Merrily, Merrily

 I wax sentimental quite often about my good, happy childhood. I was reminded today of one of the bad parts of that time, when someone on Facebook was asking if anyone would pony up some money to put her and her Mama in a hotel, because their air conditioning was out, and it's really hot. I laughed, but then I remembered a couple of years ago, when our A/C went out for a week or two. We took showers right before bed, turned every fan we owned towards our semi-moist bodies, threw any covers off and laid still and quiet, praying to fall asleep before we started sweating.

And that's also the way I grew up...Mama and Daddy had a little air conditioner unit in their bedroom window, and they'd shutter themselves up at night. Us kids laid with windows wide open, sprawled like old dogs across the beds. I wasn't bitter, really. Their room seemed like a refrigerator to me. Because our room was open to the outdoors, you could hear the crickets and frogs carrying on like a symphony. That'd put us to sleep pretty quick if we let it. I still love that sound. The night of our daughter's wedding, in our backyard, I heard that and it made me so happy. Sounds of home.

My sister and I never went to sleep fast, though. We'd talk and giggle as long as possible, until Mama yelled for us to hush. I couldn't bear to be apart from her. She is two years younger and was my constant companion. We had bunkbeds, until Mama just gave up and bought us a full size, because we'd end up together anyway. We got engaged at almost the same time, and got married 6 weeks apart. We started having babies every other year, five boys in a row and then the girls started getting sprinkled in there. Ken and I stopped at four, well, the Lord stopped us at four. Melanie and her husband have 11 children. She is what they call a force of nature. People ask her if she knows what causes that. She says that she finally figured out she shouldn't wash her underwear with her husband's. There's a lot more where that comes from. We also have a brother. He and his wife have six children. We're not Mormon or Catholic, just passionate Protestants. And we're taking over.

Melanie and I have a lot of people in between us, with husbands, daughter-in-loves, son-in-loves, oodles of grandbabies (17 between us right now and a couple on the way), and a lot of things going on. So our talking times are limited to chats on the phone, text messages and the occasional half-day marathons when we get to hang out. But on warm, balmy summer nights when I walk my dog under the stars, I often am taken back to those carefree days when she and I would talk and dream about our futures. God's done filled both of our arms with a lot of good stuff, along with the challenges that threaten to undo us. My heart is still linked with hers, as distant as we may find ourselves sometimes. There's a whole lot of flurrying about on both sides, but I thank God for how He seems to always bring us to peace when we are able to bring our boats alongside each other. Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream...

Winds and Waves

Today was the most alone day I have had since our nest emptied out in June, when our Elizabeth got married. Ken left early to help his Dad move into his new apartment and I went the other way, to church and then to show a house. I came home to an empty house, took my requisite Sunday nap and then piddled away the rest of the day. I watched a gloomy movie by myself, then walked the dog in the sticky, wet yard, spooked by anything that moved. So here I am, the night is getting late and Pa is still not home. His Dad is under great duress. There are many things that stress us, but losing your wife and then having to move, all within the space of a month, should be enough to unnerve him. My heart breaks for his pain.

Sitting here in my too-quiet study, I think of my Ken and how much I take him for granted. Some days are fun, some are exciting, but the steady beat of life is often like oatmeal, nutritious and sustaining, but plain. I happen to like oatmeal, especially with cinnamon and blueberries. It's comforting and healing, just like a good marriage. We have our fine days and our bad, two sinners depending on the grace of God. I have my jurisdictions and he has his. We've been together so long, sometimes I forget we are two people. The face I see the most isn't my own. It's his. I reach over during the night to touch his big, bear-like hands. They are warm, rough, strong. If I reach up and touch his lips, he always kisses my fingers, even if he's asleep. I stop and remember what I'm thankful for. If I'm smart, I tell him. He needs respect, affirmation. I more need love, back massages. We've been lucky in love, even on our worst days and in our hard seasons. I've found that true love is more like an ocean...there are tides, storms, sunshine and shadows, then days that are like a dream, with the wind gently blowing and the sea like a lake. The sand shifts with the whims of nature, but the sun still comes up, even if it's obscured by clouds. 

