life’s problems disappear is a major motivator for giving up what you already have in hopes of making the dream a reality.