Life

It’s only 7 am, and I have an entire glorious, totally alone day stretched out before me. I’ve already thrown a load of laundry in the washer, I made myself a veggie and cheese omelet, I’m working on my third cup of coffee, the house is clean.

 

And did I mention I have this entire day to myself?

 

I don’t plan on turning on the tv, or the radio, or anything that makes noise. Well, the washer and dryer make noise, but those are down in the basement, so I won’t hear them. Today, I plan on knitting, reading, painting my toenails, making myself a yummy salad for lunch, doing some more reading. Oh, and writing of course! I am working on a blog post for the Share blog about the importance of celebrating joyful simplicities when you are grieving, and I have several ideas of things I want to write about for this blog swimming around in my head, so I may get started on some of those as well. I may even take a nap and make a batch of homemade ice cream. I am also planning on getting out some of my fall decorations. I don’t usually do that until the end of September, but I am more than ready to leave this summer in the dust. Bring on pumpkins and mums and apple spice scented candles (which by the way, is already burning on my kitchen counter). I’m tired of droopy petunias and shriveled up hostas and crispy brown grass.

 

When I woke up early this morning, before the sun was even beginning to lighten the sky, I had a few moments of feeling depressed, or maybe sad is a better word, that I was looking so forward to a quiet day by myself. I felt sad that my life has come to this point, where I look forward to a quiet holiday spent alone. There was a time when Labor Day meant barbeques and swimming with neighbors and friends and kids everywhere. Then, we began to spend Labor Day weekend in Virginia Beach. We did briefly toy with the idea of going to Virginia Beach this weekend, but Tony and the kids have some other running trips planned for this fall, so that was one reason we decided not to go. It would have been nice to have one last family vacation before the boys leave for the Navy, but Justin couldn’t have gotten off work anyway.

 

I decided that rather than feeling sad at the way life has changed and is changing, I’d dust of my seldom-worn Miss Susie Sunshine hat and think instead of the good things about having a day all to myself. I came up with the list above of things that I wouldn’t be able to do if everyone was here.

 

So, here I am, crossing one thing off of my bucket list for the day.

 

This has the potential to be yet another Gloomy Gertrude post, but I will try my very best to spin it into something good before I am finished.

 

As I was planning my day early this morning, I decided that I am not going to spend it on the computer other than for writing. I’m going to pretend that I have no internet service after I get this posted and not waste my day away checking email and playing games on facebook. However, I did want to catch up on some blog reading, so I went to my favorite blog where I read something that gave me the idea for this post. I didn’t actually need an idea because I thought I already knew what I was going to write about. However, this is perfect for the way I have been feeling lately. I just didn’t put my thoughts into words like this.

 The author of the blog has written the past week about her daughter’s struggles with starting kindergarten. She has written about her own struggles with this, too.  On Saturday, she wrote about how she has learned these four principles about life:

 

1.    Life is hard.

2.    You have to go through it.

3.    You learn.

4.    And then, you grow.

 

Amen to all of that.

 

1.    Yes, life is hard. I accept that. I don’t like it, but I accept it.

 

2.    Yes, you have to go through it. You have no choice. I accept that too. I don’t like THAT either. I wish I could be like a caterpillar and go curl up in a cocoon somewhere with a quilt and emerge as a beautiful butterfly ready to bravely face my new world. But, I guess maybe that isn’t so easy, either. I have no idea what a caterpillar goes through in its cocoon…how much pain and turmoil it experiences before it becomes a beautiful butterfly. I guess a caterpillar probably does a huge amount of work inside that insulating cocoon. Maybe that’s what I want…to be able to do my work inside an insulating cocoon, where I don’t have to deal with outside stresses and problems.

3.    You learn. Well, hopefully, you do. The blog author has this to say about learning:

 

And the fear of learning itself? Well, aren't we all afraid of that? As exciting as the world of knowledge and experience is, the magnitude of information--what we don't know and have yet to learn--can make us feel so small and fragile.

 

Those words sum it up perfectly for me. Yes, I am learning. I have learned so much in the past few months about life, about myself, about people I care about. And, yes, I am afraid of some of these new things I have learned. Very much afraid. Some days, I think it’s too much, and yes, much of it has made me feel small and fragile. And alone. Very fragile, and very alone. Those are not very good feelings to have when I am almost 50 years old and wishing and thinking that things in my life could be more settled and secure than they are. Wishing that everything I have worked  for and valued and treasured didn’t feel as if it was slowly slipping through my fingers no matter  how tightly I  clench my fingers together to prevent it. I am even more afraid of what I still have to learn in the future. Will those things bring me to my knees, or will they empower me? I wish I knew.

I will take the blog author’s thoughts about the fear of learning one step further and say that learning can be the hardest part of the whole process. I can accept that life is hard. I can deal with going through it. I am armed with a few “tools” that help me get through each day—I can bake, I can read, I can knit, I can go for a run, I can clean out a closet or a drawer. I can scrub my kitchen floor until it shines. I can do any number of things to get through each moment. It’s much harder and scarier though to think about what I have learned/what I am learning.

 

Which brings me to:

4.    And then, you grow. I don’t think I’m to that part of the process yet. I don’t feel like I am growing. I feel like I am withering like my pots of sun-scorched summer flowers.

 

Wow.

That came out so depressing. Definitely not a “dancing in the rain” post.

 

 I wrote a few weeks ago about how I am feeling guilty for not writing posts full of happy dancing in the rain moments since that was the reason I began writing here. I have come to a sort of peace with that though. I write to help me sort out things in my mind, and the things I’ve written lately have helped me do just that. So I guess in a way, this silly blog is serving its intended purpose. And even though I have often written in a more melancholy way lately, I haven’t forgotten to focus on simple little joyful things, even though it may seem as if I have.

 

In fact, I will end this with a list. J

 

*I have been knitting up a storm.

 In the past month, I have knitted 5 dishcloths and started working on my first ever shawl. There are times when I am ready to toss the thing in the trash because I have ripped out more rows than I actually have on the needle right now, but I am determined to finish it one of these days before it gets chilly. My aunt Saundra gave me the pattern and said she would knit it along with me. Her shawl is finished, and she even dyed her own yarn that she knitted it from.

