Sorting and Filing

I have so many boxes of papers and old photos in my bedroom alone, I am trying to go through them one by one, tossing items no longer needed, refiling important documents, archiving photos for later scrapbook pages.  I have found papers, bills, documents 10, 20, 30 years old in those boxes.  Most of them I routinely trashed; safely stored many others.

There were many good memories like trips with my children to Lion Country Safari in Florida and my oldest son's Kindergarten graduation folder, letters from my aunt, and old newspaper clippings.  But some were bittersweet, like the photo of the car my now ex-husband and I bought together, and our wedding invitation.  I stared at that one for a little while; I re-read it.  My most prominent thought was simply, "what a shame."  Just what a shame.  So much blessing, so much promise, so much hope, and gone.  I didn't cry, but I couldn't find it in me to toss it out either.  So I scanned and filed it in old memories.  Maybe I'll never look at it again, but still it is and was part of me and of our family, and I can't just throw that away, even though he did.  

Wordless Wednesday - An Oil Painting by My Dear Late Sister, Debbie

click on picture to enlarge for greater detail

When the Frost is On the Punkin

Okay, no eloquent prose here. I love autumn. I think it's my favorite time of year. Some would see it as an ending and, indeed, it is. The winding down of long, leisurely summer days, vacations, heatwaves, activity; the preemptor to the coming winter when life lay frozen in its midst.

To me, it is comforting, like warm blankets on a cold night or a tender hug. I can almost feel it wrap its strong arms around me and hold me close. A dear friend coming again to visit for a season, reminding me of friends and family and special moments. Stirring in me a childlike glee as we marvel at the majesty unfolding before us. We walk in the crisp autumn air, kicking at piles of damp leaves ever growing at our feet, gazing wordlessly as the green of summer fades to the vibrancy of autumn hues: gold and red and orange, all shades in between. We dance as God would have us to do as we delight in His handiwork.

I woke this morning to greet my dear old friend, Keats' "season of mists and yellow fruitfulness," as our first frost lay lightly on the grass outside my window. The crisp air filled my nostrils, the leaves were at their glorious peak; my heart and spirit stirred. Autumn brings nature's last hurrah before the winter settles in. It calls us to gather as the squirrels their nuts, the farmers their harvest; we gather close family and friends, and memories, and we anticipate getting together again and all the things we love to do in the fall: sitting around a campfire roasting marshmallows and telling funny stories, lighting cozy, warm fireplaces and snuggling together, walking in the woods, kicking at the leaves, opening our homes to kin and guests, family all the same, giving thanks, and some would say football.

Fall is the most special season for entertaining human folk and, as James Whitcomb Riley surmised, angels.

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,
And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,
And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;
But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;
And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!... I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be
As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—
I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
(Louis Untermeyer, ed.
(1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. )

Have a blessed day!

Babies Don't Keep

Well, here I am "retired," 20 years too late, and now that I could do whatever I want with no time schedule, I find there is nothing to do, yet still so much to do. If this were 20 years ago, my dreams would have come true. I would be a stay-at-home mom, I would be there for my two young sons, they would be the priority of my life as it should be, I would see their first steps, hear their first words, watch their first everythings. Instead, I missed it all, left it to the hands and hearts and eyes and ears of strangers. Not because I wanted to; not because I was out there climbing some insignificant corporate ladder; not because I was trying to keep up with the Joneses, but because I had to. My circumstances forced me to.

So now, here I am, semi-retired, no schedule, no deadlines, no walls, no bosses, but it's all too little, too late. Nevertheless, I'll log my days, my hours, my unevents; maybe I'll see a pattern, maybe something good will develop, even though nothing could ever take the place of, make up for, all the time I've missed and all the time my boys have missed with me. I'll never get over it, I'll never get it back, I'll never replace it, I'll never forgive it, myself, my circumstances.

Most people look forward to retirement. Perhaps they don't have regrets. Perhaps they feel as though they've done their part, they've earned it. Perhaps retirement means more when you can move to Boca Raton, take a cruise, buy a condo, fly to Paris, I don't know. I still have too much to figure out. Too many things I wish I'd done differently, too many years I wish I could rewind and relive.

There's a timeless poem that reminds us "babies don't keep." I heard it many years ago, and it's been the lament of my soul since my children were small. The mother in this poem is not worried about the appearance of her home, her undone dishes, her unmade bed, laundry half-done; she has more important tasks at hand. She knows that in an instant her children will be gone--her boys, men; her daughters, grown. Her job is eternal, and her tenure fleeting.

