Twenty-Four Years: A Journey

Twenty-four years ago, in September of 1995, my oldest child started kindergarten.  I remember thinking on that day that the next 13 years would be filled with so many memories and opportunities, but that it all seemed like it would take  such a long, long time.  In 1995 I only had three kids.  I had no idea then, that two more would come along to complete the brood! 

With Savannah we experienced all of the “first things” with the enthusiasm and energy parents of 1st borns and onlies have buttoned down.  We learned so much about teachers, friendships, extracurriculars, group projects, Raider Pride and what it means to be part of an amazing school district in small town USA.  We didn’t realize how great things were here.   That came in time, and with more experience.

When Fiona started school, we met new teachers, made new friends, and expanded our world a little bit more.  We had brought our overzealous parenting of school aged students down a notch or two,  but still,  the energy was high, and parent teacher conference nights became longer, as we navigated not one class, but two.   Elsa came along while Fiona was in 1st grade, shortly before her teacher gave birth, which is not important really, except in this small town, those 2 girls became friends later in life.

By 1999, Olivia was starting school.  We had gone from one on one to zone defense as parents, but Liv was easy going and laid back and made parenting three pretty easy.   Our enthusiasm for  public education had not flagged.  We were well known  up at Seymour, the family with all the girls, and by the time Olivia was attending we knew the routine.  We looked forward to the Thanksgiving Feasts, holiday parties, gingerbread houses and field days.  We knew by this time that the grade level musical performances were events that mandated the ole shoulder mount video recorder, which was also a must have on the 1st days of school, much to all 3 girls horror!  During these years, The Boy was born, and the teachers at Seymour celebrated and marveled with us at such a turn of events! 

All four girls were in school the day the Twin Towers fell.  But they were safe.  Protected and oblivious as the world changed around us.  It never occured to me to get them out early and  bring them home to the relative safety we all believed we could provide.   As school shootings happened and lock down drills became  part of life, I felt fortunate to live in a place where my children were known and loved, and where I knew their teachers and staff would protect them in any way possible.  I also knew those same people watched out for them when life changed for our family.

In 2003 we had kids in 2 schools.  Savannah was at the new middle school and Fiona, Oliva and Elsa were at Seymour.  Elsa began these years with her best friend LIbby, whose older sister and family we met during Fiona;s earliest school years. And so we walked into the halls of Seymour with old friends, and felt far less nervous about the experience.  Elsa had been waiting to start school with the big girls since she was about 2 ½ and she was comfortable with the teachers and routine, as she had attended countless holiday parties during her first 5 years of life.  Elsa flourished with academic endeavors and was in awe of their Principal, Mrs. Blair, a diminutive dynamo, who had a no nonsense approach that was both intimidating and awe inspiring. 

By the time The Boy started school, we were familiar with all levels of public education from elementary school  to high school.  Before he was 5, Noah had been to each of the different schools more times than he could count, if he had been  able to count, which he likely couldn’t, I don’t remember, because honestly, he was the last of five and my bar for parenting had lowered just a smidge since #1.  Although, upon more careful reflection, I know he could count, because Elsa and her best friend loved to play school, and Noah was the only pupil available to attend,  so thanks to that little endeavor, largely run by Libby, Noah was able to count and knew his letters-ish.

Over the years we came to look forward to school  all of the small town school related traditions;  the 4th grade wax museum, sixth grade camp, grade level musical productions, (Lewis and Clark was a real standout in this category),  report card A’s used for  free movies, 6th grade graduation, the Christmas Collage Concert, Fruitcake concert, the annual Art Show in May, where  our elementary aged kids always had some masterpiece hanging to be enjoyed. The musical productions, and other theater events. Homecoming events, parades,  Powder Puff games, dances, Raider Games  and all the milestones and celebrations of senior year. 

Twenty four years.  Twenty four years, some of which lasted longer than others, but mostly, looking back, seem like a blink.  Trite, I know.  But so, so true.  I can still see Savannah’s face in the bus window as it drove past our house without stopping on her first day of kindergarten. The wide eyes and smile, not an ounce of worry that she did not get dropped off as planned.  Every memorable moment is still so fresh in my mind.  Which is astounding considering I have no recollection of a conversation I had with someone just last week.  I also don’t know where my address labels and open house list went, but those things are not the things that matter in this world. 

Moments and  memories and milestones and momentous occasions that marked the passing of time and growth and celebration.  Those things are what matter.  Those things I remember so very clearly. 

Two weeks ago, The Boy got up and attended school for the last time.  For him it was a milestone just like all of his sisters’.  His last  day was filled with picture taking, good-byes to beloved teachers, conversations and thanks to support staff and Administrators who have invested in his life here these four years. His day was not filled with tearful farewells.  He is an optimist; confident that the people who matter to him today, will continue to matter to him moving forward.  He is right, mostly. 

As Noah moved through his last day, and proceeded  through the next week of ceremonies and events, I have been left feeling as though I’m living someone else’s life.  There is so much in these last things that is surreal for me.  Eleven years ago I experienced all of these “lasts” for the first time with Savannah.  Then every two years-ish, with each child that followed.  Each of those experiences were unique in the people who surrounded them, the accomplishments, interests, awards and such.  But they have all also held so many familiar ceremonies and celebrations  Traditions that Noah is moving through with enthusiasm and a bit of nostalgia while I am trying to stay present, and somehow stop the movie reel of all the ones that have come before.  Last day of school, cap and gown pick up, Honor’s Night, Senior Brunch, elementary school walk (a newer tradition and one last chance to hoist up that old shoulder mount video recorder!) and finally Graduation, and in a few weeks, an Open House.  Ugh! 

Mixed with the pride and celebration of Noah’s years of school, is this hard to define pride and melancholy that this is the last time as a parent I will stand alongside one of my children and celebrate these 13 years of school. I am doing my best to stay connected in Noah’s moments, yet I keep finding myself slipping back in time into all of the other moments and memories.  The movie in my head running like an  old 8mm reel has me feeling like Clark Griswold, alone in the attic, as I remember and relive all of those moments again.  On the plus side, I am not shivering with cold on this trip down memory lane, although in truth taking this broad view of how incredible these last 24 years have been does give me chills. 

Today, was graduation.  The last of five graduations for this family.  The end of twenty-four years that have been filled with so much Raider Pride.  As a parent I am so proud of each of these five kids that have grown up in the halls of Flushing Schools.  I am also so incredibly thankful for all of the teachers and staff who have invested in each of their lives.  When the band began playing Pomp and Circumstance today and the seniors began their processional, my heart and eyes filled knowing this was the end of this part of the school journey for this family.  I am filled with gratitude, joy, pride and a small bit of melancholy here at the end.  Small Town USA has been a great place to raise this family. 

So now, we press on, into the next phase of life, which has taken twenty four years to reach, moment by moment, year after year, memory upon memory, in the blink of an eye.

 

Tonight I am sitting on the precipice of significant changes.  Tonight I was reminded casually that tomorrow is Noah's last "first day of school".  I have been through this 4 other times, so I know it will be a bit emotional for me, but we will laugh after I finally get the best picture I can through my tears and in all likelyhood a crunched time limit because we will both press snooze one too many times.  I've been here.  He's been here, albeit watching as his sisters posed for their "Last first day" pictures.  But while I was prepping the coffee pot for the morning I was overcome with the reaslization that tomorrow is really my very last :first day of school" picture."  The last of five.  There will be no more of these moments.  Next year there will be none. 

 I'm not going to lie.  This is hard.

Not hard because I don't want them to grow up and leave home and become independent amazing people. 

 Not even beacause I long for the days that they were babies or even all still living at home.  

Lord knows those days were often chaotic, passed in a fog of exhaustion and prayer.  No one in their right mind really wants to relive those days, looking back at the pictures and videos is enough to satisfy that yen.  Or sitting next to a family with small,  children screaming in a restaurant. That works too. 

