Half Success = Half Failure

I had high hopes. For a couple of minutes, anyway. I found that I was able to import posts from the first blog I wrote several years ago into this new one. That was easy - it was FROM a blogger.com platform TO a blogger.com platform. Feeling brave and empowered, I decided to try to import Empty Nest Full Heart as well, having found instructions that seemed easy enough to follow. Having all three blogs together in one place? Divine!

Did it work? Unfortunately, no...I followed the instructions to the letter, but keep getting a server error with a code that might as well be in hieroglyphics for as much sense as it makes to me.

A little more research, and it would appear that Empty Nest Full Heart is just too big to import. I am still going to look for another way, because it seems just a sad shame that two years of writing should just go up in smoke.

Here's hoping...

A Backward Story

Since I started blogging, I don't think I've ever gone this long without posting. But, in my defense - and not that I feel the need to defend myself, except, well, maybe to myself, because I can, like most other women I know, tend to be my own worst enemy - it has been an unusual set of circumstances. I even broke my own rule...never leave home without your laptop...and as we have spent the last three days away from home, I wasn't even able to record what's been going on. It's been so long since I posted that I got an email from my mother wondering if I'd moved to a new blog site without leaving a forwarding address. Nope. It's just not been a normal week.

So...in the interest of playing a little catch-up, while also recording some of what has happened for posterity and for the sake of the memory that I will undoubtedly soon begin to lose, and to make the whole thing (hopefully) a little more interesting, I'm going to start with today and work my way backwards. I've never written a story backwards before, but it just sort of seems the thing to do. I am going to try to not give away details - and you have to promise to try not to read ahead to put the pieces together. I am just going to write it chronologically moving from the present to the past.

We'll see how this works out. And it you get so frustrated you decide to never read anything I write again, I'll understand.

Wednesday, Jan. 5, 2011

The house had a chill in the air when we arrived home a few minutes ago. And not surprisingly so...it is, after all, 22 degrees outside and we've been away from home for three days, and in the interest of conservation of resources, we left the thermostat turned down. Flyboy likes to unpack right away, while I prefer to hit the keyboard while stuff is still fresh in my mind. We're thankful for good friends, who took us to the airport on Monday and picked us up today and got our mail in the meantime. Today we had breakfast in Valdosta, GA, drove to Jacksonville, FL, had lunch in Atlanta, and are home in time for supper. It was a blessedly easy day of travel, with ample time between flights but not too much.

As we were walking to our connecting gate in Atlanta, my phone rang and it was Elasti-girl calling from England. What a treat!!! She wanted to make sure we were okay, but we couldn't talk for long as we were headed for the underground train to ride two terminals down. She asked if I had time for a funny story, which, of course, I did. She and Mr. Incredible just got a new table for their kitchen that has to be assembled. JackJack asked Mommy who would be putting the new table together, and she replied that Daddy would be taking care of it. JackJack (age 4) said, very manner of factly, "Well, not many people know this about me, but I am actually a very good builder. I think it would be a good idea if Daddy were to wait for me to get home to help him." I laughed out loud, and boy, did it feel good. I hung up the phone and told Flyboy the story, to which he responded, "That is just plain scary." I knew exactly what he meant - that JackJack's intellect continues to surprise us all. He can say the funniest, most interesting things.

It was 60 degrees when we left Florida. Apparently an airport-closing-blizzard in Wisconsin was too much to hope for. We both could have used another day to recuperate. Yesterday was a very hard day.

Tuesday, Jan. 4, 2011

Flyboy's niece said it well: "This has to be hitting Flyboy hard today...we've all had a couple of days to process everything, but for him, it's all at once." Yes, she was quite insightful. We arrived at the church just after the hearse had pulled up. The men in suits were carrying in flowers when we got out of the car, and we met grown up kids we've hardly known in the lobby. We shared hugs and tears, and got out of the way so the men from the funeral home could bring in the casket. We all followed them into the sanctuary as they opened the casket for "the viewing", as they call it in the south. At the same time, a video presentation was playing, and all of a sudden, photos of Flyboy and his sister as children, pictures of their mom and dad, his sister's children throughout their growing up years and beyond were flashing on the screen one after another with music in the background. And Flyboy began to silently weep. He and his sister were not close growing up, and had not lived anywhere near one another for many years. Since their mother died in 2002, though, they had connected more on the phone than ever before, and this, along with the fact that he was now the only person left in his family of birth, his sister laying there before him, hit him like a ton of bricks.

