A Death in the Community

I live in a small town...more of a village, really. Situated on a curve with a little bit of town on each edge. To anyone passing through, they might be inclined to continue passing through without another thought.

But those of us who live here and have been members of families that have lived here for generations, it's much more than just a small collection of old buildings with empty insides...

it's home.

And so, while attending our town Ruritan meeting, when we received the news that a majority of the county school board saw fit to close our little town's only school, it swept through the room with an audible gasp.

A death had occurred in the community. And we all felt its impact immediately.

Many of us in the room had given a great deal of our energies, love, and loyalty in keeping that little school alive and thriving...really thriving. Most all of us in attendance had either once attended or had kids, grandkids, and even great-grandkids attend that little school.

There's always been a lot of love and community in that little building. All those who entered understood that hard work was expected--it is the backbone of this community. 

And the students did indeed learn the value of hard work...they became many of the best in their classes.

And now tonight we all sit in our homes,a little numb, a little defeated, a little angry for our kids, our school and its workers, and for our little town itself. 

Our county tends to swallow up out little  community...we've lost our bank to the bigger bank in the county; we've all but lost our post office to the bigger one in the county...and now we're being told our school has one more year of life before it, too, is taken from our town.

Where does it end?

Fortunately for our little town, it is loved by many of us, much like a beloved old pet...it may not be the most beautiful or robust place in its outward appearance, but the heart that is collectively beating underneath is strong. We will keep working hard because that's what we do...we will figure out a way to keep the little school alive in some manner as we work diligently to keep our little town alive. Not an easy task, but worth it.

We know that we are on borrowed time as a community if we have many more deaths of places where we collectively gather in our town...let us gather together in our churches, in our community clubs, and keep our spirits alive...

because it's just plain worth it.

C'mon, March...We're Counting on You!

I, just  like all of you, hunkered down and allowed the bully of the winter, also known as February, to brandish every thug-like trick it had up its frozen little sleeves...while suffering in silence. Knowing what comes next tends to make it bearable to suffer the slings and arrows of this little bully that lies in wait for us each year on the calendar...spring just can't be far away. C'mon March--come to our rescue.

 And now for the present...we, the battle-scarred and worn, finally saw off the little rascal of the winter as February stomped off into the sunset. And, we all sighed with happy hearts, here comes March! Lovely March, the month of feeling the first true warmth from the sun, the warming breezes of spring, the first signs of plants emerging back to life.

 But, wait...March? What's going on?

 MORE ice?? MORE snow?? MORE frigid temperatures? There's only one explanation...February!!

 Bad habits have obviously been taught by that little imp...and poor 'ol March didn't see it coming.

 Please redeem yourself, dear March...and please make it soon. We all still want to love you as the turning point in our cold, dark, frozen little existences. Please re-think your choice to follow a bad example. Please choose to emulate your other next door neighbor, April, over that little fuss-budget February.

 C'mon March...we're waiting...

Thank You, Betty Macdonald

It is February--without a doubt, my least favorite month of the year. And, although this year I was bound and determined that I would busy myself and just give it and the calendar an occasional passing glance, I found that one can only polish the appliances and wash the light bulbs so many times before a little distraction sets in--even the glorious gift of time to write wasn't enticing me to stay at the keyboard as often as I normally would like.

One afternoon as I was dusting the bookshelf in my basement office, I came across an old book that my mom had given me long ago, Betty Macdonald's Onions in the Stew.  I'm not sure if it was given to my mom from my Grandma Lois, if it was a flea market find or a Bingo prize, but I had let it season on the shelf for a good while. And now the time seemed ripe to give it a read. I had, the week earlier, started to read The Sound and the Fury, that light-hearted little ditty by Faulkner. I waded molasses-slow through the first few pages, only to declare that  I was at an age where I didn't  have to read  what didn't appeal to me, no matter how classic...this one was tossed in the bag to head to Goodwill for the next poor book-loving sap. So, I poured a cup of coffee and sat down in my comfy chair to give Betty's book a try.

A tear-wiping, rib-aching half hour later,  I reluctantly sat the book down to get supper started. When a spare moment popped up, I went back to the book. I haven't laughed this hard for a long, long time. I haven't been this entertained by an author for even longer than that.

 Betty Macdonald has a way of telling a story that makes writing look easy (although those of us who struggle in the attempt know how diligently she worked). Sadly, she only lived to be fifty years old; according to Wikipedia, she died of cancer at this young age.  Yet, within that short span of time, she wrote some great stuff--including the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle series and The Egg and I, which inspired the Ma and Pa Kettle movie series (again, from Wikipedia).

 Of course, she writes earnestly and hilariously about herself, her family, and her neighbors, so it netted her some trouble along the way with the occasional law suit and hurt feelings (brutal honesty can be rough--and once again, a nod to Wikipedia for my vast knowledge of this lady's life).

 Political correctness or not, I say a very large thank you to Betty Macdonald for allowing me, on a day like today when February is still looming, the appliances are already shiny, and the freezing rain has now turned into massive snow flakes outside my door,  to ignore it all and escape to Vashon Island and all its over-grown, malfunctioning, and generally hilarious environs.

 

The lightbulb washing can wait.

Garden Seed Catalogs--It's a Giddy Time!

