Long Hollow

Rambling about Dogs, Children, and Butterflies

 

The sun still yawned under a light gray blanket this morning when the puppies and I headed out for our walk.

Josie, my grandpuppy, took the lead as usual; she's still excited about her visit to the country. Belle, my sweet companion, fell into step near me. She never strays too far from my side for long. Max lagged behind, probably worn out from trying to keep up with the youngsters all week.

Tomorrow evening my son, the newlywed, will be coming to take Josie home. I'll miss that little girl. We've had some great conversations and cuddle-time, but I look forward to seeing Tommy and hearing about their adventures in Italy.

This will be my Mother's Day visit from him, since I'll be in Houston visiting my mother on Sunday. I'll probably see the other two on Saturday. One might even travel with me to Houston, but it's still kind of iffy.

When the kids all lived at home, Mother's Day morning found me lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, listening to pans banging and Tom coaching them through fixing me a big bacon, eggs, and toast breakfast.

But once they started leaving the nest, it was rare to see them - especially all three at once - much less have a kid-cooked breakfast, because college finals usually fell around Mother's Day. 

But I'm grateful I can spend that special day with my mom, trying to make up for way too many Mother's Days that I spent with my friends on a Galveston beach instead of with her. (Kids! Sigh.)

I also go see her because it would be wrong not to, when so many of you would give anything to be able to tell your moms Happy Mother's Day in person, just one more time.

Anyway, back to this morning's walk...

I spotted a butterfly clinging to a low juniper branch. It fluttered a bit but stayed put as I snapped one photo after another, drawing ever closer.

The fact that it didn't fly away worried and concerned me. For some reason, I got the impression it was stuck to the branch, trying to get loose. Wanting to help, I put my finger out to help free it. It climbed onto my finger, but then fluttered to the ground, wings out, lying still.

Oh great, I thought. Now what I have I done?

I shooed the dogs away from it and started to continue on my walk, but worry and guilt got the best of me. I returned to the butterfly, found a small twig, and put it near its little feet. It clung to the twig, so I lifted it back up to where I first found it. It returned to the juniper branch, so I dropped the twig, and, again, started walking away.

But...what if it really wanted to be on the ground? Maybe I helped it the first time and just messed things up the second time. What if...what if...what if...?

I said a prayer for the little thing, and kept walking, trusting God to fix whatever I might have screwed up.

 

Then I thought about my kids (because that's the way my brain works and it is almost Mother's Day, after all) and about all the times I tried to help them. So often I just seemed to mess things up instead of making them better.

What if...what if...what if...?

And that's when I told myself to just shut the heck up, because what's done is done. I can honestly say my kids are awesome people, and whether it was despite me or because of me, it doesn't matter.

I know I did the best I could along the way for those beautiful creatures God put in my life's path,  just as I did the butterfly, always with lots of prayer. So I'll just keep trusting God to fix whatever I might have screwed up with my kids, too.

What more can we do, as mothers and fathers, and hikers in the woods?

So.... at the grocery store a little later, I indulged and bought some chocolate-covered strawberries.

Happy Mother's Day to me!

And Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there! 

May you indulge yourself with forgiveness for any past (or future) parenting mistakes. You know in your hearts, as I do in mine, that you did the best you could, and most likely, you did a whole lot more right than wrong. Amen.

Being a mother is learning about strengths you didn't know you had, and dealing with fears you didn't know existed.  ~Linda Wooten

 

I Won't Think About Good-Bye

 

 

I lingered on the back porch this morning with my coffee after the dogs finished their breakfast, listening to birds chirp their confusion over the unseasonal cool temperatures and the wind play rough with the trees. 

The sun was shining, and I could see the surface of our little pond sparkling through the new spring leaves of surrounding trees. I sat in the middle of a dream-come-true started thirty years ago, and wondered how I was going to say goodbye.

We're going to have to sell out and go somewhere else. Barring some miracle, along the lines of me writing a million-dollar bestseller or one of us winning the lottery, it's the only way we're going to climb out of the debt-sinkhole we've slipped into.

Tom figures it will take him two years to get the place in shape to sell. We started on it almost twenty years ago, moved in almost ten years ago, but it's not finished yet. Once we moved in, we weren't in a rush...until now. But Tom wants to see it the way he envisioned it in the beginning, so he's not rushing through doing a halfass job.

In my heart I know God led us here, so if it's his will we stay, we will, even if we don't see how right now. Maybe we've done what we were supposed to do here and he has some other job for us elsewhere. If so, I'll just give thanks for the time we've had in this little piece of heaven. We've been blessed and nothing can take that away.

Meanwhile, I'm going to linger and cherish and soak as much of Long Hollow as possible into my soul. I don't think I've ever taken it for granted, but I especially won't now. I'll push thoughts of goodbye off to the edge, only close enough to remind me to appreciate this day, and the next, and the next, and then I'll cherish the memories.

...While I pray for a miracle.

Be Still

 

It was a gray morning, the sun not yet able to break through the clouds above the Hollow or the dark thoughts clouding my brain. Worries and what-ifs mingled with sorrow for the people of Boston and scenes of the explosion in West were fresh in my mind.

My feet tread a familiar path through the woods, but I hardly paid attention. My camera dangled, forgotten, around my neck because I was too distracted by darkness to look for light.

Then, as I stepped into an area surrounded by tall trees, I heard it, the wind moving through their branches, singing a lullaby. A song straight from God to my heart.

"Be still."

That night, after a day of to-do's and running later than I'd hoped, I'd already forgotten that feeling of peace when I arrived at my meeting. Soft music and candlelight greeted me, thanks to the committee member in charge of our opening reflection.

"Be still and know that I am God," she read to us (Psalm 46:10) and once again I heard the trees' lullaby and God's voice: "Be still. Don't worry. I've got it."

For the next fifteen minutes or so, she guided us through a centering prayer, where we focused on interior silence, using a single sacred word to pull me back when those distracting thoughts try to pop back in and get me all rattled.

"Be still." The words have continued to echo in my heart, so simple, so full of love and comfort and security.

 

It's on the darkest night that you see the most stars, isn't it? When the moon and sun are both resting, the darkness provides a black backdrop to stars you would never even notice with a full moon on the stage, or when the sun rules the sky.

I think that's the way it is with sweet!s. When times get tough, that's when the sweet moments of our lives shine against the darkness. Once again we pay attention and give thanks for the simple things we all too often take for granted.

This past week, the shadows cast by terrorism and tragedy made me look closer for those bright spots I knew were there. 

 

Monday: a day off to play catch-up; a morning walk with happy dogs; turtles; cardinals at the birdfeeder; prairie verbena spreading everywhere; witnessing (via television) ordinary people becoming heroes

Tuesday: time for a long morning walk; a just-right day at work...not too busy, not too slow; spotting a Painted Bunting on your bird feeder

Wednesday: the sound of trees singing to each other; puppy kisses when you're feeling blue; praying with others for a small community hit with tragedy

Thursday: spending time with your baby girl, even if it's at the DMV and doctor's office; Five Guys cheeseburgers; arriving right on time everywhere on a tightly-packed day

Friday: trainees who catch on fast on a busy day at work; UPS and FedEX deliveries; your photos turned into beautiful greeting cards and prints; spotting a hawk out your kitchen window

Saturday: time for a long walk with your puppies and son before work; weddings, even on the sidelines; a belated birthday phone message from a friend; philosophical discussions with your son late at night

Sunday: sleeping in, late Mass with your son, and breakfast with friends; a walk with your son and puppies; the sun's kiss on your legs and arms; making a clean dent on a dirty house; your son making a delivery for you, saving you a trip into town

Monday: a forecast for absolutely perfect weather on your son's wedding day

 

A crazy, busy week awaits me, with one of the happiest days of my life ahead - the wedding of my oldest son. Talk about a bright light! But I'm determined to keep my eyes open and appreciate the simple blessings each day provides. I hope you do, too. Please share yours with me!

Five Things on Friday

 

1. "I'm off my game. I discovered a little mouse in my glove compartment this morning and didn't even think of taking its picture." That was my Facebook status on Wednesday.

Remember when I told you I discovered mouse turds all over my car Easter morning? Well, it became a morning ritual for me to clean up the mouse turds with duct tape every day after that, until Wednesday, when I pulled the hand sanitizer out of my glove box...and then noticed the tiny little mouse sitting in there. 

I'll tell you our whole Mouse Saga later (I've been holding out on you) but suffice it to say, for now, that (after screaming and screaming and screaming) I moved the (terrified) little mouse to the woods by the tail and haven't had any mouse turds in my car since then. Whew.

I did regret not taking its picture.

2. I upgraded my iphone to a 4. It's charging right now. I can't wait to play with the camera. I heard the 4S was better, but I figured, for $1 versus $50, I could make do with the 4.

3. I have eaten two Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs every day since Easter. I love those things. I barely even feel guilty about it.

4. After several days of crazy, stormy weather, including hail and tornado warnings, and more rain than we've gotten in the past 6 months, the sun finally came out today... and I felt like something heavy was lifted off of my chest.

I wish my mood wasn't so dependent on sunshine. I'd never make it in the northeast. 

5. Tomorrow is my 54th birthday!

 

Prairie Verbena scattered through a field like Easter eggs...much nicer than mouse turds scattered all over my car! 

 

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A Note From Your Waiter: Do Not Call me Toots

 

Do not call me Toots.

My name is Barbara. If you forget it and need my attention, you can call me "ma'am", or say "excuse me" or "pardon me".

But Toots? Per Wikipedia, Toots is a slang term for "babe" or "sweetie" or "honey," or, more-negatively, "tart" or "prostitute."  

Who, or what, do you think I am - or perhaps I should ask, who do you think you are - that you can be so disrespectful to a stranger?

I am a part-time waiter right now, because I need the extra money to help pay for my kids' college tuitions so I can afford my own...to support my writing and photography passions...to get me up and away from the computer I'm glued to the rest of the time, to be active and talk to people, which I love.

But waiting tables in a winery restaurant isn't my dream job, and I'm looking for something else, but what if it was? What if this was what I wanted to do the rest of my life? Serving people, helping them relax and enjoy themselves...there are worse jobs out there, far less enjoyable and rewarding. And if I make it look easy...well, believe me, it takes a set of skills that a lot of people do not have.

Oh, and if you arrive before the restaurant opens, please be patient. It will be a few minutes before your order can be taken because there are just some things that I need to take care of first...

 

The three women arrived early, before the restaurant opened for business. They were already seated at a table with water and menus, courtesy of our office manager who works a normal 9 to 5 job, when I walked in and jumped right to work, bringing up the computer so I could enter orders, pulling the reds out of the chiller so they will be room temperature, tucking an order pad and pen into my apron. They were younger than me. Early to mid-thirties, I guessed.

I was behind the counter preparing the register when one waved a menu at me and said "We're ready, Toots."

Toots? my ears repeated, asking themselves if they heard what they thought they heard. 

"Okay, just a second," I somehow managed to say with a smile and not one ounce of saccharin sweetness. 

I made sure to state my name, loud and clear, when I took their order. I treated them with respect, and they left large donations to the World of Children Fund, the nonprofit group we support in lieu of tips. And they didn't call me Toots again.

 

But speaking of children...

 

I'm all for taking your children out to eat with you. I know how confining life with small ones can be. Besides, what better way to teach them how to behave in a restaurant? 

But if your children are still too young to learn, get a babysitter. Stay home. Or at the very least, accept your waiter's offer of a high chair so your little one doesn't wander around bothering other guests and touching breakable glassware and expensive vases...

This young couple had two precious little girls, one about 7 months old, the other about 2 years old. Despite several offers, they refused a high chair for the 2-year-old, instead allowing her to stand in the chairs or wander about the restaurant, unconcerned about the other patrons or the fragile wine glasses or silverware she was touching...until I uttered a warning out of fear she would hurt herself, which scared the little girl into staying close to her parents.

For awhile.

Still, they were a cute couple and I didn't have many other customers. There were no broken glasses, no falls from the chair, no complaints. And after they left with lots of tips from me about places to visit in Austin, and I was sweeping up all of the cracker and bread crumbs littering the floor under and around their table, I remembered another floor covered in crackers...

One evening when our oldest was in the high chair and saltine cracker stage, Tom and I had a serious craving for seafood, so we took a drive out to our favorite restaurant. By the time we left, a three foot radius around our son's high chair was covered in cracker crumbs.

I was mortified, but wasn't sure what to do, other than leave a large tip and not return until our kids were old enough to know that saltines were not edible playthings.

Ah, paybacks.

Which I guess means they'll get theirs some day, too, both the young couple and the woman who called me Toots. Just another circle of Life.

And that makes me smile, because I'm human, after all.

(Hey, wait a minute! I never called a waiter Toots. Just proof that Life is also unfair and has a warped sense of humor, I suppose.)

Aging with grace. What does that mean, anyway?

I stepped into the classroom of second graders and made my way to the teacher's desk. "Are you someone's grandmother?" one little munchkin asked. 

"No, I'm the substitute teacher," I said with forced smile, trying to recover from such a fierce Reality Check that early in the morning, and making myself promise not to hold a grudge against that little...um, cutie pie.

I turn 54 in less than two weeks...indeed, quite old enough to be someone's grandmother. If you're 55 or older, you're probably calling me a baby. But if you're 40 or younger, I'm sure 54 sounds as old to you as it looked to that second-grader. I remember when it sounded old to me, too.

But I don't feel old. In so many ways I feel the same as I did at 5 and 10 and 18, and in those moments when I said "I do" and held each of my babies for the very first time.

When I was facing 50, time took on new meaning. The hour glass was more empty than full, and not only had I wasted a lot of it, but I could see what was left slipping away, seemingly faster and faster.

It made me think about aging. What it meant to me. How I wanted it to look on me.

I decided I wanted to be able to enjoy whatever time I had left. I knew the road ahead was full of physical potholes, so I focused on getting healthy, from the inside out. I felt guilty for taking my body for granted for so many years and vowed to treat it right from then on. 

