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. 

I Owe You an Apology, February...

As I was slipping along on our road yesterday in route to the highway, the thought occurred to me...I've been badly mistaken now for a number of years. Time to come clean and publicly make my confession.

I owe the month of February an apology.

For years, I have told anyone within ear-shot that my least favorite month of the year is February. It seems if anything goes wrong, awry, or just plain wonky, it's in February.

I'm wrong...it's January that is to blame. It's been sitting there, quietly and smugly, allowing its neighbor on the calendar to take the hit of my frustrations.

Yes, January, you are the culprit here. High with good spirits left over from the holidays, I tend to drift right along--at least through the first half of January--with my good will toward men, things, and everything else. And then, after one too many icy or snowy days, my mood of good will starts to crumble a bit. Constantly changing schedules due to weather, precautions left and right for fear of frozen pipes or drains (and so many in the house--where did these all come from?), dressing in layer after layer of clothing in order to fortify oneself for the dreaded outdoors--this is what life becomes in January. Even though each day gains us a bit more daylight, the days are rare that afford us the chance to actually be outside and enjoy it.

So, by February, I'm just pretty much tired of the whole "winter wonderland" deal. And then I start disliking February. The whole, short little month. I've bad-mouthed this little month for years.

Time for me to come clean and make my formal apology...so, February, I apologize. This year I will put blame where it goes--on this bitterly cold month of January.

Just one thing, February...I'll be on guard...you can be back on the bad list quickly if you dump that white stuff and ice on us a little too much.

Girly Shopping

My dad, when he wasn't feeling so well  in his later years, would tell my mom to go "girly shopping" in order to give herself some "her" time from taking vigilant care of him. That term then extended itself over time to when I would take her somewhere on occasion for the same reason. Dad would tell us to be sure and do some "girly shopping".  Now I notice my brother, from time to time, telling my mom the same thing. And, on the rare occasion that I look at a myriad of stores  for something specific to wear, I think to myself that I, too, am doing some "girly shopping".

 With that in mind, when you go "girly shopping" these days, ladies, do you find the selection a little...weird? I grew up with a lot of homemade clothes from a mom that was a pretty darned good seamstress. This meant I grew up looking at things like seam construction, straight-set darts, even hems, etc. Looking at "store bought" clothes today, it's pretty evident that craftsmanship in these areas has become secondary in clothing construction. And many of the materials? I've more than once heard my mom (as well as myself) use the term "rag bag" to describe the condition.  Add to this the actual designs of the clothing and a perfect storm is created. Many styles tend to look like maternity tops to this 50+ girly shopper--maternity tops with heavily plunging necklines. In other words...weird. Tailoring is a term that is sadly lost on present generations in this current massed-produced clothing market.

Now for a little 50+  year-old lamenting. Believe it or not youngsters, clothing used to fit nicely on people. Waistlines on pants were flattering, seams were straight, materials didn't fade with one washing, shoulder seams on shirts had central, well-fitting locations. Clothes didn't need to be constantly adjusted and re-adjusted while being worn--they just stayed put where they needed to be.  They were, for the most part, flattering to many sizes and shapes.

 We live in a society that seems to have tossed out any notion of quality. "Close enough" has become the norm. Even extravagantly-priced clothing doesn't insure that it is well made. "Designer" has become a generic term.

 When I get really desperate, I head back to the sewing machine and my old patterns. And, for awhile, I allow myself to get lost in carefully tailored seams, darts, tucks, and hemlines. The enjoyment of pressing in a dart to make it lay smoothly; the satisfaction of seeing a neatly done piece come to life on the dress form--and, granted, I'm far from a superior seamstress. But it's still fun. And my imagination can coax those seams to look a bit better.  I get re-fortified to once again brave the mess that is called "fashion".

 Mom is right...there's a big difference between "fashion" and "style". We girly shoppers know that. Yet my hope keeps hoping that someday it will all turn around and girly shopping will once again hold its traditional spot in my mom and my outings.  In the meantime, girly shopping has become more panning for gold. And, once in a great while, a little glimmer appears.

Have a fine day. 

An Open Letter to My Son and His Generation

Welcome to full-fledged adulthood. Just a heads up...some things have recently changed.

As students of some of the "best" education known to man, you are now finding yourselves as some of the most highly educated and unemployed groups in the United States in decades. Many of you are in deep debt, due to the need to get to this highly educated status. Ideally, this should have been the appropriate pathway to live lives that are, as generations of parents always hope, a better and more secure life than your parents have.

