Oh rats...

Literally, oh, rats. This blog entry is not for the faint of heart. In fact, simply writing this blog is sending a vomitous sensation coursing through my veins. My skin is crawling, I am freaking out and I’m not being overly dramatic.

Why am I confessing this grotesque fact concerning the place I call home? Maybe, just maybe, I’m hoping that someone out there reading this blog will come to my rescue and tell me why I should not fear?

Let me preface my tale of woe by stating that Steve and I lived in two homes that were surrounded by greenbelts, nature trails, and wildlife galore. In our previous homes we encountered coral snakes, raccoons (one actually making itself at home via our doggie door), foxes, squirrels, deer, scorpions, hawks and finally, coyotes…but rats? Okay, in truth, we had to deal with a few of these nasty critters, but the “we” was actually Steve dealing with these putrid, pesky pests, not me.

Now I find myself living in suburban San Antonio, far from the urban areas where one might find rats, and far from the woodsy hill country nature inhabited areas of San Antonio, where one might not be alarmed to have a rat encounter.. Here I am, living in a community surrounded by well-kept homes. Homes built side-by-side, with yards and fences, and a slim chance of encountering wildlife. So, why me? Why pick my house? My attic? My attic with nothing, I mean nothing stuffed in the eaves or dark corners of the upper areas of my modest home. This invasion of these scary hairy beasts is disgusting, nasty, gruesome, but the gnawing mammals have arrived …so now I must deal with reality.

A week ago I came home with armloads of groceries, I dumped a box of dog biscuits in the garage, hauling the rest of my bags to the kitchen. Several day later, having forgotten the discarded dog biscuits, I was horrified to find two golf-ball size holes in the cardboard biscuit box. It was not a pretty site. I have a queasy, overwhelming heebie-jeebies fear of critters, like mice, much less rats! So here I am, alone in my garage with this invaded masticated box. This creepy box that was sure to have a rodent inside, munching away on Lucy’s Milkbone Dog Treats. What to do? First, I turned on the overhead light. Second, I began clapping loudly and in low manly tones, bellowed, “Get out, run for your lives!” I tipped that small dog bone box over with the tip of my big toe and ran back in the house. Peeking out of the slit in the back door I waited, and waited. When there was no sign of life, I tiptoed over to that box, and holding it with my finger and thumb shook the existing biscuits into a tupperware container. I had conquered Goliath, and felt great relief.

Several days later, Brooke pointed out that one of the children’s car seats had a rather large critter type hole chewed in the seat. The carseats had been removed from my car several weeks earlier and had been sitting in my garage. 

Okay, alright, I knew this was time for a personal intervention. I had a problem, and I had great incentive to come clean. Michael Jackson, you and I have a great deal in common. When you sang, “Ben, the two of us need to look no more. We’ve both found what we are looking for…” Well, Michael, I hear you, I found exactly what I was looking for…Terminix!

I use Terminix on a regular basis. Roaches, spiders, nasty little nightly creatures, I don’t like ‘em. I am happy to spread carcinogen likely insecticides around the perimeter of my home. Michael, not the before mentioned Michael Jackson, is my exterminator. I love this young man. Michael comes to my home and sprays away on a regular basis. Michael is the first person I called to jump start my intervention. He comes immediately and set rat traps, yep RAT traps. Five large, horrid traps now exist throughout my garage.

The next morning I check the traps. Numbers 1-4…clean, #5 bingo, there Ben is! Large, furry and dead, I think. 

Michael has told me to call him if I find a “body.” Thinking I am a woman of independence, brave, bold and so on…I put on Steve’s big leather gloves. I bend down, okay, I look down from a footstool at my “Ben” and my heart begins to palpitate, my breathing becomes shallow and my hands begin to shake. I quickly realize there is no way I am going to pick up that gigantic rat trap with a dead rat hanging by it’s little neck. I try three times, then I surrender, I call Michael and tell him he has a friend waiting for him.

Fast forward, Michael comes to my rescue, collects “Ben” and calls for reinforcement. Steve, (what is it about these names) comes out and assesses my attic and surroundings. I now am $4,000+ about to be rat free. It seems rats have burrowed their way through my attic insulation. My home is to be #1. hermetically sealed, #2. special extra carcinogen filled insulation blown into my attic with a lifetime guarantee, to insure no living creature will be allowed to enter, or survive in the upper regions of my home.