I became my own best friend, accepting the good and bad, my weaknesses and strengths, likes and dislikes. I developed high expectations for myself, but also cut myself some slack. I focused on finding balance, although it's still a struggle. Work. Play. Time alone. Time with friends and family. Giving. Taking.

I refused to give into the stereotypes, the standard expectations of what it means to be an older woman, of what's considered "proper". I decided to shake things up in my life, to stretch and appreciate all aspects of myself, to discover and expand the talents God gave me.

In the process I discovered a sense of freedom and excitement and joy that I'd never known. 

So as I head into another year, I'll just continue being me, who wears jeans, loves to dance, and wants to keep learning till the day she dies. 

Because aging with grace just means living with grace, whether you're celebrating your first birthday or your 100th.

I wish I'd started sooner.

This is my contribution to GenerationFabulous's latest blog hop on what aging gracefully means to us. Go HERE to see the other contributions.

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Five Things on a Friday Night (when I should have been dancing)

 

 

1. My crape myrtles are budding! I'm really surprised because we haven't had much rain and the poor things haven't bloomed in two or three years now. I wasn't even sure they were still alive. I've got my fingers crossed they've somehow established themselves enough to give me some summer color later on.

2. I had a chance to go dancing with friends tonight. Instead, here I am editing photos and working on a blog post. Not that I don't love blogging, but...well, I love, love, love dancing!

So why am I blogging instead of dancing, you ask? Tom didn't want to go, and it was a bit of a drive...and I have to work tomorrow...so I was debating whether or not I should go. Trying to be a grown-up.

In the meantime, I went shopping for shoes to wear at my son's wedding. I should have gone prepared to meet my friends when I finished up, just in case, because shopping took longer than I expected (of course!) and by the time I got home, it was really too late to eat dinner, change clothes, and go back out.

Sigh and dang it.

Which just goes to show what I always tell my kids...if you don't make a decision, the decision is usually made for you. 

3. On Monday I had brunch with the sister and mother of a friend I've known since 2nd grade, Todd. They were traveling through a neighboring town and asked if I wanted to meet them. Of course!! 

 

That's me on the left. Beside me is Mrs. Scruggs - would you believe she's 81? She says 80 is the new 40. I love it! Across from us are Darlene and ... ah, I can't remember her husband's name!

(I'm sure my memory is directly affected by my lack of dancing lately!)

4. Jon Bon Jovi is coming to Austin in concert next month. For some reason, I wasn't that interested in him when I was younger and Bon Jovi first made it big. But now, I would love, love, love to see him, more than Eric Clapton or others who have been here recently. Love his music and his hair. Isn't that weird? Of course, I don't have money for tickets to see anyone. But if I did, now you know who I'd spend it to see!

5. In case you've been living in a closet with no access to a television, I'm please to inform you we have a new Pope! As a Catholic, I'm very hopeful about it. From all accounts, Pope Francis is a very humble, simple, but intelligent and courageous man.

I believe those are the qualities of a great leader of any institution, but especially for a church.

I hope you have a fantastic weekend. If you get the chance to do something you love, don't be wishy-washy and waste time trying to be practical like me - just go do it, for Pete's sake!

 

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If I could talk, I'd tell of...

Births. Deaths. Certainly those.

Celebrations for birthdays, for weddings, for the end of a drought and good crops.

Tables in the yard, laden with food. Tantalizing smells wafting from the kitchen, promising more.

Heartache. Loved ones who went to war and never returned. Arguments and screen doors slamming.

Joyous reunions.

Neighbors helping put out a fire, build a rock fence, raise a windmill, plant a harvest, chase down a runaway cow.

Friends delivering a baby. Providing food and a silent shoulder in times of mourning.

Bicycles and toy wagons littering the yard. A beloved mutt curled up on the porch near the door or sprawled in a patch of sunlit dirt in the yard.

Young couples, just married, and older ones, helping each other up the steps. 

The squeak of a porch swing on a summer evening. The smell of a bonfire on an autumn night. 

Days when voices and laughter echoed from the windows, open to capture a cool breeze in a stifling Texas summer.

And days like these when silence is palpable...when only memories and shadows walk the worn wooden floors.

I pass this old farmhouse on my way to work and it always starts my mind wondering about its history. Finally, one day, I stopped with my camera...and that's when it spoke to me.

 

Five Things on Friday

 

 

1. Our property is dotted with small iron crosses, marking the resting places of so many precious furry or feathered or scaly loved ones we've been blessed to know. I miss them all. The one above is Charly's and Frankie's.

 

2. I will never get rich monetarily through my blog, but the friendships I've formed because of it are priceless. I've met so many supportive, encouraging, talented friends, and two of them have recently published books. I didn't hesitate to buy them because they are both wonderful, evocative writers, and I feel confident touting them here even though I haven't had time to read either one.  

Love Always Wags Its Tail, by Kathy H. Porter, is a collection of short essays about the dogs in her life. Wolf Pascoe shares what it's like being an anesthesiologist in Breathing for Two.

Follow the links to their blogs and you'll find information about the books. (I received no monetary compensation for these shout-outs - only friendship and support for my own writing.)

 

3. The next time you go out to eat and the place is packed and you start to get irritated because you feel your waiter is ignoring you, please take a deep breath, realize you are not the only customer in the place and that he/she can only do so much at one time, and please, please, please remember your manners. Thank you.

(Oh. And if the website suggests reservations, either make a reservation or don't get upset if you can't be seated. Especially if you're bringing 7 of your friends.) 

 

4. Back at the beginning of January, I decided I would start getting up at 4:30 a.m. instead of 5:30 a.m. so I would have time to work out and/or write before heading to work, if someone happened to call me out. (That's the life of a substitute teacher - you have to be flexible!)

Well, I finally did it. Once. This week. Yay, me!

 

5. For the past week or so, I've spent hours tormenting myself, listening to one You Tube video after another of potential songs for the mother/son dance at the upcoming wedding.

I just sat here at my computer and cried and cried. It was beautiful agony, I tell you, reliving those mom memories. But here's one that made me laugh, even though I wouldn't do this myself..

(Actually, that theme from the Ninja Turtles brings back so many memories, I almost started crying in this one, too!)

 

Nancy at A Rural Journal inspired me to start my Five Things on Friday, although I mutilated her better-alliterated version, 5 Facts Friday, so I encourage you to read hers and add your own if you're so inclined! And I remembered Mrs. 4444 has a regular Friday Fragments hop, so I'll be linking up there, too. It's a great way to tie up all those loose ends from the week!

Hope you have a great weekend!

What is (Real) Love?

Love talked about can be easily turned aside, but love demonstrated is irresistible.~

W. Stanley Mooneyham
American minister and speaker, 20th century

 

I was bemoaning the fact that, despite hundreds of miles run, lunges lunged and squats thrusted, and losing enough weight that I could buy my bras in "training" sizes, I still have my grandmother's saddle-bag thighs.

"But you don't have any cellulite anymore," Tom told me.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

The next day I looked for myself. Sigh. Just as dimpled as ever. I knew Tom hadn't been lying or merely trying to make me feel better; he just can't see worth crap anymore. 

But he also just doesn't care. He doesn't care that my hair is thinning. Heck, he wouldn't care if I went bald. He has never been able to tell when I'm wearing makeup or not (I've tested him)...so I'm sure my deepening wrinkles go unnoticed. He pays attention to me, he sees me...but it's the me on the inside...the me that he met and fell in love with despite himself almost 31 years ago. He looks past the "me" on the outside just as I look past the 55-year-old "him" on the outside and see the "him" who asked me for a dance at Diamondback so many years ago.

That's love.

With my son's wedding on the horizon, I've been thinking about married love and what makes it last - or not. Here are a few more...

...Love is the sound of drums coming from my house...fulfilling a wish I had tossed aside, believing it couldn't come true because there wasn't a spot for them in our new house. Tom surprised me with a set (thank you, Craig's List) on our anniversary a few years ago. It proved to me he pays attention. At least sometimes.

(Love is throwing him not one, but two surprise birthday parties...plus a huge family reunion/50th birthday party that lasted two weeks and involved having people sleeping on every square inch of the house, including on a mattress in the downstairs shower stall. Poor Kirby)

...Love is coming in the house from a long weekend, relieved to discover your coffee grounds from four days before have (thank the Lord!) been dumped and all the pieces are clean and dry, ready to go...despite the fact that your spouse doesn't drink coffee. (If he hadn't cleaned it for me...ooh, gross!)

(Love is picking up empty Dr. Pepper cans from all over the house...and outside...and biting my tongue. Pretty much.)

...Love is finding the coupon section of the Sunday newspaper separated for me, without asking.

(Love is gathering up the Sunday newspaper, at times from different rooms in the house, and putting it in the wicker basket where it goes.)

...Love is not minding that I plant myself in front of the computer every evening after dinner to write...and biting his tongue when he sees I'm on Facebook instead.

(Love is not minding that some nights he just crawls in bed and flips channels, instead of working on whatever project is in progress at the time, because he's physically and mentally worn out. He leaves the house at 5:30 am, for goodness sake!)

...Love is not being jealous about phone calls from old boyfriends, or emails from old boyfriends, or birthday lunches with old boyfriends.

(Love is not being jealous about his women friends and co-workers...even when he pinches Lisa's rear-end.)

...Love is always dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe and the Schottische even though his hips and ankles still hurt from that accident in 1998.

(Love is sitting by his side in the hospital for a week, afraid to leave him...holding the urinal in place for an hour because he thinks he can go on his own...feeding him ice chips, sleeping on a fold-out chair, grateful for the sound of his snoring because it means he's alive.)

...Love is piecing together sections of workshop floor matting for me to lie on when I do sit-ups, so my tailbone doesn't get bruised anymore.

(Love is subscribing to Men's World e-newsletters and forwarding the good ones to him to keep him healthy.)

...Love is not nagging each other because the bathroom he/she is in charge of cleaning is a borderline health problem.

...Love is hanging on to and supporting each other through the illness and death of a parent, financial worries, and the never-ending ups and downs of having children.

...Love is saying to hell with everything that needs to be done around here to play ping-pong...or go for long walks along the creek...or travel virtually to Ireland or Istanbul or Italy with Rick Steves...

...Love is still joking around, still having fun, still laughing at each other and at ourselves after almost 32 years...and hoping we have at least another 32 together.

The proof of love is in the works. Where love exists, it works great things. But when it ceases to act, it ceases to exist.

~Pope St. Gregory the Great

 

 

What do you think "Love is..."?

Share with me! 

 
(If your comment doesn't show up right away, don't worry. Typepad's new anti-spam system is dumping them all into my spam folder. But I'll find them. Thank you!) 

 

This is re-post from 2010 that I spiffied up in honor of Valentine's Day and the 1st Annual Valentine's Day Boost-My-Blog Party hosted by a Rural Journal and Two Bears Farm. Follow the links to check out other participants.

Another Random Analogy, Kids!

Do you iron?

I don't. I mean, I can, but I haven't in a long, long time. 

My husband will vouch for that. He stopped buying shirts with wrinkle-inclined collars and button panels when it became clear he'd have to iron them himself.

"I buried a lot of my ironing in the back yard." ~ Phyllis Diller

But yesterday I had no choice. We go through a lot of white napkins at the winery bistro where I work and they come out of the dryer a mess of wrinkles.

I knew I couldn't just bury them, so there I stood beside the board, elbow up high, working that hot iron back and forth across a white cloth napkin. I pressed and pushed and pressed and pushed, but no luck. The wrinkles would not go away.

Then a faint memory stirred. Ah, yes. Steam. I found the magic button, and poof! the wrinkles vanished with just a fraction of my previous effort.

I fell into a rhythm, back and forth, back and forth, thumb on steam button. One napkin after another wrinkle-free, folded, and ready for tables. My mind wandered. I had forgotten about that part of ironing, too, how it's so conducive to thinking about any- and everything.  

And this is what my thoughts brought back to me from their journey abroad...

The napkins are like us, starting out all neat and tidy and folded just right. Then we head out into the world. We can't help but be affected, usually ending up used and dirty. We make changes, clean ourselves up, only to realize that, if we take a hard look at ourselves, our hearts are still all wrinkled. We can work and work and work, but our own effort just isn't enough. We need help.

We need steam, and I believe it comes in the form of the Holy Spirit. We just have to ask for help and it swoops in and smooths things out. The trick is we have to acknowledge the wrinkles and want to get rid of them.

Today is the first day of Lent and that's what it's all about, taking a good honest look at your heart, your soul, your life, seeing the wrinkles, recognizing we need help with the toughest ones, and depending on the Holy Spirit to help us.

Yes, that's how my brain works sometimes. Do you see now why my kids hate my analogies? I'm way out of practice now. You should have heard the ones I came up with when they were teenagers.

But for those of you who read all the way through this, I have something to lighten things up: "How to Survive Lent 2013 or What We Gave Up". I may be Catholic, but I still have a sense of humor. 

So...are you giving anything up for Lent? If not, here's my back-up question...do you iron?

"My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint."

~ Erma Bombeck

We don't iron these colored ones. I hope you can't tell. I don't want to have to start, even if ironing is conducive to random analogical thinking.

(P.S. Update on the comment problem: I apologize if you've tried to leave a comment, but didn't see it. Typepad has a new, obviously over-agressive, spam blocker system, and all comments are being dumped into my spam folder. I even discovered some of my recent replies in there! I've notified Typepad and hope it's resolved soon. In the meantime, thank you for commenting. They're there - you just don't see them! And since I'm not getting email notifications, you're not receiving my replies.)

 

Love and Marriage, and everything in between

Love is patient, love is kind...

When I heard those words from First Corinthians at Mass Sunday, my mind drifted back to my wedding. Like so many other couples, we chose this as one of the readings in our ceremony, believing we would always be patient and kind with each other. 

Well, we haven't. Not always.

It is not proud, it is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs...

Sigh.

Over the past thirty years I'm sure we've both committed each one of these sins. Marriage is tough. Pride is hard to swallow. Exhaustion and stress and differences of opinion on everything from kids and money to how to squeeze a tube of toothpaste just chip, chip, chip away at those bonds of love tying you together.  