Going into tomorrow I am pulled back to the first, "first day of school" picture with Savannah.  All excitement and nervous energy, with her Pocahontas backpack and purple Gymboree dress. Holding our hands and walking confidently into Seymour Elementary, blissfully unaware of the GIANT camcorder on her dad's shoulder and both of our tears as we left her at the door, watching her walk to her desk and strike up a conversation with the girl to her left.  Later that day, watching as her bus drove right past our house and seeing her bewildered face  in the window.  Later greeting her as she flew down the bus steps to hug Fiona tighly,  then regaling us with all the excitement of her first day, and her relief that the bus driver finally figured out where she lived!  

All of the years since that first day, walking the next 4 kindergartners into the school, also following each of their siblings in the upper grades with the same huge camcorder, every year, the same emotional feelings of pride in who they were becoming and a little melancholy that our carefree days all  together had once again come to an end until the following summer.  

I've thought of the transition years from elementary to middle school and middle school to high school.  All the firsts.  All of the lasts.  All of the ordinary days in between.  There have been changes in our lives over those years.  Some small.  Some not so small and not so easy to face.  Some incredible. 

I've thought about all of the teachers, principals, secretaries, bus drivers and support staff who have had significant impact on these five kids over the course of these years.  The parties, field trips, the stories shared by teachers and others.  Recounting  acts of kindness, or misbehavior reported with "off the record" pride in one daughter's  loyalty to a friend and courage to slap the bully..although she could never know her princpal secretly wanted to thank her!   Good stuff.  Ordinary  life memories and people. 

Tomorrow Noah begins his last first day of school.  Springboarding into a year filled with firsts and lasts and so many events that will  mark this final year in this 13 year education process.  I am excited for him, knowing his gregarious nature, he is going to do his best to live fully in the moments this year will mark.  It's shaping up  to be a great year.  This last senior year. 

Meanwhile, I am doing my best to hold my shit together.  Prone to weeping in moments of joy and pride, tomorrow, and much of the rest of this year's experiences,  promise to be a veritable Super Bowl of emotion.   I'm steeling myself up for it.  Noah, on the other hand, has no clue what may be in store for him.  No clue that  the memories of his 4  siblings' school days, piled onto his, spanning twenty-three years are all bubbling up like a fount of parenting elixir inside of my head.  And heart.  

Change is a good thing, in the main.  Tonight as I sit here preparing  for tomorrow, I just can't stop wondering how it all changed and moved along so quickly.  Three things I never imagined on that first child's "first day of school";  ever having 5 children, and tomorrow, the very last "First day of school" and this damn stinging at the back of my eyes that I can't seem to control.  My only regret in all of this its that I don't still have that giant camcorder to follow him in with tomorrow! That would be spectacular.  And it was a great way to hide my tears!   

Time, Traditions, Transitions and Pinworms

Time.  So many people tell you that it slips away.  It's gone before you know it.  Turn around and poof...life has warped.  Or time has warped.  They warn against wasting it, thinking you have all of it in the world, and that you should cherish it in the moments.  I believed all of those things to be true.  I reveled, for the most part in the moments as they happened.  Soaked in the memories, the traditions, and the people, children, family and friends, who were a part of them.  The small corner of realist in me knew that time would change things; that with each passing year we were drawing closer to a new era, a new time, with new traditions, memories,  and people to share them with.  The idealist in me, which takes up far more of my psyche, was certain that I would be prepared,  and transition into that era with the grace and acceptance my mother modeled.  Outwardly, I am putting on a decent show of it.  But inside. Inside I'm falling apart,  Inside feels like a weekend binge of Stepmom, Steel Magnolias, Sweet Home Alabama and Homeward Bound, and a long parade of marching bands.

One hundred percent, I thought I had one more year.  I was prepared this year to soak it in, potentially for the last time.  Those traditions and activities that have filled this holiday weekend.  Tree day.  Decking the halls.  I was girded up,  ready to handle each ornament one last time, remembering each circumstance of its arrival to our tree.  I was even ready to grudingly let the kids put the pregnant " Mom to Be" rabbit and kangaroo on this year.  Seriously, an ornament to mark every life circumstance and milestone is in our box!  Pregnant rodents.  Good lord! The Polish glass Santa, a gift from a dear elderly neighbor, my first year in Flushing.  Mittens bought on a weekend getaway,  four  creepy Victorian doll heads, nursery rhyme books, trains, bears, cats, football players, black Santa,  the Big Cheese and a Magic School Bus.  I knew decorating this year might be a bit emotional for me.  I knew there would be some staring, and laughing and some barking of "pull yourself together," which might be hissed  the loudest from my internal voice.  But things haven't gone quite as I had thought or planned. 

Instead of pushing forward with the traditional activities and exhausting demands of tree day, we spent time with wonderful and dear family who rarely visit.  We pulled it together to go get a tree, acknowledging that this would  be the last year, only to pull into the farm to find their sign announcing  "This is Our Last Year."  It seemed fitting.  We were so thankful that we had decided to go.  We had almost chucked the idea.  Some of our St. Paul family joined us, to experience cutting a live Michigan tree.  It was lovely. Balmy and bright.   There was laughing and singing and debating, and some pressure to get a Christmas bush instead of a nicely shaped spruce.  When you get your own house you can put up a Christmas bush or a Douglas Fir, or a Jack Pine, but this last year, this last tree day, I'm looking for a magnificent Blue Spruce to carry me through.  A spruce to remember and mark this passage of time.  A bookend to the first perfectly shaped Blue the light shone on 24 years ago at this very farm.  I didn't say any of that out loud, except  the part about "getting your own Christmas bush," but the rest was all in my head.  And heart.  The rest I was soaking in, knowing it would be the last.  That next year will be different. 

We opted out of decorating on tree day.  We didn't even bring the tree in.  It's actually still outside, laying on the patio, still bound in its red wrap. It will get inside eventually.  I hope,   We spent the rest of tree day laughing and talking too loud and playing horrifically inappropriate games at a home town brewery.   Because we needed time out of the house, because we needed to cherish and take in cousins and in laws and each other.  Because we  all needed to be  fully informed about things like pin worms and how to find out if you have them, and that all of us have a bit of emotional "stuff" we still struggle with. We needed to laugh.  At ourselves and each other.  We needed to let go and not hold so tightly to the traditions of the past, and focus on the time we have right now. Right here. In this moment. 

So today, I am mostly here on my own.  I am forging ahead with a new kind of tradition.  I am slowing down, not racing to get it all done so that everything looks and feels like it always has.  I am reworking, reexamining, revising, as I step across the threshold into a new era a bit before I thought I would have to.  I admit, as I am holding some things perhaps for the last time, and I am doing a bit of weeping.  And laughing. And shaking my head at those damn pregnant rodent ornaments.  But I am also taking my time doing it.  Inclined  to put whatever I am doing aside to revel in other moments of time that are right in front of me.  Although, if any of the people that are a part of those moments want to help me decorate this tree...I'll gladly hand them a bulb, and then tell them where to hang it.

Era of the Surreal

Surreal is as close a word as can be used to describe life currently.  At a point which seems not very long ago, my life was about raising kids,  and it seemed as though those days would last forever; in a good way most of the time…really, honestly.  Well, some days it may have seemed like an eternity in a not so great place, but by and large…good!  I was so fortunate to be home when my kids were growing up, only entering the workforce in recent years.  Even then, the work I have done has kept me close to them, in proximity if nothing else.  The light of the childrearing tunnel has been a distant pinpoint for many years.  One I have not envisaged apparently for a long while. So this week when I dared look up, and around, and forward, I realized that the light has become very large, glaring even, while I hurtle to the conclusion of these parenting days.