Although she had a hard life, Flyboy's sister raised four children who have each, in their own ways, grown up to be amazing people. There was an hour before the service started and each of them took their turns, sometimes alone, sometimes with one another, saying goodbye to their mother. They grieved well, laughter and tears mixing together as they remembered something funny she had said, or something they had done together.

One thing Flyboy was unprepared for was the flood of memories of his own childhood, including trips to Georgia to see his grandparents and the two times he saved his sister's life when they were kids, and then the last trip we had made to Georgia to bury his mother. This is the fourth time he's gone to Georgia to bury a family member...first his mother's husband, then his grandmother, his mother, and now his sister. And all four are now buried in the little cemetery next to his grandma's beloved church.

The pastor spoke of Flyboy's sister's love of life and pointed out that the majority of photos displayed in the video of her showed her in some animated pose, completely comfortable with who she was, not trying to "look good", but just having fun. That opened the floodgate for later conversations and telling of stories and imagining what she would have said had she been there.

You forget some things, especially when you live in the north where there seems to be a general lack of respect for humankind. People in the south know how to honor death, and I was yet again struck by the five car police escort to the cemetery, the many cars on both sides of the road - even on a divided highway - pulled over at a complete stop as our caravan passed by. Two police officers would speed ahead to intersections to stop the traffic, and by the time we got there, they would be standing outside their vehicles at attention, with their hats over their hearts as we drove on. It felt as if the whole state of Georgia was mourning with us.

Back to the church we went, following the committal, for a southern potluck complete with deviled eggs, macaroni and cheese, lima beans, lentils and black eyed peas, and southern fried chicken. The kids lingered after everyone else had gone home, and we sat and shared stories for several more hours before heading back to the hotel, thoroughly spent.

Monday, Jan. 3, 2011

By the time we arrived in Jacksonville we had been traveling for ten hours. It should not have taken that long, and at the end of the day, we were thankful it didn't take longer, but it was a day to remember. When you're sitting at the computer making flight/car arrangements, it all seems so easy. Just one little mouse click, and you're there. You're supposed to get on the plane, make the connecting flight, rent the car and be there.

Our woes began before we even got on the first plane. It was slated to be a half an hour late, and with a short turn-around time in Chicago, we feared we'd be in trouble. Trying to be proactive, we spoke with the ticket agent here, but were assured we'd still have enough time. We even tried to map out the trek between terminals at O'Hare (nothing can be easy there) ahead of time. The plane was even later than expected, and by the time we got to O'Hare, there was only 15 minutes before our next plane was scheduled to leave. We tried to enlist the help of an unhelpful ticket agent, but were told we should just try to make the plane. Alternately running, walking, and gasping for breath, we found the shuttle between terminals, then started over again, running to the gate. It was ugly. I am 54 and flabby. Flyboy is 59 and not even five weeks out of heart surgery. We are entirely too old to be running for planes. We saw it still at the gate, but were told by yet another unhelpful agent that it was too late, the door had been shut, the plane was in communication with the tower, and we'd have to take the next flight to Jacksonville, which did not leave until 7:30 p.m. Do we have any other options? Take that concourse past the McDonalds to the customer service counter. Ask them what your options are.

I had to sit down and cry.

The customer counter of disappointment confirmed that the only other flight to Jacksonville for the whole day was not until 7:30 p.m., a six hour wait. Thankfully, Flyboy had the presence of mind to ask if we could take another airline, an option that would have not been otherwise offered. Yes, US Air had a flight leaving in 45 minutes, and if we hurried, we could get back to the other terminal - yes, you guessed it - the terminal we had just run FROM, in time to make it. We hurried back, again, and made it to the gate just in the knick of time. This plane, however, was not going to Jacksonville...it was going to Charlotte, and we'd get a connecting flight from there. It was the only way to get to Georgia before midnight. Our boarding passes were printed at the gate, and we fell into our seats, taking off for Charlotte.