Oh, how my heart ached every day I had to go out to some office somewhere and leave my children behind. At night, I cried; not from the sheer exhaustion of it all, but because I had to do it over again the next day, drop my little boys off at some daycare center at what seemed like first light, not being able to pick them up again until dusk. It didn't seem fair.

They grew so fast. Now they are men, gone their separate ways, and the days I missed and the days they missed cannot be recovered. All the jobs I've ever had sooner or later went on without me, I never got richer, or more important, or more renowned, never got a bigger house, finer things, yet it's 20 years later and I'm left wondering where all the time went and what it was all for.

Because I had to work, I had no choice. I wonder.

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth

empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread,

sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due

(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew

and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo

but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?

(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Have a blessed day.

Not Another Diet...

Although I am not new to "diet" plans, I found a program that I believe will finally work, because it's promotes a healthy lifestyle change. I am so excited, because like so many of us, I have tried everything, including in-patient treatment and every diet out there. I am now well over 300# and only 5'3", but I'm so excited that I found this program. Having just started, I alrady know it's something I can do because it's fits me and it's easy preparation. No complicated recipes and menus to follow (unless I just want to).

I was thrilled to find all the Thanksgiving recipes I needed right here on their site, so my first week won't be sabotaged by "Thanksgiving." I can make the yummy recipes I'm used to, lightened up, which is not only better for me but for my whole family. Whether one needs to lose weight or not, healthier menues and foods are good for all of us! I can fit these recipes right into my meal plan and not have to sacrifice the foods I enjoy on such a special holiday because I'm yet again "on a diet." This is so important to me. And because my meal plan includes snacks and mini-meals, I can eat a little, and then save some for snacks, etc. when I'm ready. I'm counting on success!

I wanted to comment on one thing, that maybe some others have encountered. I have always been one to take care of everyone else "first," me last. So sitting down for a couple of hours today and reading through all the meal plan material, preparing my menus, and making my shopping list was almost excrutiating. I could hardly get through the time it took to do this. Not because it took so much time (because it didn't), but because I was spending that time ON ME! I had to keep telling myself "I deserve two hours," "I deserve to eat healthy," "I deserve to feel good." Suddenly I was out of the "victim" mode and into the "success" mode. What a difference. I will let you know my success, because I thoroughly expect it.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving, everyone!

The Announcement

Somehow it seems appropriate. There is a crispness in the evening air. The slightest whisper of color has already begun to softly kiss the leaves of the Bradford pears. The Dogwoods will follow, then the hills will come alive with the firey oranges and reds, yellows and golds of autumn in full-spectrum. The view will be spectacular, breathtaking, awe-inspiring. Perhaps this is God's apology for ending summer all too quickly. I rather believe, though, that it is yet one more example of His magnificent grace that eases us into another season, one that has the potential to be too harsh to bear were it not for some joie de vivre in the transition.

To many, autumn is a time of ending. Ending summer, warm days, carefree lifestyles, vacations. One might miss the glory of autumn altogether and only dread the coming of winter, when life seems to stand still and frozen. I have likened my own life these last few weeks and months to such a time of ending as I have wrestled with this thing called "empty nest syndrome." How suitable it seems that my youngest child would go off to college at this time of year, when leaves begin to fall and the earth appears to die. It is, indeed, the end of a season of my own life, and just as the falling leaves and cooler air declare a change has come, so do the remnants of boyhood my son has left behind: a nearly-empty bedroom with only a few posters still clinging to the walls, a basket of worn-out clothing in the corner, and a paintball gun perched upon the corner of his desk. Poignant reminders of a vibrant youth who has embarked upon his manhood.

For days, weeks on end I've only dreaded the winter and almost missed the autumn entirely. I've not trusted God to make the transition for me, just as he transitions the seasons of nature in such splendor and magnitude. Already, even before the departure of my son, the transition was underway. Some months ago, through a series of circumstances none of us predicted, my brother and his wife came to stay with us, along with their two-year-old daughter, my niece Anna. Our home was suddenly overflowing with giggles and tea cups; away with you, you fear of lonliness; no time to lament some future grief.

My son has adjusted well to his new life away at school, and he makes me proud. Autumn is not an ending for us, either--only a change, and no doubt we'll both have many adjustments to make in the transition. He'll have new responsibilities, new friends, new opportunities; I might use his room for a workout room! He'll come home at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and we'll have loads of stories to tell each other. There will be fervor in the transition.