I looked up this week because #4, Elsa, the fourth and last daughter, is graduating from high school.  This in and of itself has its own out of body experience tied to it.  She is an anomaly within our fairly bright and intelligent family, standing out as a super achiever, graduating 2^nd in her class of over 300!  This is her shining hour to be sure.  She has embraced all of her years of schooling with an enthusiasm and fervor which has been remarkable to watch.  While her siblings all enjoyed their high school years, Elsa has experienced every aspect of high school possible to its fullest extent, most of the time with her bosom chum Libby alongside her!  AP classes, Student Council, Class Vice President, theater, vocal music, lacrosse, NHS, French Club, Book Club, community service projects, Homecoming dances, court, Sadies, Prom; there are pictures to mark her investment and involvement in all of these things and more!  Just this morning she was honored at a local business club as the Rotary Student of the Month, and it was there that I started to feel overwhelmed with pride in the person she has grown to be.  This 4^th daughter, who I worried would always be growing in the shadow of three older sisters, has clearly not been shadowed by anyone. She has grown, bloomed and flourished while the rest of us have watched her with astonishment and a bit of quizzical wonder through the process.   She will graduate with many honors next week,  and in the fall move across the country to attend college and begin a different journey away from me.  Away from the home where I thought I would be raising her (and her siblings)  for what seemed like so many more years.

Surreal is the realization that this very home, which has been seeping estrogen for so many years, will, for the first time, harbor a more balanced measure of estrogen and testosterone. I have always viewed myself as a mother of girls….and The Boy.  This house is, in many ways, “a girl house,” by color scheme and the feminine paraphernalia that litters every room; e.g. make-up, foundation garments, shoes, scarves, sundry accessories, feminine products, and on and on the list goes.  All this does not preclude signs of the lone male cub here, to be sure, there are many.  Balls for one.  There are balls everywhere.  In the house, in the yard, in the garage, in the trees, and of course the obvious set, which thankfully we do not see but I would be remiss to not acknowledge their existence,  just sayin’.  The sounds in the house are distinctly The Boys.  Train horns. Vines.  YouTube videos.  Episode after  episode of South Park and other such nonsensical shows.  Plates of dried food, and wrappers from said items, scattered like so much trash in an alley.  There are signs. 

Over the next three years I wonder how the estrogen seeping, girl house will evolve.  I wonder if the whiffs of estrogen that will be left in the wake of the last daughter leaving will linger in corners, swirling at our feet on days The Boy and I are missing The Sisters.  I wonder if we will miss them with an ache, like amputees miss their limbs, or if the years of estrogen will be like a fading memory, pushed out by all the new balance of hormonal ascendancy.   I wonder how quickly these last three years of parenting will fly by.  Actually, I think I know the answer to that.  The last 26 have hurtled by without my realizing the speed at which they were passing.  I want to slow things down.  I want these next years to move like a zephyr, softly and gently.  I want to pump the brakes and relish these last years, much like I cherished the first years.  Soaking up the moments, the small things of everyday life.  Even when I know that many of those small, everyday things will not be centered on the girl-centric things of the earlier years. Fully understanding and embracing that these last years of small, everyday things will likely include Vines, and trains, and YouTube and of course, balls.  

Grief and Raw Humanity

While enjoying a week of solitude and introspection, I awoke this morning to a Face Book post from a dear friend who lost her son on Monday.  Not misplaced lost, but lost forever from this good earth.  He was young, 21ish.  We were pregnant at the same time.  It is not in my schema to even fathom the magnitude of her anguish and grief. 

Being alone these past few days, I have been awash, grieving the loss of my brother over a year ago.  It seems fresh almost daily.  There are days when I feel his absence from my life so keenly I want to curl up and wail.  I rarely do though.  Generally I just muster through, push the memories to the back and keep moving forward.  This week I have had the unfettered time to sift through the vast store of memories we shared together and to weep, speak and laugh and even bitch at him for leaving so damn soon.  

Grief is something many of us never spend a great deal of time considering.  Many people, myself included, believe that losing someone we love is such a distant event that we are blindsided by loss when it happens.  Often we find ourselves lost in a sea of regret.  Not making time, not answering the phone, not seeing the pain or loneliness, not remembering the minutia of the last conversation or not saying the words.  The thing is, regret doesn’t do anything except make us miserable.  And if I know one thing to be true, it is that the people we loved who are gone would not want us to be miserable.  They want us to remember them.  To celebrate who they were in our lives.  To keep their memories alive, though they are no longer.  To talk about them when we see or hear something that brings them to mind and to LAUGH! At least that is what the person I lost would want. 

Today, as my dear friend wades through her sea of loss, I find myself remembering something  Emmett Till’s mother realized  when he was murdered.  She said “I realized that this would be my load to carry. No one can carry it for me, and I will carry it for the rest of my days.”  While this is certainly true, we all carry the load of our grief individually, with our own love and shared experiences completely separated from others, I understand today more than ever that is the compassion and empathy of others in our lives that make carrying those loads bearable. 

People we care about are grieving all around us every day.  Their loss may not be recent, but the pain of it when it surfaces, always feels fresh and raw.  Their grief may not be related to death.  They may be grieving the loss of a dream or a marriage.  They need us to stand with them.  To make carrying their  load bearable even for a few hours.  

The last story my brother told me was about a woman in a veterinarian’s office who saw that my nephew, his heart breaking, was there to put their dog to sleep.  In his words, “She was a behemoth of a woman, there with her little ratty mongrel.  She just lumbered up out of her chair and wrapped her enormous arms around Nate and said, Honey, you just go ahead and cry, I’m so sorry you lost your dog.”  Through his weeping on the phone my brother pointed out that it was such a great reminder of the healing power people had for each other when they reached out in raw humanity to experience and share others sorrows and burdens.    

Who needs you to stand beside them and walk with them today? 

Chapter 1: Introduction

My friend recently made a furtive case for me to begin this book.  He believes in me. He has believed in me nearly since the first days we have known each other.  He believes unequivocally that within me lies the potential for a good (if not great) book.  He believes the stories I have shared with him, and others, are stories that people who don't know me or my family or friends or circumstances, will relate to.  On a human level.  In our recent conversation he also expressed his concern that he worries if I don't begin soon, that my potential for, and I quote, in a thick Scottish accent, "I worry that if you don't get things down soon, that your potential for a positive outcome will run out!!"  

Well!!  All that belief and then WHAM!!  My shocked and puzzled expression did not come close to what I was thinking (OK, and may have said out loud).  "What the hell (may have been a different word) does that mean?"  "Positive outcome on what?  My love life?  My career? (Which I hadn't even begun yet) Life in general?"  I worried that he had some kind of insight into my future which I was not privy to.  I pondered for a moment if this was in some fashion his way of letting me know that my life, as he was observing it, was like some kind of train wreck movie  waiting to happen.  If memory serves me correctly, I think I fired off a myriad of these questions like an automatic weapon.  Calm Scot that he is, he waited for my barrage of questions to cease and then he said calmly (because it's my life that is in danger of a" less than positive outcome", not his), "you are pulled in so many directions, by so many different circumstances and people, and the issues you deal with are not small, and over time I worry they are going to take their toll on you.  Right now you deal with them for the most part with a positive attitude and outlook, but eventually they are bound to begin to wear you down.  A person can take only so much stress and emotional pressure." 

When we had this conversation I laughed at his perspective on my life.  On his perception that "a person can take only so much."  Since that evening though, I have given his words considerable thought and weighed them for their merit. 