We have been blessed to see love lived out in our parents, both sides...abiding grace that doesn't shift with the current. What may appear like oatmeal on the surface is actually made of bedrock, smoothed and polished by the winds of adversity and time. No small feat. No small God.

Musings on an August Day

 I woke up to a rare, cool August morning. I stumbled in the dark to let the dog out. She's extra, and won't go the bathroom (or even eat) if I'm not right there with her. She's an old, retired Aussie show dog and has lived several years with my sister, outside with a pile of other dogs. When she came to live with us, I had to potty train her and adapt her to indoor living. Since she's very intelligent and saw her big chance to live in comfort, she learned quickly what the rules are. But now, she thinks she's a princess and I'm afraid she's got me trained too. She's like Velcro -- always by my side. I can't do anything without her right there with me. I happen to like that, except that it's guilt-inducing when she won't even eat unless I stay close by to let her finish. Our little forays into the yard are always accompanied by Matilda the cat. She's also apparently from royalty. They groom each other and talk about the weather. Pets are one of God's wonderful gifts.

As I stepped onto our delicious front porch, it was sweet to drink in the crisp air this morning. It made me remember that it won't always be August. Way back when we homeschooled our kids, back when folks thought we were criminals for doing it, I'd start school the first of August because it was too hot to play outside anyhow. We got more done between then and Thanksgiving than the rest of the year. By April, our brains were buzzing out the window and Pa would declare school's out. We did that for 19 years, another lifetime away. I feel for all these families that are being forced to do it now. Only God could compel me, back in the day, but I'm mighty glad we did it. Our children, now grown, are independent, Biblical thinkers and also intelligent, hard workers. And anybody that worries about socialization should examine my kids...they can mix with everybody from old folks to babies. In fact, they're actually more social because they're comfortable with people not even in their own peer group. God's grace, again. I'm not that wonderful, being impatient and flighty, prone to change and distraction. But God's a whole lot bigger than us. 

With the chaotic, swirling times we are in currently, it's easy to descend into worry and fear. It seems to invite both frenzy and lethargy at the same time. I'm trying to get my eyes off of me, get into the Word every morning... even if it's just one thorough chapter, and keep throwing my cares on Christ. Drag myself away from social media, don't get stuck watching the news, find at least one person to bless each day. We're going to get through this, no matter if it's in a pine box. It's just the truth. I'm choosing to live, not cower. As Teddy Roosevelt so aptly put it: "We are face to face with our destiny and we must meet it with a high and resolute performance of duty; let us live in the harness, striving mightily; let us rather run the risk of wearing out than rusting out." Preach.

Seize the Paint!

I've sat here like a lump on a log. Really, for months. Technically, I've worked like a Trojan, but only when I had to. All those beautiful projects that live in my mind have sat like an island for nigh half a year. Why, when for a time, I had all the time in the world? All around me were raw materials, just waiting for inspiration and a rainy afternoon. Even when my daughter found out, just three weeks before her wedding date, that we could not use her original venue, we binge-watched on Netflix and lolly-gagged on the porch for at least a week before we let the clutch out. Then it was Katy-bar-the-door to get everything done in time. 

Now that real estate is as hot as a firecracker and I'm covered up with work, I've been pulling out my crafty projects. Go figure. First there was the ancient, musty old rocking chair that's been mouldering in the barn. I slapped a fresh batch of chalk paint on the frame, yanked off all the decrepit fabric, found a jolly-looking remnant at the store, stapled it all back together and then hot-glued trim to it. It looks like a toddler's happy place now. I was so energized, I found old curtains from a yard sale, cut them in half, attached some zingy pom-pom trim and hung them in the nursery. I think somebody needs to crank up the grandkid machine again. I've got eight very cute yard apes, but no babies now and Yaya's ready to rock.