We've survived plenty of bumps. There have been times I didn't think we'd make it to the next week, much less the next anniversary, times I thought that bond had cracked right in two. But somehow each of us kept hanging on, and that bond would feel stronger than ever. For awhile.

I'm not taking a single day together for granted. Life is tricky.

It always protects, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.

I believe this is true, if you're determined and stubborn and want it to be true bad enough to fight for it, to swallow your pride, to keep an open mind that perhaps your way isn't the only way. 

To believe in your love for each other. To believe in God's love for each of you, and to ask for his love when your love isn't enough, which can happen all too often. To hang on to each other, no matter what.

When I stepped into my parents' home Sunday evening, the sound of running water drew me down the hallway to the bathroom. Water was pouring out of the shower head, thanks to a broken valve.

I discovered, from Daddy, it had been that way for more than 24 hours. Yikes, the water bill!

So first thing Monday morning, I called the plumber. Within thirty minutes, the dispatcher called to let us know someone was on their way...

...which upset Daddy, because Mama wasn't awake yet. He didn't want her to be disturbed. He worried more about her getting enough rest than that upcoming water bill. 

Or...perhaps he worried she'd be mad and grumpy and he didn't want to deal with it.

After more than sixty years, their marriage is a dance of irritation and protectiveness, of tender looks and looks that could kill. Time is flying by faster than ever for them and instead of being able to savor their time together, they're too busy with trips to the emergency room and doctor's appointments and their kids trying to tell them what to do.

They're worried about each other. Self-sacrificing. If there was ever a time their love wasn't unconditional, it's long gone.

But I can't forget those four years in the middle when they were divorced. No contact whatsoever. I still don't know the details leading up to the split, and I don't want to.

Lord knows there were enough of them. They had faced tons of obstacles, from problems with kids and money to in-law issues. You name it...it happened to them. So I'm guessing there was a lack of patience and kindness, and a surplus of pride, anger, and record-keeping. How could there not be?

And yet...somewhere inside of them hope survived. Love persevered. Love didn't fail.

I bet they wish they could go back in time and get those four years back. I bet they wish they could have just listened to each other and not wasted so much time apart.

In just a few short months my oldest will be getting married. I guess that's why my mind is reflecting on all of this. I wish I could tell them that it will be easy, but I think they already know that it won't. 

I do believe that the wisdom in these verses will see them through the inevitable bumps; I just hope they do a better job remembering them than we have.

Watching my parents, I know it's worth it. So, no matter what, I'll keep believing in us.

Here I Go Again (a BlogHer Book Club review)

 

Think about your life.

If you found a way to go back in time to some point in it, would you try to change anything? Would you take advantage of the chance for a do-over? Perhaps swallow some angry words you've always wished you could take back?

Or would you leave things just as they are?

I've been thinking about that as I read Here I Go Again by Jen Lancaster for the BlogHer Book Club.

For years I said I had no regrets, that I wouldn't change a thing if I had the chance because of my wonderful husband and kids. I've had my share of downs, but overall, I love my life. I'm blessed and I know it.

But the truth is I do have some regrets, and if I had the chance, I'd high-tail it back to the fall of 1977, breakup with my then-boyfriend and attend all of my college classes, instead of driving to Galveston and moping on the seawall about how bad things were in my life right then. (Why do some of us do that, make bad situations worse by creating new problems for ourselves?)

Without the distraction of a cheating boyfriend chipping away at my self-esteem, and by keeping up with my classes, I think dropping out a year later would never have crossed my mind.

I would still have met Tom, because I believe it was part of God's plan for us to be together. (I don't think it was His original plan for me to drop out - I think He just cleaned up what I messed up. He's good at that. Lots of practice, unfortunately.)

With a Chemical Engineering degree in hand, I could still have gone to work at the DuPont chemical plant, where I made so many great friends.

But since I'm not a character in a novel like Lissy Ryder, the main character of Here I go Again who does get a chance for a do-over, I'll just give thanks that God is able to make the best of our bad decisions if we let Him. 

Lissy is a former high school mean girl, all grown up and dealing with the fruits of her lifelong sharp tongue and selfish ways. She is forced to move back in to her childhood home when her husband files for divorce and she loses her Public Relations job.

Her twenty-year high school reunion approaches and, when she sees that many of her former classmates are huge successes, she gets the idea of starting her own PR company and soliciting business at the reunion.

Unfortunately, but understandably, all of her classmates despise her. Even her sweet, long-suffering best friend Nicole finally dumps her on one of those former classmates when Lissy gets drunk at the reunion.

But thanks to that classmate, Lissy is able to relive a few weeks of her high school senior year, where she makes better decisions and manages to be a kinder, gentler version of her previous seventeen-year-old self. 

Waking up in the new present, she's pleased to find that everything has gone her way this time. She's rich, the owner of a highly successful PR company, and still happily married.

Of course, the butterfly effect being what it is, everything isn't as great as it seems at first...but I won't divulge anymore in case you decide to read it yourself, which I think you should just because it's so funny.

I did have a few issues with it:

• Lancaster implies that all Homecoming and Prom Queens are mean snobs. As a former Homecoming and Prom Queen, I disagree. (I hope my classmates do, too!) 
• She says (through Lissy) that having children makes you look old before your time. Obviously, I disagree with that, as well. 
• A few plot parts felt manipulated. My critique group would have torn those apart. 
• Other than Lissy and her mother, the dialogue and characters were indistinctive.
• Oh, and for some reason one character ends up bald after Lissy's trip back in time because in the new future he's in a bad marriage. Huh? 

But overall I enjoyed it. It kept me turning the pages to see what was going to happen next. I felt it was thought provoking, triggering a lot of what-ifs.

And, as I said, it was just funny! Lissy is telling the story and her running commentary is bold and hilarious. I laughed enough that I forgave Lancaster for assuming I must be a mean snob since I was voted Homecoming Queen.

If you get a chance to read it, I think you'll enjoy it. If nothing else, you'll give thanks your high school years are behind you.

What about you? Is there anything you would change if you could travel back in time?

P.S. This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are totally my own. Join the discussions on the book here.

 

Choices, Decisions, and Foggy Roads

 

A thick blanket of fog settled on the Hollow every morning earlier this week. Heading out on my walks, I could only see a few steps ahead before the fog obscured the path. 

Isn't that the perfect metaphor for life, that our paths are hidden, clouded by so many unknowns? And yet we know there's still a path, even if we can't see for sure where it is leading us. All that is clear is this moment and perhaps a few seconds beyond, before the future becomes veiled. There's nothing to do but put one foot ahead of the other, keep moving forward, with faith that we'll make good decisions and end up where we're supposed to be.

I've been thinking about choices lately, triggered by my dad being rushed to the hospital again night before last following another mini-stroke. I can't run down there this time to see him or help my mom; I can't afford to take off work.

Tinged with guilt, my mind wants to drift to "what-if"s...

...What if I hadn't dropped out of college? What if I had continued taking college classes when we first moved instead of putting it off until the house was built ten years later, when we were facing tuition x 3 for the kids? What if I had snagged something full-time years ago instead of juggling all those part-time jobs while the kids were in school? 

Would we be so stressed about money now? Would I be retired, able to pursue writing and photography at my leisure as a second career, and run down to help my parents whenever they needed me?

Perhaps. But perhaps not. I mean, really, flirting with remorse over what-ifs is such a waste of time, isn't it?  The path was just as foggy then as it is today. And at least I thought I was making good decisions. I had a plan...the path just didn't go in the direction I thought it would.

And what about my parents? What if they had moved near us as we hoped? What if Daddy would take his medicine and eat the way he's supposed to to control his blood sugar? Other people's decisions often affect us as much as our own.

And now I'm peering into the fog, with more decisions to make. Tom suggested I go back to school full-time. He figures two years should do it. But, as the one who pays the bills, I know how tight we're already stretched. I mean, we're jumping-up-and-down-to-get-our-jeans-on tight.

Maybe you can get a scholarship for being old, a little voice whispers, and I feel a flame of hope flare in my heart that I thought was completely snuffed...the one that dreams of getting a degree. 

But then what? Would I teach? Would I be able to get a job, even with a degree, at my age? Would I have time for my writing and photography, or have to put those on a shelf for awhile?

Decisions, decisions. Will this fog ever lift?

To decide is to walk facing forward with nary a crick in your neck from looking back at the crossroads. 

~Betsy Cañas Garmon

************************************************

P.S. Thanks to Vanessa for reminding me of this prayer by Thomas Merton...

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going

I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing. 

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Amen.

 

 

So, 2012, this is how we say goodbye...

 

This morning raindrops plopped on my head, making me think of that old B.J. Thomas song. I couldn't remember all the lyrics, just the "cryin's not for me... nothin's worryin' me" part.

Perfect timing, because as of yesterday afternoon, my dad's back in the hospital with a suspected stroke.But even though I shed a few tears and battled those little worry demons, I didn't hop in my car and head to Houston this time, instead trusting my siblings who live there to take care of my parents.(Hallelujah!, Daddy's stable and not showing any signs of paralysis.) 

Alas, all day the heavy gray sky sat on the hills surrounding me, obscuring them from my vision, and I thought, how appropriate for the cusp of a new year that seems foggy with changes I can sense but not visualize enough to predict their direction or the effects they will leave behind. 

One I know without a doubt will be wonderful - my oldest will be getting married in the spring. I can't wait for that, for the tears and laughter and dancing of that night...for the light of love in their eyes and for officially embracing a new daughter.

And, call me crazy, but I'm still optimistic that, even in this economy, there's someone out there who wants to hire a 53-year-old female with an eclectic work record and no degree for a fascinating job with good pay and benefits...and even with a full-time job I'll be able to finish my children's book and get back to my great-grandfather's story by the end of the year...and continue building my photography business. And sleep.

But I know some of the changes waiting in the mist of this new year will be tough. Tough enough that I don't want to imagine them at all, even as I try to prepare myself for them.

That gray cloud has settled inside of me today, I'm afraid. Tom and I usually have a party to welcome the new year, but this year we procrastinated more than usual and just never got around to planning it. I could dress up and go to a friend's party, but with Daddy in the hospital, I think I'm just going to stay home. It feels like a night to whisper goodbye and hello.

For the past few days I've been trying to think of my word for the year, hoping the right one would find me. And, thanks to the mist and fog obscuring the hills, it did:

Faith.

Faith to keep moving forward, even when my path is obscured. Faith that I'll have the wisdom I need. Faith I'll find a way to be a light for others...that I'll be flexible in the pushes and pulls to come in this next year...that I will know when to fly and when to perch and rest for awhile.

Faith that there will be enough money, enough love, enough time. Enough respect and trust. Enough whatever...which shouldn't be hard, because we've always had at least just enough in the past. 

Wishing all of you tons of blessings, love, light, and faith in 2013!

 

Lighting a Candle

Thinking of those babies in Connecticut tonight, and their teachers. The families left in mourning.  

Thinking of the young man and how desperately sad he must have been...how full of despair and darkness...to do what he did.

Vowing to try harder to be a light in this world, instead of contributing to the darkness.

 

There will come a day...

 

There will come a day when I will want to dance, but my feet will stumble. 

So I will dance today.

There will come a day when I'll want to help, but my hands will fumble.

So I will help today.

There will come a day when I will want to say "I love you", but my voice will falter.

So I will say "I love you" today.

Did You Get Yours?

 

I bought a Powerball Lottery ticket today. It had been so long, I wasn't even sure how to do it, but the nice kid behind the counter was very helpful. 

I'm not sure why I decided to throw my numbers into that hat. I know what the odds of winning are (ridiculous!) but in all honesty, I have a better chance of winning the lottery than writing a million-dollar bestseller or having a screenplay turned into a real movie.

And since that whole "real job" thing isn't panning out the way I hoped, what the heck?

So I bought my ticket and have spent the afternoon thinking positive and compiling a list of what I'll do with the money. First, I'll pay off all of our loans and relish being debt-free. (Whew! That feels good!)

Then, if there's anything left...

Ha! Just joking. We're in deep, but not $360,200,000 deep, which is the estimated cash value we'd, I mean, we will receive. I opted for cash payout rather than spreading it out over 30 years. Geez, I probably won't be alive in 30 years!

Anyway, back to the rest of my list:  

• I'll buy Tom a dependable car, so his weekends are free again (for playing ping-pong!)
• I would buy the materials to finally finish this house (and hire the people to do it, if Tom would let me!) 
• I'll replace our 26 year-old couch.
• I'll hire someone to stay with my parents and fix up their 50+ year-old house, or find them another place to live. Whichever they preferred.
• I'll donate money to my church to help build a new Parish Activity Center, with plenty of classrooms and meeting rooms.
• I'll travel. There's so much of the world I haven't seen yet, including Disney World and California!
• I'll donate, and donate, and help out.
• Okay, yes, I'll buy myself a new camera and a couple of lenses I've had my eye on.

 

What I won't do:

• Buy a big new house or expensive cars or clothes or jewelry or anything extravagant.

The thing is, except for getting out from under that debt-weight and a new couch and a good car for Tom, I don't need anything. My life is pretty dang awesome the way it is. Heck, if we could just get out from under our debt, I wouldn't mind keeping the old couch!

If you win tonight (if you bought a ticket) what will you do?

 

 

 

 

You'll Find Me Out on the Limb

I spent too many years day-dreaming near the tree's trunk, playing it safe, following guidelines I formed for myself (from who knows where) on how I should act, what I should do, who I should be.

Then Fifty drew near, in all her daring glory, taunting me, teasing me, luring me out onto the limb because, after all, that's where the fruit is, and to reach it you have to take risks.

Not the foolhardy, life threatening kinds, but ones involving your heart, your pride. You have to risk embarrassment and failure. You have to not care.

I stepped gingerly at first, but soon forgot my fear because of the amazing view, the possibilities that opened wide around me. I didn't worry about a safety net, but determined to fly higher, rather than fall. 

Out on the limb I feel the breeze, reminding me to breathe. Out on the limb I learn to balance between my dreams and my responsibilities.