Then life got in the way.

The economy has tanked from the "job for everyone" times we once enjoyed while you were growing up. Fortunately, your generation has a wealth of online searching skills never before known to man. You are in no way hampered by a lack of communication tools. Your "backyard" has grown exponentially.

You're going to have to regroup for awhile. You'll probably need to put your dreams on hold for awhile. This will be tough, because you've been raised in an era when life was pretty darned easy. The lives you've led and continue to lead are pretty much unique to your generation: extensive travel; hopping on jets to travel coast to coast or beyond without a second thought; nice/reliable cars; neat toys; people doting on you pretty much non-stop. The people in your lives have always made sure that you were (and are) fed what you want to eat, and you sleep in comfortable beds in comfortable bedrooms in comfortable homes. This amazing lifestyle became the norm. That, in and of itself, can sometimes be a challenge. As Granny says, "It's easier to go up than down"; right now...you're pretty much all sliding a little down the economic ladder.

Time to toughen up a little; sorry, but we probably didn't spend enough time on that. Scaling back wasn't discussed--there was no need at the time. Good thing that many of your parents (and for sure your grandparents) remember how to do that from living that way before things got lots easier. Just ask--we can give you some good guidance.

Many of you will simply move home--probably not the best idea. You've been out on your own. So have your parents. Cramming back in together usually doesn't work. So, you'll need to find a little space that will keep you warm and secure. That's truly about all you need. Not what you want, but about all you need. Want can come later.

The good news is this--you can have a wonderful life. Not necessarily the one you've had mapped out for you the past 20+ years, but a wonderful life, nonetheless. You'll live more economically sound, and will learn how to live enjoyably without all the fluff.

It's nice to have nice and fun things; it's vital to have a soul that doesn't need these in order to live a full life. This time in your lives can be used to find your true spirits--and your true grit that will develop into a foundation of strength you can carry with you throughout your lives. You've been given a gift; a gift that shows what is most important. Find your center--refresh your soul. Then, with this new outlook, create a passion of what really matters in your life and then find an vocation that will support your avocation. I hope for you that the two will blissfully blend.

Welcome to the fold. A blessing upon each and every one of you.  

Happy Anniversary to My Sweetheart

Today is our 29th anniversary. Twenty-nine years is a pretty good length of time. Of course, it can't hold a candle to the 63 years my mom and dad had together, nor the 50+ years of my in-laws.

But still...a pretty good length of time.

Tom is at work, so when I got up this morning, I decided to pull my wedding dress out of the closet. No, I don't have it all sealed up--it's in a Rubbermaid box tucked in with my mom's dress and corsage from that day and the little box that held my engagement ring. I like to look at that wedding dress each anniversary when it comes to mind. I like the feel of the heavy satin; I like to look closely at the stitching and the impossible amount of lace and buttons on it. It was a dress made in a time when attention to detail was much more commonplace.

Then I decided to pull out our wedding photo album to take a picture and post the quintessential anniversary photo on Facebook to mark our day. I was a little surprised at just how rough the little book looks. It's not been through much trauma--the moves have been minimal and it, like most older wedding albums, has been tucked away from the elements. Nevertheless, it's kind of scarred up. All that "attention to detail" of the dress? That just didn't translate to the wedding pictures and albums of the 1980s...it wasn't quite there yet. It's amusing now to see, these many years later, after taking so many thousands of pictures myself, the "rough edges" of the photos. Shadows in the pictures, the background cross placed strategically out the back of my beloved's head, my misplaced bangs creating a space needing to be brushed, some very somber looks taken before the smiles came...a humbling group of photos. Nothing like the high-intensity, very stylish pics coming from weddings nowadays...nothing like that. Just pictures. But simple pictures of two people very much in like and in love with one another.

So, these lingering reminders of our special day on the calendar do tell a bit of the story of these 29 years. We're no longer those grinning kids in those photos with brunette locks, or locks at all--we're more like the album itself. We're a little rough around the edges, a little scarred, a little discolored. Like that album, we've protected those pristine, innocent, wonderful memories and hopes and dreams and made those 29 years pretty darned amazing. And, like that dress, the stitching is strong, the small details are still important, and the over-all beauty still lasts.

Happy anniversary, Tom...my sweetheart.