It's easy to get carried away, especially when you've been living in a desert, creatively, for five months. Today, it all started with my dining room rug. Tragically, I bought that thing with good money a couple of years ago. I thought it might bring some whimsy into my formal Victorian ethos. But it's not whimsical and it's not happy. It looks like a bad paint accident and my feet have to touch it numerous times in a day. It's at the very heart of my dear, sweet home. How could I do that to her? There's century-old gold-ish and ivory wallpaper in the next room that I refuse to paint over, even though my Mama does not understand my undying love for it. It is elegant, classic and timeless. Who cares if it has a few age spots and crinkles in it? It's precious and will remain. So anything I do in this dining room has to also respect the old grand paper. I looked at the hapless rug (which will soon succumb to Facebook marketplace) and thought about the future. Then I made the mistake of calling my dear friend Frank, the decorator who invented Excess and happens to live next door. The 90s were Frank's oyster and his work is simply glorious. One time, he walked into another of my houses and in 15 minutes told me what to do to my living room. What was a colorless, awkward box became a delicious, warm haven that we hated to ever leave. When he tells me something, even with my years of houses and decorating under my belt, I listen.

We started commiserating about that room. He asked me to remind him about the colors in the stained glass, the fireplace tiles, the light fixture over the table. I'm pretty sure I heard the gears turning in his head. Before I could blink, I was clicking on Pinterest ideas and thinking about jewel tones and the wisdom of the fact that we only live once (Frank might have said something about that). Sherwin Williams' Whole Wheat ain't gonna cut it...when I mentioned that color, he said, "Chicken." He sent his wife Karen over here with one of her blouses, in the color he wants me to use. So this wimp waited until Pa went to bed (let's just say Pa's a really intense morning person and I am not), then tore off to Home Depot to gather paint samples. Please don't tell him I shopped there, but they don't have a Lowe's in Villa Rica and desperate times call for desperate measures, especially when you've only got 40 minutes before the store closes. That poor room has already been painted three times in the last eight years, but this is me. Oh yeah, and then there's Frank, Mr. Excess. There will be no half measures. Carpe diem.

Mayberry on a Friday

There's lots of things to be said for walking, rather than driving, to town... that is, if you live close. It's so much faster to whip in and out of errands when you drive, obviously. But it's a great activity for children, old ones and young ones. Friday, I had three of my young grandchildren with me for the day. After breakfast and one small round of cartoons, I figured we'd brave the steaming blanket of humidity to explore Villa Rica. 7-year-old Eden was not keen on this idea, but her two brothers and Sadie the dog were game so she was outnumbered. I tucked a $20 bill in my shirt and we headed out. The boys were hoping to spy a train that morning.

We discovered flowers, grasses, dog poo and a quirky fairy tree along the way. They each took a turn running and touching the train rails (no worries, I was vigilant). We waved at strangers like we were in a parade, then used that special path for walkers that crosses the tracks. There had been a great deal of meandering, so by this time they were thirsty and begging for lunch. I forgot how amazing little kids' metabolisms can be. We saw that Chat n' Choo was open, hurrah, but we had the wee problem of the dog. I didn't dare leave her tethered outside, so the nice waitress seated them right at the window while Sadie and I watched outside. I whipped out my $20 and said give them brownies. It's lunchtime and I'm their Yaya. Yayas do that stuff. They thought they were so big, with their red velvet brownies on a plate, silverware and all. They took their time eating, and walked out with an extra one. They knew Yaya doesn't eat brownies, so they instructed me that we could give it to their Daddy when he picked them up...they also said that he would never eat it all himself, but that he would share it with their Mama (he always shares with Mama, Yaya!) That is exactly what he did when he got to my house. Sweet that they knew it would go down that way. 

As we took our time down the street, we happened upon an ice cream shop (Kenny's Kremes). Their eyes lit up. We still had $8 and some change left, so I figured why not? They're only kids for a little while. The lady serving them was very patient and kind, letting them try several kinds before they settled on their choices, which they slurped down with gusto. We then took a few minutes to stop into the real estate company I work with (Southern Homes and Land), where they were oooohed and aaaahed over by my broker and our secretary. A few more detours and discoveries on the way home, and we finally arrived back, full of sugar and talk. Eden decided that it was the best day ever, after all.

It made me proud, the humans that we came across that day. There were happy waves, kind shopowners, friendly folks on the sidewalk and in the cars that drove by. We live here in a small town, not far from a big city, but there are people working hard, making a go of difficult times. If you listen to the media, there's nothing but hell and mayhem. I say turn off the news, take a deep breath, then take yourself on a long walk.