Nuclear

I'm thinking on the times I had those early fights with my husband. We weren't even dating yet, but wound up next to each other at one of our College and Career Sunday school class's social events. I have a gluttony problem with popcorn...I prefer it popped the old fashioned way, with coconut oil blistering hot in the pan. Then you slather it with butter and salt. Now that I know about Amish, non-GMO popcorn, will I ever have the ability to put down the carbs? It's crunchy and delicious, irresistible. My childhood includes many memories of movie nights and popcorn. My Daddy died happy, with a bowl of it in his hands. 

So, at this social event, my hunky future-baby-Daddy came and sat beside me. We barely knew each other, but he had a giant bowl of popcorn and we were sharing it. I started fishing my way to the bottom, to pick out the half-popped kernels. That's the best part. Ken kept swatting away my hand, saying that we had to do this in the proper order: eat the fully popped first, then dig in with the "old maids" (the burnt parts). We began to wrestle with the control of the bowl, his OCD and my rebounding skills kicking in. Popcorn began flying out of the bowl as we howled with laughter. Ken's always the one with the rules. I am here to help him lighten up. Now, after 43 years of marriage, I give him his own bowl and I keep the big bowl, making me the keeper of the old maids. Whoever pops the corn gets the goody, though sometimes the Holy Spirit takes over and I'll share. 

Our first couple of years together, I was as meek as a lamb, trying to defer to his every whim. What's the old saying: "Women marry a man and expect to change him. Men marry a woman and expect her to never change." I'm from a long line of sassy women, so I don't know where my early efforts came from. Either way, our biggest epic fight was on a tennis court. I had played briefly on our college team, but I was more like the sparring buddy for the people who could really play. I knew the basics and could decently lob a tennis ball. Ken was in coach mode and started trying to correct my form. This did not go well. It ended with yelling and me throwing a well-placed tennis racket across the court in his general direction. He has superb athletic coordination and easily dodged the missile. With all the drama, I looked over at the couple playing in the next court. They stopped and stared and quickly left. 

It has been a long time, but I have been known to throw things at him in our fights. It's a good thing he's quick on his feet. If he had ever thrown things at me, I would have called the cops. See my hypocrisy there? It's pretty much a miracle that we didn't kill one another, both strong-willed first borns, with definite opinions on pretty much everything. Thank the Lord, we don't fight that way anymore. Sometimes it's needful to have the fight (no missiles allowed now). After all these years, we still have to open up and discuss difficult things. Little things become boulders in the road if you don't chip away at them. This past week, with all those years behind us, I brought up one such boulder. My husband responded with so much grace, I thought I might just marry him again. This is love.  

Hee Hawing

I hate it when the holidays are over and I feel like I got run over by the Polar Express. This year was odd and I'm still not sure I like it. With my bum Achilles tendon, there was no real decorating to speak of. My house sat quiet, with the crumbs of cardboard left over from mountains of Amazon boxes. I lit up the neighborhood with a great bonfire of them. It probably isn't nice, to burn that many containers, but at least they didn't pile up in the landfill. The plain but well-lit tree, wreath and garland laughed at me, my un-minimalistic self. Less-is-more is pretty much demon-speak in my world. When I see "Home Alone" every year, I fondly sigh and remember the 90s, where decadence and Waverly wallpaper ruled the land. It's coming back, you know. Everything does. I even read that color is "in" again, praise the Lord and pass the peas. I tired of gray-everything a long time ago and this white phase is bleaching out pretty quick too. 

I have to admit, however, that that quiet, twinkly tree with no ornaments made me feel all forest-y and serene. 

A literal blur of activities, concerts, gifting, eating and just general Christmassing left me bloated more than usual. Even with all that, we hauled our camper up to Pigeon Forge the day after Christmas. The truck broke down on the way, causing quite the traffic jam, complete with cops and sirens and everything.  We lost a day of the trip getting that sorted, only to find ourselves landed in the worst idea since they started laying down pavement. Don't hate me, but Dolly must have forgotten all about those beautiful hills surrounding that town. You sit in hours of traffic just to move a mile and then you spend piles of money to eat overpriced food and watch other people live. The mountains peek at you over the way and there's no way you're gonna ever get to actually walk on one or breathe the forest air. It just ain't fittin' (apologies to all who love that place, bless your heart).

We eventually got home, laid out like hillbillies on moonshine for two days straight. Somehow staggered into church on Sunday morning and then met up with friends that evening for pizza. Our group drove around town for an open restaurant in the cold, slushy rain. I thought maybe we should just head back to our pillows but then suddenly it all worked out. The ladies sat at one big table and the guys sat at another, laughing. I looked across and saw this big, masculine guy talking and smiling. He had a baseball cap and a pair of overalls on. I found him very attractive and he grinned back at me. I hopped back in the car with him at the end. 

