The Ride of a Lifetime.

I'm not much for amusement park rides.  As a kid, my fear of heights kept me grounded and watching from a safe distance.  This meant that one of my parents always had to stay with me and take turns with the other, riding the rides with my siblings.  As a grownup, my lack of trust in the harnesses keeps me on the sidelines for the roller coasters and anything that goes high in the air.  I love a good round-and-round ride, though!

Today is March 31st, just another day for most.  For me, it's a day that changed my life forever 24 years ago.  I was sixteen, single, silly, and a little stupid.  I was spending the evening cruising town with two of my girlfriends who were equally all of those things, too.  My friend, Kathy, was driving her parents' Toyota Previa van.  It was white and looked like an egg, but we weren't too proud to be cruising in it.  Steph was riding shotgun, and I took a seat in the middle row.  We were probably on about our 50th circle through town when we spotted this old Z-28 Camaro with three guys in it.  Kathy pulled in behind them, and the pursuit began.  They slowed to a crawl, but we stayed on their tail.  They pulled over to see who was following them, and the rest is history.  My now husband, Reuben, was the driver of that car.  All three of the guys piled into the van to join us for some cruising for the rest of the evening.  Reuben and I started dating a week later, and here we are...24 years later.

Like most relationships, ours has had its fair share of highs and lows.  In all honesty, a whole lot of lows plagued our earlier marriage.  We didn't spend as much time together as we should have, and our relationship suffered.  I can remember feeling indifferent about a lot of things.  We had started our family very young, and I was certain that I wanted my family to stay together.  Thankfully, as we grew up a little, we learned to appreciate each other more and show it to one another.  We were finally experiencing more of the highs than the lows.  Now, when I look back over the last 24 years, I see it as a roller coaster ride.  I have spent much of this ride with my eyes shut, teeth clinched, and a firm grip on the bar.  Through it all, I'm still sitting next to that same boy.  We haven't jumped off.  We haven't switched seats.  We've learned to reach for each other's hand when we need it.  We've also learned to sit back, throw our hands up in the air, and enjoy the ride with eyes wide open sometimes.  We know there will be more valleys, but we know neither of us has given up on the other through the roughest times yet.

You just never know when the course of your life might take a turn.  It might look like just another day.  

 

Nostalgic Saturdays

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ksWKOy665o

I find Saturday mornings to be nostalgic.  This feeling comes over me most intensely during late spring and early summer.  I remember open windows, the sound of the clothes dryer running, the smell of dryer sheets from the outside dryer vent, Saturday morning cartoons, and my mom cooking.  

On this particular spring Saturday morning, I'm sitting here watching it snow, through my closed windows, and watching Bob Ross on PBS.  I had this thought of a whole generation or two of younger folks that might not even know who he is.  The thought makes me sad.  There are few things more relaxing than watching and listening to Bob Ross as he effortlessly paints gorgeous landscapes.  There's a soothing quality to his voice that sort of sends me into a tranquil trance.  I'm proud to say that my children know well who Bob Ross is.  I started to wonder why it is that I know his show so well.  I don't remember my parents sitting down to watch it much.  It boils down to this: we didn't have cartoons or kid shows available to us 24/7.  We got about five TV stations on our antenna, and we either liked what was on, or we went outside (or read a book if you were my sister.)  I loved spending my time outside, but Bob Ross was a highlight of the week for me.  His show came on PBS on Saturdays, and I couldn't wait to see what he would paint each week. 

I heard a song this week that I'd heard many times before but never really listened to.  It's called "Automatic," and it's sung by Miranda Lambert.  I'm obsessed with it now.  It evokes a longing in me for simpler times.  It makes me sad for what this world has lost by gaining so many new things.  Isn't there a way for us to go back??  The irony of me writing about this in a blog isn't lost on me.  I realize that the very technology that I wrestle with is the means for my sharing these thoughts.  The song talks about so many aspects of life that today would feel like inconveniences, but I still find myself wishing to go back to them.  Here are just a few...

"Quarter in a payphone"....  Well, I remember when it was a dime.  Payphones could be found all over town, even a town as small as ours.  I remember walking aimlessly all over town with my friends, just for something to do.  I didn't live in town, either.  My parents would take us to town and drop us off.  They didn't know where all we were going, and I don't think they worried too much about it.  It was safe.  We were young.  Twelve.  We'd wear our Keds without socks and wear blisters on our heels from walking so much.  When we were ready to go home, we'd find a payphone and call one of our parents to come and get us.  