 

*I have been cooking up a storm.

My kids are loving it. I’ve baked homemade bread and cinnamon rolls and new cookie recipes and new enchilada recipes. My coworkers are loving it, too. I’ve brought lunch for all of us on several occasions when I wanted to try a new salad or soup recipe that I knew no one in my family would eat.

 

*I have been reading up a storm.

I’ve read 5 books this summer. I’ve read 2 Jane Austen books. That doesn’t sound like much of an accomplishment, especially because at the beginning of the summer, I downloaded every Jane Austen book onto my Kindle (they were free!) and told myself I was going to read every one of them by the end of the summer. Yeah, that didn’t happen. I hadn’t read Jane Austen since college, and I quickly remembered they take a very long time to read. But, hey! I read two of them! I think I will save the rest for winter reading.

 

*I have been running up a storm.

Okay, so that is a little white lie. I just wanted to keep up the storm theme I had going on. I have been running and walking though, on a pretty regular basis. My dog is loving me for it, and I am starting to enjoy our early morning jaunts. I try to get out by 6, and it does help me feel a little bit more energized for the day ahead.

 

It’s now time for me to get off my computer and go enjoy the day as much as I can.

 

Strolling Down Memory Lane

Last week, I decided to take a trip to Olney. Other than quick trips for weddings and funerals, I haven’t been there in years.  I have been trying to find a time to get together with my Aunt Candie and an old friend from college for months, and this weekend, finally, the stars aligned, and it worked out for all three of us.

Friday ended up being a crazy day, and while I had planned on leaving here at 2 in order to beat weekend traffic out of the city, my plans didn’t quite work out, and it was 4 before I was ready to go. After spending 2 plus hours in a Missouri state vehicle inspection center, and dealing with a complete a-hole, I was ready to scream. I headed home, threw my suitcase in the car, and then spent the next 90 minutes sitting in bumper-to-bumper traffic trying to get out of St. Louis. By the time I crossed the Mississippi into Illinois, (which should have been a 30 minute not 90 minute trip) I wished I had never planned such a trip. Traffic wasn’t a whole lot better in the first miles of Illinois, and I couldn’t even put the car on cruise. The state police were out in full force. I was driving Justin’s car, and I had called him while I was waiting for the inspection on the Expedition to ask him to put the CD's from my van into his car because he was going to leave with my van before I got home. Well, he forgot, so I ended up having to dig through a bunch of old stuff before I left to find CD’s to listen to when I was zipping through rural Illinois with no radio stations.

What a blessing that turned out to be!

Once I was completely away from St. Louis traffic, I turned off the AC, rolled down the window, opened the sunroof, and blasted my golden oldies CD’s, thankful that none of my kids were along to make fun of me. (They LOVE to make fun of me when I listen to songs that were popular as they say "in the olden days"). By the time I exited Highway 70 at Effingham, knots that I hadn’t even realized had tightened my shoulders loosened, and thanks to Katrina and the Waves and Roxette and Wham!  and Bob Seger, I was calm and cool and windblown and  ready for a fun weekend in the big town of Olney.  For once, I wasn’t even irritated and impatient as I followed slow-moving cars and trucks and combines down Rte. 130 between Newton and Olney.  The wind was whipping my hair around, and I felt free as a bird. I felt freer and more relaxed than I have felt in a very long time.

I have always loved Olney. When I was a kid spending summers with my aunts and grandma, I truly WAS free as a bird. As a city girl spending the summers in a small town, I had so many freedoms I didn’t have living in the city. I could ride my bike to the pool or to town to buy a soda at Bower’s drug store. I could ride my bike pretty much anywhere. I could WALK to the grocery store! In short, I loved Olney.

I haven’t lived in Olney since 1983. I used to visit much more than I do now when my parents lived there. This was the first weekend that I spent there that wasn’t because of a wedding or a funeral, and I enjoyed every minute of it.  Early Sunday afternoon, I left my aunt’s house  with hugs and promises to visit again soon, and I had every intention of heading straight home. I texted Tony and told him I was leaving. 

I sort of got sidetracked.

Imagine that!

In reality, it took me two hours to actually get out of Olney.

First, I drove by our old family house on Elm Street. I would give just about anything to be able to go inside and see what the new owner has done with the house. A few years ago, my cousin Libby was in Olney, and she walked up and knocked on the door, and he showed her around. I wasn't that brave. I took zoomed in pictures from across the street and then worried that they saw me and were calling the police to report someone stalking them.

Here are 2 pictures of my most favorite house ever.

Not only did my mother grow up in this house, but so did my grandmother, and my great grandmother. My great grandmother’s father built it as a wedding gift for my great great grandmother, who ended up dying in childbirth. I spent a great deal of my childhood in this house. It is an awesome house…every bedroom has (or at least had) a fireplace. The living room has three bay windows. Everyone knows how I feel about porches, and this house has the ultimate porch—perfect for hanging ferns and wicker swings. That big tree in the front yard has always been there, and I have many great memories of raking piles of leaves that were taller than me and then jumping in them.

 I was on a roll after that. I ended up at St. Josephs, and decided to take some pictures of the church Tony and I were married at.

From St. Joe's, I turned from Elliott onto Main Street, and decided that I had to stop at Hovey's for a Pepsi.

 Hovey’s has been around since I don’t know when, but my parents hung out there when they were kids. I doubt it looks much different today than it did in the 1950’s. I think it still has the same formica tables, although the red vinyl and chrome chairs look newer. Whenever I am in Hovey's, I always imagine '57 Chevy's at the curb and girls in saddle shoes.

After I left Hovey’s my reminiscing really kicked in.  As I walked back to my car, I decided to take a picture of theold library (that sadly has been replaced with a newer, more modern library)

and the movie theater.

This is where I saw my first movie. I was 11, and I went with Mom and Aunt Mary to see Paper Moon.  At the time, Paper Moon was quite scandalous, at least to my mom it was, and there were a few parts where she covered up my eyes.