And lest I plunge into dread of winter all over again, I need only look to the God of the Universe whose timing is perfect and whose love is immeasureable. For just as a small child finds delight in gleefully dancing through piles of damp colored leaves, I find it hilarioulsy wonderful that my eldest son and daughter-in-law have decided to move back to this area from North Carolina. We had dinner with them this evening and they presented me with a small gift. How delightful! Knowing I have a passion for Ebay, they gave me the largest "Ebay for Dummies" book I have even seen, but as my son pointed out, it was only a cover, for there was another tell-tale gift wrapped in tissue inside the bag. I gingerly unwrapped the packaging to find a small rectangular teddy bear photo frame in lovely pastel colors playfully announcing, "Grandma and Grandpa's Little Angel."

So as autumn is a transitional time of year, this is a transitional season of my life. God has sent me children and grandchildren, not to take the place of my own two cherished sons, but to fill the void that their having grown up and created adult lives of their own has left behind. And just as the seasons are perpetual, winter will give us pause, and spring will come again. In it I will see trees and flowers bloom, hear birds sing, and hold my first grandchild for the very first time. Aaron will come home from college for the summer and we will all go on as God intended.

Have a blessed day.

How To Take Your Son To College

A bittersweet lament, sung to the tune of "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover," Paul Simon, circa 1975

You just clean out his space, Grace

Pack up his gear, Dear

You just get in the van, Jan

And get your son gone.

Drive on out to his school, Jewel

(Cry inside as you go, Flo)

One last hug and a kiss, Miss

And get your son gone.

Drop him off at his crib, Lib

Let your boy become a man, Fran

Drive back home all alone, Joan

And get your son gone...

Get your son gone...

Get your son gone...................

Have a blessed day!

In Only 9 Days...

In only 9 days, my youngest son Aaron will turn 18, and I'm going through a phase. I'm sure it's one of those transitions from one season of my life to another, but knowing what it is makes it none the easier to accept.

In only 9 days, he will suddenly be a man by some worldly standards, yet not quite "man" enough by others. He will no longer be a minor and will fall off my health insurance plan (unless he attends college full-time and I submit countless signed and notarized forms to my insurance company verifying I still provide his primary means of support). He will be able to sign a contract, buy cigarettes (he doesn't smoke), and vote. He will not be able to obtain a CDL (unless all OTR driving is done in the State of Tennessee), purchase firearms, work in a bar, or drink (thank goodness!), yet he can go to war and offer his life for this great nation of ours. Maybe I can still claim his as a dependent on my taxes.

Some distinctions are a little more subtle. He has undoubtedly been marking the days to freedom, that magical point in time when the imaginary bars of childhood fall away and adulthood presents itself with all its limitless possibilities. He'll be leaving home to start college in the fall. It's a good and natural parting, one for which we raise our children, one every parent might expect at such a juncture in their children's lives. But he'll be living with another family and a roommate, and they'll be replacing me, at least in the central arena of his life.

I've been through this before, so why is it so hard? My eldest son is almost 24; I've already survived his graduation, his marriage, and his moving away. It must be that "empty-nest" syndrome sneaking up on me again. It causes me to reflect, reminisce, and pull out old pictures.

18 years ago, Aaron was born on August 8, 1989. His brother David was 5, almost 6. What close brothers they would be, I thought. They would stick together like glue. (I didn't know much about sibling rivalry, little boys, or what a difference 6 years' in age could make at the time).

I only knew they were the joy and light of my life, precious and remarkable gifts from God! Raising them was not easy, as I was a single parent for most of their early-childhoods. But they made every day worthwhile, every sacrifice effortless, every joy more intense, every moment more dear, every milestone more memorable.

They had both been in "school" since the tender age of 6 weeks, the standard maternity leave at the time, as I recall. My heart was broken daily as I left them in the care of others: teachers, ministers, babysitters. It seemed they were always the first to arrive and the last to leave their temporary shelters, not because I was busy climbing some purposeless corporate ladder, but because I had to pay the bills. I think it was harder on me than on them, though, because David told me recently that he thought he had had a pretty good childhood. I cried a silent tear of thanks, for God had taken care of my deficiencies.

He had provided all that we needed, and what I saw as lack, my boys apparently never missed. We celebrated the special times, their accomplishments, their birthdays, friends, family, worship, and Christmas!