"Drying laundry on the line"....  We had a clothesline in our back yard.  White with green plastic-coated wire.  My mom didn't line dry much.  My grandma, on the other hand, line dried nearly everything!  I'd like to know just how long her multiple clotheslines were.  It seemed like miles to me.  She had this old hanger covered in material with two big pockets at the bottom, filled with clothespins.  She'd hang it on the line and slide it along as she hung out every kind of laundry you can imagine.  There's a certain smell that comes from line drying laundry, a freshness.  Sure; your sheets feel stiff and rough for a few days, but that smell was worth it.

" Seems like only yesterday I'd get a blank cassette, record the country countdown 'cause I couldn't buy it yet"....  We weren't a rich family, but we never wanted for much, either.  We were not spoiled with tons of toys and gadgets.  If we wanted something, we waited for a birthday or Christmas and asked for it.  As such, my love for music wasn't indulged with new records or cassettes just whenever I wanted one.  If I wanted to own a copy of a song, I took a blank cassette, hit Record and Pause on my stereo, and waited for it to come on the radio.  Inevitably, the DJ would talk over the beginning or end, but it was better than nothing. 

"Let's roll the windows down, windows with the cranks"....  There's a certain excitement one gets from trying to frantically hand crank a car window up when a sudden downpour hits.  Our living room windows at home even had little handles you'd attach to crank them open.  

"Come on, let's take a picture, the kind you gotta shake"....  I remember our first Polaroid camera.  Talk about high-tech!  Instant pictures.  You just had to sit there and wave them around for a couple of minutes while the image slowly appeared.  This was truly amazing to me.  I had grown up in a home with a camera that took 110 film and had a flash bulb stick that had to be replaced whenever it was used up.  We'd drop our film off at a little film booth and wait a week to see what we got.  My dad loved to harass my mom about how many pictures would have a portion of her finger in them.  We were all so excited when Photo Genie came along and introduced the 1-hour developing, back before Walmart was the end-all be-all retailer.

"Hey whatever happened to waiting your turn, doing it all by hand?
'Cause when everything is handed to you, it's only worth as much as the time put in.
It all just seems so good the way we had it, back before everything became automatic."

I couldn't agree more.  The easier everything becomes, the less value it has.  I'm really considering taking a new approach to daily living this summer.  I want more open windows, sweet-smelling laundry, music in the background, dirty hands, salty residue of dried sweat.  I want less hum of devices, "social" media distraction, idle hands.  Are you with me?

Authentic Polaroid photo of us camping at Bidwell

My dear Grandma holding me

My grandma didn't shy away from hard work.

A 70s family photo of us kids

Christmas 78ish

Christmas 85ish

I loved Grandma's long visits

I guess we kind of liked each other after all

Family home 86ish

Fun and games with Uncle Bill
Weebles wobble, but they don't fall down!

Riding the mower with Dad

Life is like a varicose vein.

Life is like a varicose vein.  If you are a young person reading this, you will most likely not find much interest in this topic.  Aging.  The joys of it.  Now, to be clear, I do not bemoan the fact that I'm aging.  The only alternative is dying.  That being said, I do have plenty of complaints about the symptoms of aging.  

I turned forty back in October.  I've never been one to worry over the numbers too much.  I didn't dread turning the BIG 4-0.  Forty does bring with it a certain self-awareness, though.  I'm old.  I'm more likely to become a grandma now than I am to become a parent, again.  I remember when my mom turned forty.  She was such a grown-up!  I'm nowhere near being that mature or responsible!  Is my life really half over, maybe even more than half?!?  Yep.  That's entirely probable.  What have I done with my life?  Enough of that!  This isn't that kind of philosophical post, well not exactly.

Do you remember your parents having to hold their reading materials at arm's length to be able to read them?  I always thought that was the most bizarre thing!  How on earth could holding something farther away make it easier to read?  Shouldn't it be the other way around?  The answer is, no.  I don't do a whole lot of reading, aside from the reading I do online.  I can adjust the size of my font to suit my failing eyes there.  I cannot adjust the size of the font in the hymnals at church, though.  That was where I first started to see the benefit of having longer arms.  When my arms just weren't long enough anymore, I decided it was time to revisit the eye doctor.  This was just a couple of months ago.  To paraphrase what my doctor told me, I am getting old.  That's not far off from how he put it.  It was the first time I'd ever gotten a speech about how my body is aging, and this is natural....blah, blah, blah.  I finally "get" why my mom wore those little half glasses on a string around her neck.  Yep!  You just never know when you might need to actually see to read something.  I can't bring myself to do that just yet, but I know it's coming.