My next stop was my Grandma Fulk’s house. The neighbors were out, and I really felt funny about taking pictures, but I really wanted to. So, I drove around the block, rolled down the window, and took a picture.

Looking at that little house made me a little sad. The bushes and plants are so overgrown, and I couldn’t help but remember how behind that tree, my grandma used sit on the patio in a rocking chair and feed squirrels from her hand. I remembered her beautiful flowers, mostly red geraniums, that lined the patio. I sat there for a long time looking at her house. I know it’s not her house anymore, and it hasn’t been for a long time, but to me, it will always be my grandma’s house.

I reluctantly drove away and my next stop was the park. My grandma lived just two blocks from the park, so it didn’t take me long to drive there.

So many things are the same. So many things have changed. And sadly, while white squirrels used to be all over the park, I didn't see even one.

I was surprised to see these swings still scattered around. They used to be green, but other than that, they look exactly the same.

These next pictures are of what used to be the pool. Oh, how I loved going there! There was nothing like the Olney pool where we lived in St. Louis. I think going to the pool was my favorite thing about summer in Olney.

(I love how the original pool that was filled in years ago is still visible around the edge).

This deck overlooked the deep end of the pool.

It used to be painted pool-water blue. And it wasn’t so run down looking. If you jumped off of it into the pool, you were kicked out. I never jumped off that wall, but I did teach myself how to do a flip off the diving board the summer between 7^th and 8^th grade. It’s funny how when I  was a kid, that deck seemed so far above the water, and it’s actually only about 4 feet high.

I headed down the hill that falls away from where the chain link fence that surrounded the pool used to be

I was a bit shocked to see that this covered bridge is still there. When I was a kid, we were all scared of that bridge. We thought "perverts" hung out there...we didn't know what a pervert was, but we knew they hid out in that bridge waiting for little kids. The bridge looks just as creepy now as it did in the 1970s. I took this picture and high tailed it out of there because there was a very strange guy who was hacking away with a baseball bat at a dead tree branch while he mumbled to himself.

My last stop on the way out of Olney was one I knew would be emotional. I turned off the highway at "The Rez" to take a peek at Aunt Mary’s old house.

And it’s no longer there. :(

It looks like someone tore it down and built a new house. I drove around the whole area, and there are quite a few brand spanking new huge all-brick homes with 3 car garages and BMW’s in the driveway. It just didn’t seem to “fit” with what I remember…cute little cabin-type houses that back up to the lake with beat up looking metal fishing boats tied to rickety docks.

I drove around, and then parked my car, got out and walked down to the lake through a small grove of pine trees.

The carpet of needles on the ground was so deep my feet sank. It smelled wonderful though, and I gathered some pine cones that I brought home and put in a bowl that is now sitting on my desk.

 I couldn’t get to anyplace that would enable me to take a picture of Aunt Mary’s old house, but it’s just around the bend in this picture.

 After I took pictures from here, I drove back to where her house used to be. I decided to be brave, knock on the door and ask whoever lives there if I could walk around back and look at the lake. There were three cars in the driveway, but no one answered the door, so I did walk around the sides of the house and take a few photos, but I was too chicken to walk all the way into the yard.

I had to take this picture. There used to be a huge pine tree here that Aunt Mary always had covered with those old fashioned gigantic Christmas lights. When we were all kids, we were so excited when we pulled into her driveway late at night and saw that lit-up tree. There used to be a stone wall where that fence now is.

I also picked up some of these cute little green acorns before driving away.

My last stop on the way out of Olney was Fox Creek Winery. Wow, was that off the beaten path! I almost gave up and turned around to head back to the highway. I bought a bottle of wine while I was there. Right now, I am enjoying a glass!

For the next hour, I sped down the 2-lane country highway that winds through the heart of Illinois farm country. There were storm clouds looming, and the combination of stormy skies and corn fields was quite beautiful. As I passed through towns so small they don’t even have a stop light, I think for the first time, I truly appreciated where I came from. I have driven that road hundreds of times throughout my life—as a child, when the drive down those country roads meant we were “almost there;” as a college student on the way to and from college on weekends and school vacations; as an adult heading “home” to visit relatives for holidays and weddings and funerals and reunions and for absolutely no reason at all. But in all of those years, I never really “saw” what was right in front of my face. That drive between Effingham and Olney was simply either the last little bit of a drive to get to Olney, or the last little bit of a drive before we hit the interstate that would take us back to the city.

Yesterday, I really appreciated it for what it is…a beautiful, peaceful stretch of road that has the amazing ability to massage away knots from my shoulders and my mind. My drive to Olney will never be the same again.

My last stop of the day was in Effingham, where I sat at a white picnic table and ate a turtle sundae at Homewood Grill. A few minutes later, I merged onto interstate 70 leaving cows and the amber waves of grain far behind. Soon, my oldies CD’s were put back in their cases as I neared St. Louis and I was able to pick up a decent radio station.  On my way back into the city, I once again found myself sitting in traffic. As I inched across the bridge that spans the Mississippi separating Missouri from Illinois, I felt myself tensing up, and I began channel surfing on the radio to find out what was holding up traffic. Then, in an effort to bring back the feelings of peace I had felt just a few hours before, I turned the radio off, rolled down the window, and put in another oldies CD. I was ready to head home with a much lighter heart than I had when I left.

And realizing how good for my soul a weekend in Olney was, I vowed to myself that I will not let so much time go by before I visit again.

Home Health Care

I have been so negative with the things I have written lately. While I have been writing/speaking from my heart, I don’t feel good about what I’ve written. Not at all. I’ve strongly considered deleting my last few posts, but I talked myself out of it. Sometimes good, sometimes bad and sometimes, downright ugly…that is my life these days. If deleting the negative posts would delete the reasons I wrote them out of my life, I’d hit the delete button so fast I’d leave a sizzle mark on the delete key. But, since deleting the negative things I wrote won’t delete the negative things I wrote about, what’s the point? Maybe someday, I will look back on the thoughts that have poured from my mind and fingers this summer and think, “Wow, I came through all that with flying colors!”