Having missed lunch, we sought out an early supper at the airport in Charlotte while we waited for our connection to Jacksonville. Dinner at a nice seafood restaurant had just been delivered and we had an hour and ten minutes to relax. I had taken two bites of my crab soup when, out of nowhere, a panicked thought entered my head - WHAT TIME ZONE ARE WE IN??? Our hour and ten minutes was suddenly, without warning, reduced to ten minutes til take-off. We had not, until that moment, when the voice of God shouted in my ear, realized it was NOT 4:50, but in fact 5:50, Flyboy quickly paid the bill as I ran AGAIN for the gate, begging for mercy to be able to board.

We fell into our seats, being glared at by an entire planeload of people who knew we were the reason their plane had not yet taken off. Wild-eyed and exhausted, we looked at each other, shook our heads, and simply could not believe what a day it had been. And we still had a two hour drive ahead once we arrived in Jacksonville. Could it get any worse? Stop right now - don't ask that question. We all know it can get worse.

Thankfully, it did not, and we finally arrived at our hotel, feeling in no way, shape or form ready to face the next day.

--to be continued...

Christmas Spirit

List in hand, I headed to the grocery store yesterday to do my shopping for the big meal. We have two stores nearby, one a bit more upscale, and one regular supermarket. I've had a hankering for a smoked turkey, and for some reason, Sam's Club doesn't seem to stock them anymore. We used to have them regularly for Christmas dinner, and for about $15 a pop, thoroughly enjoyed them. But the past few years, I've come up empty handed when I've gone looking for one.

I called my two neighborhood grocery stores. First, I called the regular supermarket, asked for the meat department and sat on hold for 10 minutes. Enough of that. I called the upscale store, and they said they could order me one, to which I said that would be great.

So, yesterday was the day, and I headed to the upscale grocery store, full of Christmas cheer. I had just listened to the flash mob version of the Hallelujah Chorus, was moved to tears, and ready to face the crowds. The upscale grocery store likes to think of itself as an American version of a European market, so by design, the lot is divided up into small sections, the aisles are cozier, and there is none of the big box feel whatsoever. Most of the time, this lends to its charm, but when everybody and his brother is out picking up stuff for Christmas dinner, things tend to back up and it's just a wee bit annoying.

I made my way back to the meat department, picking up a few things along the way. I had talked myself into doing all my shopping there, no matter what the cost, just to save some aggravation and some unnecessary wear and tear on my Christmas spirit. That was until I picked up my smoked turkey. Imagine my heart-stopping shock when I glanced at the tag and saw the smoked turkey had nearly quadrupled in price from the last time I had bought one. Blending in with the rest of the upscale shoppers, I acted like spending over $50 for a turkey was something I did all the time. But on the inside, I was seriously deflated. It absolutely took the fun out of the rest of the entire day.

Determined to not spend another dime at the upscale grocery store, I made my way to the checkout, swallowed hard and paid the piper, and then headed to the supermarket to get the rest of the goods, grumbling under my breath the whole way.

Who knew that an overpriced turkey could so quickly ruin my day?

I called Girlfriend on the phone to complain, and in the nicest possible way, she told me to let it go...it's just money...it will probably be a superb turkey...just enjoy it and don't think about what you paid for it.

Half of my weekly grocery money on a turkey and I'm supposed to be happy about it?!? I don't think so!

Grrr.

Humbug.

I slunk (slinked?) home, determined to be in a bad mood for the rest of the day. And when Flyboy arrived, I let him get his clothes changed, put his feet up, relax a little, and then I hit him with my tale of woe. He understood exactly how I felt. He didn't scold me for not finding out in advance how much it would cost before ordering it, but he commiserated with my disappointment with complete camaraderie of spirit.

It reminded me of one of my all-time favorite movie quotes. It's in "Shall We Dance", when the private investigator asks his client (who had him following her husband) why people get married anyway. She responds, "because we need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet. I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything - the good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things...all of it. All the time, every day. You're saying, 'Your life will not go unnoticed, because I will notice it. Your life will not go unwitnessed, because I will be your witness.'"

