Bells!

I cracked under pressure. I’m not proud of this and I don’t want to talk about it.   The old traditional decorations are still going to Leah (she asked for them), but I decided I’m not quite ready to be the eccentric old lady in the yellow bungalow who puts up a tree with no ornaments. So I went shopping for a new theme, a new idea for Christmas trees yet to come. First stop: Pier One. I was no sooner in the door but I had an epiphany.

BELLS!!!!! I love bells! I have always loved bells! Bells will be the theme of my new tree and my new Christmases.  My favorite carol is I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day. It’s actually part of a poem written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow during the Civil War. His wife had died, his son had joined the union army, all was dark and hopeless:

Then in despair I bowed my head.
“There is no peace on Earth,” I said.
     “For hate is strong
      And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep,
“God is not dead nor doth He sleep.
      The Wrong shall fail,
      The Right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Bells will have this meaning for me. Hope, Joy, Renewal. Bells in different colors, different sizes and shapes, from different countries or traditions. A tree ringing out a message! A few now, a few more next year, a vision for years to come.

And just when you think your troubles are behind you and you’re going to have yourself a Merry Little Christmas…. you get the phone call.

My beloved mother-in-law is failing fast. She was diagnosed with leukemia about the same time Greg got sick, seven years ago.  Her blood counts are too low to measure, her lungs have filled with fluid, she has a high fever. Her good fight is coming to its inevitable end. She will soon hear bells of unimaginable splendor….Hope, Joy, Renewal on a scale I can’t begin to fathom.

We are a family who often gets our grief delivered in December, never wrapped in pretty paper but always marked “Fragile”.  Greg spent the holidays of 2007 in Hospice, and my father passed in early December many years ago.  A part of me feels thrown to the ground, tripped up again by sorrow. Will it ever end? Is there really a point in trying to capture this Christmas Spirit thing with so much sadness everywhere?

“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep….”  I just have to look on my beautiful
Christmas tree for the answer!

Christmas Spirit

It’s me! I’m back! I haven’t posted on my blog since the summer. Some of you know that and have brought this to my attention. I am so honored by your gesture of noticing.  I’ve said before, writing is so good for my soul. And actually I have been writing. I’ve been transforming earlier blog posts into a book. Get your order in now. There will be a limited number of copies  (from my printer).  I have also been making songs and singing them to Daffodil.

Once again, I am committing to my blog.  But it’s like keeping a resolution to exercise. Repent, restart, repent, restart. I’m hoping this time…….

Where have I been?  Out here in single woman land, trying to organize my life, make sense of  my circumstances, step in time to the music of God’s marching band as it pounds out a rhythmic pattern here in the “half time” of my life.  Sometimes I’m in, sometimes I’m out.  The game is going to proceed,  come what may (can you tell I’ve been watching too much football?)

I can tell I’m still making progress. For the first time in six years I’ve wanted to decorate for Christmas. The kids came for Thanksgiving and we went to Ken’s, our old traditional Christmas tree lot, and got a fresh tree. I chose a small one to put on a table. But when we got it home and in the stand and on the table, it was way too big for that. Remember Tiny Tim in the Patrick Stewart version of A Christmas Carol? He sat on Bob Cratchit’s shoulder but looked ridiculous because they must have chosen a twelve year old to play the part (Nothing tiny about him, but he could still sing soprano…Hmmmm….I digress).

That’s the feeling I got with my over-sized tree on the table. So one…two…..three….Ted lift the tree, Thomas hold the stand, Leah pull out the table, Mom not watch.  It made it to the floor, water and all, with no catastrophe.

When they all went home I went to the garage and opened the big Rubbermaid tub marked "Christmas". I carefully unwrapped all my traditional ornaments that I hadn’t seen in these last few years. As I lifted each of these handmade, cherished, heirloom treasures up to the light, I gazed on them curiously and declared with conviction,   “I‘m sick of these!”  One by one I put them back in the box,  whether made or bought,  given or received, intact or falling apart.  It actually surprised me, my lack of sentiment.

I went to Target and bought all new lights, large LED cone shaped ones. That’s all that’s on my tree. Not a single ornament do I want to adorn it.  At least not this year. Think I need to see a shrink?