 So today, I’m going to go back to being positive with sunshine and rainbows exploding around me like 4^th of July fireworks, and I am going to write about something good while I am riding on the back of my pet unicorn with a wreath of daisies atop my head.

I know, I gave this post a strange title, but it’s the first thing that popped into my head. And just a funny side note…when I typed “popped,” it originally came out “pooped.” Yes, that word would have been appropriate too as things often poop out of my head. I almost left the typo.

I don’t know what has gotten into me lately. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I am nesting. I’m not obviously, but I have definitely been in a “clean and organize and purge everything in my path” mood. (I’ve told my kids on several occasions that they should be very afraid of leaving their crap laying around). And it’s been just what I have needed, like a breath of fresh air blown into my soul. Cleaning the clutter and unnecessary things from my home is in a way helping me unclutter my mind, bringing the important things more clearly into focus.

Years ago, I used to relieve stress by going on a cleaning frenzy. Times of trouble were when I was most likely to clean out closets, cabinets and drawers, scrub and wax the kitchen floor and shower doors and wash curtains and baseboards and walls and blinds. I would even clean the leaves of my plants. Yes, times of stress were good, very good, for my home.

 But, as I’ve gotten older, I am more likely to curl up on the couch with a quilt and a big bowl of buttered popcorn and watch cheesy Lifetime movies while doing my very best to ignore the clutter and dirty floors and dust balls in the corners. My house has been very neglected these past few years as I have done the bare minimum to keep my family from living in squalor. Okay, that’s a little dramatic and inaccurate, however, I have definitely lowered my usual high standards and not been bothered by a little dust or unorganized cabinets and closets and piles of laundry the way I once was. My motto for the past few years has been “if the family has clean clothes and food on the table, all is good,” even if they are digging those clean clothes out of laundry baskets that are lined up in the hallway.

Which reminds me of a funny story. Years ago, my cousin Nancy, who is my Great Aunt Marion Kelly’s daughter, told me a story about how their life as kids was rather chaotic. There were 5 of them (kids, I mean) and their dad was a busy dentist. Their mom, one of the truly funniest most  joy-filled, loving women I have ever known, was a stay at home mom. I have no doubt she was one of the most fun moms among her peers, but she wasn’t the greatest housekeeper from things I’ve been told and heard and seen in old photographs. Nancy told me that once, she was over at a friend’s house, and her friend’s mother gave her a stack of neatly folded laundry and told her to go put it away in her dresser. Her friend said, “Why can’t I keep my clothes in a laundry basket like the Kelly’s do?”

I found that story so funny.  I wonder if someday, my children will tell silly stories like that about me. I doubt it. But I digress….

I used to take great pride in keeping my house in a condition that wasn’t perfection by any means, but it was always neat and tidy enough that if someone dropped by, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. Lately, those days have been LONG gone and sometimes, I’ve been embarrassed when I drop by.

For some reason, the tides have shifted, and now, I can’t seem to keep my house clean enough or organized enough. I’ve been cleaning out drawers and cabinets in the kitchen and bathrooms.  I’ve scrubbed windows inside and out. I’ve repainted scuffed baseboards and even cleaned nearly all of the clutter that typically accumulates in my dining room. I scour Pinterest looking for organization ideas.

 In short, while the stresses I’ve been dealing with right now have sort of wreaked havoc on my life, they’ve once again been very good for my house. It’s kind of strange, but I haven’t even looked upon anything I have been doing as a chore. I have rather enjoyed it. Some days on my drive home from work, I think about what I can organize when I get home. I know, there is something wrong with me, right?!

Clearing clutter and crud from my home has brought clarity to a lot of things. For one, it’s made me realize just how neglected it has been…how much needs to be done. I’ve paid attention to things I haven’t noticed for a long time…like scratched and marred baseboards in the dining room that need a fresh coat of white paint…like the bathroom cabinet that is really looking shabby and in dire need of a makeover. Like the cobwebs behind the blinds in the family room. 

Clearing the clutter and focusing on taking better care of my home has also made me look at it through fresh eyes and take note of things I love. Like the way the light from the sunrise shines through the window above my kitchen sink early in the morning. And the way my grandma’s and Aunt Mary’s crystal sparkles in the china cabinet after it’s been lovingly washed and arranged.

Cleaning and decluttering has inspired me to once again do little things to cozy up my house. I’ve bought some new houseplants for the first time in years, and I hung them from scrolly black wrought iron hangers in the doorway between the living room and dining room.

I decorated the blank wall above my desk with wall words that I bought months ago then put in a bag in a corner of the dining room and promptly forgot about.

 Cleaning out my china cabinet inspired me to take some of my favorite things from the dusty corners and put them where I can see them all the time.

In short, while my cleaning mission has resulted in some depressing thoughts about how much I’ve neglected the home that I once took such pride in keeping clean and welcoming, it has also made me love it in a whole new way. Yes, it needs new carpet. There are still 2 rooms that have an old wallpaper border that I would love to remove. My front porch needs to be painted, and so do the shutters and my front door. Long ago, I grew tired of the flowers I stenciled on our bathroom wall when Lauren was a newborn and I would love to re-do that bathroom.

But, along with the negative thoughts, or rather in spite of them, I have fallen in love with my house again. I’ve remembered how I felt walking through the front door 18 years ago giddy with excitement and overflowing with ideas for the blank, white canvas that was all mine. My house is well-worn, but it’s comfortable, and I am trying to embrace all that I love about it.

In the beginning of this tossing and cleaning process, I felt overwhelmed, like why bother doing anything at all when there is so very much to do? But the more trash bags I filled and carried out to the garage, the more focused I became. I made a list of all of the things I wanted to do. I have already crossed a few of them off, and I try not to stress about all that remains on that list. I know I will accomplish most of them eventually. If I don't, oh well. I’m tired of focusing on what is wrong and old and outdated, and I’m trying my darndest to focus on what is good and what I love about my house.