Out on the limb I remember to dance.

This is my contribution to Kelly Letky's Celebration of Life link-up, in honor of her 50th birthday. Read more on her post at Mrs. Mediocrity.

Happy birthday, Kelly!

 

Good Intentions

I dusted and vacuumed yesterday.

I'm not sure how long it had been since it was last done, but let me put it this way: I keep photos of the kids on a table near the front door and change them out for each season or holiday (sometimes the extent of my decorating) - and my poor kids were still stuck in summertime, playing on the beach. They totally missed Halloween and playing in piles of leaves and dressing up as Pilgrims.

(Translation: I haven't dusted since before Halloween! I wasn't joking when I said I needed my Dad to come up and clean my house!)

My house is by no stretch of the imagination "clean", but at least the main rooms appear presentable and my Christmas decorations have moved from the downstairs storage room to the middle of the livingroom, thanks to 2/3 of my kids. That's major progress, believe me.

However, a few years ago the decorations spent more time in those boxes in the middle of the room than they did spread out where we could see them. I'm determined that doesn't happen again this year, but at the same time, I'm determined not to stress about it.

Or about gifts, either. I don't want to go totally giftless, like last year, because I believe giving is a beautiful way to show your love, but I'm not going to let that aspect of Christmas stress me out, either, or feel compelled to go even broker in my giving.  

Instead, I want to focus on family and friends and my faith during this season of Advent. I want to slow down and savor and think and simplify.

There will be parties and gatherings with friends. I'll need to work, both at my paying jobs and on my book to beat the December 19th deadline. I'll have trips back and forth to Houston to help my parents with doctor's appointments and whatever else they need.

But over and above it all, I want to stay centered and focused. I want to breathe and love and give thanks. I want to look inward and prepare my soul.

I'm wishing that in the days ahead you are able to slow down and breathe and find meaning in the trappings of the season, whatever they may be for you.

 

 

 "Joy is the true gift of Christmas, not the expensive gifts that call for time and money. We can communicate this joy simply: with a smile, a kind gesture, a little help, forgiveness. And the joy we give will certainly come back to us.…Let us pray that this presence of the liberating joy of God shines forth in our lives."

~ Pope Benedict XVI 

Transitions

My Uncle Bobby passed away this week. Daddy's younger brother.

Like Daddy and the other men in his family, Uncle Bobby had suffered from heart and vascular problems for years, but it was a slow battle with cancer that took him away. He was a sweet man. In my heart I will always see him smiling, ready to laugh about something. 

That's him in the photo below, wearing my sister's wig, flanked by his son, Jeff, and yours truly, the Tomboy in ripped jeans. 

 

I'm grateful that I got to speak to Uncle Bobby a few times recently and assure him of my love and prayers. He called often to check on Daddy after his surgery. I'm glad they got to speak to each other, too.

Jeff stopped by my parents' house on my mom's birthday with a satchel full of old photo albums he'd found at his parents' house that had belonged to our aunt and grandmother. We opened them and stepped back into the years when we were oblivious to time.

When you're young, you can't imagine standing where your parents stand. You never dream that someday you'll be one of those pillars holding up the family, trying to help make decisions about things you had been happily oblivious to just months before.

 

 

Now time is tick, tick, ticking in my head. I feel the weight of it on my shoulders. I see, more than I ever did when I first became a mother, that circle of life, and I know that one day my kids will be taking my place as the pillars. 

But I remind myself that, if my kids are as blessed with oblivion as I have been, that time is still years away, and that I need to live each of these days, these years, to the fullest, just as my parents still do, to the best of their abilities.

I can't let the tick-ticking or the weight on my shoulders keep me from noticing blessings like cool old red trucks on display along the highway...

 

I pass Timeless Texas Classics on my way to and from Houston. Usually I travel too early or too late, and it's locked up. The old cars are tucked safely to bed up near the building.

But this past Wednesday the gate was open and these beauties were lined up close to the road. They smiled and waved at me, but I drove on by, in a hurry and too caught up in all I needed to do once I got home.

Then I realized the gift of the moment and made a U-turn. I spent several minutes walking up and down, snapping their photos, relishing that bit of suspended time.

Old cars and trucks make me smile - especially old trucks painted cherry red like the beauty above. And when you're a pillar - no, especially when you're a pillar - you need to do things that make you smile.

 

It really made me smile to hang out with a bunch of twenty-somethings that same night in honor of my soon-to-be daughter-in-law's 25th birthday. 

 

 

 

It was a little over six years ago when Tommy went to a friend's cousin's high school graduation party and fell in love. It's hard to believe Kirby was just eighteen when we first met her (and fell in love with her, too.)  

I love that all of my kids are living in Austin now, close enough to wish them happy birthdays in person.

 

Despite the challenges of the past few months, I'm still loving this season of my life.

I haven't been dancing as much as I'd like, but I can still dance. I can still walk down my dirt road and climb hills with my sweetie and puppies. I can hop in the car and meet friends for dinner... when we have time.

Time is the biggest challenge.

I haven't had time to finish my photography website or post new samples to sites where I can sell my photos or a dozen other things I need to do for my business, but this afternoon I get to photograph a beautiful family for the second year in a row. Last year the weather didn't cooperate and we had to take a few shots inside, so this year I'm going prepared with lights I borrowed from a friend, and I've been brushing up on how-to's of indoor portraits. Just in case.

I can still learn.

I'm also preparing for my writer's group meeting tomorrow evening. Thursday I was gloriously stranded at home alone for hours because Tom's car is out of commission and he needed mine to get to work so I spent them working on my children's book. Despite all that time, I barely eked out one short chapter, but I also overhauled my outline and fine tuned previous chapters, things I couldn't have done without several undistracted hours.

The next few chapters should come easier, and that's good, because I'm holding on to my goal of finishing my book by December 19, so I can submit it for critique before February's conference.

 

I hope whatever season of life you're in right now, you live it to its fullest. Let's make a pact not to waste a single moment of this sacred time we've been given... and especially the time we have with our loved ones.

 

 

Nothing in the world is permanent, and we're foolish when we ask anything to last, but surely we're still more foolish not to take delight in it while we have it.

~ W. Somerset Maugham

 

Small Stones from Methodist Hospital

Today is the first ever Mindful Writing Day, and I almost missed it.

Small Stones is a term used by Fiona Robyn, from Writing Our Way Home, to describe a moment when you stop, focus and really pay attention to one thing and write it down, using words that evoke the senses.

I began gathering my stones in Methodist Hospital last week, while waiting there with my mother during my dad's surgery. I'm not sure if I did it right, but in any case, these are a few stones I gathered to share. Others gathered today...more private...I've tucked away in my heart.

 

Low voices. Muffled laughter. Squeaks and rattles and hums of carts and curtains and beds. Seconds tick in slow motion. Nearness and life press into heart and memory.

Momma's breath, rising, falling in sleep. Curtain-filtered light softens the lines on her face so close to my own, erases the years to a time when she was the night watchman who guarded my slumber.

Hospital time, measured in tap-tap-taps of IV drips, a succession of television shows, and nurse visits. 

Purses and bags of hospital-waiting necessities dangle from above. Snacks, medicine, writing material, books. Daddy's street clothes rest in Mama's lap, wrapped in a clear bag. Excuse me, excuse me, and everyone smiles, opens doors, makes room for the pretty lady in the wheelchair and her klutzy driver.

 

Check out the other stones on Writing Our Way Home and on the Mindful Writing Day Facebook page. And join me in the Rivers of Stone Challenge this January - write one stone every day. 

 

"Pay more attention and fall in love with the world." ~ Fiona Robyn

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Morning Off

Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers, why not gather your own bouquet?

~ unknown

 

 

For the first time in almost a week, I went for a walk with my puppies this morning. I had a chance to work at the elementary school, but I turned it down, and I've only felt the slightest twinge of guilt about it.

The problem with juggling mutliple part-time jobs is never having any paid time off. Ergo, you feel guilty for taking a day off.

But I needed a day to breathe. To stop and consider and catch-up and regroup and indulge and tackle big chunks of projects. I needed a day at home, after days away, and days ahead already spoken for.

I discovered that flowers are blossoming everywhere, like it's a second spring. Purple and yellow explode along the roadside and spread into the woods. I think this happens every autumn, but for some reason it always catches me by surprise - but such a wondrous surprise! They kept my camera busy.

Belle and Max were overjoyed that I was walking with them. What a great way to start the day, having someone be overjoyed to spend time with you.

Then, for the first time in weeks - maybe months - I played my drums after our walk. I vowed again, as usual, to play a little bit every day from now on.

But even as I said it, I knew it was an empty vow. When you're trying to work as much as possible to help pay bills, plus trying to get a business started and write a book and take care of your family and every weekend you're not working there is something exciting going on out of town like high school reunions... well, playing the drums gets pushed way down on the list. But it was still fun today.

Next, I ran on the treadmill. As with the morning walks, it had been almost a week since I'd worked out, so I went easy on myself. I ran three miles, but let myself jog at a slower pace.

(It's funny. Lately I've dreaded my workouts, chafing at the time it takes, thinking of a million other things I need to do instead, like a kid making excuses to get out of doing her homework. But this morning, after not being able to work out for so long, I savored the opportunity. Weird, huh?)

I spent the afternoon focused on my budding photography business, specifically, working toward a website.  I purchased the domain and tomorrow, budget drained, I'm going to teach myself CSS and whatever else I need to know to build and design it. 

A lot of work, perhaps, but I'm just adding flowers to my bouquet. They come in all different shapes and sizes and colors.

I hope you continue to add to yours.

 

 

 

 

 

P.S. Thanks to everyone who nagged me to send those photos to Marilyn. I'm happy to report I did it! And if you're interested, I posted the photos on "For Marilyn, at long last" on my photography blog.

 

Linked to 

 

What would I do...?

 

As she has for more than ten years, my sister joined me and my girlfriends at the beach this past weekend.

From my earliest memory, Brenda has been my closest friend, and, along with my mother, my role model and inspiration.  Despite the eight years between us and my bratty personality, when I was little she often let me tag along with her. She drove me and my friends places, and as I got older, was there whenever I needed support or just someone to laugh or cry with.

When we were younger, we spent lots of time together (she was the best big sister ever!) but eventually husbands, kids, and my move to another town made it difficult to have more than brief visits. So I really looked forward to these annual trips to the coast and long hours to relax together.

However, this year I was torn. Brenda's Parkinson's disease hasn't been an issue, but a hip injury isn't healing as well as we hoped and, as much as I wanted to see her, I worried the trip would aggravate the injury, that she would overdo it between sitting in a vehicle for hours and walking too much, even with her cane or walker. She had taken several trips the past year and always seemed to have a setback and be in pain afterwards. 

On her part, she worried she would be a burden on everyone, that her mobility issues would prevent her from doing any cooking or cleaning.

That's when my friends proved they've embraced her as their sister, too...

"Does anyone think this woman would be a burden?  Should I just go get her & force her into my vehicle? Is there a rule that she HAS to shop or cook?  Wouldn't we all take care of each other?  Brenda.....PLEEEZ come with me!"

"Absolutely no rule that says she has to do a thing, Brenda we need you there. there are plently of us to take care of the grocery stop, the preparing of food. You just come relax."

And Mary Kay pointed out that she needed someone to stay and watch movies with her while the rest of us went dancing.

So once again, Brenda joined us in Port A, and I'll be eternally grateful to those wonderful friends who helped soothe her fears and mine so I could have another great weekend with my big sister. 

Although she's always looked forward to taking that drive alone, this year Brenda hitched a ride with Patti, my sweet Deer Park Diva friend who joined us this year. And everyone stepped up to help her with whatever she needed, whether it was a drink, a steady hand, or just company.

Brenda has always been independent, always been the one to step up and help others, never worried about what anyone thought about her. She's stubborn and doesn't take crap off of anyone, but no matter what hurdle or trial she faced, her Pollyanna spirit shone through and helped her find a bright side. 

So I know it was tough for her to admit her limitations, but even tougher to ask for help. To accept that help. But as usual, she faced that fear. By voicing it, she zapped it of its strength and found a way around it. And I'm glad.

What would I do if I were not afraid?

~ Martha E. Manglesdorf

 

I thought of Brenda when I read that quote yesterday, then I asked...What am I afraid of? What am I letting fear keep me from doing?

In the past, the fear of failure kept me from trying new things. While I'm no longer afraid of rejection slips, they still make me wince.

Too often I've let the fear of other people's opinions guide my steps instead of being true to myself and having faith in my own opinions. I've been afraid of speaking in public or standing in front of large crowds. (It kept me from taking part in my senior class play.) Now it doesn't bother me. Much.

Fear for my kids - for their health, happiness, work... heck, their very souls -  hovers in the recesses of my heart, but I'm much better about turning that fear over to God and trusting Him to take care of it and show me how to help. I've found handing fears over to God is a great way to get rid of them.

A little harder to let go of is my fear of sinking deeper into debt. It's that fear - and the fear of Tom keeling over from the stress of it - that keeps me from diving headfirst into my writing and photography, buying equipment and books and attending all the conferences and courses that are "recommended".

But I've torn free from it enough to keep moving forward with those dreams, finding my way along the old, slower (free!) highways instead of the faster tollways. 

So... what would you do if you weren't afraid? 

 

My beautiful sister and our beautiful friends. To read more about how awesome my sister is, click HERE and HERE.

Perspective

I stepped out for my walk before the sun stretched into the Hollow this morning and right away considered running back in for a sweater...or at least a shirt with sleeves.

A 'cold' front blew through our part of Texas yesterday, knocking the high temperatures down from the triple digits all the way to the 90's, and dragging our morning lows into the 60's with it. 

In some parts of the country where highs rarely reach the 90's, I'm sure that sounds like a summer heat wave. But here, it's just a welcome sign that autumn is knocking on the door.

It's all about perspective.

The same is true about age.

"Old age is fifteen years older than I am."  ~Oliver Wendell Holmes

Last night I helped my friend Conni celebrate her 50th birthday. She doesn't technically turn 50 for about a week, but her husband and daughter surprised her with a party. Another friend, Nancy, and her husband Paul came in town to go to the party.