Have I been had? Don’t know, don’t care, I simply want the rodents gone…forever.

One last footnote on this gory subject. When Steve, the Terminator, was presenting my bill, he jotted his quote in a rather large informational full color packet describing rodents. I must ask why does an exterminator feel the need to add insult to injury by giving said victim a booklet with a life-size, personalized photo of “Ben” himself? Steve measures, calculates, fills in the blanks of his large pamphlet. He proudly hands me the now pricey packet, complete with Ben’s beady eyes staring straight into mine. “This is for you to keep,”  Steve says with great pride. Great, now I have no doubt, no doubt whatsoever, exactly who is inhabiting the space above my head, no doubt what these not small size dudes look like. Their nasty naked paws burrowing their little paths through my attic insulation, making nests and doing whatever these whiskered, saw toothed varmints do. Am I supposed to feel some personal connection now that I can "keep" this up-close-and-personal leaflet of my current co-habitants? Thanks Steve the Terminator.

So long Ben and all the Ben-nettes. When Michael sings, 

              “Ben, you're always running here and there

                                                    You feel you're not wanted anywhere

                                                               If you ever look behind

                                                           And don't like what you find

                                                    There's something you should know

                                                              You've got a place to go”

…To someone else’s attic.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

P.S. I had to look really hard for this Bible verse. I took it way out of context, but hope you can find some humor in it, I know I did.

Isaiah 54:4 "Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame. Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated.

There’s nothing like hanging out with a band of angels to chase the blues away…

God paved a path for me when He knew the course I needed to follow. This was evident as I traveled from Mason to Abilene, Texas.

Since my last blog entry, I continued to feel a bit down in the dumps since returning from Argentina. I couldn’t quite put my finger on the why, but knew the discontent continued to hover over me. 

Friday, as I set out on my trek to West Texas, I felt a bit lighter. I had spent the previous two nights in the hill country with the merry widows, plus a few. We drew our newest member, my precious Midland friend, Debbie into our inner circle. If you remember from a previous blog entry, Debbie’s sweet Sam passed away in January. Spring Break had arrived and we all felt the need to have some Debbie time.  We laughed, cried, and shared precious memories. We ate, drank wine, sang, danced and left feeling a little lighter, more joyful after this time together. Angels dressed as dear friends-a sure bet for shaking the blues.

I found myself Abilene bound after learning the sad news that my dear college roommate, Joni’s, beloved brother, Lane Frizzell had passed away. Lane, was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s seven years ago. Hearing of Joni’s loss I was on my way,  I wanted to be no where else, but by her side.

In Abilene, I found myself in the midst of a bevy, a herd…what do I call it? A host? No, rather a band of Heaven’s finest angels. Joni’s precious family was such a gift to me. Oh, sure they were grieving, sad beyond words, but underlying their sorrow was the amazing love of one of God’s finest families. 

Joni and I were as close as two friends could be all through college. I knew her family well. Lane and his, then girlfriend Holly (who became his wife of 40 something years) were at Tech with Joni and me. Lane was this super cool big brother. He was knock your socks off good looking. He had these huge water, blue eyes, he played the guitar and sang, he was laid back and always happy. Lane was an earthy kind of guy…a true 1970’s hippie. Lane was exotic, he traveled all over South America, before that was considered acceptable. He and Holly were everything our little circle of friends wasn’t. We were the little sisters, the sorority girls…and Lane was simply…cool.

Joni’s parents would visit. They were the fun parents. Seeing Joni’s mother again, I reminded her of the silly things we all did together. Pat, Joni’s mom, nodded, smiled and threw back her head laughed at my memory, but, sadly, it was only my memory. Pat, is also a victim of dementia. While her little mind is failing her, her delight and joy in life continues to flow from every pore of her being.

As I sat back and watched Pat’s joy, and I witnessed Joni’s entire family love and dote on this little 80+ year old matriarch. I realized that I was truly in the midst of angels, Pat, the Gabriel of them all! You see, amidst the grief that Joni’s dad, brother, husband, children and their mates were all experiencing, there was  evidence of  incredible love, support and joy that each of them had for one another. 