This is where I am today.  I am completely sure that whatever my "outcome" is, that my spin on it will be (has to be) positive.  I am completely certain that every aspect of the life I have lived to date has weight and bearing on the future outcome and that along the way there have been moments, both positive and negative. Additionally, I am pretty certain (note the use of a qualifier, just to cover my ass in case I'm wrong and have to admit it later) that much like those which have passed, the moments ahead will also be both positive and negative.  The quality I possess and have utmost hope and faith in continuing, is my ability to view and live in those moments with humor, flexibility, a thick (armadillo like) skin, and hope!  

In the pages that follow I hope to share with you some of these moments, both the positive and the negative.  As I finally commit to penning them down, I am holding on to the hope that some of these stories might carry with them a ring of truth and hope for you as well.   Of course my most sincere and deepest hope is that by writing them now I will perhaps increase my chances for a "positive outcome."  

Friends

When you are preparing yourself and your kids to put the family pet to sleep, there are hundreds of thoughts, memories and emotions that run unbridled through your mind. But the reality is, there is only so much mental preparation which can be done, only so much talking through and consoling, and in the end you are confronted with the task.

There is much about today that I could write about, the conversations, the drive, the scene at the animal hospital, and the torrents of tears that were shed unashamedly. All of those things bear remembering, but tonight the scene and experience which continues to run through my minds eye and heart are the friends who stood beside my children.

Olivia texted me early in the day to let me know that her bon homme, Ally would be accompanying us to the vet. It bears saying that as Olivia's best friend, Ally is no stranger to grieving the loss of a pet with Olivia. In all of the other instances though, she has been notified and sought out for the comfort which only a best friend can offer, after the beloved pets have died. Today she volunteered to go, to watch, to comfort, laugh and weep alongside her friend during the entire event. She watched Heidi's eyes as she drifted off, and dug her hands deep into her fur as she lay on the table, standing next to Olivia and Fiona the entire time. Once home, she volunteered to relieve Fiona as she was digging the hole a bit wider to accomodate the blanket...and again as Noah and Fiona seemed to tire filling it back in.

Noah chose to stay with the neighbor boys while we took Heidi to the vet, but he wanted to help bury her. Arriving back home, I watched as he left their yard, accompanied on both sides by his two chums, Ian and Kyle, ages 8 and 6 respectively. They walked to our house in silence, Ian never taking his eyes off of Noah, and keenly watching his face and posture. While we laid Heidi in the hole, Ian continued to watch Noah, and as the tears began to slide silently down his face, Ian moved to stand beside his friend, putting a small hand on his shoulder and squeezing quietly, while tears slid down his own small cheeks. He stayed next to Noah the entire time, watching him take a turn shoveling dirt into the grave, and only moving to leave when Noah was ready. At that point he walked alongside of him quietly, following his friends' lead as to what they would do next. There were no words exchanged between the two, just unspoken knowledge that he was not leaving, that he was hurting for him and with him.

I am amazed and full with the realization that my children have found friends and their own "people" to experience this life alongside of them. I realize that they are all still young and perhaps the friends will change over time, but for now they have abundance. I am amazed by the empathy and strength I saw in the faces and actions of these friends today, despite their ages or gender, they already possess qualities of character which are sometimes scarce in our world today.

At the end of the long day, I am thankful for these friends, and for mine as well, who called, texted, phoned and did not glaze over, and who stood alongside us when life was difficult and sad.

Top 20

I have been challenged with the task of creating a playlist of my top 20 favorite songs of all time by a friend. Initially I scoffed at the notion, thinking I would never be able to conjure up 20 faves. I didn't intend to compile a list. But as with many things I intend, I found myself succumbing to the idea of ferreting through my past, and began to look for songs that had struck chords with me over the years!

The first song I ever remember hearing on the radio came immediately to mind, as did all the sights, emotions, smells, and relationships attached to the memory. In the summer of 1974 I was 9 years old with a killer bright green polka dot cotton bikini with a little ruffle; my first. Camping and laying on the beach for hours on end with my family and close friends, we listened to CKLW out of Detroit and the song we cranked up was Billy Don't Be a Hero by Bo Donaldson. 7 girls on a beach singing into our blow pops like microphones and rocking our first two piece bathing suits! I can see every face on the beach that summer, and hear our laughter. Wildfire and Shannon were in our top 5 for that summer as well, and without fail, when I hear any of those songs today (which thankfully, is a rarity) I look back on those summer days with a smile and a bit of sadness for the friendships that have waned, and those lost forever.

While listening through songs, I have decided it would be prudent to sub-categorize my list. I could surely fill it with 20 songs from eras or phases of my life or even genres of music. It would come as no surprise to anyone who has known me long that "Taking Care of Business" by BTO is hands down my favorite dancing tune! Duh...how many pitchers of beer I won doing the alligator I will never be able to recount, nor get back the $l00 bucks I had to pay the DJ at my wedding to play it, even though my mom had given him a 50 not too!!! "Respect" by Aretha falls into the same category, and again a wedding memory burned into my minds eye as my brother-in- law Todd and I danced my pups right out of the cups in my dress!!! These songs are fun, but most of my list is more toned down, and make the top 20 because they hit close to my heart in how I live and want to live my life.

"Every little piece of the puzzle doesn't always fit...perfectly" Sara Evans
"Home should be where the heart is, never were words more true." Beauty and the Beast
"Look inside my heart, and be amazed." Bethany Dillon
"She needs wide open spaces, room to make big mistakes." Dixie Chicks

....lines from songs stick in my head and I find that it is small portions of a whole that hit close to home for whatever reason, and with that, the tune has made my top 20 list. Some lines and some songs leave me ragged and drained with emotion, and some still buoy me with hope and the Pollyanna outlook that generally umbrellas my life. The compilation is not yet over, but for today I am finished. This was a far more introspective endeavor than I anticipated, and I am full with memories and emotions and as I have moved through the years dredging up songs I have noticed a very clear pattern. Songs that have stayed with me, or moved me in some way have strong relationship memories attached to them, or speak of longing for relationship of some kind, some human, some with the God who created me to love him first and then others.

Mirror images

January 8th 2009....and February 24, 2011....777 days apart...but mirror images!

I started running again on both of these days. I don't remember how long I kept at it in '09, and I am not sure about this go round, but the similarities in the conversations in my head, that seem to happen more frequently on the treadmill than anywhere else is a bit unnerving to me. I don't remember the details of life 777 days ago, I barely remember last week, but today, in this span of time, my mental conversations are mostly with myself. I am not sure if that is good or bad, and there are more questions than directives or plans. Which currently, I think is gonna have to be ok.

Today I am wondering how I got here? To this place, to this person who I recognize sometimes, but other times, not so much. I am a little jaded about lots of things, a wee tad cynical in areas I never dreamed I would be, and at the middle of it....I wonder how much of that is because of my complacency and inaction in areas I need to be diligent and intentional. I guess I don't really wonder...today on the treadmill I knew...I answered that question...it's just the plan of action to change it that is a little sketchy at present.

Questions about Girls

Tonight Noah and I had some stolen time alone. It has been a really busy week filled with volleyball games, lacrosse games, practices for both sports, early am music rehearsals, appts., and general end of the year mayhem. Anyway...Noah and I came home while the girls all went to the Y, and quickly snuggled into bed to read a chapter or two of Harry Potter. After closing the book Noah said, "Mom, I have a few questions about girls OK?"

I will admit, there was a pit in my stomach...he's eight, but he has 4 sisters...and I tend to answer honestly, which usually backfires on me.

Question l. How come girls don't get pee on the seat when they go?
Answer: ahahhahahahh, snort, ahhaha, ummm, cuz usually they sit down. So no spraying.
Response: He nodded as if he agreed and it made sense.

Question 2. How come the girls always say they are fat, but they eat everything in the house, then get mad if you have the car and they can't go to the Y? (3 in 1 question)
Answer: (Desperately trying to school my features) I think its because of the media's influence on them, they feel like society only values thin women and girls, and they starve themselves all day, and then binge at night, because, honestly, they haven't had a ton of self control modeled for them! (just being honest here) And they go to the Y because that makes them feel better about eating everything in the house, plus I think they feel cool!
Response: "Mom, seriously, do you think I even know what the media is?"