Sometimes and often, it's good to remember who you fell in love with in the first place.  

Happy Ether

There is a big, unopened box that's been propped up by my desk for some months, labeled "Blick Art Materials." Most Christmas seasons, that would be full of children's art supplies for some mighty-cute elfin people that I love. My go-to gifts have always been paper, pencils, and Playmobil sets. This fall, I got a few not-so-subtle hints that they were getting bored of always getting Playmobil (how is that possible? I want some for myself!) It's happening. They're getting older. Some of them are obsessed with Transformers now, so I just googled until I found one for each of the older kids. When they arrived with the Amazon man, I was astonished how such a tiny figure could cost that much. Can't wait to see them get transformed. Everything's wrapped and getting put into Papa's truck this afternoon. We're headed to our Daniel and Jessica's house down the road. They recently moved out of our camper, into the house they've been building for the last three years on ten acres. What a happy day, to enjoy their new home and to celebrate the birth of our Savior with our family gathered around. I've kept things fairly simple this year, with my bum ankle and all, and didn't even have to hurry around this morning since we're not having everybody over today. It's kind of sad but I'm trying to not think about it. The empty nest is a dicey transaction and grippingly tragic until the grandchildren show up, and then it's the best thing since sliced bread, fireworks or pretty much anything else. I spent the whole of last evening in the same spot for the Slate annual Christmas Eve party, getting snuggles from one grandchild to the next. There's not enough money in the world or prestige or careers or toys that can top the golden thread that runs between us. It's more than I deserve.

But back to the Blick box. 2024 has been a dire year for many Realtors, what with higher interest rates, political uncertainty and low inventory. I had planned on retiring but didn't, and had almost the perfect mix of listings and sales, handing one off and then picking another up one behind the other. My flute stayed extremely busy -- from an Italian concert tour, to a busy ensemble calendar, to church, to side gigs. Practice is essential, in this kind of environment. Music is creative, but it's more about math, counting, practicing, coordinating than it is about floating over there in la-la land like some might think. I have to hunker down and use the things I have. The discipline is good for my brain.

But I have missed the paint. The sketchpad. The clean wall prepped for a mural. Our grandchildren huddle up in my studio with paper and watercolors, so cute in their little aprons and easels, but I have drifted in my own doings. I get lofty ideas about re-opening my Etsy shop and spending weeks at a time creating art, but the reality is that I seem to require deadlines and accountability to get literally anything done. So I signed up for an art class, yes I did. This will help everyone, including those cutie pies that land here often. We'll all dally around with the pencils and paint, and see what conspires. 2025 -- we're hunkering down in the ether!   

Advents of All Kinds

Every year at Christmastime, without fail, I feel the wind rushing by my face as the calendar pages riffle like some sort of makeshift fan. It helps that shopping is easier now. Click-click-click and I've got the Amazon truck whizzing by every other day. But we are all so much more distracted, what with phones and devices and Netflix. Our collective ADHD has spread like wildfire and all the clicks are just making the merry-go-round go faster.  

This year, we have had our own Advent going on, in addition to the traditional Christmas watch for the Christ Child. Our daughter, like her mother and grandmother before her, was late with delivering her baby, nigh on three weeks past-due. Diva that I am, had four flute performances looming. I put out prayer flags to all my friends and even people that weren't my friends...pleading with God to let me not miss anything. I didn't want to leave anyone in the lurch when my part wasn't covered. Because I sure as shootin' wasn't going to miss the birth of my 13th grandchild. She scooted on in there, in between event #2 and #3, praise the Lord, beautiful and serene as a kitten. She looks just like her beatific Mama.  

The excitement was mostly over, when we made our way to church last night for Event #3. A calm and a hush fell over the auditorium, where little children and not-so-little children played various instruments for the prelude. Then their choir lined up front. A lone little boy sang out, as only pre-pubescent boys can. The pure, singular sound hung sweetly in the air. As the night progressed with the choir, carols and Scripture-reading, everything began to crystallize into one of those times where all at once, things made sense and the clock stood still for a bit while we contemplated the nobler, higher things. It was a grand pause, the knowing of goodness and light suspended in time. We rush and plan, run to and fro, but these are the nuggets that make it worth it all. 

There's still another nine days before we haul all the gifts around for our annual goings-on. I might  make a Sam's run, cook a few things, call an old friend or two. But I think I already found Christmas and it's snugged up right here under the ribs.     