Pat might have been a bit confused about whose home she was in, even though it was her own. She might have been told several times that her son had just passed away, but her response wasn’t sadness, only remarks about what a good boy he is, or how she loves to hear him play the guitar and sing. There was no sadness, only joy in the life she shared with her youngest son. 

1. Joni, Lane's grandson Quintin with Jack   2. Pat enjoying "Milkshakin' Mama   3. Dear Holly

Lane was a musician. He had a band that performed regularly, and music was a huge part of who he was. This past Friday evening the family and out of town friends gathered. Joni’s son put together a slide show of family photos with Lane’s music playing in the background. I knew I wittnessed a band of Heaven’s finest angels, as I watched all the females of the family stand to sing Lane’s rendition of “Milkshakin’ Mama.”  I scanned the room, watching all the female family members rockin’ & rollin’, singing their hearts out, my eyes found Pat. She sat at a table beside her husband of 60 some odd years, her eyes closed, her head held skyward, she sang with all her might. She remembered every word of “Milkshakin’ Mama." I knew, by the smile on her angelic face, she sang in perfect harmony with her precious Lane. I left the gathering that night, thankful, full of joy and grateful that I had been witness to part of God’s finest band of angels.

God wasn’t quite through paving my path, I suppose He knew I needed a little more angelic hostly proclamations before I headed back to San Antonio. God does these things when I least expect them- quite amazing!

I made plans to have lunch with a dear friend of mine. Dee Hamilton, had been in our Bible Study for years before moving back hone, to Abilene.  Dee is one Godly woman, an angel if ever there was one. Another 80+ year young woman, Dee’s life has not been easy. She has outlived a husband, two sons and a beloved daughter-in-law. Dee fought breast cancer once and is in the midst of the battle again.

I am not alone when I say that I have learned from this amazing woman,how to endure, how to pray, how to have faith in the darkest of times, and how to have a sense of humor through it all. Dee would spout pearls of wisdom that caused all of us to crack up. After the laugher died, I left feeling a bit more capable having been in her presence. She reminded me of a few of her favorite pearls as we ate lunch in her kitchen Saturday afternoon. 

“You can lead a guitar to water, but you can’t tuna fish.”

“Sometimes we’re the dog and sometimes we’re the hydrant.”

“You can sit on a mountaintop, but you can’t sit on a tack.”

And perhaps the wisest…”You can’t explain to someone who hasn’t ever.”

Dee suffered and fought mightily this go round with cancer; she was really put through the wringer.   I left her home to go straight to Lane’s funeral service and my heart was full. I knew I had spent time with one of God’s favorite angels, and I was a little better because of my time with her. God took great care to pave my path back home.

Darling Dee...her first selfie ever!

I enjoyed the last few days with a herd, a bevy…no, a host, a band of God’s greatest angels. Perhaps they were his favorite. My heart is full, my cup is overflows and I possess gratitude, thankfulness and amazement in a God who takes care of our most infinitesimal needs.

I believe God puts us in places where He knows we can be touched. I believe God uses each of us to be his hands, his feet, his angels, to touch the life of others. I am blessed to have recognized the angels God allowed me to see this past week. My blues have turned into glorified joy as I have been entertained by angels unaware.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Hebrews 13:2 “ Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

Blueness...

Turning off the television, I sit in silence watching the flames in my fireplace lick the brick of the walls. Just last night I had children surrounding me at Harris’ 3rd birthday party. We sat around an outdoor fireplace. It was a chilly evening, so some of the youngsters gathered around me by the fire. I took the opportunity to teach them that the hottest part of a fire wasn’t the reddish white flames, but instead, the blue flickers that laid closest to the logs. The blue part of the flames were the most intense, the most dangerous, the hottest part of the flame.

Watching the fire in my fireplace tonight, I find myself weary, bone tired from the last few weeks of a lovely trip to Argentina. I arrived home around 11:00 a.m. yesterday morning after traveling most of a day and night. Oh, the trip was worth it. Good friends had invited another widow (there’s that word again) friend and me to join them as guests at their second home in Buenos Aries. I quickly accepted and Robbie and I spent five amazing days with them and then flew to Iguazu Falls to extend our trip. We enjoyed every inch of the hiking trails and vistas of the most incredible waterfalls in the entire world.