Question 3. How come its funny if the girls call their private parts a "chooch" but if I call mine a "dick" its a naughty word?
Answer: (Laughing openly) I have no idea, it just is buddy.

Question 4. How come they get mad so easily, even when they seem happy?
Answer: Hormones and genetics, plus I think it makes them feel powerful.
Response: I think they are mean and stupid and they don't need anymore power, they already get the car!

Questions 5. Do you think they wish they had..you know...nuts?
Answer: I've never wished that, but I don't know about other girls, you should ask your sisters.

Question 6. Boys and girls both have nipples right? So how come girls have to cover theirs up?
Answer: You asked me this once before dude, are you just wanting to say nipples again?
Response: No, I still think its dumb, I think Olivia does too! (ahhahaah)

I realized after tucking this kid in that life with 4 sisters might be troubling and confusing at times. I love that he feels like he can ask anything, while at the same time I cringe at what he sees and knows and observes. I also cannot help laughing hard, and I am powerless to hide it. I am also praying that I don't mess him up, that growing up with 4 sisters and a mom won't make him some kind of freak.

For now, I think he might be a pretty normal 8 year old boy who pees all over the toilet seat, I think just to gross his sisters out!

The Tightrope is LIVING!!!!

Waiting. Currently, I'm having a difficult time with this verb; or action; or more accurately, this IN-action.

Over the past few days, I have become increasingly restless, emotional, and frustrated. Maybe I've written this before, I don't really know, its been so long since I've sat here, but anyway, here I am with this giant on my back, and I don't know how to shake it, or more importantly, why it weighs so heavily.

Until a few minutes ago that is. After a phone call where I was barely able to hold it together, I hung up and started to break into pieces. Even while it was happening though, I was struggling to understand why, why now, why so intensely is this waiting so hard? Why am I so frustrated by it? Why does it feel so familiar? That's where the truth revealed itself. The familiarity of the waiting. The things I'm waiting on, and waiting for are in large measure out of my control. I am ready to get on with life. I am ready to be doing whatever it is that I am designed to do, or just do SOMETHING. I'm tired of school, and the preparing to be productive. At this point in time, I could do any of the things I am wanting too with the skills and education I have now. I'm sick of the preparation. I just want to scream and get the hell on with life.

And, then there are the other parts of my life where I'm waiting. These areas I have even less control over, and my frustration is even keener. Tonight I realized that I spent a lot of years waiting for someone else's time table to be right. Trips were put on hold until after I wasn't nursing, and then put on hold longer in hopes that I might look better in a bathing suit(not my mandate), and that cycle continued for years....due to the five kids! Then there was waiting to host holidays until the house was perfect, or waiting to make time for others until Jupiter aligned with mars...waiting to connect until......you get the idea? I'm sick of waiting. I waited the first half of my life away, and there are lots of things I regret about that.

I'm tired of waiting. Waiting for the perfect timing, waiting for this person or that person, waiting for graduation....mine, kids.....there will always be something to wait for. But in the meantime, I want to LIVE! Fully, intentionally, and without waiting!

"The tightrope is living; everything else is just waiting!" ----Karl Wallenda

He said this about his life, about what he loved to do, which was first and foremost the acrobatic career he shared with his wife and family. Everything else was just waiting!

38 minutes.....HEAVEN AND HELL

The movie was titled "38 MINUTES OF TRAINS" . The title says it all. Some train junky got out his video camera and spent 2 DAYS in Lansing filming (without narrative mind you) 2 days worth of trains just driving along the east and west bound tracks. CSX's and CN's. I don't know what the frog CSX stands for but CN's are Canadian Nationals. At this point you may be asking yourself..."how does the laundress know this, and why?"

I live with a 7 year old train savant. I am not kidding you, the boy is totally focused on this one thing...anything else and he's like a cat with nip...all over the place...but show him trains, talk about trains...you name it he knows it. He freakishly morphs into a 73 year old railroad buff and starts using words that normal folks don't know, like gondolas, switch engines, sidings, loco's, diesels.... Today he went to a train show with his grandpa and dear old gramps picked up the treasured movie. So tonight when we got home the little would be savant engineer wanted to curl up in my bed, giddy with excitement, just the two of us watching his new movie. Insert here:(I fully recognize that I am selfish and had no interest or desire to watch 3 minutes of trains, let alone 38!)

I realized laying there watching his face beaming beside me on the pillow and listening to enthusiastic and knowledgeable narrative, that while I was thinking I was getting a small 38 minute glimpse of what hell might perhaps be like, this boy I love so dearly was experiencing 38 minutes of heaven. (Actually far more than 38 minutes, because he has already watched it 3 times and he wants to get up early to watch it again before school)

How different we are created. I realized tonight how blessed I am to be surrounded by such diversity of interest and lives. How self centered I can be at times only wanting to pursue and invest in the things that capture my interest. Thankfully tonight I was reminded that my 38 minutes in hell, were Noah's 38 minutes of heaven....and he wanted to share those minutes with me.

Missed Signal

I'm pretty sure I missed a signal today. An opportunity with someone who is dear to me. We don't talk often, usually in passing, a hug and cursory "how are you", but this is the second time in a week that I have been sought out. Last week I was driving in ice on horrible roads and our conversation was cut a little short, today, customers came in and I got busy.

Tonight I am convinced that my friend wasn't really checking on me. I dropped the ball. I didn't pick up on the vibe until a few moments ago, when the friend came back to my mind. Now I am praying (literally) that tomorrow whatever it was that needed saying or listening too today will not be too late.

I also wonder how often I miss opportunities or signals from people who just need to talk or who are hurting but can't put it into words. I pick up on a lot usually, but other times I am convinced that my own verbosity
and exuberance thunder over others quiet needs. I wonder too how often those things override the quiet voice of the One who loves me and I miss out on His direction and prodding. I am certain that happened today. And last week.

Tomorrow....well, actually even tonight, I am endeavoring to be still...and listen!

COMING HOME

For the past few months I have been longing for a good book. Something that I could lose myself in. A life separate from mine, yet somehow still connected to me. I haven't found a book...but alas...tonight...the longing was quenched.

JACK IS BACK!

The new season of 24 started tonight, and as Liv and I (and Savannah by phone) began watching with anticipation....I queerly realized that I felt like it was Thanksgiving or some other holiday, and long lost friends and family were all gathering again...reunited!

Disclaimer: I fully realize that this is a TV show. I fully realize that I might as well be 14 again watching Luke and Laura's wedding, or the Cassadines freeze Port Charles. I also fully realize that in this one wee small area...I am a damn pantie throwing groupie. For some, Rick Springfield brings this out, for others its artists like Tristan Prettyman or Joshua Radin. I fully admit, this is an indulgence and foray into a world not my own. AND I DON'T CARE!

For one hour every week (four this week, with the kick off nights) I can live in a stress free world of international terrorism and global war, with no one to save America from complete and utter destruction but Keifer Sutherland! BLISS!

So tonight, in the hours after the 2009 debut...I sit here relaxed and smiling...and think...welcome home old friend, welcome home!

In my head

Started running again today. Loved it. Hated it. Need it. I'm still trying to ascertain whether its a good thing for me mentally or not though. I tend to over think a few things sometimes, and then put me on a treadmill....and BLAMO! Things rush in and out.....and then I find myself having conversations in my head or writing emails in my mind....and then well, I get kinda ticky.

This is kinda how it went:
Walking, walking, 321...running....SIDESWIPE....thinking...conversation begins, blah, blah, blah....walking again...(lull in mental conversation) 321....SIDESWIPE...conversation picks back up, more heated, more determined, blah, blah, blah....back to walking.....321.....switch to email....typing, typing, typing...blah, blah, blah....