 Decluttering and cleaning the house has brought clarity to my mind as well. I’ve worked out a lot of things while tossing unnecessary crap that I’ve accumulated into giant black Hefty bags. I’ve done a great deal of writing this summer, which is the best way for me to sort and declutter all that jumbles up my brain, and it’s been really good for me. As I’ve sorted and waded through the debris of my mind, I’ve also mentally tossed things into a black trash bag. I’ve realized that while there is much that is wrong in my world, and I do need to work on those things and figure them out so I can deal with them, there is also much that is right. Not just right, but good. Very good. I’ve made a list of those things and put it in my wallet, pulling it out when I need to be reminded of them. Just as I’m tired of focusing on all that is wrong with my house, I’m also tired, so tired, of focusing on what is wrong with ME. I’m tired of thinking of all the things I do that make me a not-so-good wife/daughter/mother/employee/friend. And I’m trying my darndest to focus on the ways I am a good wife/daughter/mother/employee/friend. It sure isn’t going to be easy, but I’m setting out to prove to myself that I can do it. J I have some difficult hurdles to overcome in the very near future, but I have NO doubt that I am strong enough to take them on and fly over them without too many stumbles or falls that land me flat on my face. If that does happen, I really believe (at least for today!) that I will simply pick myself up, dust myself off, and carry on.

Yesterday, I had an enlightening conversation with a co-worker who told me I way overthink things. I know that I do, and no matter how hard I try not to, I can’t stop. I’ve been thinking a lot about some things she said to me, and I am quite certain that there will someday soon be a blog post about it. But for now, I think that overthinking doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing, although my overthinking usually results in negative thoughts. Since I can’t turn off my brain with a switch the way I often wish that I could, I am going to find a way to turn my overthinking habit into something beneficial to me. I’m not sure just how I will do that, but again, I’m going to give it my best shot. Hopefully, my negative alter-ego will soon be banished forever because I do not like that person very much.  

Dancing in the Rain

I wrote this Sunday morning from my front porch, where I sat with my feet propped up on the railing while I watched rain softly fall and listened to distant thunder. It was a gray, dreary morning, which was perfect, because the grayness and the dreariness of the day perfectly matched the mood that I was in.

It’s been so incredibly hot and humid this summer that I haven’t spent as much time on my porch as I typically do. However cooler temperatures tagged along with the morning’s rain shower, so I took my coffee and book out there not long after the sun came up. Reading on the porch before my household wakes up and comes to chaotic life is right at the top of my “Favorite Things to Do” list. As I gazed out over the crunchy brown grass and droopy almost lifeless pots of flowers and inhaled the scent of rain on sunbaked concrete, I couldn’t concentrate on my book. After I read the same paragraph three times, I finally put it aside and decided to just go with the flow of my thoughts and let them take me down whatever rocky river they chose to flow. 

First of all, I thought about how hot and dry it’s been…so hot that even the weeds have shriveled up into things that not even the plethora of rabbits that inhabit my yard can munch on. My yard looks worse than it has ever looked in the 19 summers we have lived here. Of course, we typically have extremely hot summers with very little rain through the months of July and August. But normally, we keep the sprinklers going to maintain some green, and we joke about how the heat kills everything but the weeds. Well, this fine summer, since we have had virtually no rain at all since April, we are on water restriction and unable to sprinkle the yard, and the heat has even killed the weeds. This is what my lawn looks like right now:

Secondly, back to my thought of  “going with the flow,” I  remembered a pact I made with myself back at the beginning of June when we took our mini-vacation to Lake Erie and Lake Michigan. The day before we left Sandusky, I was awake well before dawn on a beautiful Sunday morning. Still in my pajamas, I took my Kindle, my laptop and a Styrofoam cup of hotel coffee to the beach, parked myself in one of these lovely rocking chairs

and watched the sun rise over Lake Erie. On that morning, watching a new day slowly brush over the night in a swirly palate of pink and purple and orange that reflected onto the glittering lake, 

I made a pact with myself that I am going to make more time to write when the mood strikes me. So often, something pops into my mind that really needs to get out, but I push it aside and carry on with whatever task I feel is more important at the time.

But, I realized something that morning. For me, writing is important…just as important to my well-being as eating and doing laundry and taking care of my family and their needs, and when I don’t do it, I feel scattered and out of sorts.

So back to early Sunday morning.

When I realized the rain may be hanging around for a while, I carried a couple of my baskets of flowers from the porch to the yard so they could get rained on, and they seemed to turn a more vivid green almost instantly. I imagined them breathing a sigh of relief and saying “Ahhhhh….that feels soooo good!” (No, I didn’t hear it…I know I’m crazy, but not that crazy. Yet.) It was as if that cool drink of rainwater revived them a little bit. Or, as if the rain washed away a thin layer of dust that had faded some of their brightness.I thought to myself, "Hey, my flowers are dancing in the rain!"

And then, as it so often does, my mind wandered, and I wished it was that easy for me to bring back some of the brightness my life used to have--I wished it was as easy as standing in the rain and letting the water wash away the dust that has layered itself upon my soul as my life seems to slowly crumble around me, like an old city building that was once loved and well-tended but is now losing small pieces of the brick and mortar that once held it together and made it beautiful and admired.

Sigh. Me and my dumb analogies. I can’t help it; they just invade my head sometimes, unbidden and definitely unwelcome.

I am coming upon the two-year anniversary of beginning to write this blog, and I am thinking of giving it up. Back then, I felt my life had so many things wrong, and I naively thought that by writing here and forcing myself to focus on the good things, to dance in the rain, all of the bad things would magically wash away in that rain like the dust on my sun-scorched plants. You know, count your blessings, we are what we think, blah blah blah…yet here I am, almost two years later, and while yes, I have done a mostly good job of focusing on small things to enjoy and appreciating them, and I have come to love writing about both my struggles and joys, it really has changed nothing. And I am feeling discouraged. In many ways, my life is even worse now than it was back then, in ways I would never have imagined at the time I started this blog.

So, while last month I made a pact with myself to write more often, unfortunately, the things I usually feel driven to write these days do not fit with my original blog mission of dancing in the rain while waiting for the storms to pass. Honestly, it makes me feel like a hypocrite.

Maybe instead of giving up writing here, I should change the name of my blog.

How about this one? "Stomping in Mud Puddles." That has a fun ring to it, no?