Coming back from a fabulous trip, I seem to be feeling some of that blueness. I wonder, is it much different from the flame that I’m watching in my fireplace right now? Is the intensity of my “blueness” not a symbol of the emotion that I’m feeling after having experienced such an extraordinary adventure? Is this blueness not much different from what I taught the group of three year olds that sat huddled with me just last night? That the blueness of the flame that lay closest to the logs was the same that lay closest to one's heart. It was this blueness of heart that was also the most dangerous, the most intense.

Arriving home yesterday, my day was full. I had a mountain of mail to attend to, a dog that was punishing me because I had left her for two weeks, voicemails I needed to answer, and bags to unpack. Clothes to wash and put away. Oh, and not to forget, my youngest grandchild’s 3rd birthday party that I couldn’t wait to attend. I was bone tired, but beneath the surface of my fatigue,I felt a blueness that I knew was dangerous, hot to the touch, with caution not to go to near.

The last few weeks have been full of milestones. The number 20 seems to be rearing it’s head, with great vigor. It has been twenty months since Steve left this earth. March 4th, we would have celebrated our twentieth wedding anniversary, and embarrassing as it is, I counted I have taken twenty trips to some pretty incredible places since Steve’s death. 

So, on this anniversary of 20’s, I am sitting here feeling the coarse, searing blue flames envelop my heart, my soul, and the very air that surrounds me. Why? What is this sadness that consumes me without a moment’s notice? There is no rhyme, no reason, there is simply a sense of vacant, deep loneliness that is so prevalent that it seeps into and sears every ounce of my being.

After wholeheartedly accepting this fabulous invitation and we began making plans for this amazing trip. Our hosts, Jo and Sig made our travel and time spent in Argentina easy. They gave us guidance, suggestions and then hosted us extravagantly once we arrived. There were no hitches, only great fun and adventure. 

Once Steve was diagnosed with GBM, I knew our traveling days were over. Steve and I loved traveling and we did so like a well oiled machine. We traveled well. We had great adventures, we knew exactly how much time to spend in the large cities of the world and how to divide our time traveling through the countrysides of far away places. We knew we could easily rent a car. I would drive, Steve would navigate and off we would go. Steve would spend days, weeks, months preparing, researching and deciding our routes, cities, and places of interest, and I would pack my bag and jump on the airplane. Travel was easy, it was thrilling and I was carefree.

Twenty years Steve and I explored the world in this fashion. He did all the research, I reaped the rewards and we loved the ying and yang of traveling together. 

Little did I realize, until this trip, that I was right five plus years ago…”our” traveling days were no longer. The ease of having Steve as my guide, my anchor were over. I was soon to discover that being responsible, that traveling without a husband, that being prepared at all times was now not so carefree, but, my new normal. Quite different from what Steve had allowed me to be accustomed to, now I needed to travel in a savvy way. I needed to know and understand the lay of the land. I needed to be prepared, to have done my homework, to be equipped, and I was left feeling ill-equipped, helpless, and wanting Steve to be by my side.

It might not have helped, that the day that Robbie and I were hiking the wondrous trails of Iguazu Falls was one of the “twenty milestones”. March 4th would have been my twenty year anniversary, yet, here I was marching forth on paths with vistas that Steve would have loved. Here I was in the southern hemisphere asking everyone I could find if they could show me the nighttime constellation, The Southern Cross. These were stars Steve loved and spoke of often, yet, when I asked about them, all I was met with were blank stares. 

I found myself looking at Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat), one of the seven wonders of the natural world, and Steve was so clearly by my side, but then, he was so absent that my own throat tightened and the blue hot flames licked against it's walls and tears flooded my eyes as I witnessed one of God’s finest creations.

Twenty trips later, and I still find it hard to come home. I find, much like my now empty suitcase, the very core of my bones feels just as vacant as the inside of this hollow suitcase that needs to be put away. I realize these past few days at home, I open mail, I tend to the yard, I roam from room to room with a mile long to-do list, but I do it all at a robotic pace. The searing blueness licks at the sole of my heart. It cautions me to stay away.