It just so happened to be Nancy's actual birthday - she turned 48.

Babies, I found myself thinking. Just babies. 

Babies Nancy and Conni on the left, holding up their elders on the right, me and Cheryl.

And then I gave thanks for my older friends and siblings, to whom I will forever be a youngster, as well as my high school classmates, who will eternally remain 18 in my eyes, and who (I hope) will always see me the same way... even though we are trudging forward into our middish fifties now.

"True terror is to wake up one morning and discover that your high school class is running the country."  ~Kurt Vonnegut

And now for more sweet!s of the past week...

 

Monday: grandpuppies; your sons and their friends moving heavy furniture for you when your husband's back decides to go on strike; pulling together with other friends to support one in need; seeing one of your posts featured on Pioneer Woman's sidebar so that you get lots of hits on your blog 

 

 

Tuesday: lighting candles and praying in a quiet church; running into good friends in the grocery store; grilling a steak without setting anything on fire (long story)

Wednesday: the stillness of morning, just after dawn; chatting with longtime parishioners you rarely get to see; time to catch up on your blog-reading

Thursday: a twinkle in an old puppy's eye when playing with his puppy; scratching dusty things off your to-do list; phone calls with your mother-in-law, daughter, daddy, sister, sister-in-law, and mother, all in one day

Friday: a dog's wiggly joy at going for a walk; witnessing those in need helped by members of your local St. Vincent de Paul Society

Saturday: clouds kissed pink by the rising sun; discounts; high temperatures finally dropping from the triple digits to the nineties; celebrating the birthdays of two dear friends; surprise parties; evenings on the back deck, catching up with old friends

 

Sunday: a chill in the morning air; a lone butterfly posing for you long enough to snap several close-up photos with your iPhone, even though your dogs are skirmishing nearby; attending Mass with your confirmation sponsor, who happens to be a dear friend; time for a breakfast taco before heading to work after church; remembering your father-in-law on what would have been his 83rd birthday (Happy birthday, Pop! )

What were some of the sweet!est moments of your past week? 

Disappointment

 

How do you deal with disappointment,

and what lessons do you have to share from those experiences?

That's BlogHer's Life Well Lived Getting Happy question of the week and it's had me sorting through my past, trying to remember disappointing moments in my life. It was tougher than I thought it would be - I think the way I deal with disappointment is to accept the feeling, try to learn from it, forgive or forget as necessary, and move on. 

But I finally dug up a few disappointments: crumbled friendships that I thought were rock solid, some broken promises, missed opportunities, rejection letters... 

I remember like it was yesterday finding that letter in my mailbox...the one telling me the Texas magazine wanted to publish and pay me for the very first personal essay I had ever submitted anywhere in my entire life. I was flying so high from their acceptance and the validation of my writing that I'm sure my feet never touched the ground on my way back to the house.

The low that followed when I sat down to write again was fueled by the fear of rejection. It was so scary sending that next essay out into the world, sure that people were going to read it, shake their heads, and whisper that my first success must have been a fluke.  

But I made myself write it and send it out anyway. I also read all I could about famous writers who had received numerous rejection letters. It helped prepare me for my own inevitable rejection letter.

In a way, it was a relief to get that first rejection out of the way. I was disappointed, of course, but I lived. And I also learned, because the editor, Ken Hammond, let me know his reasons and encouraged me to try again. 

Before the Houston Chronicle quit publishing the Texas magazine, it rejected several of my essays, but accepted and published two more.  And one they rejected received an honorable mention in a Writer's Digest contest.

The thing is, disappointment is just part of life. If you want to experience the highs... if you want to appreciate the highs... well, you have to expect the lows.

You probably get bonus points for appreciating them, too.

So... 

 

How do you deal with disappointment,

and what lessons do you have to share from those experiences?

 

Please share your answer here, but then hop over and join in the conversation on the main post HERE. To win an iPod Touch, leave a comment on the sweepstakes page HERE.

 

 

Feels so right on a Friday the 13th

I've been sitting here listening to Alabama's Greatest Hits, getting all sappy, thinking back to another Friday the 13th almost 30 years ago when I said "I do"...

... and thinking even further back to that night at Gilley's just a year earlier when Alabama sang "Feels so right..." and Tom and I were the only ones on the dance floor...

We weren't really the only ones dancing, of course, but it felt that way, and it already felt so right being there in his arms, just twenty-four hours after seeing his face for the very first time.

It felt so right that if you had told me back then there would be days in the next 31 years when we didn't know if we'd make it, days when we didn't even like each other, I would have laughed at you.

Who knew marriage could sometimes feel like running a three-legged race in the dark over a dangerous obstacle course?

You would think that time together would help you grow stronger, to work more like a team, that the obstacles would get smaller and easier to maneuver with every passing year.

But just recently so many of our friends have gone their separate ways after decades together that I'm wondering if midlife is perhaps the biggest obstacle of them all? An avalanche of issues left lying unresolved or ignored, like child-rearing philosophies and financial stresses and unfulfilled dreams and buried jealousies and hurt feelings and wounded pride, piling up higher and higher until all it takes is a look or one sarcastic word to send it all crashing.

How does anyone survive something like that without superhuman powers?

The thing is, many do. I'm grateful we have so far. Very, very grateful.

My arsenol of secret weapons includes remembering how right it felt in those first few days... that "Oh, it's you!" realization when I first looked into his eyes... and believing with a certainty that erased all traces of agnosticism in my mind and heart that God brought us together.

However, that certainty doesn't lull me into taking it for granted our marriage will survive the obstacles still waiting for us there in the dark of the future without a fierce determination to get through them together, and plenty of secret weapons.

In fact, I think that may be another secret weapon - don't take your marriage, or your love, for granted. Ever. Period.

But the secret weapon I use the most? Prayer.

 

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love. 

~ From Kahlil Gibran on Love and Marriage

 

*thank you for taking this photo of us, Rae! It's still one of my favorites!

Dusk

I swayed on the porch swing, listening to Dave Matthews harmonize with crickets, cicadas, and two puppies breathing.

I leaned back, contemplating the contrast of shadowed leaves against a dusky blue sky, noting the one early star peaking out from the eaves on my outward swing.

No wind. No leaves rustling on the branches. No thunder or lightning or barking dogs.

My day's list wasn't yet completed, but I knew those moments on the porch, just being there, being still, breathing with the puppies, were as important as any to-do left on tomorrow's doorstep.

“Sometimes I feel like if you just watch things, just sit still and let the world exist in front of you-sometimes I swear that just for a second time freezes and the world pauses in its tilt. Just for a second. And if you somehow found a way to live in that second, then you would live forever.” 

~ Lauren Oliver, Delirium

 

 

Happiness?

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

~ Declaration of Independence 

An armadillo shell lies on my back deck. I gave up tossing it into the woods. The dogs just kept bringing it back.

But all the stinky part is gone, and it makes Max and Belle happy, snacking on it like a huge pork rind, so I just leave it.

Happiness is more elusive for us humans, though, isn't it? Even the Declaration of Independence refers to "the pursuit" of happiness as an inalienable right, not happiness itself.

I blame BlogHer for making me so philosophical about happiness today. Their Life Well Lived "Getting Happy" question of the week is What are your favorite resources for increasing and sustaining happiness?

But how do you get happy to begin with?

"Most people are about as happy as they make up their minds to be."

~Abraham Lincoln

I love that quote. Our happiness can't depend on things or people or circumstances, but on our attitudes about them. It has to come from the inside. 

That's easier said than done, of course. That's why there are so many therapists.

"No one is guaranteed happiness. Life just gives us time and space. It's up to us to fill it with joy and meaning."

~from a poster of pithy inspirational quotes that hangs in my bathroom and I love very much

 

Over time I've discovered three things that fill my life with joy and meaning, and therefore serve as the bedrock for my happiness and the answer to BlogHer's question:

Giving. Loving. Appreciating.

No matter what happens to us in life, no matter how little control we have over people or events or circumstances, we can always love (well, you might have to ask God to help)... we always have something to give, even if it's just our time or our prayers... and we can always find at least one little thing to appreciate, to give thanks for, even if it's just the chance to start over with a new day.

"Even if happiness forgets you for a little bit, never completely forget about it."

~ Jaques Prevert

Just a random flower photo... my gift to you!

Want to read more of my thoughts on happiness? I wrote about it almost four years ago HERE. It's a pretty good post, even if I do say so myself. 

Be sure to visit the main post on BlogHer, Five Steps to Lasting Joy, and don't forget to enter the sweepstakes HERE.

Almonds and other sweet!s of the week

He was dirty and carried a cardboard sign ever closer to my car that said something like "Homeless Need a Job Hungry God Bless." 

I focused on the "hungry" and rolled down my window. My son was with me, so I felt safe.

"Would you like some almonds?" I asked, holding out a snack-sized ziplock bag full of them. I always have almonds with me to ward off hunger pains in a healthy way when I'm out running errands or on a trip. I hate being hungry.

"That would be great," he answered, taking them from me. "Thank you."

The light changed. I moved forward slowly, but he walked faster toward the intersection where his backpack rested. I saw him drop his sign, but then we were past, continuing our journey.

I couldn't see what happened next in his. I like to think he dropped to the grass and ate some almonds, that he really was grateful for them and not just begging for drug or alcohol money.

I also like to think another car came by with a legitimate job offer for him and that he took it and turned his life around and then helped another corner person get moving in the right direction.

It doesn't hurt to think big.

 

Saturday: seeing a photography friend you met while at work again; talking about writing with other writers; finally hearing Duck Soup; dancing; summer nights on a hill above a lake

Sunday: watching babies and little kids in church; helping a dear friend celebrate her birthday; a call from your son; watching a movie with your sweetie

Monday: a call from a friend, even though it was mostly full of sad news; a walk at dusk 

Tuesday: a glimpse of the Great Blue Heron and your duck family; watching your old puppy swim

Wednesday: being addressed as 'Young Lady' at the grocery store; a clean house; your husband alerting you to a painted bunting; forgetting all of your to-do's to just watch the birds at your feeder 

Thursday: watching a baby duck grow day by day; relaxed hours playing catch-up with a dear friend; joining a bunch of crazy middle-aged women for a midnight movie

Friday: getting to sleep in after a late night out; iced coffee on a hot summer day; $400 in free jewelry; pink clouds; sangria on a summer night

Saturday: a road trip with your son (double sweet!... going to see your parents!); an in-person hug from your sister; eating at a Mexican food restaurant you've been going to for almost 50 years

Sunday: the sound of rain; your daddy's bacon, eggs and biscuits for breakfast; someone stopping to see if you need help when you stop on the side of the road to take photos of old trucks; having almonds in your car to give to someone in need

 

I'm not sure how they end up out of work and hungry, possibly homeless, these corner people who stand near intersections holding signs and taking almonds or spare change from open windows.

Did they drop out of school, like me? Are they habitual liars, to others and themselves, to the point that their families had to distance themselves? Do they even have families, a mother or father whose heart aches with worry and helplessness? Did one mistake lead to another and another until the weight of that burden crushed the possibility of any other chances or hope for better, and their only relief is from drugs or alcohol? Has misplaced pride bound them in its chains?

It's easy to jump to conclusions. To judge.

But I think it's a better use of time to smile and share your almonds, to say a prayer for the corner people and then one of thanks for all of your own blessings, like a job and home and family, and to vow never to take them for granted. 

Because for all of us, life can change in an instant.

Just another good reason to keep track of the sweet! moments in each day... and to carry extra almonds in your car.

 

...whispering hope

I sat on the porch swing this evening listening to David Gray and watching the cardinal couple dine at the feeder. Just as the sun slipped below the trees, I felt myself slipping, too, into worry about the future.

But right away I hit the brakes and scrambled back up to reality. It hit me that I was sitting in what used to be a future I worried about years ago. Over and over again, most likely.

And I was fine. Broke and unsure of what was ahead, but overall fine. At least in that moment, I sat on a porch swing of a dream-come-true home, healthy, knowing my kids are relatively okay and that I have friends and family and really, really good credit.

So I stopped worrying about what was around the next curve and just enjoyed those moments.

There's been so much going on, so little going on. Words are getting tangled up in my mind, but I'll try to give you an update...

Max barely ate last night. Didn't eat anything this morning. Stayed in his doghouse all day, refusing to go down to the pond with me and Belle for a swim this evening. 

My heart was breaking. He's old, and I know it, but I hate having to face it.

I fixed his dinner and called him as usual, although I really didn't expect him to respond. But he did. And he actually ate almost all of his food. Sure, I held the bowl for him while he laid in his dog bed, but we do what we have to do, don't we?

And then he barked ferociously and ran off into the woods chasing something with Belle.

I was happy again.

It rained yesterday. 

I didn't go out and dance in it, but I was tempted. I'm pretty sure my crape myrtles were dancing.

The sun came back out today, and I admit I was happy to see blue sky and fluffy white clouds. But I do hope the rain comes back soon.

Do you remember Haley, the neighbor dog with a heart of gold who was hit by a truck or something but survived because she's a rock solid pit bull?

Well, she's also a little creepy, too, like Cujo, in that you'll look up and she'll suddenly be sitting there, silently staring at you.

That's what happened this evening. But I was happy to see her because she doesn't actually live next door anymore. The son, her owner, flew the nest to a house of his own.

I've missed Haley. And I think she missed me, too. After I snapped this photo, she came over to see me, tongue hanging out.

Then she waded into our creek and ate some frogs.

 

Three pennies and a nickel sit on a shelf in my closet. Alone they wouldn't buy much, but they're worth more than their monetary value to me. Each one appeared on the ground in front of me a few weeks ago, whispering "In God We Trust" at a time when my heart was dragging behind me. Five coins in one week reminding me to trust God.

I heard "trust" whispered to me all that week from quotes, fortune cookies, songs, emails. Soft reminders that lifted my heart. 

And then the next week, just when fear of the future began sprinkling seeds of doubt, everywhere I looked I read "Courage!"

Trust, courage...