In analyzing myself (one of my favorite past times) I have concluded that Christmas ornaments from the past  would like to catapult me back to a place I have been trying to leave behind. Though I have beautiful memories of raising my children in our little country cottage  (not unlike the Cratchits, come to think of it), things that tend to recreate those warmest scenarios and pull me back in time also stir the grief pot. I’ve drunk my fill of that bitter soup and what’s left needs to stay in the deep freeze with last year’s fruitcake.

So I’m creating new traditions and memories that bring me great pleasure. I called Vivianne to come over and hold the ladder. “I’m hanging icicle lights along the gables of the yellow bungalow!” Vivianne did not want to be a party to this, but neither did she want to say at my funeral, “She asked me to hold the ladder and I refused”. So guilted she was...  into conspiring with me to scale the 45 degree angles above and bring glad tidings of great joy to the neighborhood.  You have to admit, I did a good thing!

I bought a live wreath for the porch so when I sit out there and read, the air smells like it’s supposed to. I’m having a Christmas party next week so everyone can ask, “Who hung your lights on the roof?”

Think they’ll notice there are no ornaments on the tree?????

Appreciating Simple

Well I spent the weekend moving into my bedroom. As you recall, I moved into this house in early January. It’s taken this long to do a little remodeling and cleanup. There’s still painting to be done and the plumbing, but all is well and I’m very settled now. I even have some pictures on the tables and the walls (I think you’re in one of them).

As I’ve mentioned before, it’s not really a house (or any material thing) that brings peace and meaning to my life these days (or yours either). It’s easing deeper and deeper into the vast ocean of Christ’s love and finding how miraculously I stay afloat, even as my arms often flail about and I gulp water. It would be so much easier if I just relaxed and let the waves carry me out to sea, but there’s still the fear that the Loch Ness monster is lurking out there and God won’t see it. Still, on most days I put my trust in Him and bob along smoothly (can one bob smoothly, or is that an oxymoron?)

So today was my typical, single woman, between careers, almost past menopause type of day. I got up early and colored my hair (remember in Alaska when I accidentally colored my toenail)?  Anyway, I then turned on my computer to check my email and “NOOOOOO!”, not only was I not connected,  but my network did not appear in the network list. Now that might not be such a big deal except I know I have a virus that I’ve been trying to delete. I was afraid it had eaten up my network or something. I don’t know how these things work. I really did pray over my modem (not the first time) and YAY! When I unplugged it then plugged it back again I was in business. In my email was a note from a cute guy from Match.com. Things were looking up!

Then off to run errands, mainly Home Depot.  Outside I noticed a piece of my palm tree fell in the night. It broke off right at the ground. Hmmmm. What causes that?  Well, later.

On the way to Home Depot, I “needed” to stop at Starbucks because I always like to reward myself for doing anything productive and besides, it’s on the way (It’s always on the way everywhere. It’s right by my house). But there was NO parking anywhere at all. I guess this cool, fresh weather has inspired people to drink. Now once “latte” is in my head, there’s no turning back. So I drove back home, parked, and walked to Starbucks. Then back home to my car and off I go.

The most wonderful thing happened in Home Depot. When I pulled out my Kleenex and handed it to the man at the paint counter and sheepishly, batting my eyelashes asked, “Can you match this?”, he replied with a hearty, “No problem, Ma‘am!” Woohoo!  My bathroom walls are going to be Kleenex green (and that’s before the Kleenex has been used, for all you funny people out there).  It’s perfect!

While the paint was being mixed I cruised the store, picked up a light fixture, then got my paint and headed for checkout. The line was long so I thumbed through a kitchen decorating book.  On about page 6, where I noticed they had stolen my idea for two-toned walls, it was time for another sip of latte and, “NOOOOOOO….”,  it went missing! I double checked the cart (and my hand) and it was gone. I didn’t know where to look first. I started back to the paint counter and there it was, waiting for me beside the free paddles, like a lost child. A lady gave me the eye as I desperately snatched it up from in front of her and moved away.  Another tragedy averted in my simple life.

And a simple life it is right now. And I’m so thankful. I was at a funeral for a friend my age on Saturday. She’d had a long battle with colon cancer, and I felt the heaviness, the loss, and the disorientation of her family. The grief journey is just beginning for them. Nothing will ever be the same and, for a while, nothing will be simple… or happy.

“Weeping may endure for a night , but joy comes in the morning……..Oh Lord, My God, I will give you thanks forever.”