I just love that. And it played itself out exactly in my life when Flyboy witnessed and validated how I felt. And that's all it took to help me find my way back to remembering what this is all about anyway. It's not about food (be it reasonable or overpriced). It's not about crowded parking lots or stores full of grumpy people. It is about the spirit of giving that was demonstrated by God the Father on the first Christmas night.

Now, a day later, it's Christmas Eve. I've spent a good part of the day prepping food for tomorrow's meal. Pebbles' family is coming and this meal is my gift to them as they prepare to leave for several months in Florida. They are giving the gift of the use of their home to our new associate pastor and his family who will arrive next week, so they've had their hands full between emptying closets to make room for guests and packing up to leave. Being on Christmas break, I am blessed with the gift of time and am so happy to be able to serve them in this way.

And, in a few hours, I'll be leaving for church to get the candles set up for tonight's service. Our youth pastor is delivering the message - the first time in 27 years that Flyboy has had the chance to sit and listen on Christmas Eve instead of preach. This is a wonderful gift for him, and a nice gift for our congregation who would rather not listen to him cough his way through (he has a cold).

Blessings are all around us. Girlfriend was right - letting go of the turkey was precisely what I needed to do.

There is a light snow falling - the kind that brings with it that sense of beauty and newness and contentment, the perfect way to usher in the celebration of our Savior's birth.

Merry Christmas.

No Place Like Home

Way back when our kids were around 12, 10, and 8, I got a part time job. It was my first job outside of our home (I had taught piano). Times were a little tight, and it seemed like the right job for the right time. I worked for the YMCA supervising a before/after school program. Clothes laid out, lunches made the night before, and I left early in the morning to head to work. A friend from the kids' school who lived nearby my workplace dropped them off after school, where they stayed with me until 5:00, when the program ended.

I remember walking down the stairs at church and being engaged in a conversation with a couple who stopped me there to talk. The husband said, "Hey - I hear you got a job! That's great news! Now you can be fulfilled!" My first instinct was to sock him in the chops, but I refrained, opting to listen to the little voice dressed in white as opposed to one dressed in black. My second instinct was to beat my breast and yell, "Man, are you daft?!?" Finally, I composed myself, smiled, and said, "Fulfilled? I was perfectly fulfilled at home. Why would I need a job to be fulfilled?"

I spoke the truth. And it is just as true today as it was then.

Working is hard. I can put on a good show, keep it together, maintain my obligations at church and at home, and even, from time to time, make it all look easy.

But that's not the truth.

The truth is, it is hard to be gone from home 45-50 hours a week and keep all the balls in the air.

I loved being home with my kids, and when they were all in school, just being at home. There is something about having somebody at home to keep the fires burning. Somebody to pick up the dry cleaning, take the vacuum cleaner in for repairs, do the banking, mail the Christmas gifts, plan and execute hospitality events, oh, and yes...do the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Even now, given the choice, I would much rather be home than at work. I think of how much easier Flyboy's life would be if I were on the home front taking care of all the domestic needs, allowing him to come home from a high-stress, high-needs job and just rest.

But for now, that is not to be. Our reasons for me working are just as valid as they have ever been, and while I might wish to be at home, it's not going to happen.

Except for days like today.

Today is the beginning of my two week "winter holiday", during which I intend to fully celebrate CHRISTmas, spend time with family and friends, be domestic, and rest. Since I do have to work, there is no place like a school to offer the most paid holidays around, fulfilling my desire (every now and then) to be at home. I am certainly blessed.

Night Sounds

Apparently chronic sinus issues have turned me into a snorer. I don't notice that I snore. Unless my dear Flyboy were to let onto me that I snore, I would never ever have known it. He has snored for a very long time, and the few times that our grown-up family has shared a hotel room while traveling, the kids have teased him relentlessly. He says I don't snore loudly. I'm relieved to hear that. He snores like a chain saw in need of a tune-up - with snorts and starts. But I don't mind. In fact, I am oddly comforted by his snoring after all these years. It is proof that he is sleeping, and sleep is a very good thing.