...and love, the greatest of all.

On my quick trip this past Sunday to spend Father's Day with my sweet dad, I noticed this heart-shaped reminder resting on their front porch.

And then on the drive home...

 

 ...black-eyed susans and new grass flourished beside the charcoaled trunks of pine trees near Bastrop, victims of the fires that swept through last Labor Day weekend. 

From the ashes, life arises.

Whispers of hope.

This is my command - be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. ~ Joshua 1:9

 

That's my week. How's yours going?

 

 

Working

Mud. Lots of mud. And mosquitoes.

Foremen who stole from the company. Welders who smoked pot in the weld-out yard. A warehouse worker who bragged about being high on Vicodin. A co-worker nicknamed "Moo Cow", who carried a gun in her purse before it was legal and had a tattoo when they were still edgy.

Port-a-potties so nasty I would call in sick if I thought I couldn't hold it for my 10 hour shift.

I only worked construction two months, but the impact was indelible, as you can see. I learned what I didn't want to do the rest of my life and what kind of person I didn't want to be and who I didn't want to associate with, and had clear reasons why.

But without those two months, my scholarship in chemical engineering and handful of semesters in college alone wouldn't have landed me my next job at DuPont as part of the start-up team of plant technicians. 

For me, that job was supposed to be temporary - I always planned to go back and get my degree - but somehow thirteen years drifted by.

And then I quit. I stayed home with my kids, intended to publish essays and articles and books, go back to school and get my degree. Instead I wrote a little here and there, mostly for local papers detailing the Cub Scout Pack's latest accomplishments. I volunteered at the schools and for our church and our community and the kids' organizations. I did go back to school off and on, taking only one class a semester so it didn't interfere with being a mom or building our house or my volunteer work.

And I discovered that intoxicating and addicting world of part-time jobs, full of flexibility and diversity ... a trade-off that was worth the low hourly wages to me.

But twenty years, exploding property taxes, and three kids through college later, it's time for me to find an actual steady-paycheck, paid-time-off kind of job. A real career.

So I've spent hours and hours over the past couple of weeks thinking about where I'd love to work, filling out applications, trying to manipulate my eclectic work experience to fit the position at hand, coming up with creative ways to say "Although I've never..." and "Despite not having a degree..." and convincing arguments on why I'm the best one for that particular job.

And I can't help but believe something will pop up, something that I've been preparing for my entire life without being aware of it. Is that naive, to think so? 

I hope not. But I don't really care.

(Would you believe I made more money when I was twenty than these 'dream' jobs I'm applying for offer? And some of them even 'prefer' a four-year degree. Ah, the things we take for granted when we're young...)

 

 

Passing Time in Whataburger

I found myself with a few hours to kill one morning this week with nary a Starbucks in sight. So I stepped into the next best thing - a Whataburger. I knew they'd have coffee, a restroom, air-conditioning, and space for reading and writing the time away. Everything I needed.

"You doing alright, ma'am?" It was the counter lady. "Can I get you a refill on your coffee?" 

She carried a tray of ketchup, creamer, and napkins, making the round of tables, even this one with the woman nursing a cup of coffee.

"No, not right now, but thank you," I told her.

"You need something, you let me know."

That happened every few minutes. I tell you what, she and the other ladies working there put every other waiter to shame, myself included, with their smiles and eagerness to be of service.

"You write pretty," another employee paused her sweeping to tell me.

The place was never crowded. Just some workers in khaki shirts and gimme hats, a young couple, a small family. I eavesdropped on a job interview in the booth behind me, and a conversation between the counter lady and a gray-haired gentleman one booth up. He nursed a cup of coffee, just like me.

Lunchtime approached and the smell of burgers and fries drifted to my booth. I had refilled my coffee and sat scribbling on a yellow pad when I saw them walk in, the young dad and his daughter. He was slim, wearing khaki slacks and black-rimmed glasses. The girl was obviously a tomboy; she wore ragged cut-off jeans, a t-shirt, and dirty tennis shoes. Her short brown hair was a mess, tousled by the wind.

They ordered without even a glance at the menu - Whataburgers, French fries, and chocolate shakes. Once at the table, the girl scraped all the veggies off of the patty with a fry before taking a big bite of the burger. Right away she stuffed a few French fries in her mouth and took a slurp of her shake.

Then she smiled at her daddy, and I smiled at the memory, and tears filled my eyes at the fleetness of time. 

I stepped to the counter and ordered a burger and fries. I didn't scrape the veggies off this time, if you're wondering, and I ordered tea, not a shake, but the burger tasted just as good as it did on all those long ago Whataburger visits, when I was eight and ten and twelve, sitting across from my daddy.

I'm grateful for things that don't change. And for sweet memories that only need the scent of a burger to appear.

 

If after reading this, you're asking "What the heck is Whataburger?" then click HERE for more information and the history of this chain. On the home page of the website you'll see what the one in my memory looked like.

For you Austin-ites, or travelers passing through Austin, the one I spent so much time in this week is on the corner of Airport and MLK. Such great service, you feel like you've eaten in a 5-star restaurant!

And of course, when you're through, you say "What a burger!"

To my kids (and myself)

     ".....I urge you to do whatever you do for no reason other than you love it and believe in its importance.  Don’t bother with work you don’t believe in any more than you would a spouse you’re not crazy about, lest you too find yourself on the wrong side of a Baltimore Orioles comparison.  Resist the easy comforts of complacency, the specious glitter of materialism, the narcotic paralysis of self-satisfaction.  Be worthy of your advantages.  And read… read all the time… read as a matter of principle, as a matter of self-respect.  Read as a nourishing staple of life.  Develop and protect a moral sensibility and demonstrate the character to apply it.  Dream big.  Work hard.  Think for yourself.  Love everything you love, everyone you love, with all your might.  And do so, please, with a sense of urgency, for every tick of the clock subtracts from fewer and fewer; and as surely as there are commencements there are cessations, and you’ll be in no condition to enjoy the ceremony attendant to that eventuality no matter how delightful the afternoon.

            The fulfilling life, the distinctive life, the relevant life, is an achievement, not something that will fall into your lap because you’re a nice person or mommy ordered it from the caterer.  You’ll note the founding fathers took pains to secure your inalienable right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness–quite an active verb, “pursuit”–which leaves, I should think, little time for lying around watching parrots rollerskate on Youtube.  The first President Roosevelt, the old rough rider, advocated the strenuous life.  Mr. Thoreau wanted to drive life into a corner, to live deep and suck out all the marrow.  The poet Mary Oliver tells us to row, row into the swirl and roil.  Locally, someone… I forget who… from time to time encourages young scholars to carpe the heck out of the diem.  The point is the same: get busy, have at it.  Don’t wait for inspiration or passion to find you.  Get up, get out, explore, find it yourself, and grab hold with both hands.  (Now, before you dash off and get your YOLO tattoo, let me point out the illogic of that trendy little expression–because you can and should live not merely once, but every day of your life.  Rather than You Only Live Once, it should be You Live Only Once… but because YLOO doesn’t have the same ring, we shrug and decide it doesn’t matter.)

            None of this day-seizing, though, this YLOOing, should be interpreted as license for self-indulgence.  Like accolades ought to be, the fulfilled life is a consequence, a gratifying byproduct.  It’s what happens when you’re thinking about more important things.  Climb the mountain not to plant your flag, but to embrace the challenge, enjoy the air and behold the view.  Climb it so you can see the world, not so the world can see you.  Go to Paris to be in Paris, not to cross it off your list and congratulate yourself for being worldly.  Exercise free will and creative, independent thought not for the satisfactions they will bring you, but for the good they will do others, the rest of the 6.8 billion–and those who will follow them.  And then you too will discover the great and curious truth of the human experience is that selflessness is the best thing you can do for yourself.  The sweetest joys of life, then, come only with the recognition that you’re not special.

 Because everyone is."

 

I didn't write this.

I wish I had. It was written by English teacher David McCullough, Jr.of Wellesley High School in Wellesley, Massachusetts and given to the graduating Class of 2012 as a commencement speech.

I wish someone had given this to my kids at their graduation. Heck, I wish someone had given it to my class at our graduation.

You can find the speech in its entirety HERE in the Swellesley Report (yes, really) and I urge you to go read it. And then I urge you to print it out and hang it on your wall and read it over and over and over.

Because his words don't just apply to graduating seniors but to everyone. Each morning we wake up to a new day full of moments waiting to matter and make our own... full of slippery opportunities, experiences, and chances... full of places to explore. 

Thank you, Suldog, for posting the link on your blog and making me aware of it!

"Climb the mountain not to plant your flag, but to embrace the challenge, enjoy the air and behold the view.  Climb it so you can see the world, not so the world can see you." 

Amen, Mr. David McCullough, Jr. Amen!

Thinking of another Memorial Day Weekend (plus my Sweet!s of My Week)

A day with our kids and other families, swimming in a cold river, eating fresh pineapple, grilling burgers... a night spent laughing and dancing to Johnny Dee and the Rocket '88s... and then a phone call early on that Tuesday morning afterwards that made me realize how much I had been taking for granted and how quickly life can change directions.

That Tuesday was fourteen years ago today. Tom left for work, expecting it to be like any other day, but it wasn't.  He didn't expect the other car to come into his lane, didn't expect to spend a week in the hospital or the summer trying to heal and recover instead of building our home. He didn't expect to live with pain for the next fourteen years.

But that's what happened, whether he expected it or not. And the thing is, we got through it. We built our home... not that summer, but there were other summers, and I'm grateful for that. We've spent more days swimming in cold water with family and friends, and evenings laughing and dancing. I don't think a day goes by when Tom isn't in some degree of pain, but somehow he moves on and doesn't let it stop him from doing what he needs, or wants, to do.

(I took notes and turned them into an essay as therapy... click "In the Aftermath of a Car Crash" if you want to read more about it.)

It wasn't the last unexpected detour in our road we've encountered, and I'm sure there are more waiting for us. I can't say I'm grateful it happened. I'd love to tell you something positive that came from it, but honestly, I haven't been able to see that ray of light yet. Perhaps it's shining where I can't see it. I can only hope so.

But I'm still grateful, period, that whatever roadblock is in front of us now, we're approaching it together.

Life is just too short for grudges and regrets that burn holes in your heart, for dwelling on the past or the future so long that you miss your today.

It's too short not to pursue your passion even if you only have a few seconds free each day to do it.

Too short to sit back and wait for things to happen, or for someone else to do it, or to make excuses.

Too short not to love with your whole heart, leaving no room for pride or selfishness, always trying to understand, listen, forgive, and ask forgiveness.

Too short not to take care of yourself and those you love.

Life is just too short, period, and too wonderful to take for granted.

(I've spared you the most graphic images of Tom. His face was split open. You're welcome.)

And now for a few sweet! moments of my week...

Sunday: chunks of time for writing; sitting in a dark theater, laughing at Dark Shadows with 2/3 of your kids, flashing back to watching the series with your dad; theater popcorn, courtesy of your son; giving my time for a friend

Monday: being asked to critique a high schooler's short story; friends pulling together to support another friend; a framed photo of you and your daughter from more than a decade ago sitting on your desk while you work, a belated Mother's Day gift from your baby girl

Tuesday: a songbird greeting you first thing in the morning; a day with your daughter, running errands, grocery shopping, meeting her new roommates; a funny movie with friends; popcorn for dinner twice in one week

Wednesday: Texas farmland and wide open spaces; supporting a dear friend as she says goodbye to her mother; catching up with long-time friends; your husband taking care of a mama mouse and her babies that he found in the garage, rather than put them outside where they'd surely be eaten by a snake 

(but now what do we do with them???)

Thursday: working out for the first time in a week; hours free to work on your book; two walks with your dogs in one day; friends who send you links to freelance jobs; not having to drive anywhere all day! 

Friday: turtles and yellow-crowned night heron sightings, even if you forgot to bring your zoom lens on your morning walk (do you spot it up there in the drying-up pong?); your puppy pouncing through the tall grass after lizards; scratching things off your to-do list; a call from your sister; sigh-evoking engagement photos of your son and his love; your baby girl home for the weekend

Saturday: having your husband by your side, through good days and bad days

Share your sweet moments with me! I think sharing makes them sweeter.

I hope your coming week is full of sweet, magical moments and that you remember not to take a single one for granted!

This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.

~Thomas Carlyle

Transitions

The moment your baby is born, your heart grows so much with love that you think it will explode out of your chest. A second later, you have a vision of this tiny baby all grown up, leaving you to find its own way in this big world, and you feel the searing pain of anticipated loss.

There are times you have to tuck that knowledge away in a cupboard of your heart so you can quit worrying... so you can relax and enjoy those precious, fleeting baby moments.

At other times you need to pull that reminder out and set it in a prominent place, either as consolation when those precious moments turn into exhausting, overwhelming, frustrating, and seemingly endless days of their childhood or a reminder when you take those days and their childhood for granted.

If you're lucky, the going moves gradually, back and forth, like waves on the seashore during lowtide, returning but staying away longer and longer each time.

We're now in low tide with TG. Last week I moved her home... today I moved her back out again, into a first apartment with two other girls. It was a planned move and it's a cute place, with a spiral staircase in what seems to be a secure complex. I'm excited for her. I'm happy for her.

But this will be my first summer without her here at home (will I ever have another?) and dang it, I'm going to miss my baby, just like I knew I would one day. 

 

 We've had bad luck with our kids - they've all grown up. 

~Christopher Morley

 

But I have to admit... spending whatever time I'm given with the woman she's become is a pretty good trade-off.

Wishing her the best of luck in this summer semester, and keeping her close in my heart and lifted high in prayer...

What Do You Worry About?

 

The older I get, the less I worry. 

That doesn't mean I don't worry. Just that I'm beginning to realize worry doesn't help anything.

Prayer does, so the older I get, the more I pray.... that God will show me what I can do to help the situation, and if there's nothing I can do, to help me step back and let him take care of things.

...And that no matter what, I never lose hope.

When I do worry, it's about my kids... our finances... Tom's health... um... I think that's it. Next to those, nothing else seems to matter that much.