More Thoughts On The House

So today is the big kitchen floor refinishing day. The preparations actually started yesterday. It’s not unlike the day-before preparations for a feast….getting things organized, lots of anticipation. In this case, Ted was here to remove the refrigerator doors so we could move the fridge into the dining room. Alas, the first hurdle to overcome! We couldn’t find a valve to shut off the water supply line to the icemaker. We looked everywhere, in the house and under it. Then Ted put the fridge doors back on before the chicken started to smell. I told him I'd just call my contractor who has dealt with all the other quirky issues in this house.

Now as I write this, a new valve is secure, the appliances are in the dining room and the workmen are digging old linoleum and tar off the floor. I just heard one of them yell to the other, "Where's a mop? Do you see a mop?" I'm ignoring this. I have already contributed my sage advice such as…"Be sure that plastic you hang on the door doesn't have holes” and “Be careful with that sharp thing”. All the workmen who have been in my home in the last month appreciate my..........er, participation!

I was getting a little anxious last night after Ted and Leah went home. Not sure how the valve thing would be resolved, not sure if the tar would come up off the floor, and the plumbing was acting up again (already had one incident that involved sewage in the tub and an eye-rolling plumber).

Today when the floor guy showed up, I had a chance to process my thoughts in conversation with him. We talked about these old houses and how you just have to go with the flow (although that idiom doesn’t really apply to the plumbing issue. ) If you have fixed expectations, you’re liable to be disappointed. You know there are beautiful secrets lurking, but the uncovering can be laborious and more expensive than you thought. Some things you can do on your own, but other things require professional help. Some things wear out and have to be discarded, some things can be lovingly restored with time and patience, while others heroically withstand the test of time and become almost sacred for their endurance.

You have to be careful that, as you decorate the surface, the interior isn’t collapsing on you. You can’t ignore red flags, although you don’t have to get everything done all at once. You can triage, address what’s urgent, what will shut you down if not dealt with. Then when you’re feeling stronger and more confident, you can take on the rest.

And always you are grateful that you’ve been given this house, that its architect is all-knowing, that it’s yours and yours alone, and such a privilege to bask in its mystery and splendor.

I didn't use those exact same words with the floor guy, but it was the same idea.

Back to Writing

I haven’t posted in several weeks. My devoted blog followers say they have missed reading my updates. My sincere thanks to you, both of you : )

Actually, I have missed reading my updates. There’s something about autobiography that is affirming and encouraging. It’s MY life. I live it. For better or worse, it happens and I negotiate it. I get to celebrate the triumphs and I have to mourn the losses.

I think I need to write it out as much as I have to ride it out. Everything makes more sense to me in print. After Alaska, the everyday here and there isn’t too exciting. No more bush planes, mountain climbing or dog sledding. Just the usual here and now.

And yet……..nothing is usual about my life. Nothing is usual about yours either, because it’s not what we DO in the day to day that creates the drama. It’s how we manipulate it, how we form this raw clay called circumstances into beautiful works of art, or not.

My hands are still mired in the mud up to my elbows. My furniture is in the yellow bungalow. It was a three bedroom/one bath last time I posted. Now it’s a two bedroom/two bath (note the Alaska agates in the shower listello). The contractor has said his final farewell and now it’s up to me to paint, stain, get the kitchen floor refinished and put the final touches on it all.

I love my new old home. But I’m not deliriously happy. Some things about life are not remedied by “things”, even if the things are gifts from God. They are gifts to bring us pleasure, but not to change who we are. That has to come from within, where the Spirit dwells; His residence, not mine.

Mine is made of wood (albeit beautiful heart of pine that has weathered into a gorgeous patina, esp. in the utility room by the dryer where it's been left alone all these years). His is made of flesh, my flesh, that is weathering into something not so impressive, often uneven and too fragile (Can some of you relate?)

He is constantly remodeling His “temple“, restoring the foundations that have stood the test of time and proven strong and unshakable. Then restructuring the additions to make them useful and productive. Mercifully, He has an aesthetic flair that makes it all flow together and beautifully unique. A limitless supply of fresh paint and no wasted space.

I am the appointed caretaker, and keeping it swept and hospitable is sometimes a struggle.

What does it all mean? I turn to my mentor, Solomon, whose cryptic proverb first initiated this blog. Bet he was fun to live with. (No wonder he had so many wives. They were probably leaving him left and right). Imagine the dinner conversation:

“So honey, King of Israel, how was your day ?”
“All is meaningless. As a man comes, so he departs, and what does he gain?”
“Well……..have some more lamb.”

