Clear Sailing

The house was a literal wreck, this time last week. I was tempted to hire someone just to clean it, but I knew I'd have to move everything off the horizontal surfaces first, in order to reach the dust and grime. Plus, there were boxes and those big totes everywhere, full of Christmas ghosts past and present. So why not just get to it? It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet, but I was under the gun to get it all finished before we carved up that turkey. 2020 has made us all a trifle crazy, and we need a little Christmas, right this very minute. My husband promised to help, but his idea of help is to go out in the garage and change the oil. He has always had the strangest priorities when it comes to company coming over. One time, with the house stacked to the gills with clutter, he took it upon himself to touch up the walls all over the house. It wound up looking insane, because he didn't notice that the old paint cans had rust on the rims and all the colors were just a bit off. We had strange-colored spots all over the house and I ended up having to paint pretty much everything within the next few months, to cover up all the off-color patches. But we made a memory!

This time, however, he was my champion. He stated, very early in the day, that he was going to help me but that I was not to give him any instructions. I smiled and took what I could get. He started in one room, organizing and straightening...and then closing each door when a room was finished. While I did alchemy in the kitchen (first time, ever in 38 years, I made pecan pies and did the dressing. My dearly-departed mother-in-law would have been proud, as I used her recipes), Ken waved his magic wand. By mid-afternoon, the house was neat, dusted and decorated. It was definitely a Christmas miracle. 

The kids and grands and Grandma Judy all came in, festive and happy. We ate, told stories, laughed and then laughed some more. Our son Jesse came up with a game that had me crying and holding my tummy with hilarity. Newlyweds Marcus and Liz hang around a little longer (no baby yet, there's that coming), and we mused with that muzzy, comfy, full feeling that you get after big holidays with people you love and actually like. Ken and I snuggled into bed like two kittens in a cocoon and enjoyed the warmth of food, cozy blankets and love. You don't get days like that all the time. We've learned to really treasure them.

The next day, without even killing each other, we cleaned out our workshop...something we've put off for many months. We hauled truckloads of junk to the curb and folks picked it up, keeping it out of the landfill for another day. The rest went to the trailer to be carted off, and the truck was filled with goodies for our kids. You can now walk in the building without risking death. That only took four hours. What were we thinking?! So many things in life are not done because we simply dread facing them. With a little focus and spit, we hunkered down and got it done. The cobwebs in my mind are beginning to clear. Maybe I'll start with the pantry next...  

Turning the Page

One of my sweet grandsons was snuggled warmly into my lap. We had a big blanket tucked all around us, as the trolley swayed on the road, filled with festive friends and family...we were seeing the Christmas lights at Callaway Gardens. It was colder than it ought to be for a Georgia Thanksgiving. Some years, we're running around in shorts at that time. The smell of hot cocoa, s'mores and coffee wafted around on the air, with everyone bundled to the eyeballs. It was grand fun, and our group was full of merry. We're all happy these days when we get to do what we used to take for granted.

There's a big lake there, and our path meandered around it as we viewed the delightful lights and heard the crisp, happy music. As we turned a corner, I saw a lagoon on the right side of the road. All of a sudden, I had a massive flashback to when I was a kid and had gone swimming in that very body of water. Our youth group at church had gone for the day, one hot summer those many years ago. At 13, I was painfully shy about boys. Our music minister's son paid me two seconds of attention, so I was giddy all day and self-conscious about my awkward, lanky body in a bathing suit. Then my thoughts turned to a later summer at the same spot, when I was just getting comfortable in our singles group at a new church. There was a big, hunky guy that was on this trip and also made me feel oafish with his jokes and flirting. Pan to the present, some 40 years later, and here I sit with that big guy's sons and grandchildren squeezed up next to me. My blood all mingled with his, making these wonderful people. Who could have believed it? Not my klutzy self back then. 

In the passage of time, survival and many, many meals, we can forget where we came from. We can become complacent about the gifts we've been given. That fella's quirky, OCD ways irritate me and I drive him crazy with my inconsistencies. Pettiness can ruin pretty much everything, if we let it. And our belly-button gazing and preoccupation with our silly devices threatens to steal all our actual life. 

I didn't say much last night, a rarity for me. I rather enjoyed just holding those tiny hands, watching the energy of children racing about, seeing Christmas again through younger eyes. I can't understand half of what 3-year-olds say, but I marveled at their unfolding insight on the world at large. By the time we were through, we were half-frozen and ready to jump into the warm cars. The kaleidoscope of life and time took me on a trip around the lake, all with people that I love and cherish. What a merry Christmas indeed.

Slaying the Giants

The annual foray into our workshop to haul out the Christmas decorations is always an adventure. There's usually evidence of animal nesting, along with their offal. This year, after bumping through the boxes at midnight to get to the kitchen, joy of joys, I noticed the delightful aroma of cat spray on one of the totes. In a year of epic absurdity, now my house smells like feral cats. Maybe I'll put on an extra sweater and become That Lady. 