So now that the last two times I’ve written it’s been about depressing things, I guess before I totally give up on being Miss Susie Sunshine with a plus sign for  positive tattooed on my forehead, I should still do what I set out  to do and focus on some good things..

On that note, here is a Joyful Simplicities list for the past week.

*Homemade ice cream.

In honor of July being National Ice Cream month, I have gotten out my ice cream machine that sat gathering dust in my pantry, and I’ve made homemade ice cream twice. Salty Caramel and Cheesecake. Can I just say “YUM?” Even if I can’t, I just did, so :-P

*The first fresh tomatoes of the summer

I’ve been eating them on everything from pasta to tacos to blt’s. And even one or two or ten just by themselves still warm from the sun, sliced and sprinkled with sea salt and pepper. Can I again say “YUM?”

*Peaches

Since we had such a warm spring, most produce has been ready a few weeks ahead of schedule, and I’ve bought my favorite Eckert’s peaches several times. We’ve eaten them over ice cream, I’ve sliced them into salads, and of course, I’ve made peach pie.

*Rachel’s friends view of our family that made me smile

Over the weekend, we were faced with an epic problem with Rachel, which should have come as no surprise to me, but yet it did, and it sent me into a tailspin that I still haven’t recovered from. As a result of this, we confiscated Rachel’s cell phone and then spent an evening debating the merits of sending her to the Missouri Military Academy while we read text messages between Rachel and her friend Lindsay. Yeah, I’m terrible and nosy like that, but in my defense, the issue involved Lindsay. I don’t think I’ve ever been so furious at one of my children, or more disappointed/disillusioned. I was reading through the messages, steam coming out of my ears not only because of the things they had written to each other, but also because of the horrible things that had flowed from my daughter’s fingertips onto her phone keyboard. (Let’s just say the child will be extremely lucky if she gets texting privileges back before she graduates from high school). Anyway, I came upon a conversation between the two of them, and Lindsay said “Rachel, you are an idiot. You have such a great life! Your biggest worry and thing to get angry about is why your mom will not buy you a new pair of shoes! Grow the hell up! Realize there are kids out there with MORE IMPORTANT PROBLEMS THAN YOU!!! You are retarded. Your parents love you and would take a bullet for you. Your house is so fun!! Your mom is awesome!!! Why don’t you know how lucky you are to have all that???? WHY do you think I want to be at your house all the time????”

While I don’t care for her calling Rachel and idiot and retarded, and I am so furious at her along with Rachel and ready to ban her from my house forever, her message made me tear up. And made my desire to want to go choke her a teensie bit less intense. It also made me feel like I must be a pretty damn fine actress to be able to portray that image when all I really want to do is change my name, clean out my meager bank account and run away somewhere no one will ever find me.

Well, so much for ending this on a POSITIVE note, huh?

Right now, I am thinking again about my lifeless, brown lawn. I know that the harsh weather conditions will soon be a thing of the past, and as the temperatures cool and we have a few more rain showers, it will be nurtured back to life. I only hope that the harsh conditions that are battering me will also soon be a thing of the past and that kinder, gentler conditions will nurture my soul and bring brightness back to my life.

How many whacks does it take to break open a pinata?

Yesterday afternoon, I was feeling lazy and watched a movie on Lifetime. It was a dumb movie, and by the time it was over, I wished I would have found a better way to waste two hours of time, but once I started, I couldn’t turn it off.

This has nothing to do with the plot of the movie, but one scene showed a little girl at her birthday party, and one of the activities was breaking open a piñata. Sometimes, the blindfolded birthday girl missed the piñata altogether while other swings met their mark with a quick thud that made the zebra swing and twirl at the end of the rope it dangled from. One final hard blow caused it to break open and fall, spilling all of the candy and trinkets onto the grass. The scene reminded me of Rachel’s 7^th birthday party when she insisted on having a piñata at her luau themed shindig. The darn thing would not break…girl after girl dressed in grass skirts and bikini tops swung a baseball bat at it, yet it did not break until my brother in law took the matter (and the bat) into his own hands. Once the piñata broke, each of the places where the bat had previously hit the piñata was clearly visible as dents and cracks even though they weren’t noticeable until that final violent blow sent it shattered to the patio. And once the piñata suffered that final violent blow and fell to the ground, it broke apart at all of the tiny little places that hadn’t even been visible before yet obviously had weakened it.

While I pretty much hated the movie, when I saw that blindfolded little girl haphazardly swinging at that piñata, I couldn’t help but think about how my heart is starting to feel just like that piñata…taking many little blows that on their own don’t do any visible damage to the outside world. And I can’t help but wonder how many more whacks it will take to bust it wide open. I pictured those who inflict those little blows to my heart like that blindfolded little girl—I doubt they know how much those little whacks and blows are putting tiny little cracks and dings on my heart because they cannot see them. I doubt they know that one day, it might be too violent and hard of a whack that hits just the right (or wrong) weak spot for my heart to recover from and everything might come spilling out into a messy heap around me. And just like a broken piñata, or Humpty Dumpty, it won’t be able to be put back together again.

I read something not long about the resilience of the human spirit—how we can recover and heal from things that we think will break us. I’m not sure I agree with that. Just because the scars aren’t visible, doesn’t mean they aren’t there. Just because to the outside world, we look fine, doesn’t mean there is not a part of us that truly is broken.

And broken things cannot be unbroken.

You can’t un-break a piñata. You could probably stuff everything back inside and glue or tape it back together, and it may even look fine from a distance. But get too close, and the tears and breaks and tape will be obvious. And, once it is glued or taped back together, it won’t take much of a whack to break it wide open again.

You also can’t un-break a broken spirit or a broken heart. The tiny cracks…the larger fissures…the still larger holes will always be there. So will the tape used to repair those cracks and fissures and holes. Maybe they won’t be visible to the casual observer but they will be there nonetheless. And once the “repairs” are complete, it will still be a broken heart or spirit that is now more fragile and susceptible to being broken again.

Years ago, I read something in a book by Richard Paul Evans that had such an effect on me that I wrote it in my quote collection. I think of it often. The hardest shells often protect the softest hearts.