Oh, I pray about much more than that... issues that my friends and family are dealing with... social problems in the world... but I'm talking about that knotted up, gray-cloud-of-despair, helpless type of worry.

I recently came across this list that author F. Scott Fitzgerald gave to his 11-year-old daughter, Scottie, in 1933.  

Things to worry about:

Worry about courage
Worry about cleanliness
Worry about efficiency
Worry about horsemanship

Things not to worry about: 

Don’t worry about popular opinion
Don’t worry about dolls
Don’t worry about the past
Don’t worry about the future
Don’t worry about growing up
Don’t worry about anybody getting ahead of you
Don’t worry about triumph
Don’t worry about failure unless it comes through your own fault
Don’t worry about mosquitoes
Don’t worry about flies
Don’t worry about insects in general
Don’t worry about parents
Don’t worry about boys
Don’t worry about disappointments
Don’t worry about pleasures
Don’t worry about satisfactions

Things to think about: 

What am I really aiming at? 
How good am I really in comparison to my contemporaries in regard to:

(a) Scholarship
(b) Do I really understand about people and am I able to get along with them? 
(c) Am I trying to make my body a useful instrument or am I neglecting it? 

With dearest love,

Daddy

I don't agree with him on all of the items (horsemanship?), but I do on quite a few (especially the "nots") and like that he divided it between things we have control over and things we don't.

I wish I'd had the forethought to give my kids a list like this when they were younger. 

They probably wouldn't have listened to me, though.

I wonder if F. Scott's daughter listened to him? Probably not. We all seem to have to learn the hard way, right?

So... what do you worry about? 

 

Tenacity

Tomorrow will mark four days in a row I didn't have to report to one job or another. That's a record. When I say "job", I'm not talking about working on my book or photography, but at one of those hourly paying gigs that help feed our bank account.

When I envisioned these four wide open days, I saw myself up early, typing away at my book, filling dozens of pages even before heading out for my morning walk with the puppies. I would then edit some photos, write a blog post or two before lunch, followed by making a major dent on my to-do notebook (it's expanded way beyond a list.) I would still have time to work out, and take the pups and my camera on an afternoon walk to the pond. 

Well, of course, in real life it didn't work out that way. I had so many odds and ends to take care of that it felt like my days just kind of piddled away.

I did manage to  work on my book a couple of times, edit some photos, and publish a blog post, but there are some major to-do's I still haven't tackled.

There's always tomorrow...

I say that too often these days.

The thing is... and I hate to put words to the phantom thoughts drifting through my brain.. but I'm beginning to think it's impossible to be a writer, photographer, blogger, personal historian, mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, waiter, substitute teacher, and.... um, I think that's it.... all at the same time.

But that doesn't mean I'm giving up. 

On one of my recent walks, I noticed new grapevine twisting around an old limb. Clinging, climbing, intent on moving ever up and up. I was first struck by the bright red color, but its tenacity is what mesmerizes and inspires me now. Tom cleared out as much grapevine as he could this winter - it tends to choke the trees - but grapevine is one stubborn, headstrong plant.

 

I want to be like that.

Last Wednesday night I attended a photography workshop by Clay Blackmore, a professional portrait photographer about my age who started with film thirty years ago. He had to make the switch to digital - and to edgier, artsy photos - to stay on top of his business.

The guy next to me and I started talking. He also was about my age and had been a film photographer who only recently picked up a digital camera, trying to get back into photography and make some money from it. I can't remember now what he asked me, but in answering him, I mentioned that I was writing a book as well as doing some portrait and art photography.

That's when the woman sitting in front of us, also about our age, turned around. She asked me about my book and how I found my critique group. Seems she started writing a romance novel twenty years ago herself, but set it on a shelf somewhere along the way. It had been gnawing on her lately to dust it off and finish it, but she just hadn't done it yet.

When we said good night a little later, I told her "Get back on that book tomorrow!" And she promised she was going to. I believe she did.

I like to think I inspired her. But she also inspired me.

So tomorrow, I'll be working on my book. And my photos. And my blogs. And transcribing an interview, scanning some old photos...

Tomorrow has arms wide open, full of possibility, don't you know?

 

I hope you've had a great week that included at least a few minutes of doing something you've dreamed about, something that makes your imagination soar and your heart beat faster.

If not, there's still time. What are you waiting for?

"Success is the sum of small efforts, repeated day in and day out."

~ Robert J. Collier

 

The Book of Jonas

 

"What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world; to fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors, and to devastate the fair face of this beautiful world." ~ Robert E. Lee

In The Book of Jonas, author Stephen Dau reminds us that the devastation of war goes beyond a battlefield littered with debris and dead bodies: it indelibly stamps everyone involved. 

Dau illustrates this mostly through the story of Jonas, whose childhood village was destroyed by American soldiers, but also weaves in the stories of Christopher, one of those soldiers, and Rose, Christopher's mother. Through these three perspectives, Dau makes us ponder what we believe about justice, guilt, innocence, right and wrong.

It's a quietly powerful book. A multilayered story with multi-dimensional, multi-faceted characters. Dau is great at introducing a character, making us feel one way about him or her, then moving the camera so we see them from a different angle, triggering a different reaction.   

For me The Book of Jonas is more than a story about war and its effects. It's a lesson in life and love, illustrating how rarely anything is exactly what it seems to be, either black or white. Even our memories don't tell the whole truth, limited as they are by a single viewpoint and tainted by other similar memories.

It's a reminder that none of us lives in a vacuum. Our lives can be dramatically changed because of one decision... sometimes our own but often someone else's. We also can't just ignore the traumatic events that leave their stamps on us, hoping they'll go away. If we do, we become their prisoners.

"The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keep out the joy." ~ Jim Rohr

This is Stephen Dau's first book. I'm eager to read his next.

This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life

There are times in life when everything hits at once.

Your car has issues, your family has issues, your house has issues, your job has issues... 

Opportunities drop onto your path that will scurry away if you don't jump on them right this instant but you don't know how you can squeeze another minute out of your day. Bills need to be paid but you don't know how you're going to squeeze another penny out of your dollar.

That's when you need to step back and realize that even if you're not sure how you're going to deal with the issues or take advantage of the opportunities or pay the bills, things could be worse.

Having these problems means you have a car, you have a family, you have a house, you have a job. You have dreams and hope and faith.

Smile. Breathe. Laugh.

Even if there is nothing to laugh about, laugh on credit.

~ Unknown

 

The Day Before 53

Butterflies flitted around me on my walk this morning, hopping from flower to flower too fast for me to capture in my camera. (The one above is from last week!)

I imagined they were celebrating the beautiful morning... dancing a springtime jig of joy. It was contagious - I felt joy rising inside of me in gratitude for the sunshine, the blue skies, the color popping up around me, and especially for the chance to turn 53 tomorrow.

Life isn't perfect, but it has moments of simple glory that can soften the darkness with a whisper, enough to help us see beauty in those less glorious moments. I've been blessed with tons of those moments.

But suddenly I saw indecisiveness in the butterflies' glorious dance... an inability to settle on any one flower long enough to drink much of its nectar, to truly enjoy it or benefit from it.

Was I like the butterflies, hopping from one job or hobby to another too quickly, not allowing myself time on any to truly absorb them?

Ah, birthdays always make me think too much.

I decided not to worry if I'm hopping in too many directions or not. Sharing a birthday with Good Friday is enough to reflect upon. What better gift could I receive than the one Christ gave to me?

I have already received some sweet birthday surprises, though... a few cards and phone calls, a party with friends next weekend, and (bless you Mary Kay, Conni and Karen!), I get to go see the hit Broadway musical Mary Poppins when it plays Austin next week!

My gift to myself will be to re-focus on my health... getting enough sleep, eating right, and making my workouts a priority... and also to focus on each moment at hand, rather than letting my brain wander too far into the past or the future... or onto Facebook when I'm supposed to be writing.

All three of my kids will be here for a while this weekend to help me celebrate Easter and my birthday. Icing on the cake, for sure! Unlike my zip-lining adventure last year, I didn't have a desire to cross off any big Bucket List things for my birthday, other than visiting Enchanted Rock again, and we already did that.

I imagine, besides going to church, we'll just hang around the house, walk the dogs, watch a movie, talk...

Okay, I admit I'm hoping for at least one game of ping-pong.

But whatever we do, it will be perfect, and I know I'll be reflecting on all of it, tucking it away in my heart and giving thanks.

God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well.

~Voltaire

 

Getting Happy

 

I played my drums today.

That makes two days in a row after several weeks of merely dusting them. A friend shared with me some basic beats he learned in his drum class and I've been wanting to practice them for days, but just had too many important things I needed to do. 

Playing the drums isn't important. Or at least I didn't think it was until today. Not until the rain that wasn't supposed to arrive until tomorrow showed up a day early, forcing me to postpone a family photo shoot I had scheduled with a friend this afternoon.

We've had a tough time meshing our calendars. I had already postponed the shoot once to go to a meeting I had forgotten about.  Now it will be another two weeks before we can meet up.

Disappointed and discouraged, I picked up the sticks and banged away for a little while, not in the mood to do anything else.

It didn't make me any money. I couldn't cross it off of my long to-do list. But I felt better. A few rays of mental sunshine broke through the rainclouds that had somehow rolled into my head. 

It made me think of BlogHer's Life Well Lived question for this week:  How do you put yourself first? How does taking time for yourself help make you happier?

Almost every morning I take my puppies for a walk. That makes me happy, but as much as I love my walks, the joy in their faces is contagious and makes my heart soar.

In fact, most of my happiness is triggered by doing things for others. I truly believe that's the secret to happiness.

But there's a need for balance. Even Jesus took breaks from the crowds, heading off into the mountains or across the sea to be by himself. If he needed breaks, how much more so do we, to keep ourselves from becoming burned out or resentful?

Playing the drums makes me happy. Slipping off for a lunch... or a weekend... with my friends (or my husband) makes me happy. Having my hair cut by someone who knows how to cut my hair makes me happy.

That first cup of coffee in a quiet house... stepping away from the computer into the early afternoon sunshine... taking photographs of flowers and full moons... writing... reading... these all make me happy.

And that happiness is like a big deep breath, a surge of energy coursing through my body, revitalizing me, giving me what I need to help others.

What about you? How do you put yourself first? (Do you?)

And how does taking time for yourself help make you happier? 

Visit the main Life Well Lived post on BlogHer and don't forget to enter the Sweepstakes. You could win a Kindle Fire and a $50 Amazon gift certificate to go with it!

 

 

The Rules of Inheritance: a journey through grief

 

 

It's somehow fitting that I've been reading Claire Bidwell Smith's The Rules of Inheritance for the past few weeks.

Last night I dove into the final chapters, my mind still swirling with sorrow and joy that lingered from a quick trip to Houston for my cousin's funeral. Sorrow for friends and family wrapped tight in grief for the recent loss of their loved ones, including a dear friend whose husband just died, and joy from time spent with my parents, sister, and cousins I rarely see. 

I arrived home just in time to attend Ash Wednesday services, where Father Don reminded us of our mortality, of the importance of not squandering the gift of life we've been given, but to find a way to give back. 

Through all of this, Smith's book was on my mind, because it deals with life and death and grief. Mostly her own grief. When Smith was fourteen, both of her parents were diagnosed with cancer. Her mother died when Smith was eighteen and then, just seven years later, she watched her father take his last breath.

Smith takes us along on her heart-wrenching and courageously candid journey, but as tragic as it is, underneath is an unspoken glimmer of hope that kept me turning the pages. I knew she survived this dark passage of her life... I could tell that she was writing it from a patch of light that gave her strength to venture back in, in order to share her story with us.

But I couldn't imagine how she did it. I wanted to know. I needed to know.

How do you face the grief without letting it swallow you? How do you continue when you've lost your "most important person"?

I've felt grief and loss. Two sisters-in-law. My oldest brother. All of my grandparents. Aunts, uncles, cousins. Close friends.

But my parents and my husband's parents are all still alive... still voices on the other end of the phone... still just a hop in the car and a few hours' drive away.  Except for my brother, we have all ten of our siblings. All of our children.

Mostly, we still have each other.

But life is so fragile. In little over a year, six of my friends have become widows. Several of my classmates from high school, former co-workers, and now my cousin have died in the past year as well, while others have lost their parents. 

Smith was young when she lost her parents, but is there ever an age when you're prepared for that void in your life?

I feel blessed. Grateful. And lucky. But I also feel a twinge of guilt that makes me stumble over the right words. Smith says "If you haven't been through a major loss, then the truth is that you just don't know what to say to someone who has." 

She talks about the friends that gathered around her in her father's last days. Just their physical presence, their touch, helped her get through it. I remember how much it meant to me when I looked up at my brother's funeral and spotted my girlfriends.

Even if I don't know what to say, I'll try harder to be physically present.

I also won't pass judgement. I won't tell anyone it's time to get on with their lives, but will try to just listen. "Our grief is as individual as our lives," Smith says. 

Simone Weil said "All sins are attempts to fill voids."

Smith's reactions to her parents' illnesses and deaths certainly proves this to be true. She relates with raw honesty her futile attempts to fill the void. I'm amazed she not only survived, but managed to settle her father's estate, get her degree, and hold jobs while traveling the dark and gritty path of her teens and twenties.

I recommend this book to anyone who is actively grieving, but also to anyone who has struggled with depression, loneliness, bad relationships, trying to find the right path, or just trying to figure out who they really are. They'lll be able to identify with her story, too, whether or not they've suffered loss such as hers.

It's not until years later that Smith allows her grief to bubble to the surface or is able to recognize Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's five stages of grief in her dark journey.

Now a grief counselor, Smith used the stages of grief as the framework for her memoir. It isn't a linear story, but jumps from one episode in her life to another, back and forth, but told in the present tense, allowing us to experience the moment through her eyes. 

Some of the episodes are repeated with slight differences; I didn't understand this until near the last chapter when she explains the stages are just a frame to work with. "You may never experience all of them. You may go through them out of order or sometimes find yourself in more than one of them at the same time." 

