Mind the Gap...

People are often dissatisfied with gaps in their teeth, easy fix, orthodontia. A gap in your fence, nail in a new slat. A gap in finances, cut up your credit card.

When riding the subway, aka “tube” in London you will see and hear the warning signs, "Mind the Gap.” It is an audible and visual warning phrase issued to rail passengers to take caution while crossing the spatial gap between the train door and the station platform as the drop is deep, dark and dangerous. 

Wouldn’t it be nice to have this warning signal before falling into one of life’s gaps? You know the gaps I’m talking about, gaps of sadness, fear, loss, disappointment. Everyone must choose to mind these gaps rather than fall into something that is deep and dark and ominous.

I heard this term, “Mind the Gap” on the radio a while back and this phrase has been gnawing at me since. Why? What gap do I need to be mindful of falling into? Why did this phrase so resonate with me that it continues to echo in my mind?

Steve’s birthday is tomorrow, April 13th. Steve was never big on birthdays, attention, gifts... however, being a big birthday fan, I struggled with his birthday nonchalance every year. Finally, I solved the “Steve Birthday Dilemma.” I found the gift that made him happiest, German chocolate cake. On really good years he would receive two cakes one from me and one from Lynn. Oh how he loved his cake! It had to be iced all over, not just the top and in-between layers. Steve’s cake had icing on the sides and the best was the left over icing, he kept in the frig so he could dollop extra sugary goo on each bite.

Oh, how I wish there were no gap to mind today. How I wish I were making that cake for Steve instead of writing these words. I wish Steve were still sliding, sock-footed down our hardwood halls, "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" style. I long to have him walk, mud covered through the house, proud because he had just mastered some do-it-yourself project in the yard. I want back all the times he would reach out and drape his arm across my shoulders, and pull me back against his chest, so that I could feel his heart beating against the back of my head. Oh, for one more chance to see his wonderful face break into his fabulous smile, to watch him dissolve into laughter until tears rolled down his face. If only I could hear his whisper, “Do you know I love you more than anything in the world, Janet?”

There is a gap in my heart, a gash, a rip, a crack. I doubt it will ever go away, as this is a wound that is deep and real. I recognize this chasm as a sign, a symbol, a badge of honor. It tells of a great love, of a great life, of a great man. That is a gap I never want to fill.

While my heart’s gap is ever-present, I know I must mind this gap. I must make sure that sorrow never supersedes joy in my life, that Steve’s absence never outweighs all the fun, sweet memories we have together. 

I must take heed to see and hear the flashing warning, “Mind the Gap,” and not fall into the dark hole of remembering Steve as he was, this time two years ago when the tumor returned with such a vengeance, as I watched cancer win. This is a deep hole that is all too easy to fall into. “Mind the Gap!”

I don’t think it was by chance that my brain stored these three little warning words in the crevices of my mind a week ago. I believe that God’s infinite grace knew what the upcoming days would hold for me and he allowed me to remember this warning, knowing fully that I would need something to grasp hold of, so as not to fall into the huge gap that Steve’s death left.

I write these words today to ensure “Mind the Gap” is forefront in my mind. That when my thoughts fall dark and heavy, I know that God has already built a bridge of hope, of joy, of mercy, of forgiveness. A bridge I can cross over, allowing myself to cross, as Webster’s definition of gap writes, this unfilled space, this interval; this break in continuity. 

I am thankful for my life. It is full of blessings and joy. Tomorrow, as I remember Steve on his birthday, I will “Mind the Gap” and I will celebrate how full, how rich, how precious my life was with him. I will find joy in the legacy he left for so many, in the love we had for one another and in the time we had together.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

1 Timothy 6:19 “storing up for themselves the treasure of a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is life indeed.”

Another farewell...

How many people can say that their mother-in-law hosted their 1975 bridesmaid luncheon when she didn’t actually become that bride's mother-in-law until 1995? Say what!!!

Okay, I can one up those bizarre odds. How many mother-in-laws could say that they met their future daughter-in-law in 1970, however said daughter-in-law didn’t marry her son until 1995? How huge are the odds of meeting one’s mother-in-law 25 years prior to marrying her son? I’m not sure of the odds, as my math skills leave much to be desired, but I do know that those odds became facts that described my relationship with Evelyn Harris Boswell.