Another symptom is one's new-found ability to predict the weather.  Most of us have someone in our lives that could always tell when the weather was "fixing to" change, most likely a grandparent.  Their arthritis would act up.  "Rain must be comin'!  My ARTHURitis is acting up."  I'm not willing to call my predicting skills arthritis yet.  Let's call it inflammation of the knee.  That sounds so much better. The alarming thing is that I'm starting to feel long-forgotten injuries.  Things that happened eons ago are rearing their ugly heads, again.  That can't be a good sign!  There's no such thing as a simple fall now.  You know, if you hit very hard, you'll be feeling that for months.  I fell on some wet steps nearly TWO years ago and busted my tailbone.  That sucker still hurts every. single. day.  

I do feel blessed when it comes to wrinkles, though.  My eyesight is just poor enough to keep me blissfully ignorant of the effects of time marching across my face...and hands.  Let me give you some advice.  Do NOT wear your glasses while applying makeup.  Be contently unaware of what age is doing to your face.  On a side note, DO wear your glasses when plucking any kind of hairs on your face.  Whether it be eyebrows or that occasional whisker that just won't go away, glasses are your friend for this task.  If you are thinking, "WHAT WHISKERS?," just wait.  You'll understand soon enough.  Just be cautious not to study the rest of your face too closely while the spectacles are on.  I recently looked down at my hands while singing at church and was appalled at what I saw.  WHERE did ALL of these lines come from??  I was seriously shocked for a minute.  Then, I remembered.  You're wearing your glasses.  It was a harsh dose of reality that I could have done without.  

Tonight, while dressing for bed, I looked down at my legs.  It seemed like every vein in them was illuminated.  I started studying them more closely (without my glasses,) only to find new varicose veins that had popped up.  This may be the toughest pill for me to swallow yet.  I don't want a road map all over my legs, especially my lower legs!  I still let them out in public during the warm months.  Like a ton of bricks, it hit me.  I can't undo the things that have caused these veins.  I can't go back and uncross my legs during church.  I can't go back and make myself skinnier for the last twenty years.  I can't make myself younger.  All of those factors have culminated in these varicose veins that have suddenly appeared.

I started this post by saying that life is like a varicose vein.  It is.  Everything we do, everything we don't do, everything that happens to us builds upon one another to create this ride we call LIFE.  We may not notice today the effects of our choices.  We can not go back and change our past.  One day, it will all reveal itself to us, maybe suddenly, and we may have regrets.  It will be too late for the veins that have already popped, but we can improve upon today and make a better tomorrow for ourselves.  So, don't stand in one place too long.  Don't sit in one place too long.  Let go of the dead weight you're carrying around.  Make the best of the situation you are in today.  

Would you want to know?

Today, I learned of the passing of Kara Tippetts.  If you don't know who she is, do yourself a favor by finding her blog at www.mundanefaithfulness.com.  She was a 38-yr-old wife, mother, and overall lovely woman.  Her fight against breast cancer is chronicled in her blog and her book.  

I read her book a couple of months ago, and it changed the way I look at my life.  She has known for some time that she would die from this cancer.  She has lived each moment as if it might be her last.  It left me wondering if I would want to know when my death is imminent.  There's a blissful ignorance in not knowing when one's life will end.  Of course, few know exactly when it will end, but many know months in advance that it's coming.  

My first inclination is to say, "No.  I don't want to know."  I don't know if I could cope with the grief that one must feel when they know they're on a limited countdown (which we all are, by the way.)  Would the knowing darken whatever days I have left?  Would I withdraw from those I love in an attempt to lessen their pain?  I know me pretty well, and I fear that I might do just that.

Then, I think of Kara.  I consider the pure joy she found in the most mundane of activities.  Make breakfast with your kids.  It might be the last time you're physically able.  Drive to the store.  You may not get to drive again.  Take the stairs.  You may not have the energy next time.  There's an appreciation for every big and small thing you experience.  

So, I wonder...do we ever REALLY live unless we're faced with death?  It reminds me of a framed quote on my bedroom wall.  "How we spend our days is how we spend our lives."  There's an amazing beauty to be found in the way that Kara lived and died.  She lived each day with intention.  It makes me want to embrace my healthy life and live it more abundantly.  For that lesson, I thank you, Kara Tippetts.  http://www.mundanefaithfulness.com/home/2015/3/22/homecoming

You blink and....

I'm about to be an almost-empty-nester.  I swear it was yesterday that we were renting a tux for eighth grade graduation!  It's so cliche' to say that time flies, but it truthfully does.  Let's recap.