The garden seed catalogs have arrived! For those of us who love to plant, nurture, grow, and harvest the seeds found in those catalogs, it's a giddy time indeed!

Looking through a seed catalog now is akin to my perusing the pages of a Sears Christmas catalog as a child. Just as the Christmas catalog got more dog-eared as Christmas drew nearer, the gardening season calendar can be measured by the more and more ragged pages of the numerous seed catalogs that accompany me throughout my day. Page after colorful page of luscious lettuces, cherry-red radishes, tantalizing tomatoes, and herbs of every imaginable aroma and taste. Gardens of flowers, from delicate snow drops to towering sunflowers grace those pages of gardening bliss.

The snow may fall, the chilling winds may blow and the icicles may extend off our gutters to dizzying lengths, but there's a warm, cozy little garden being planted on the planning board at my desk--I can almost smell the fragrance.  

Resolution Revolution

Made those resolutions for 2015? Me either.

 Well, I guess that's not completely accurate. I'm acting on a resolution I made to myself back earlier this summer. It actually takes on more of the form of a resolution revolution. While push mowing grass at my sister's -in-law home back in August, I had some time all to myself to nothing much more than think. And, as I was pondering over our eventual return to our home and lifestyle, it occurred to me that I no longer wanted to be a jack of all trades/master of few. No, I made a resolution at that moment to decrease my ambitions to a nice, neat little grouping.  Like one of my favorite authors once said, "Simplify, simplify, simplify".

Becoming less ambitious...it's a thrilling experience.

For years, my ambitions were, well, just way too ambitious. I always joked that when anyone asked me what I liked, I could simply answer, "Yes." It was exhausting. I liked too many things and wanted to learn too many things. My days pretty much became endless scenarios of  "mile wide/inch deep" experiences. Literally being away from my sources of hobbies/learning/experiences this summer truly helped me  refocus on what really matters to me. More inch wide/mile deep--true passions in life.

Writing, for example--so writing gets much more attention these days. Every day, as a matter of fact. 

Come spring, gardening  gets much more of my attention. In the meantime, the seed catalogs are getting pretty dog-eared.

Photography--a connection of the two passions.

And, so, on this  dawn of a fresh new year, my revolution has begun. No massive list of goals; no list at all. Just a joy that comes with each word I pen, each plant I nurture, each photo I capture.

Viva la revolution! 

Being Gifted

The other evening, we had a wonderful event in our little town. We lit up a Christmas tree.

Now, to many of you, that would seem about as nondescript as it gets. We lit up a Christmas tree...big deal. Many cities have hundreds of beautiful Christmas trees lining the streets, adorning  the entrances to buildings, and standing in stately manors.

But that's not where we live.

In our tiny little town, we have no statues, no high-rise buildings, no collection of city streets. Just a pretty little area on the curve coming into town that recognizes the veterans and the founder of our local Ruritan club, along with three flag poles of varying height, in accordance with the flag they proudly support each day. So, having a tree on the monument is kind of a big deal to us.

We feel pretty gifted around here.

After the lighting  of the tree, we went down the street to the Methodist church to the Fellowship Hall to have fellowship with our friends and neighbors, enjoying hot chocolate, coffee, and cookies provided by the ladies of the church. After this, we all went upstairs to the sanctuary which was beautifully adorned with a mass of red poinsettias, red ribbons, bright white lights, and, at the center, a lovely nativity.

And then the singing began. Parishioner after parishioner came forward and offered gifts of song. Heads nodded, feet tapped, and joy lifted to the rafters.  I think it's safe to say that the beautiful verses of "Silent Night"  sang by the congregation as the benediction could be heard well beyond the doors of the church. We all left with smiles; the Advent season had begun.

This is certainly the season of gifts and gifting. It occurred to me on the way home last night, with the music still gently playing  in my mind, that we are small town for sure...but oh, the gifts we receive each and every day in this small little spot in the world.  We know one another, we like one another, we care for one another.

We are pretty gifted around here.  

Tender Mercies

This has been a trying couple of weeks. The most devastating thing parents can hear is that their child is seriously ill. I don't know of any time in life where I have felt more helpless. After nearly two years of roadblocks, frustrations, endless blank stares from physicians and surly comments from ER personnel, we are swiftly closing in on a diagnosis after the symptoms of liver failure have appeared.

And now, I truly thank God for tender mercies.

Ever since he started this roller coaster ride of ultrasounds, MRIs, multiple paracentesis lab visits, liver biopsy, ophthalmological exams and blood tests after blood tests, Kurt has been wrapped in the tender mercies of kind people. People who are gentle, people who are highly skilled, people who treat him as the wonderful kid he is. They remember him, they remember his name, they smile and they visit during procedures.

That makes these helpless parents feel helped.

Those tender mercies have been extended to us as well. And for that we are very thankful. I'm called by these good people telling me where to show up with him, which door to enter, where to leave the car, who to talk to...in short, I don't have to think about these things. They just happen. Grateful is an understatement. It allows me to spend my time with my kiddo talking about this stuff, but also allowing him to get as far away from this stuff as possible...we have time to talk about computers, programs, Pokemon, and silly everyday stuff that our shared sense of humor enjoys.

So, we pray for and give thanks for continued tender mercies. They remind us that we are indeed in God's loving hands.