Santa Baby...

I was born an animal whisperer. I've had pets of every stripe since I was very young. The cats, dogs, snakes and mice all looked me deep in the eyes and we connected. I can walk by an animal and make eye contact and they try to to follow me home. To this day, I am grateful for my Mama, because she didn't have any inclination towards furry things, but she tolerated my animals and also made sure they got fed. Then I had kids, the perfect solution to feeding chores. When Ken and I got married and our children began to get pets, I had to hold back, so that they'd bond to the kids instead of me. I didn't make this happen, it just is.  

Every birthday and Christmas I ever experienced as a child, I had one request: a horse. I drew scads of pictures of them, dreamed about galloping alongside any car that I happened to be traveling in. Our neighbors had several in the pasture behind our house. They were not tended to much, just roaming free. I'd join one of their daughters and would ride pell-mell over the fields, bare-backed and ridiculous. I was scared to death of them, and I believe they knew it. Every time I got the chance to be on the back of a horse, it usually ended with some sort of event...getting bucked off, reared-up-on, or scraped off under low-hanging trees. Even though I have Dr. Doolittle leanings with most animals, apparently I'm not a horse whisperer. I never did obtain a horse, though not for lack of pleading. When the time came for us to actually be able to get one, where we had five acres (we fenced it and everything), my passions had drifted to my handsome husband, four darling kids, and piles of Golden Retrievers and kitties. There were also lots of chickens, gerbils, lizards and life to be lived as well as school to be had. Now our nest is empty and my tendons aren't holding up so well. Maybe the Lord will have one waiting for me in heaven, though hopefully not too soon...

The best Christmas present I ever got was Zoe, my very own Aussie puppy, no sharing with kids or siblings. I still adore Ken for that. It was 2012 and my first winter without a house full of children. We had just moved to downtown Villa Rica into our amazing Victorian house, with beautiful things to look at every day but no dog. There were two crazy barn kitties we had brought with us but they were preoccupied with all the chipmunks and critters living under the house. To this day, I have no clue how they survived a move from the country into a busy corner in town. Occasionally, I'd see traffic stopped and Peter lounging in the middle of the street. He lived another ten years before dying of old age. Matilda is sixteen and still leaving me eviscerated baby squirrels on the front stoop. She's now an indoor-outdoor cat, who waits at the door when it's time to go to the potty. Smartest cat I've ever seen. I lost Zoe some five years ago, then adopted precious Sadie, a retired Aussie show dog, whom we lost a few months ago. My heart might be buried in the front yard.

I told Ken he needs to hit another one out of the park. Maybe another kitty, that doesn't have to be walked of a cold morning or sweltering evening and we can pop out quickly for a camper run. I've got my eye on a Pixiebob (yes, it's a thing) that needs me to rescue it. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat...  

 

I Had An Epiphany

I started decorating the family Christmas tree a very long time ago, when I was a teenager. There's an art to it, more instinct than training. When we got married and Ken brought home our first tiny tree, I hand-made all the ornaments and strung popcorn and cranberries. It was just scrumptious. Over the years it became somewhat of an obsession -- bigger, better, fuller. And always a real tree, that was especially Ken's wish. I began decorating for other people as well, usually for pay. I'd try to do my own first, so I wouldn't be burned out from putting up everybody else's. By Christmas, our trees would be crispy-dry, ready for the fireplace. But I'd let them hang on at least until January 6, when they say the Wise Men visited Jesus. 

When we moved to Villa Rica in 2012, my nest was emptied out except for one child and she was away at college. Our three sons were married, with their own trees in their own houses. I thought I needed something more to do, so persuaded the arts committee to have a tour of homes. I figured it would give me incentive to decorate and also help us get to know people in our sweet town. I put a post on Facebook, asking for tree donations. Next thing you know, I've got five of them, all artificial, to Ken's horror. We had a rip-roaring time on the tour, and our house was filled with all manner of trees. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I tried to keep up the multiple-tree thing for years, but grandchildren, the wind ensemble, and real estate began encroaching more and more into my life. I was still decorating for other people, but began to pull back on it a bit, keeping just one of my clients. I gradually receded on the amount of trees in my own house. But I may have become a bit of a diva about all of it, along the way.  