Maybe it’s the whole “20” thing, twentieth wedding anniversary, twenty month anniversary of Steve’s death, twenty trips I have taken to fill the void. Maybe that’s why this blanket of emptiness fills me now. Maybe in another twenty trips, twenty months, twenty years I’ll be beyond this blueness that I can’t seem to shake, or maybe, just maybe this incredible love I have for the man who loved me so intensely will continue to lap at my heart much like the flames that flicker brightly in my fireplace tonight.

What I need always remember is, no matter how blue the flames, my heart is full of the warmth and wonderful memories that Steve and I made, not only in our travels, but in our lifetime. While Steve is no longer here to share the adventure that traveling provides, I pray I will always find joy in continuing to explore, and in the contentment that there is in coming back home.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Psalm 19:1 “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.” 

I hate Valentine's Day...

Oh wait, don’t get all pitiful on me. Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t get maudlin, thinking this is going to be some heart-braking blog entry. This is just a momentary bit of whaa.

Let me begin by saying Steve did NOT observe this holiday…EVER. He copped out by saying this was a holiday designed by Hallmark and he thought it was stupid. I never received flowers, candy, or lovely jewels on this day of cupid arrows and gushy love. We never went out to dinner on this “crowded, cramped, expensive” day meant for sweethearts. I was lucky to get a card, but I never counted on it. St. Valentine simply did not exist in our home.

So why have I become so lumpy today? 

Why, when doing a quick few stops this Saturday morning to buy a few little Valentine gifts for my six grand children, did I become so pathetic witnessing all these shoppers, madly searching for the perfect gift for the love of their life?

I now really hate Valentine’s Day. My day began at Target. I was going to pick up a couple of toys. Right off the bat, I was standing a Customer Service and, there beside me, was this young man.  He was carefully using borrowed cashier scissors to cut the stems off his roses to ensure they would look just perfect in the pink bow tied vase that he had purchased. Shyly, he looked up at me and ask if I thought the finished product was worthy of his girlfriend. I smiled, nodded and told him she would love his gift. I was then met in each isle of every store I went into with people madly grabbing flowers, candy, cards, and anything that had a hint of red or mention of a heart. I hate Valentine’s Day.

I found myself driving into the dreaded HEB parking lot around 4:00 p.m. The line to get into the parking lot was horrifying. Mastering a parking place was even more grueling. Once inside, chaos hit. Every single shopper in that grocery store was buying food for a special romantic dinner. Flowers, balloons, candy oozed from each cart I past. Some romantic love station was playing background music.  Not to the wine isle needed a traffic cop to maneuver through the hoards of shoppers. 

I, on the other hand, was shopping for a family Sunday night dinner, not a special Valentine dinner. My cart was full of all the makings of chalupas, a birthday cake and lots apple juice. 

When I started this morning I was happily anticipating hosting Sunday night dinner for all six of our grandchildren, their parents, and our nieces and nephews. David, Kim and the children are coming into town from Berkeley. Excited because it has been way too long since we have seen them, I invited all the extended family for dinner Sunday. So, here I was making plans for a fun Sunday. Little did I know, that evil little cupid was waiting around every corner ready to jab me with his horrid little arrows. 

I think, had I not had to venture out today, I might have forgotten today was Valentine’s Day, or maybe considered it a non-event. I hadn’t given this holiday much thought at all. But, after today, I have a word of warning for all of those who, in the future, might find themselves alone on Valentine’s Day…stay home!

You see, even though Steve refused to celebrate this Hallmark holiday, even though there were no gifts waiting for me to unwrap, even though we didn’t go out to eat, even though there were no red roses, we were together. 

Steve and I would plan to cook some special, favorite meal. We would drink our favorite wine while we cooked dinner with our favorite music playing in the background. I would light a fire and set a candle lit table and we would laugh, maybe dance a little, cook, drink wine and celebrate the love we had for one another in the most natural and sweetest way possible.

Why did today hit me so blindly? I have no clue, but I know, I hate Valentine’s Day, and will be glad when this night has passed.

The good news is tomorrow, David and his family of 4, Lynn and her children, Brooke and her family of 4, along with Steve’s sister Bonnie and her family of 7 will all gather.  My home will be full. We will laugh, we will eat, we will play and we will love one another. My heart will be full and this night will be long forgotten. I can never overlook how very blessed I am. I am loved and I love. My life is good, and Valentine’s Day, well, it holds wonderful memories.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

1 Peter 4:8 “Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.”