I was sleeping peacefully the other night, when suddenly I heard a very small scratching noise. At first, in my stupor, I thought it was Flyboy trying to find the on switch to his heating pad, or perhaps the control for his side of our Sleep Number bed. But it was going on for far too long to be either of those noises. My next thought was a mouse scratching inside the wall, or God forbid, under the bed. I hate rodents. With. a. passion. I think I hate rodents more than God hates sin. I would rather dispatch a black widow spider than set up a mouse trap. It just gives me the heebie-jeebies. To the max.

I woke up just enough to realize that it was, indeed, Flyboy who was making the noise, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out what he was doing. I rolled over and said, "Are you having a problem?"

I didn't know it until later, but yes, he was having a problem. His problem was me. I was snoring, and he was reaching into the under-bed-storage-drawer beneath his side of the bed to retrieve a pair of earplugs in the dark. I didn't even know he kept earplugs in there. Makes me wonder what else he's hiding down there. I may have to look.

Anyway, he just said, "I'm looking for my earplugs. I'm sorry, I thought I was being quiet. I can't believe you heard that."

What he thought about saying was, "Am I having a problem? Yes - you are snoring and keeping me awake." But he was far too considerate to wake me all the way up by guffawing at my notion that he had a problem when, in actuality, I was the problem.

Thank you, dear.

Besides, I wasn't snoring. I was purring, which defined by Webster means to "make a low continuous vibratory sound usually expressing contentment." Yes, that's it. I was just purring and I can't believe he heard that.

A Down Day

A year and a half ago, I was finishing the end-of-year tasks at school, preparing to direct Vacation Bible School, moving mulch in the yard, and dealing with Flyboy's second cancer diagnosis. The stress added up and my body revolted. My back went out (THAT had never happened before) and I was down for three days.

This week must have been even harder than I realized, and the pre-back-going-out twinges I felt the last time have been zapping me the past few days. I decided to cancel today and stay flat.

I have always been on Flyboy to listen to his body, rather than figuring the solution to any and all pain is to push through it. Today, I am taking my own advice and laying low. "I Am Legend" is on TV, but I can't even watch it. Quiet. Rest. Down day. That is what today is all about.

Why do we find it so hard to put on the brakes? Especially at this time of year when the days fly by at warp speed? It's always something that keeps us running. Shopping, parties, more shopping, rehearsals, and on it goes. Sometimes we just don't know when to stop.

Apparently that's what back twinges are all about. I learned this the last time. When the back says, "enough already!", my job is to say "sir, yes sir!" and take a break. The back speaks, and I listen.

Running - whether ahead of God, or away from God...whether toward a goal or just in circles...whether reaching for something superfluous or something meaningful - sometimes too much running is just too much. God not only suggests a Sabbath-rest, He commands it. And the punishment for ignoring the need for rest is, of all things, death. I think ignoring the need for rest is akin to committing suicide in a slow, long and painful manner. Maybe that's what the verse in Leviticus is talking about - a lack of rest is a death sentence, plain and clear.

So, today - right smack dab in the middle of the busy holiday season - I am indulging in a self-imposed day of Sabbath rest. I got the message, I'm listening to my body, and I have skidded to a grinding halt. I think I'll take a nap.

Lessons From a Baby

Yesterday, I enjoyed my Gigi-duty of caring for Peanut during second service at church. She could undoubtedly go to the nursery, but this is *our time*, and I'll enjoy it as long as her parents will let me. As always, she was a little angel, contentedly looking around and taking it all in. Even when she started to get sleepy there was no fussing, she just laid her head on my shoulder every now and then, popping it back up again to make sure she wasn't missing anything.

Finally, during the potluck after church, right in the middle of the gym, when the level of conversation noise made it hard to think, Peanut decided it was time to go to sleep. She conked out right in my arms, and slept there for a good long while. Her other grandma, Betty, came over to visit and commented on Peanut's ability to sleep right in the midst of all the noise and activity, and mused there was a lesson there for all of us. Again I was reminded of our need to stop and rest - even in the middle of the busiest time of the year.

Peanut looked blessedly serene as she snuggled in my arms and slept. What better, safer place is there to sleep than in the arms of One who loves us and not only would - but did - give His life on our behalf? This afternoon, following a stressful week I'd just as soon not repeat for awhile, I think I'll climb up into my Father's arms and enjoy some tranquil, peaceful rest. I'm safe there.