...and things continued like this for me the whole time I ran/walked.

I have two theories on this phenomenon...
l. This is totally healthy and normal and everyone does it, but they never talk about it.(Which in an of itself is neither normal or healthy)
2. No one does this ever and I'm a freak!

Anyway, now I'm home and my mind is mush, my legs are burning, and I am falling in love with my new best friend "the stick", which Penny sold me yesterday to use to "roll out my muscles" instead of stretching.....for $7.95 that little pup is a wee slice of heaven!

STARTING NOW

For the most part, I've never been a big New Years resolution maker. The whole idea seems kinda dumb to me, similar to the "new diet starts on Monday" mantra. In my mind, I have always just thought, hmm..if you want to do something, DO IT! Don't talk about it, put it off, procrastinate and set a point "sometime in the future" to begin. If it's something you want to pursue or attempt START NOW!

So tonight I have been thinking about some things. Things that I want to do "at some point in the future", but they require advanced planning, and maybe a wee bit of dedication and training, and that all important item.....CABBAGE! These items on my list will require some discipline on my part, both in the saving and carrying thru on the plans. These are not two of my strongest areas. Actually, in these areas I suck big time. (Hence my disdain for new years resolutions I'm certain). Anyway....here's my list.

l. Camp in Pentwater with kids for l WHOLE week without technology!
2. Run l 5k race.....possibly the Flushing Road race, but not necessarily.
3. Take RV trip with Barb and Bob and some teens to Cincinnati area..aka Kings Island, The Beach!
4. Take college girls to lunch or dinner at least once each during winter semester.
5. Take some kind of road trip with Fiona....(she's an amazing DJ and great in shot gun for long distances...also doesn't require expensive meals!
6. Get B+ in Spanish, and A's in all other classes.
7. Pass the Basic Skills Test.
8. Write more intentionally at least 3 times a week.
9. Take kids skiing at Nubs Nob with Dad.(which will require teaching Noah to ski)
10. Go to Sleeping Creeper Trail and bike it.
11. Stop rationalizing
12. Learn to ride a motorcycle.

That's it....for now...I think there will be more "places to go" that I want to add....and some that are just part of life....and maybe some more mountains to climb myself, but for now....this is my start. I'm planning and starting and setting these things in motion NOW!

The Search

One would think, ne, even assume, that in an abode that houses 4 girls, that a person could easily and readily lay hands on a PONY TAIL HOLDER!!!

But noooooooo. Not in this house. Not this person. Last night as I was quickly trying to sweep my 4 inches of overgrown gray and 4 inches of split fried ends into some semblance of a festive coife, I found myself in need of two pony tail holders.

I began my unhurried search in the bathroom drawers where such items are kept. NONE! Moving on, I searched all the girls dresser tops and ledges next to their beds. (This is a no brainer...they all take out their bands at night) NONE!
Next I moved on to the couch cushions. Everything gets dropped down there, and I have found several there in the past whilst cleaning. EMPTY! At this point I was getting a wee tad frantic, as my ride was coming shortly. I was also beginning to feel just the very tiniest bit of panic sweating beginning......not good with my freshly made-up mug! I rifled through back packs, old purses, junk drawers, and jewelry boxes! ZILCH, NOTHING...NADA! I began to miss the days of barbies and barbie cases, (whose very existence I cursed while that phase was here, and celebrated grandly when the last blond diva with too tiny shoes was gone)Barbies always had extra pony tail holders in their hair or being used to festoon their long ball gowns into skimpy club attire.

You know how it is when you can't find something that you want. How somewhere during the hunt it suddenly becomes a life necessity right up there with food, water and shelter? This is where my need for the afore mentioned hair ties had transitioned.

In a last ditch effort before I moved on to plan B, which may have included kitchen shears and a bowl, I went into the lone boys room. I dumped out his ginormous bucket of trains....and frantically sifted through the rubble.

In a house with 4 teenage girls, I find it curious that the place I scavenged up not one, but TWO pony tail holders, was the 7 year old boys room. The seven year old boy with a BUZZ CUT no less! You see, this estrogen overpowered kid is the McGyver of trains. While trying to load logs and steal on flat beds, he was having difficulty keeping his stacked product on the cars. He needed "ratcheted tie downs." to hold his loads. His mother told him they didn't make them for wooden toy trains, and he would have to just put fewer logs (crayons) on so that they would stay. NOPE! I remember the day he took me by the hand to show me his solution. "See those loads mom?" he said. "Ponytailers work just like bungees...now I'm all set to go eastbound to Chicago."

And now I'm all set to step out for the night.

The concert

I have been looking forward to this concert for weeks. It has become a tradition in our family, as we have choralaries in our midst. This season kick off concert is comprised of The Band, The Orchestra, and the all of The Choirs. Mingled together with ensembles, trios, duets and solos, the evening NEVER FAILS to set the mood for Christmas week for me.

This year the evening opened with an orchestra medley of sacred caroles. I was over the edge with "O Come, O Come Emmanuel". I was able to regain a modicum of composure for the next three or four numbers, but alas...The Drumline. Caught me totally by surprise. The auditorium was surrounded by 20 or so percussionists, snares, basses, xylaphones, and a myriad of others I can't name. The hair on my arms (and yes I admit, my legs as well) was standing on end. It was absolutely incredible, and I was an emotional mess. Savannah, sitting next to me, texted me, and called a DQ while she was laughing. My dad sitting on the end of the row had his hankie out. I'm afraid I may need to start bringing my own to such events.

Pushing me over the edge was Fiona's solo. She came out on the main floor, center, with a 40's style mic in front of her, and slowly and confidently began singing The Christmas Song. It was over the top. I have heard her sing often (duh, as we live in the same house) but this was amazing, and more chilling than the drum line....when she sang the last line ...merry Christmas tooo youu...she was looking right at me. I don't know if it was intentional, but it effectively pushed me over the edge. I am so incredibly proud of her. She has an amazing voice, effortless for her to sing anything.

The concert finished, and after coming home and winding down, I laid in bed thinking about how I have gotten caught up in the hustle and bustle of the season, and have not taken much time to slow down and just live and soak in the season. To be the season to the people around me.

Today I'm in. There is a huge blizzard, a snow day.....and the weekend and week ahead stretches before me with lots of time available to remember why we celebrate this time of year.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel....and Merry Christmas too you!

Cookie Baking

To fully capture this event, I would need some kind of podcast...because much of the atmosphere was created with sound...or din, whatever it is that includes talking over top of each other, singing together and outsinging each other....and laughing, at and with....the perfect combination. The slotted event was cookie making....with friends and food...and way too much estrogen for some people! ( I think this may be why Noah has taken to wearing his Comander Cody costume 24/7). The finished products were works of art, even with the vomit colored icing for the ginger cookies!


While nibbling on the finished products, and yes I said "products" plural, I discovered that all in all, the day was good. There was a moment or two though, I must admit, where I was standing there in the kitchen thinking....in the middle of all that life is right now, how is it that we can still find joy, that we can still laugh, that friendships can remain, when everything else leaves? I don't know how, and maybe I never will, but I am enormously thankful, because without the joy, there would be no hope, without the laughter there would be nothing but tears (or yelling and screaming), and without great friendships, life would be empty.

From Fat Albert, and JIm...to the dwarves cottage

To fully understand the magnitude of the tree debacle, it is necessary to post a shot of last years tree, affectionately known to us as "Fat Albert." We are big tree folk. Actually this final product of FA is a much trimmer version, produced after much pruning and trimming to get him into the corner and to keep the boughs a safe(ish) distance from the dangerously drying flames of the gas log. Anyhoo...as my earlier post stated, we had quite a day procuring this lovely tree, seen below being shortened up a bit, as we had overestimated the height and were about 2 feet too tall for our room. Fiona, the master of the saw, buzzed almost effortlessly through the trunk, cutting 21 inches off. Anyway....after getting him (Jim Murchie) down to a manageable height, Olivia and I hauled him into the house to his place of honor.