We traveled to Cincinnati one year with all of their gifts in the trunk of the car. They wondered how Santa had found them at Aunt Loraine's and Uncle Otis'. How delighted were there little eyes when they awoke to find the small tree in the window surrounded by brightly wrapped packages! Indeed, there was no shortage of presents that year; and more importantly, no shortage of love. They played in the snow (a wonderful oddity, since they were Florida boys), and Aaron played endless games of table top pool with Uncle Otis, until he wore him out (Otis, not Aaron). Even the dog got a bone!

They've grown together over the years, had their differences, their battles, and their victories, and surely they will face the future head-on. They will always be brothers and will be there for each other, regardless of where their paths may lead. They are headed down different roads, each with their own goals, dreams, and vision, and a good foundation. They have been raised in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, for they are His, loaned to me for a season at their birth.

It's been a few years now since I've had to consciously let go of David. Now I must make every effort to do the same with Aaron. As I committed David to the Lord, I commit Aaron also. God has a wonderful plan for his life, and I release him to fulfill it.

We'll make the transition together, although I think he'll run faster than I. He's been way ahead of me since we took that first step together almost 18 years ago. Well, I still have 9 days.

Yes, in only 9 days, Aaron will be 18. I suppose I'll survive this, too.

Have a blessed day!

A Red Hat & A Purple Dress

"What gives with a red hat and a purple dress?" my uncle asked me a few days ago in response to a recent email. I had referred to the possibility of my someday writing a blog, once I got a red hat a purple dress. Apparently, he had not yet heard of the Red Hat Society.

I sent him this link:

http://redhatsociety.com/info/howitstarted.html

and hoped he would read all about it. Surely he would get the joke. After all, I was certainly not a candidate for the Red Hats. Or was I?

As a matter of fact, I have been getting advertisements from AARP for a good 15 years now, and am about to find myself an empty-nester, come September when my youngest heads for college. Indeed, they have only one basic rule: that is, one must be a woman of 50 or over. Well, I've reached that milestone, but I certainly don't feel like a woman of 50 (or over *grin*), at least not emotionally. Maybe I could slide in with a pink hat instead (women under 50), like my girlfriend, Kim.

Some of my classmates celebrated our 35th high school reunion this past June (I didn't attend; in fact, I haven't attended a single high school reunion). My dh and I just just recently celebrated our 26th wedding anniversary in May by watching "Law and Order," eating ice cream, and going to bed at the wee hour of midnight. My eldest son will be 24 in November, and I can now order off the "senior" menu in some restaurants, although I doubt I'll ever do that, even to save a dollar.

It seems the years are adding up though, doesn't it? So why don't I feel 50-something? Could it be because I am stuck in time somewhere, never having grown out of some childhood trauma or misadventure of my youth? Does one require certain experiences that I have never enjoyed in order to feel as though they have earned the age of 50?

Perhaps I simply need to change my mindset: when I was young, 50 seemed so old, and in fact, 50 used to be older than it is today. Think about it. The median age of grandparents in this country is 57. My grandmother was 75 when I was 18! We in our early-50's are the tale-end of the baby-boomers. The world seems to be at our feet. Advertising is aimed at us for everything from health care and wellness to insurance and travel. We are a large portion of the population, and according to recent statistics, senior citizen population will grow faster than all others in all 50 states by the year 2030. Wow! No wonder "they" are all trying to get our money. The upside is much of it is geared toward helping us to look young, feel young, and stay young.

I have heard the old adage, "you're only as old as you feel." And since we choose our own feelings, I will choose to feel young, even at 50. Is it okay, after all, to "not feel 50."

Not only must I change my mindset, but also the words that come out of my mouth. Negative words ("I feel so old.") reap aches, pains, and curses. Praise and positive words reap strength and blessing:

1. Bless the LORD, O my soul: and all that is within me, bless his holy name. 2. Bless the LORD, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: 3. Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases;
4. Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies; 5. Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; so that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.
................................................Psalm 103:1-5

So, here I am: 53 years young, and writing my first blog. I wouldn't go back for anything, although I have learned, grown, changed, and suffered a lot. I have also gained so much more. As my aforementioned friend Kim says, "I wouldn't trade my ____ years' worth of wisdom for anything."

But, I'll not yet buy a red hat and a purple dress. Not even a pink one.

Have a blessed day!