Somehow I find something meaningful in Solomon. Because he was “wise”, after all. I’m feeling impatient, wondering what this second half of my life is all about, what is the purpose of a great house, spending hard-earned money on rooms, enjoying the “things”. Solomon has a calming effect on me. God has plans!

Gas Fire

I finally got my logs on…..the gas logs in my fireplace. I had them on once before, but last night I went through the turning knobs routine, got the pilot lit, then nothing happened. I went through the cycle a few times then gave up, out of fear of blowing myself (and more importantly, my beautiful yellow bungalow) to smithereens.
Tonight I just had to try again. The pilot lit easily enough. There’s a knob that you’re supposed to turn gradually to adjust the flame after the fire is lit. The fire wouldn’t light, but I decided to go for broke and turn that control knob all the way anyway and see what happened. What had scared me last night was not so intimidating tonight. I had reasoned that the problem was no gas coming through, so I probably would be safe in my experiment. I lit the pilot, pictured myself with brown cheeks and singed eyebrows, then gave that control knob a full throttle. Presto, gas fire!
It’s pleasant to sit here on the floor (no furniture til Wednesday), read, listen to my Pandora stations on my iphone dock and now do some writing. The holidays were merry and sweet, but it’s good to be “home”.
Like you, I’m wondering what the new year will hold. Tomorrow marks the fourth anniversary of Greg’s passing. Sheesh! Has it been that long? I certainly feel like I’ve been traveling a broken road, an emotional journey that has taken me to some dark, despairing places then circled back over itself to bring me back to the main highway. Does that make sense? I’m still way out of my comfort zone, anxious about the business to-do list on the kitchen counter, but I’m feeling more like a ground ball than a pop up. I may be clumsily bumping along, but at least it’s in a steady direction.
Today I visited a church for the second time, the church home of my best St. Pete friends. I’m meeting some other people there and feel like I fit in. I just wonder what life will look like this time next year.
I hope I can summon the courage to keep turning that control knob all the way to the left, come what may.

Changes

It’s been another wild ride, this getting a mortgage, insurance, inspections, etc. to buy a new house in the city. Honestly, I had no idea it would involve so much…......stress! This is not the first house I’ve bought….well, actually it is. Before, my husband said, “What about this one?” then gave me a date for our closing, drove us there and showed me where to sign. I guess he worked through all these details behind the scenes. I don’t think he minded. I think he knew what he was doing and just took it all in stride.

I’ve actually done pretty well, too. I shopped for a mortgage only to discover that I am NOT a good candidate at this time, being unemployed and all. But I found a broker who would take me. I have also done a lot of negotiating with insurers to be sure I was getting the best deal. It’s all come down to the wire. My walk-through is this afternoon and the closing is tomorrow, after which I have an appointment with the chiropractor. Both my bank account and my neck will get major adjustments on the same day. If I don’t sleep well, I won’t know who to blame.

Then it’s back to Dade City to start packing and planning the move. My tenant’s furniture is in storage so when I move out, she moves her stuff in. Doesn’t that sound like a pleasant day ahead??? Ugh! We’re planning it after the holidays so we won’t be rushed.

I’m remembering December four years ago. It was just this time, the end of November, when Greg went to Hospice. Then the family spent the holidays saying our goodbyes, awkwardly trying to comfort one another and slowly watching our husband, dad, son, friend slip away from us.

The goodbyes have come in slow rolling waves for me. You see them from afar and they rise higher and higher the closer they get until they finally burst over you and momentarily take your breath away.

I think the first was goodbye to our way of life when he was first diagnosed. You knew things would never be the same and then you felt the gradual pelting of the changes. For two years our routine involved doctor visits, medication changes, radiation appointments, the round-the-clock togetherness.

Then splash! I was alone.

The next goodbye is still going on, after all this time….the goodbye to the man himself. No need to elaborate, it still brings me to tears. But they’re good tears, healthy tears that are the salty spray from those waves of life changes that are washing me clean……clean from that dirty, sweaty business of unresolved grief.

Now I’ll be finally leaving my little country house, letting go of my dream of living close to nature, to waking to the squawk of sand hill cranes, to hikes in the woods in my own backyard, to the slow pace of a small town. I can still come and go, as Shelley and I have become close friends, but I’ll never again call this my home. The wave is breaking and I’m braced for the deluge. I can only hope it’s cool and refreshing.

My arms are outstretched, I feel the sun on my face, my eyes are squeezed tight.

HERE IT COMES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!