While Olivia was single-mindedly fastening the "Best Christmas Tree Stand Ever" to Jim's trunk, the rest of us waited expectantly for Jim to rise to his place of honor....wringing our hands wondering how much additional trimming would need to be done to nestle him into his spot.....

We took a quick break to enjoy a few snacks...we were all tired from the whole ordeal of sawing and stand positioning....and of course the hunger that mounts from all that gleeful anticipation....

.....and then....this! Imagine our surprise...and yes, I will admit, great disappointment when we realized that instead of a behemoth, we had misnamed our poor tree. In fact, our tree would be a perfect little addition to the seven dwarfs cottage. It looks like our tree from last year went to the Bariatric Center and joined the Y! And also had a vertebrae or two taken out....he has been renamed...Matt Roloff! It's so short we even had room on top this year for Santa...(a battle I lost..along with colored lights). The silver lining here is, we can sit in the chair and not get sap on our arms while watching Christmas movies! Joyeux Noel!

O''Tannenbaum

Today we set out on our yearly quest for the family tree. This year it was just Fiona, Elsa and I. It was bitter cold here today...snowy and beautiful...but BITTER COLD!

Usually we cut our tree on a huge 900 acre farm.

This year, we drove by a lot near my parents house that had some lovely trees. And by lovely, I mean, it would be lovely to not trek out in the BITTER COLD to hunt for a tree. We just popped out of the car, the men working the lot pulled the trees off of the ropes, stamped the snow off of them, and we mulled and pondered. It took about 10 minutes. Not including the time it took for the K of C guys to tie the bad boy to the roof of our car. (And I use the word "tie" loosely")

On the way home, Fiona's job was to "watch the tree". While I looked in the rear view mirror and watched cars swerve off the road anticipating my tree torpedoing thru their windshields. The thing seemed to have ADHD up there. It rolled to the left, right, front, back...you name it....but it stayed on.

Once home, I came in and laid down on the couch and promptly fell asleep. (what can I say except that the drive was harrowing) Eventually though, I ventured out to unlash it. After cutting the twine, I turned the stump end so that I could slide the bad boy over the edge of the van.....BIG MISTAKE...HUGE! I was nearly gored as the beast slid of its own volition off the roof of my van.

After all of that...I was unable to drag Jim, (that's what I have named the tree, Jim Murchie, after a behemoth of a man whom the tree looks amazingly like) into the house. He's well over 8 ft...actually more like 10...funny how they look so short and trim in the out of doors, and soooo much larger in the confines or your garage or home! (not Jim the man, but Jim the tree) Anyhooo....stay tuned...tomorrow will see Jim snugly in his spot of honor by the fireplace...decorated and twinkling Christmas cheer into our home...I cannot wait!

Over thinking, over feeling...and other musings

Emotionally, I am all over the map today. I got up early and said good-bye to the person I never want to say good-bye too, and as he drove out of the driveway, I turned around and ran back to bed. To avoid breaking down, to avoid feeling what i didn't want to feel right then. Fortunately, he called me at 9:45 and woke me up again so I could jump out of bed and get ready to go to church.(He just didn't know he was waking me up!)

On the way I started to think about all that has changed over the last few years. The friends that have come and gone...the mountain tops and the valleys that have been climbed and crossed. Walking in alone, I started to feel incredibly sad. For a number of reasons, my kids hate coming to this place that they once loved being a part of. They are now more inclined to worship across town with their dad and his brother and their cousins. (Not really sure how I feel about that...well, actually I do know, I'm just being respectful and not saying) For reasons of my own making, I am not feeling as connected with the people here in this place these days either, and that made me sad. I chose to sit alone, not for lack of acquaintances or a couple of friends, but I just didn't have it in me this morning to put on a face. I sat and as the music began, I could not stop crying...I couldn't sing....I just sat and prayed....for my kids, myself, for all of those I wished were still there and aren't and for my heart....which somehow has become a little hard and brackish.

Throughout the service and the rest of the day, I have been seeking clarity in my vision, in my purpose. Somehow I find myself in a place where I don't even recognize who I am anymore. In some ways I have drifted so far from who I was and who I want to be that I wonder if I will ever get back to her. Maybe getting back to her isn't what God wants for me either. Maybe, possibly, if I am willing to put myself back into His hands, maybe He will help me to be something better, or at the very least different in a good way. Because after talking to a friend today, we both agreed, we have to be forward thinking....even if looking back makes us smile. Those days, and the people we were, the person I was, are long gone now.

At the end of today, the thing I have come to as being the most pertinent is this.....I don't want to continue along the path that I am currently on. I want to be more like who I was, only better, wiser for where I have been in the meantime......and for tonight I still need to weep....because the journey to that person seems incredibly difficult.

Sometimes I pretend

Things happen for a reason. You just need to "find your place with it and figure our where to file it." Words I have heard often, (and often laugh about) from a dear friend.

I'm not sure I believe the first part....sometimes I think stuff just happens. Not exactly randomly, but just....cause/effect...handwriting on the wall....or just plain HAPPENS. Sometimes it is in our grasp to understand, sometimes not. Sometimes and some things I don't always want to "find my place with" let alone "figure out how or where to file it." Sometimes I want to pretend that life is perfect and there just isn't any "stuff."

Tonight I'm pretending lots of things. Like for instance, that there are not 5 loads of clean laundry waiting to be folded. I'm pretending that Alice just ran to the market and will be home soon to fold it all. I'm pretending that the person I love most will be here soon, (like tonight soon, not next week soon) and we will have homemade chicken soup and crusty rolls together. I'm pretending that my BFF is just down the road and that if I need her or if she needs me, that either one of us can be fully present together in under 2 minutes! I'm pretending that I don't have kids at a movie theatre and that I will not have to leave my house and go out into the rain and cold in 2 hours to pick them up. (on that one I'm actually pretending that they are still too young to be dropped off to see a movie alone with 3 friends...and BOYS!)

Tonight I'm pretending and not "filing" or "finding my place."

Tonight I'm just trying to get through it.

175th Anniversary

Yesterday was the 175th anniversary of the church that I grew up in. This was a big deal, especially for my parents, who are Presbyterians of a sort that are not often seen. Fully dedicated to the local church....fully and completely sold out to Jesus example of being servants.

Over the years, I have been known to scoff at my Presbyterian heritage....my "religious" and "spiritual" training was dubious at best. I of course, in hindsight, take much of the responsibility for being, at the time, somewhat unteachable...if not out and out belligerently opposed to all manner of instruction. Yesterday, sitting in the place where I spent every Sunday from the time I was in 2nd grade until I graduated, I realized that there were some foundational things that actually did permeate into my heart, mind, and soul...way back then.

Sitting in the padded pews before the service started, I spent some time just looking...taking in the visuals. Stained glass windows of a sort that I am certain are no longer produced, with sunlight streaming in, creating the warm lighting that welcomes all who are illuminated by it. Tipping my head back, I marveled at the ornate painting which outlined the coved ceiling, it is bordered by slightly ornate wood, not exactly baroque, yet not gothic either. It was all warm and familiar, and as the new reverend began to talk to all who were gathered there, many like myself, not "regular attenders" any longer, he asked us to take a moment to reflect on the memories we had of this place.

At this point I was nothing, if not slightly uncomfortable, realizing that many of my fond memories, if brought fully into the light, might bring down lightening and fire from on high. I was thinking to myself, "if he only knew", and then felt a head turn and look back to my right...when I looked over, my eyes, and memories were locked in sync with someone who, all those years ago, was very much a central figure in those memories, and somehow knowing I wasn't alone in my reverie (however irreverent) made me smile. Broadly.