Life and death go hand in hand. Personal loss is waiting for each of us around one of the corners, just ahead. I believe reading Smith's book will help anyone prepare for the inevitable grief that comes with life... and to believe that it's possible to eventually get to the other side of grief and continue on.

At the end of the book, Smith describes walking in on her husband and young daughter having a tea party. She wants to freeze that moment, but knows she can't. She knows time will pass, along with many others, that they'll all grow old and die. 

But her father's words, spoken shortly before his last breath, resonate through her words. I know she believes them and I do, too:

"Life is worth living."

 

 

 

 

This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are totally my own.

 

 

 

Seasons and Promises

Today I'm driving to Houston. My cousin died a few days ago and I want to be there for his funeral tomorrow, Ash Wednesday.

Ronnie was only 64. Not old, but not young, either. I guess "just enough time", as the Band Perry sings... but I can't imagine ever thinking I've had enough time.

I'd prefer not to be going to Ronnie's funeral tomorrow, although what better way to remind us of our mortality as we enter this season of Lent than to have someone we love and care about die?

As I prepared for my trip this morning, I got word that a dear friend's husband died suddenly yesterday. For the past two years they've lived in separate countries, longing for the day when she could join him in Spain and they'd finally be together longer than too-short visits that passed oh, so quickly. 

Just over a month ago, that day finally came. And now, just like that, he's gone. 

I'm grateful they were together, that there wasn't still an ocean separating them when he died, but my heart breaks for her as all of their hopes and plans and dreams for the future turn to ashes.

That's the thing about life. We can make all kinds of plans and dream all kinds of dreams, but there's no guarantee any of them will come true. 

Should we stop planning? Stop dreaming?

Heck no. Even if we can't control what happens in our lives, we can control how we react to the unexpected. We can still try to make the most of each moment we're given, even if it we feel there's never enough time. We can try to embrace the lessons in our tears as much as those in our laughter. 

I came across a wonderful reminder of this on Beth's blog yesterday in the video below. I felt it was too powerful a story not to share. 

 

I haven't made my Lenten promise yet, but I have a feeling it will have something to do with my answer to the question below...

"What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?"

~ Mary Oliver

How would you answer that question?

Please join me in praying for peace and strength for these and others who have recently lost loved ones, including my high school classmate, Tanya, whose husband died today.

Fiction, Fires, Family... and other sweet things

Bonfire sparks drifted up to the sky where clouds parted like curtains and stars crowded the stage, accompanied by the singing creek beside us. No moon softened the darkness - the pitch wall of night rose just beyond the reach of the firelight. 

There was a time not too long ago when I would have feared the darkness, imagining all sorts of danger lurking where my eyes couldn't see. But last night I hugged my jacket around me, craned my neck up to stare at the stars and felt nothing but awe at the beauty of the night and amazement that I ever felt fear standing in its darkness.

I had spent the past day and a half immersed in the world of children's books, listening to authors, agents and editors sharing their stories and experience, offering advice and encouragement to those of us still only dreaming of publication.

Standing there watching the stars break through the clouds, hearing the sizzle and pop of the fire, the trickle of the creek, the frogs singing in the distance... it all just added to the impression that this is a magical world where dreams can come true...

...Especially the small ones like sleeping in for the first time in weeks and meeting my cousin Pat for lunch after two years of trying to match our schedules (which is just ridiculous because she only lives an hour away!)

Pat's a genealogy addict like me, except she's still actively researching. I've had to put myself on a 12-step-program, otherwise I'd get nothing else accomplished!

A few years ago we spent a Saturday tracking down family cemeteries and visiting the Bell County Museum, where we discovered a photo of 'the oldest house in Bell County' hanging on the wall. 

According to writing on the photo, it was built by one of our ancestors. She sent off for a copy of it and today presented me with a framed canvas copy, along with copies of other family mementoes and letters she knew I'd treasure. 

 

 

Well, she's the true treasure! But I was enjoying our time together so much, I completely forgot about getting a photo of us together as I'd planned.

Next time... and by golly, we won't wait another two years for it.

"Our most treasured family heirlooms are our sweet family memories."

~ Unknown

******************************************************

 

And now, here are a few Sweet! moments from the past week I remembered to record...

Monday: puppies, stretched out warm and cozy in the laundry room on a rainy, cold morning; making Valentine cyclops cookies with your Valentine

Tuesday: sharing Valentine cookies with your middle son and heart-shaped chocolates with your daughter; a "Happy Valentine's Day, Mom" call from your oldest; searching for fossilized hearts with your sweetie beside a lake, followed by dinner by candlelight and a funny, romantic movie 

Wednesday: a chicken quesadilla for lunch, shared with your honey who decided to take the day off; a little bird outside the window posing for your camera; a job that lets you eat pizza, play with jewelry, sip wine, and catch up with friends while you 'work'

 

 

Thursday: a rare day spent totally at home; a puppy's face in the window reminding you to take a break from the computer

Friday: the sound of raindrops on your umbrella; familiar faces in a roomful of strangers

Saturday: the rain stopping just as you leave the house; a day spent listening and learning from authors, agents and editors; watching the clouds give way to stars; bonfires on a crisp night 

Sunday: late Mass so you can sleep in a bit; a glimpse of a huge red-tailed hawk flying past; a long-overdue lunch with a dear cousin/friend

Hoping you had a week full of sweet!s and are blessed with even more in the week to come! (Share some of yours here!)

The Privilege of a Lifetime

"The privilege of a lifetime is to be yourself."

 ~ Joseph Campbell

 

A big pot of chicken soup is simmering on the stove. From where I sit across the room I can hear the little bubbles playing on the surface and the aroma is making my stomach growl.

I made it for myself, because I'm sick. I don't cook often these days, and when I do, it's usually to whip up some favorite of one of my kids or my husband, although he's gotten quite good at cooking whatever he wants himself.

You see, there are tons of other things I'd rather do with my time besides cook. That's just me, the way I am, and I'm okay with it. Thank goodness my husband is, too.

I thought about this as I chopped up vegetables for the soup earlier, because BlogHer's latest question for their Life Well Lived Getting Happy series is: How do you practice self-acceptance and find unconditional love for yourself? (Part 2 of the question is: How does practicing love first help you attract more love and happiness in your life?)

Well, not cooking if I don't feel like it is one way I practice self-acceptance.

I spent years trying on cooking and crafting and gardening and sewing, and while I enjoyed each one to a certain extent, none of them fit me exactly right. 

Today I'm cooking because I care about myself. I want to get well.

It took years to shed the 'Mommy-Martyr' mentality that made me think everyone else's needs were more important than my own. It's still a trick mirror though... one big incentive to take care of myself is so I can take care of those I love who depend on me. To be healthy if they need me or to just set a good example.

When I eat right, when I run, when I make sure I get enough sleep or play my drums or take time to read or write or take photos or laugh with friends or go dancing with my husband... it's for them as much as it is for myself.

 

Turning 50 was a huge turning point in my self-attitude, like standing before a mirror, evaluating where I'd been, where I still wanted to go and whether or not I was heading in the right direction to get there. Trying to figure out what fit and what should be tossed. I was able to recognize and appreciate the strengths that got me this far, as well as the quirks that make me unique.

Love your neighbor as yourself. ~ Mark 12:31

I forgave myself mistakes made along the way, accepted myself as human, flaws and all, and by doing so, discovered how easy it is to do the same for other people. The key to loving your imperfect neighbor "as yourself" is first loving your imperfect self.

How do you start? Ponder this...

 Where there is no love, put love and there will be love.

~ St. John of the Cross

 

 

So how do you practice self-acceptance and find unconditional love for yourself?

And how does practicing love first help you attract more love and happiness in your life?

Leave your answer here, but also at the main post on BlogHer where you can see other answers. And be sure to enter the sweepstakes for a chance at a Kindle Fire and $50 Amazon Gift Card HERE.

Loving Me Some Pooh

“What day is it,?" asked Pooh.
"It's today," squeaked Piglet.
"My favorite day," said Pooh.”

 

 

The calendar says it's Tuesday, but it's Monday for me.

I'm already a day behind.

I arrived home late last night after a long, unplugged weekend, overflowing with friendship, laughter, tears, food, fellowship, sorrow, family, wine... (okay, and maybe a little tequila, too)...

There was my Diva gathering, a joyful experience.

Then Sunday morning a quick trip to Deer Park for the memorial service for another friend's husband who passed suddenly last week, a bittersweet time of memories, tears, hugs and laughter.

Afterwards, dinner on Clear Lake with another friend and her husband... sweet fellowship, delicious food and a glorious sunset.

The evening and the next day, hanging out with my parents (and a quick jaunt to see my sister)...a relaxing, heart-enriching time, just soaking up the sight of them.

But now, back home, back to "Normal", I'm drowning in laundry, unread emails, unread blogs, and unwritten words.  

So I'm going to take Pooh's attitude and be happy for today, just as it is. 

It's my favorite day!

Happy Monday, er, Tuesday!

(Thanks to Pete and Katie and others who reposted this on Facebook so I could see it!)

 

To Say "It's Done"

I knew what I wanted.

To lay words on page, one after another. Words that twisted and turned but always moved forward through the life of my great-great grandfather, allowing my readers to experience the adventures, heartbreaks and joys of his life. 

Most of all, I wanted to lay the last word. To say "It's done." To bless, to send away, to cross fingers and pray.

A year should have been enough, right? An hour or two a day of steady writing for a year would have gotten me to the end of the journey. An hour or two is nothing... the time it takes to walk and feed the dogs or check my email. 

But the days of our lives are tricky adventures themselves, full of their own twists and turns and dark holes that make hours vanish into thin air... all too often the very hours I needed to tell his story.

And on the rare days I was able to slip away from other projects and responsibilities into his story, instead of steadily moving forward, one word after another, I'd find myself trapped in the quicksand of historic research where hours can truly disappear.

This year, again, what I want most of all is to say "It's done." I want to lay the last word and send something away with a prayer. To finish something without being lured away by another story.

So I'm stepping out of my grandfather's journey and back into another I'd written to the end, but that just needs a little sprucing up here and there. The one my grandfather's story pulled me away from.

There's no need for research, only the loosening of my imagination and the dedication - the determination - to lay the last word. 

And then I'll return to my grandfather's story, stronger, more experienced, more prepared to stay that course to the end.

 

This week we’d like you to write a memoir piece about an unfulfilled goal or a broken resolution, beginning with the words, “I knew what I wanted".

A Message From Myself Out of the Past

Epiphany (-nies)

Knotted muscle in my neck...can't quite catch my breath...geez, it's only Jan. 4 and I'm already stressing about how to get everything accomplished that I want to do this year! I wish I could resolve to have an extra six hours each day - that would help! Twenty-four doesn't seem to be nearly enough.

But, of course, I can't. None of us can. We just have to stumble along and do the best we can and try not to worry about the minutes we drop along the way. Just keep facing forward, or, as this Japanese proverb reminds us...

 "If you look up, there are no limits."

For me, this means that God will give me the time, strength and whatever other resources I need (money, patience, determination, health...) to do what he needs me to do. And nothing else really matters.

That's so much easier to say than to accept, though.

This morning I rose at 5am...the first time in more than a week I've been up before the sun. Even though I hate that first jolt of the alarm clock and long to jump back under the covers just a little while longer, I love getting so much done before the sun rises. I love walking the critters under a fresh morning sky, watching the world wake up. I feel invigorated...hopeful...ready to embrace the day. I wish morning could last all day!

It helped that we celebrated the Epiphany at Mass yesterday - the visit of the Magi to the baby Jesus. The theme...the key word to remember...the word and image I took away from the service was LIGHT.

Light as in guidance...the star that led them to Jesus; light as in understanding...they recognized Jesus was a king, the son of God; light as in revelation...they revealed to us that Jesus came for all people, all nations, all races.

So each day I will focus on that light. His light. I'll imagine it as the fresh morning light, stretching over the world as the sun rises. I'll pray that it shines outward, leading me along the right path and helping me have greater understanding and compassion...I'll pray that it shines inward upon myself, revealing my faults...those areas that I most need to work on. I'll pray that I have his light within me and that others can see it. And then I'll take a deep breath and try not to worry about anything more.

A massage sure sounds nice right now, though...

"If you look up, there are no limits."

 

 

Glancing through January posts from the past few years, I came across the one above. It was just what I needed to hear.

Ironic that it came from myself, isn't it?

I decided to repost it and not just because yesterday was Epiphany...

...Perhaps it's just what someone else needs to hear right now, too.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

"A writer is somebody for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

~ Thomas Mann

If that's so, then I'm definitely a writer. There are times when writing isn't just difficult for me - it's pure hell.

But other times it's heaven, and that's why I stand here in January of 2012, once again repeating the mantra from past New Year's resolutions: finish my book... finish my book... finish my book...

In terms of writing, my 2011 looked a lot - too much - like 2010, 2009, 2008...

It's time to review what I've learned over my two decades or so of writing. I need to figure out what helps, and do more of that, while clearing the hurdles that are keeping me from the finish line.

Let's see... I've learned I need big chunks of time for writing. My writing can't thrive and grow on the handfuls of stolen minutes I've been feeding it for years.

I've learned multitasking is my enemy. I have to close all those extra windows on my computer that tempt me... Facebook being the main culprit, but email and even research sites can be time-sucking tempters.

Other things I've learned: I compare myself to others too often; I need the challenge, support and feedback of a writer's group; I have a problem with finishing what I start... and starting too many things.

On the 'up' side, I'm much better at saying 'no'. Housework, bills, laundry, cooking... I can easily shove the thought of them into a closet and forget they exist. Wearing earplugs helps me do the same with any nearby conversations or television noise. (I work at a desktop in the open livingroom.)

My biggest challenge for 2012? Finding a balance and setting priorities between all of my different interests/callings/projects... writing my book(s), blogging, photography, and my seed of a personal history/photography business... while not neglecting my family, friends and health.

Pretty much the same challenge I faced last year. And the year before. And the year before.

I hope that by next January, I can adopt a new mantra. At least for a different book.