Sometimes, I wish I could grow a harder shell. Unfortunately, a hard shell doesn’t just keep out the bad stuff. It keeps out the good stuff as well.

This is a really depressing thing I have written. It’s hard to not write depressing things after my family once again let me down…showed me that my kids and I are really not all that important to them. The details don’t matter. It’s just the same shit, different day. Same whacks to the same soft heart. Some days, I'm not sure there is a shell hard enough to protect it. 

I will switch gears now and end this on a positive note.

A month or so ago, we bought Justin a new phone from Best Buy as a graduation present. There was a special promotion going on at the time, and he received a $50 Best Buy gift card. I told Justin after he used it that he had to keep it and give it to me. I have kept it propped up in my kitchen window sill ever since.

Is that not awesome?

Since I spend a great deal of time in my kitchen, I see it multiple times a day; it is a good reminder to me to keep my thoughts where they should be.

So, I got the whiney, pathetic, depressing thoughts out of my head, and will put the focus back on the good things about Justin’s party on Saturday. If I ignored the dark cloud that hung over the day, it was a great party.

I’ll just make a list of them!

*All of the friends that he wanted to come, did. They stayed all day, ate tons of food, played Frisbee, ate more food. It was nice.

*Justin’s best friends’ Sam/Sarah came with their parents, Karen and Mario. Those two are so wonderful--they have grown to love Justin and treat him as part of their family. Karen had tears in her eyes at one point when she said how lonely they are all going to be when Sam goes off to college and Justin joins the Navy. I can tell that she is genuinely going to miss him, and wow, that did my heart good.  She also told me that when Justin went to their house to tell them he had enlisted in the Navy that Mario immediately shook his hand and said how proud he was of him. Karen said, “I wish you could have seen the look on Mario’s face. It was that of a proud dad.” I cried.

I’ve cried a lot the past couple of days, but those were definitely some happy tears.

*My cousin and her family came. I don’t see them often, and I wish I did. I love her dearly and her husband and girls, too. They stayed late and we laughed and drank some wine and watched our French student teach her little girl some hip hop dance moves.

I cried when they left.

There’s a pattern here…

*At nearly 11 Saturday night I was exhausted, yet my house was still full of kids. I was so tired I wanted to cry. Instead of crying, I went out to my porch, cracked a window in the living room and listened to the happy laughter and chatter of the teenagers in my house making a mess with their second round of cake and ice cream in the kitchen that I had just cleaned up not an hour before. And I cried again because I know that these days are numbered. I cried because even though it was a day of feeling down about the way my family treats me, it was also a day that Justin thoroughly enjoyed, and I told myself that was the most important thing of all.

*Sunday morning at 5 am, Tony, Justin, Erwan and Lauren left to drive to New Orleans. I went out to help pack the trunk, and they all piled in the Chevy Malibu that Tony leased for the week, and I again found myself becoming teary eyed for no reason at all. The kids were packed in the car with their pillows, blankets and iPods when Justin suddenly got out of the car, gave me a hug, and said “thank you so much for the graduation party. It was awesome!” After that, Lauren and even Erwan got out of the car and gave me a hug. And guess what I did??

Yep. I cried AGAIN.

I feel like a 13 year old going through puberty.

I don’t know how to end this. I don’t want to end it on the depressing note that I began it with, that’s for sure. I guess it’s okay to be happy and sad at the same time, right?

If you give a girl a paintbrush....

She’ll use it to paint her living room a beautiful shade of dove gray and the ceilings and baseboards a pristine white.

Then, she’ll realize that the freshly painted, pristine white baseboards and ceiling make the white spindles on the stair railing look dingy and dirty, so she’ll decide to paint those, too.

 But, she is lazy and she won’t want to paint around the wooden railing, so she’ll just paint the whole darn thing white.

 When the stair railing becomes a crisp white that matches the baseboards, she’ll notice that the front door now looks dingy and not very fresh, so she’ll paint that next. Only, she will be sick of white paint by this point, so she will want to paint it red.

 After many coats of red paint, she will love the new door, but she will think, “Hey, this door would look even better with a colorful wreath hanging on it,” even though she has never before had a wreath hanging on the inside of her front door.

 So, off she will go to Hobby Lobby to purchase a wreath and flowers.

 When she has covered the wreath with a spray of colorful fake flowers,

she will realize that the table that sits inside the front door is looking very shabby and not quite up to the standards of the rest of the room,

 so she will paint it black.

Once it is spray painted black, it will need some new knobs on the drawers, so she will go back to Hobby Lobby to buy some pretty red glass knobs.

When the living room and hallway are brand spanking clean, it will hit her one day that while the walls in the kitchen don’t really need to be painted, the white trim and doors in that room look awful and scuffed and dirty. (And she will not want to show a picture of THAT!).

 So she will scrub them clean and paint those next.

Next, she will decide to paint the walls in her son’s bedroom since it is the only children’s room that hasn’t been painted recently.

If the walls are going to be freshly painted, then she will know that of course, the baseboards and doors must be freshly painted as well.

 When the room is finally finished and the walls are a soothing shade of blue that evokes memories of warm Gulf of Mexico waters and the furniture has been returned to the room, she will want a new bedspread for the bed, even though the old one matches just fine.

 So she will buy a new bedspread.

 She is frugal however, so she will buy a $40 bed-in-a-bag set from Walmart that includes a comforter, set of sheets, and a pillow sham.

Once the new bedspread is placed on the bed, she will suddenly realize the white blinds covering the windows look terrible against all the new white trim, so she will go to Home Depot to buy 2 new blinds.

 When the room is finished with all new and old things back in place, she will pour herself a cold glass of wine, stand outside the room and admire all of her hard work. She will think to herself, “Whew, everything is finished now!”

And then...she will sigh a big sigh, wipe the sweat from her brow, glance into her bedroom and realize that she really is very tired of the yellow paint and green flowered wallpaper border in her bedroom that have graced it’s walls for the last 14 years.

 THEN...she will go pour another glass of wine, grab a stack of Better Homes and Gardens magazines, settle into her favorite rocking chair on the front porch, and scour their pages for bedroom paint color ideas.