Then came 2024 and the year of post-menopausal, dried-out tendons. Two meniscus tears in my left knee called for surgery, but physical therapy somehow kept me away from the knife. I was feeling pretty good about things when our wind ensemble played across Italy in June, averaging about 25,000 steps a day on this less-than-fit body. I came home with two tears in my left Achilles tendon, all swelled up like a goose egg. Months of physio, medications, one giant boot and a lot of griping, then Christmas decided to show up. My one decorating client called. I wailed about my inability to currently climb a ladder. Close to thirty years, been hauling it up there to her big, gorgeous house. But this year, I am Galadriel (Lord of the Rings): "I must diminish and go into the west..." So here I sit, in the west, staring at my four walls with ice and red-light therapy on my still-pitiful Achilles. They say it needs surgery, but I've heard that before. 

When I took down my decor last year, I noticed that my trees were all becoming decrepit, strowing spent needles all over the house. So when Ken and I cleaned out the barn in the spring, I put all of them out at the curb. You can get rid of pretty much everything that way, when you live in town. Within minutes, they were all gone. All of them. Since I needed a new one, my daughter-in-love said that Home Depot had a tree that had gone viral and that I should try to get one. It's called the "Grand Duchess." Isn't that my name? It was beautiful, looked like a real tree, and was not terribly expensive. I got on a waiting list and checked every day. Months went by with no luck. But one fortunate day I was in the store and found three of them. I quickly got Papa to load one up. Somebody said it was November, so my daughter put it up for me and turned on the lights. It was all true. It looks like it's real, has the most beautiful twinkles I've ever seen on a tree, and it's nine feet tall. 

I got a grandchild over here to help me decorate. We pulled some things out of the barn, but decided to leave my tree as it was, with just the lights on. I ain't fit for no ladder. We gussied up the mantle with greenery, lights, some big nutcrackers and  23 (count 'em) stockings. There's a big wreath on the front door and I'm calling it a day. Normally, my tree is barely visible underneath all the trimmings. But I'm feeling really, really good. The diva is taking a holiday. All the presents are bought, the tree is twinkling and we're all still breathing, for the moment. I stopped and thought about why we're doing this - about a manger, a Lamb, redemption. It might not be about the decorations at all...   

Humble Pie

When I look out on the landscape of the things that I know, (that I can still remember), it seems to me that the graces of life come in the humblest of packages. The rat race of this world, which only seems to get more frantic and complicated as time goes on, is probably necessary. The wheels of commerce and the production of goods and services are vital to humanity. We still gotta eat and have some clothes to wear, no matter where we come from. The hunger and challenge of winning or producing something meaningful is good, needful. We all need purpose, whether we know it or not, but the human condition seems to like extremes. We swing wildly from one position to another, and it is always tough to find the goody in the middle  (I love that word "goody" -- reminds me of Ken's old Pop, who would used it as he was digging out a morsel of pecan from a stubborn nut or scraping up that last bit of pie. Thanksgiving always reminds me of him and his wife, Babe). 

The best people in the world are the ones who are humble at heart, who remember where they came from and who helped them get there. My worst days are when I forget that I have benefitted greatly from so many peoples' care and love, and that there is no self-made man (or woman). The very best days are when I stop and ponder my life, begin thanking God for the big and (especially) the little things, and understand the meaning of grace (unmerited favor). The day that we start believing we did something on our own is the day that it all begins to turn sour. Expectations can turn into monsters, can kill marriages and relationships, and make a disappointing mess of our lives. A better turn is to humble myself, express gratefulness to those around me, and to simmer in that goodness for a bit. 

We have trite phrases at Thanksgiving, nostalgic and sentimental commercials (I love those), and the obligatory rounds at the family gathering to say what we are grateful for...that is all good. Let us all begin a fresh year of appreciation this season. Things have been rough for awhile...pandemics, shutdowns, inflation, political mayhem. The media likes us all stirred-up -- it's what keeps us clicking and feeding their corporate machine. It's good to be informed, but what about being informed about my neighbors? About what is right in front of me, rather than something going on in outer Mongolia? Rather than a room full of people on their phones, how about we put all the phones in a bowl and concentrate on each other this Thanksgiving? 

The best marriages I've known are the ones where the spouses feel lucky that they got the other one. They look across at this fatally-flawed human but see what is good about them. On days when I've just about have enough of my husband, if I will stop and muse on what he does well, what he's gifted at, what he puts up with from me, pretty soon a rush of gratefulness comes to the top and I realize how lucky I am. I think on my parents, as opposite as two humans could be, how they would bicker sometimes and were always raw with their opinions...but they would also make up in front of us, ask forgiveness, see the good in each other. They lasted, because they were willing to be humble and grateful. 

Look up, look out, be humble, thank someone for even the smallest things, quit worrying, look at the beautiful world all around you and thank God. Preachin' to myself...