Last year, I was working a blue streak and decided to only do one small tree, compared to my usual 3-4. We did it, nobody perished from the shock, and Christmas was still Christmas. This year, however, even if it takes me 'til Christmas Eve, I'm defying the spirit of 2020 and we're pulling out the stops. Then we're not taking it down until Epiphany, at least. I'll put up my quirky teddy bear tree, gussy up the countertops and mantels, and the Big Tree is taking up its bodacious residence in the living room (the thing takes four hours to get all its branches on, not counting the lights or the decorations). I might have some micro-mini holiday parties and soirees, jus' sayin. We gotta have tangible reasons for all this folderol. I actually heard several women talking the other day about how they couldn't wait for Christmas music to come on the radio. It's been many years since I've heard such sentiments. In Narnia, when it was all frozen up, Mr. Tumnus said, "It is winter in Narnia  and has been for ever so long...always winter, but never Christmas." Aslan, the great Lion, overpowered the Witch with his supreme sacrifice and freed the frozen tundra and its inhabitants. Christmas came in with its glory, and good triumphed over evil, just like all the best stories. 

I'm making a list of all the unpleasant things that I don't want to do or deal with. Some of it is just the laundry, but other issues are much more complicated. I'm going to trundle through, as I'm decorating the house, facing those little giants that I don't like to face. I will slay them one by one, by God's grace. So with my vanquished list, a festive house, and the internet to help with shopping, maybe we'll get a nice, Narnia Christmas this year. Sounds good to me.

A Mad Dash For the Hills

 We were just trying to get out of town... you'd think it wasn't that hard to do. It was our first official camping trip in our partially-renovated travel trailer. I've painted, Ken's tricked it all out with hoses and parts...we had made reservations two months ago to a sweet spot right smack-dab next door to a river near Tallulah Gorge (why didn't I name my girl-child Tallulah Elizabeth?) I still have a lot of things to do to get this baby finished, but we weren't going to wait until then to try her out. Christmas is coming and I've got other things to do. We were attempting to pull out by 2:30 on Friday, so we'd not have to be setting up camp in the dark. Stuff happens, but 3:30 wasn't too bad. We'd have a little daylight to work by. I was grumpy as an old bear -- with a weird infection in my mouth and a subsequent stomach reaction to the antibiotic. I was praying for a peaceful weekend, but my tummy was saying otherwise. I messaged my doctor, without any real hope of getting any resolution to my trials before next week.

But hope springs eternal, as the doc emailed me a note saying that she had changed my prescription and added something else that would help my poor, tortured mouth. By then, Ken and I were making great time up I-85, about to pass through Gwinnett. I tentatively asked if we could stop and pick up the prescription at an exit close to us. He agreed and quickly pulled off, knowing that this would put us past darktime when we got to the mountains. Of course, that "quick" detour turned into an hour. As we pulled out, the lights on the dash of our truck started turning dim. Ken ascertained that our battery or the alternator was dying. We keyed in the coordinates for the closest auto parts store and prayed. As we swung into the parking lot, the truck died with a shudder. If we hadn't made the drugstore stop, we'd have been stranded in no-mans-land up toward the hills. God looks after fools and children.

I was sucking down Pepto-Bismol while Ken tore up his hands taking off truck parts. Just as he finished installing both a new alternator and a new battery, our eldest son and his family pulled into the parking lot. They had driven all the way through Atlanta traffic to help us. And help us they did. There's nothing like grandchildren to make you remember that life can be a bowl of cherries. Their laughter and squeals took all the tension out of the air as we let go of our moaning and groaning. God obviously had plans for us that night, all twisted up and patently absurd. You just have to smile. We finally headed on our way, set up simple-like in the dark by the sound of rushing water. By midnight we crashed into our little bed and slept like warm puppies in a box. Saturday was the best of days: breakfast in a darling little cafe, shopping at the MackDaddy of Ace Hardware stores, then hours of languishing by the river with music playing and books in our hands. The next day was full of packing it all in and heading home, but the goody between the mayhem on both ends was extra special. If the "goody" was all that we lived for, we might be in trouble. God seems to like to wrangle a lot of worms in the bucket before we get any fish. And sometimes there aren't any fish. Sometimes, we push our way through the storm, pain from the front and pain from the rear. We grab each others' hands and pray that the wind don't kill us. Then spend the next days smiling at the humor He enjoys at our expense. If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans...

Come By Here, My Lord

Just when I thought 2020 couldn't get any stranger, a hurricane blows all the way up from the gulf and plants a tree in my kitchen window. I remember another year, where a hurricane chased us home from our annual Gulf vacation...we saw sharks as big as boats right there at the dock in Panama City. No sea creatures this time, just a tired tree trying to push in my 118-year-old wall. About the time my daughter-in-law and I began to hear creaks and groans at the window (and herded the kids to another room), my son Jon lassoed that tree and wrestled it to the ground with his monster truck. We bought a generator, saved all my Covid-hoarded food and I moped through two nights of guilt as it lit up the neighborhood with its loud whining. Meanwhile, to either side of us, two different neighbors passed the weekend in the hospital. My son and husband labored like lumberjacks to clear the driveway. I wandered, cold, around the house, until I decided to paint the camper. There's millions of pecans waiting for me in the yard, but I have my priorities. 

I thought about the year 1902, when our house was built. There are five coal-burning fireplaces inside it, but that's not happening now. As the evening light faded and the candles were extinguished, the peace and quiet of the night and of the street struck me. We have exchanged a lot of things -- hard work for conveniences, quiet for never-ending noise, and peace for the flood of knowledge crowding our brains 24/7. I don't know if I'd want to go back to where we actually had to work for our food...it seems that your whole life would be preoccupied with simple survival (and a short life at that). But I could sure do with some peace from all the storms that  are swirling around us today. 

There's an election today...I just left the polls seeing worried faces everywhere, from both sides of the aisle. I have my convictions and concerns, but so do they. I say we turn off the news, grab our neighbors' hands, and sing Kum-bah-yah tonight. How about it?!