And then she will realize that if she is going to paint her bedroom, of course, the doors and trim and ceiling will also need to be painted. And so will the bathroom walls, doors and trim….and then the bathroom will need a new curtain...

Emptying the Nest

Saturday, a plastic electrical outlet cover made me cry.

 Let me explain since that sounds totally loony tunes.

 This past weekend, I decided to tackle a renovation of Justin’s bedroom, and I was not expecting to feel as emotional as I did. The room hadn’t been touched for about 11 years, so it was long overdue. We have a student from France coming to spend 3 weeks with us later this month, and one of the requirements is that he must have his own room. We don’t have spare bedroom, so Justin offered to give his up since he is the one who begged me to have a French student spend 3 weeks with us. It seemed like the perfect time to spruce up the room because quite honestly, it was an embarrassing mess. (NO, I will not be showing photographs!)

For some dumb reason, probably because the world is full of procrastinators and I am the Queen of ALL of them, I waited until now to take on this project, even though I have known for months I was going to do it. And I paid mightily for my bad habit of putting things off. The last few days of June were the hottest June days on record here in the St. Louis metro area, and Justin’s room is the hottest room in the house. Since I had put it off for so long, it had to be done now, hot or not. But let me tell ya…steaming 12 year old wallpaper from the walls on a 106 degree day is most definitely NOT my idea of fun, and I hope I never have to do any such thing ever again.

While sweating in that hot room that was a hot mess is what I was expecting when I got started Saturday morning, what I wasn’t expecting was the flood of emotions I would experience as the day wore on.

The emotional waves rolled in when Tony took Justin’s bed out of the room. Behind the bed was an electrical outlet cover that is still speckled with the pink, yellow and light green paints that had once covered the bottom third of the walls in that room. Tears welled up as I remembered how I lovingly decorated the room when I was pregnant with Lauren.

After having two boys, I was making her room as girly as I possibly could, and I painted the top of the room a sunshiny yellow, the bottom a sponged mixture of bubblegum pink, minty green, and the same yellow the upper walls were painted with. When I was expecting Lauren, I made my first-ever quilt…white eyelet threaded with pink and yellow and mint green ribbons. It was trimmed with a white eyelet ruffle and backed with a soft flannel pastel print fabric. More white eyelet and pink ribbon topped the windows

I digress…those were my initial thoughts when I saw that silly outlet cover. In a just a few short minutes, I vividly remembered how much fun I had decorating the nursery for my first baby girl 17 years ago this summer.

As the day wore on, perhaps the extreme heat in that room affected my brain, but the tearful waltz down memory lane continued.

I thought about how 3 of my 4 children had used that room as their nursery. We moved into this house just a few weeks before Justin was born, and I was so very excited to prepare a room. I had done nothing at all to get ready for our new son’s arrival…not only were we waiting for our new house to be built, but I had just been released from 8 weeks of bed rest the day before we closed on it. My doctor knew we were moving and gave me explicit instructions that I was to do nothing but sit on the porch and boss people around. I had no problem doing that, but I also couldn’t wait to prepare the room that our new baby would soon be occupying. I did not have the time to really decorate the room, but I bought new bedding in primary colors, filled his dresser with new baby clothes as well as those passed down from Brandon. I hung a very special framed cross stitch print on the wall…special because I had passed the time during my scary weeks of bed rest stitching it. I have saved it all these years:

 

 The day after the room was ready, Justin arrived.

That room was his little haven until he was 13 months old. By then, I was expecting Lauren, and I was ready to turn it into a room fit for a little princess. As I scraped yesterday, I got to one corner of the room that still had the little brass hooks in the ceiling that once hung a mesh sling full of her stuffed animals and dolls. I uncovered patches of that old yellow paint…and uncovered more memories…

 Rachel was the next and last baby to make that room her home. As I happily prepared for another little girl, I made a new quilt and bought a new dresser and bookshelf and painted a new “big girl” room for 2 year old Lauren to move into. When Rachel was 3, she and Lauren wanted to share a room. The boys, who had been sharing a room, wanted to have their own rooms, so I turned the nursery into a little boy room. I took down the water-colored pastel border and painted over the pink/yellow/mint sponge painted wall. I painted the walls a boyish tan with a red stripe in each corner, and I put up yet another border that was full of baseball gloves, basketballs and hockey sticks. I found a rug that looked like a baseball, bought a St. Louis Cardinals bedspread, and I once again had so much fun decorating that tiny room.

It remained untouched until Saturday. Now, I am readying it for a 17 year old boy from France. While it is still Justin’s room, and he wants to pick the new wall color (navy blue!), I told him it has to be a color that I like since in a few months, he will be leaving for the Navy. I envision turning it into a proper guest room. We have never had one, and over the years, any guest we had either slept in one of our beds or on a couch. It’s kind of ironic that now that I can have a guest room, we never actually have overnight guests.

In a few months, half of my children will be leaving the nest, so perhaps it is only natural for me to reminisce the way I did. After all, each one of my children except Brandon has spent their entire lives in this house. I have given them something I never had…a childhood home they can remember always. We moved so much when I was a kid, and I had many childhood homes. One thing I always told Tony I wanted for my kids was stability in one home and school while they were growing up, and while it is nice for them, I guess it makes it more likely that I am going to have a hard time when they leave here. We were having a conversation with the girls this weekend, and I told Lauren about how I remembered decorating the room for her and how much fun I had. That led to her asking “what are you and dad going to do when we all leave?” Tony jokingly said, “Buy a condo!” and Lauren and Rachel both looked horrified. Lauren said, “You can’t! I want to have this house to come home to!”

Tears…

I’ve done what I set out to do, and soon the process will begin—the process of my children leaving the nest that I have done my very best to make cozy and loving for them.

I discovered two things this weekend…one…any overnight guest I do have in my first real guest room will sleep in a room that has held many happy memories…and the laughter, tears and paraphernalia of 4 wonderful children. Two, I realized that if a cheap plastic outlet cover makes me cry, I’m not going to be a very good empty nester.