Not at the memories, or even the shared connection, but mostly for how God has chosen to work in my heart despite my choices. I smiled then and even now, in gratitude to my parents for the experience of it all.....if it were not for that, I don't believe that I would have ever known Jesus when I finally was able to hear him and see him in others.

I had forgotten what a pipe organ sounds like, fully throttled up, and being played heartily. I had forgotten what it sounds like when 300+ voices sing the doxology and the gloria. I had forgotten that I knew "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing", or that in the last verse there is a key change and a big ending. I forgot what it sounded like to hear 70 something sopranos singing the descant parts. (who am I kidding, I forgot what 70 somethings sound like singing period.) I had forgotten too, what it felt like to be sitting in a pew with my parents and family, feeling the pew shake when things start getting "dusty" for my dad, and how he looks when he presses his neatly folded hankie to his eyes in hopes that no one notices his emotions!

I sat there hoping no one noticed mine.

SHADY

Noah: Mom, what does "shady" mean?

Me: What do you think it means buddy?

Noah: Dad says you're shady....because you don't do things that you should. I know what that means. You stay in bed and don't fix your small children breakfast.

Me: ahhahahahahahha....well, that's not exactly shady, just lazy...and I'm trying to teach you patience and responsibility. AHAHAHHAHHAHAH.

Noah: Dad said you're shady because you laugh at God. But I told him you laugh at everybody.

Me: That's true, I do laugh alot...but not at people.....and definitely not at God. I prefer to think of all the stuff I laugh about as laughing with people...even God I think. What do you think?

Noah: Well, you're still in bed...and I'm not laughing....and I'm hungry...so I just think you're being shady again!

Me: AHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA

Dreamers

Dreamers. There are two types I think.

There are those people who dream about goals and achievements. These can be financial goals, physical goals, career goals, status goals. Mostly these goals and dreams are in some way physically tangible. There can be a sense of checking off the list and moving on to the next one.

Then there are those people whose dreams are based more relationally. I have heard these people described as "Utopian" thinkers and dreamers. These people do not have goals so much as visions of how things, mostly relationships, will be or could/should look. They don't have to be personal relationships, but lots of times about how people engage with one another and live in community together. They can be personal too. These dreamers cannot usually check things off a list.

I have great admiration and respect for the first group of dreamers. I love the idea of attaining something that I have worked hard for....or finishing something that I have started. For the most part, I never have. (That's a thought for a different day)

I fall into the second category. Recently, I believe a dear friend kindly referred to my thinking and dreaming as delusional. Oddly, I wasn't offended. The friend was right. Lots of the delusional dreams that I have in respect to relationships, both personal and on larger scale, will never play out the way I see them in my head and feel them in my heart. This, I have come to realize, is because Utopian dreams, as they relate to people, take far more effort emotionally than lots of people are willing to invest. They also require mammoth proportions of blind faith and gut instinct, and in today's world, most of us need tangible evidence and guarantees and mapped out plans, before we hang ourselves out there emotionally or personally.

I'm not sure why I feel like I need to write about this today....I am not making a comparison between the two types of dreamers as a judgement in any way. It is just a reminder for me I suppose, that while the kinds of dreams that I can push for and believe in, are not always going to play out neatly. The kinds of delusional dreams I have going on depend in large part on others with similar delusions buying in....and risking.

I guess I am comparing the two in some way. Because I am also sitting here wishing I had a list today with some things I could check off, or write off...and try as I might...I can't conjure one up. Well, that's not totally true either...I can conjure it...(with a little eye of newt, and old hag's cackle) but I can't check the things (or people) off.

Here in the aftermath....

There are not many days in this life when we are allowed the privilege to experience (whether we want to or not), every emotion, flashback memory, or glimpse into the future that our limited human forms are capable of experiencing.

Move in day for your first child in college is one of those days.

Today was my day to experience it. Actually not just mine, it was our whole family's day to experience. All of us. Seven. Even though we don't live as a family of seven now, for this brief time, there was respite from the drama that divorce and all of its ugliness brings, and we moved Princess into college together. I say together, but actually, Noah and Elsa said their good-byes yesterday...so today it was just Princess (Thing one), Fiona, Olivia and Mark and I. Plus two car loads of "stuff", college necessities and the like. Of course it was us and about 500 other students and parents with dollies and flatbeds and futons and mini-fridges and long lines and one incredibly slow moving elevator!
But that's a side issue.

What I feel compelled to say now is how it felt. How surreal it all seemed to me, and I think to everyone else too. It started last night for me when her two best friends came home from their respective colleges for the weekend and spent the night here playing board games, laughing too loud and talking about incredibly inappropriate things. I wanted so badly to sit at the table and counter with them...to laugh and feed them...but every time I tried to come downstairs I was overcome with emotion. I couldn't hold it back, and since they are ruthless, I was certain I would be harassed mercilessly by them. (They have learned the fine art of that from me, hence my certainty). So instead I laid in bed listening, laughing, and crying....and remembering lots of other nights like it. Then this morning we were up and showering and everything was in the living room....I felt like I should be making a big breakfast, some kind of grand gesture send off...but I also felt totally paralyzed to mark this as an occasion. (Some might call this DENIAL). Instead we waited for Mark to arrive to pick up some of the gear, and we loaded up the cars and drove south. I rode with Princess. Even the task of driving seemed daunting to me. I just wanted to soak up the journey. I wanted to have a meaningful conversation, to say things that she would remember and cherish. I wanted to tell her how proud I am of her and how much I love her. How excited I am for her, and how much I will miss her.

I didn't. Every time I started to formulate the words, they just stuck. In my throat and in my mind. I need more time. That was something I kept thinking today. I need more time to teach her, to help her, to invest in her. But the time is up. The hourglass is empty on that one.

I am left to wonder if I said enough. If I taught her the right things. If she will make good choices because she will remember how to evaluate situations. I wonder if she will remember Who loves her more than we do, and that He is with her always. I wonder if she will miss life here, even though she will be loving the life of freedom somewhere else. (And even if she does, I pray she won't want to move back).

The actual leaving was difficult. She told us we could go..that she would be ok to finish up....and then we each had to say good bye. Each of us had to hug her, and one by one we all crumbled. The four of us leaving and walking away, even though every step seemed wrong...Olivia described it best. She said " I feel like we just left a puppy in a box by the side of the road and drove off." At our cars, Mark reminded me that this is what we have been working for from the time she was born. That we have prepared her the best that we can....and that this is how it is supposed to be....even though it doesn't feel like it. (This is hard for me to admit, but I know he is right!) lol.....

Sitting here tonight with Fiona and Olivia...and the letters that princess left for each one of us on our beds....well, its hard. Really hard. Now is the time I truly have to let her go, to trust that He is there with her, and also here with us. Here in the aftermath of college move in day.

From the trail

So I found myself again on the trail today..taking a much needed walk to just be still and listen. To be away from the things pressing in and the endless list of things to do was a welcome respite. In the quiet I realized a few things, in no particular order.

l. Lots of people don't pick up their dog poop...and I would like to rub their noses in it.
2. Just when we think we are alone, God sends the perfect friend to do another 3 miles.
3. Old people still fall in love.
4. Some people think smoking weed and riding their bike is excercise.
5. God is always there, but sometimes I get soo busy, I don't listen or talk to Him.
6. If your toe feels like its being rubbed raw in your shoe...IT IS!
7. When things are quiet in the woods, a woodpecker can sound like a damn serial killer!
8. I don't get out into nature enough!
9. Time alone to think and pray and listen and just be, is probably one of the most important things ever.
10. It would be nice to walk the trail with the person I love.