Robbie was born in 1996, my firstborn.  He was the perfect baby.  He didn't fuss much.  He could sleep anywhere.  He had beautiful, big brown eyes.  He was a blessing.

We let him have his bottle whenever he wanted, which resulted in what is called "bottle rot" of his upper front four teeth.  At age two, he had those teeth surgically removed.  We felt like horrible parents, but he took it all in stride.  The little false teeth they made for him wouldn't adhere, so he would spend the next seven years or more without front teeth.  This just made him even more adorable than he already was.  He talked with a strong country accent and a little lisp from the missing teeth.

We were certain he'd be scared to death to start preschool.  He was pretty shy around strangers.  We were wrong.  We took him to school that first day, and he jumped in with both feet.  When told to get ready to go to breakfast, he announced to the teacher that he was full of "dah dogs" aka hot dogs.  Now, we hadn't fed him hot dogs for breakfast, but he had eaten hot dogs the night before.  We got a chuckle from it and followed him to the cafeteria, where he told us to leave.  Ha!  Didn't see that one coming.

We moved a couple of times between preschool and first grade, but Robbie always adjusted easily and did well wherever we went.  We came back home for good during his first grade year.  He blended right back in with his friends and never looked back.  He was always one of the top students, and we always heard nothing but praise from his teachers.  He did well in sports, too.  It seems like everything he does comes easily to him.

Before we knew it, he had his first four-wheeler, his first cell phone, his first girlfriend...in that order.  Elementary faded quickly to middle school, and middle school was gone before it began.

High school started, and we learned just what it meant to run around after your kids and their activities.  Countless basketball and baseball games dotted our calendars.  We didn't miss much of anything if we could help it.  Athletics brought with it numerous injuries and a whole new kind of stress with watching your child play ball.  Sprains, stitches, and even one broken bone and surgery.

I remember well the first morning I watched him drive off to school with his little brother as precious cargo.  I didn't think I'd ever survive the worry that came along with such responsibility, but I did.

Suddenly, it was time to think about Junior and Senior proms.  What?!  How did that happen?  I don't know, but it happened.  Senior pictures, last basketball game, last baseball game, last sports banquet, last FFA banquet, last, last, last... it all comes barreling at you without time to digest it all.  Then, it's over.

He's eighteen.  He's out of high school.  He's out of technical college.  He's off into the big scary world.  Tomorrow, he will drive a thousand miles to his first grown-up job, and the whole of it all seems like it went as fast as my writing of it.  Don't blink.  You don't want to miss a minute of it.

First day of Kindergarten in Marshfield

Cousin love with Kerrigan

Watching the drag races

In the garden with Papa John, his favorite past time

First fish ever

Teddy Roosevelt

Robbie and Petey

Just chillin' in the stroller

What are you lookin' at?

Vacationing fun at Three Oaks

Night before teeth surgery

Daddy's boy

Senior pic

Senior pic

Just so sweet!

What kind of dam builder are you?

I think all of us are dam builders to one extent or another.  Let’s imagine our emotions and feelings as a flowing river.  For many, the flow is slow and steady, predictable.  We’re standing in the middle of that flow.  Things come our way, and we let them flow right on by us by giving them to God.  During the best of times, the flow is pleasant…knee deep.  It’s refreshing to let the water wash over us, through us, past us.  Conversely, there are times when the waters rise, the current builds, and it takes all we have to keep from being swept away by the force of it all.  These times are an inevitable part of life.  Bad things happen.  People hurt us.  We lose people we love.  The waters rise, and it’s often beyond our control.  We’re stuck in a thunderstorm of torrential rains, but we know the sun will shine again, and the waters will subside. 

But what about the dams?  Do things come your way that you just can’t let go of...something that is painful, but you insist on holding onto it?  I think of it as building a dam.  For each of those things that I insist on keeping bottled up, I am placing a stick across the water.  The first stick doesn’t do much.  The water continues to flow as usual, but I wedge that stick in place.  Another stick here and there won’t hurt, either.  The water flows through it, around it.  The problem comes when we’ve built ourselves a fortress of a dam, and the water has nowhere to go.  It starts to rise.  Another stick, a little deeper water….until we find ourselves nearly drowning in a pool that we’ve created.  We pray for God to take these burdens from us, but we refuse to let go of them.  We add them to our collection, a collection that will eventually be our demise if we don’t figure out how to get rid of it.  I pray that I might be less of a dam builder and that I may learn to let go of the things that hurt me.