I met “Mrs. Boswell” when I was a Junior in high school. Her youngest daughter Ann, aka Bos, and I met in a Home Economic class. “Foods,” as our cooking class was then called, was our elective in 1970…an easy “A.” Bos and I were table mates, and laughing through most of our cooking escapades, we quickly became friends. Mrs. Boswell, was a lovely, welcoming mom, and someone I looked up to and respected right from the start.

When Ann, a year behind me in school, decided to go to Texas Tech, and I well remember Mr. and Mrs. Boswell handing Bos over to me her freshman year. For some reason, they both felt completely at ease leaving their youngest child in my “capable” hands. Holy Moley, that's a scary thought! Our college years drew me closer to the Boswell family, but, of course, this relationship of ours grew way beyond our wildest imaginations.

It was Mrs. Boswell who graciously offered to host my bridesmaid Breakfast at Brennan’s in 1975, when I was not marrying Steve. I have a wedding photograph of Mr and Mrs Boswell surrounded by my bridesmaids. Whenever I see this photo I marvel at the humor of God’s amazing orchestration.

How many people can say with such gratitude and love that their mother-in-law opened her arms and embraced two teenage children, a woman who would become their grandmother effortlessly and with such warmth? A great grandmother, Evelyn, enjoyed nothing more than hearing the antics of Harper and Harris, always curious about their milestones and accomplishments.

As the small gathering of family stood by Evelyn’s grave, I thought of all these attributes that made me love Evelyn. We said good-bye this week to a remarkable woman. I said good-bye to a woman who I had known most of my life. Little did I know all those years ago that Evelyn would someday be my mother-in-law. Little did I know that Evelyn would influence my life in so many ways, loving me as the wife of her son, loving my children and grandchildren as her own. Evelyn shared delicious recipes with me, she taught me to quilt, she demonstrated how to grow old, frail, and weak with quiet grace. I thought, as I stood by her open grave, how difficult it was for Evelyn to lose her only son, her eldest child, my husband…yet, she spared me the heartache she certainly felt. Her concern was for me, for our children, it was never about Evelyn, or her sorrow.

Evelyn had just turned 94 years old. She was a woman ahead of her time. Crowned Miss Sweetwater, Baylor homecoming queen, Evelyn was a beauty, but more important, Evelyn was a brilliant woman. She read massive biographies and non-fiction novels as if she were flipping through a magazine. She read the New York Times, The New Yorker and always, The Baylor Line, cover-to-cover. An avid sports fan, she loved her Bears, the Spurs, Wimbledon, the list went on and on. Evelyn mastered her computer like a 15 year old, and continued to be an active online surfer almost to the end of her life. My talented mother-in-law played bridge like a master, she was an award winning quilter, and wonderful cook. Evelyn was quite a woman!

It seems it Evelyn knew it was time to leave this earth. I think she was more than ready to find herself back in the company of her parents, her husband, her son, and her Lord and Savior.

I am privileged to have called Evelyn my mother-in-law. She taught me so very much and I pray that I am better because I knew her.

So farewell for now, dear Evelyn we give thanks for a life well lived.

For what it’s worth,
Janet

2 Corinthians 5:6-8  “So we are always of good courage. We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight. Yes, we are of good courage, and we would rather be away from the body and at home with the Lord.”

Nip. Tuck...

Lucy and I just finished our last walk through the neighborhood for...awhile. Tomorrow is the big plastic surgery day. Yep, going under the knife! I imagine Lucy and I will both be a bit too embarrassed to still walk through the neighborhood, at least until the stitches come out and the fur grows back. Yes, I said fur. What? Did you think I was going under the knife? Silly you!

I have had my bout with surgeries: bilateral bunionectomy, not fun. Deviated septum, painful, my nose packed with gauze, splints stuck up each nostril, unpleasant. The worst was having my uvula lasered, three times, probably the most difficult surgery ever. Imagine having a searing red hot poker stuck down your throat for about three weeks, multiply that times three. When it comes to me and the knife, I opt out. 

Would I appreciate having my sagging eyelids lifted? You betcha. Would I treasure a neck that isn’t all crepey? Absolutely. Would I value not looking bulldogish my mouth beginning to droop right into my jowls? Without a doubt. Am I willing to undergo pain and suffering? I think not. I am just fine with my wrinkles and signs of aging, well, at least until I startle myself when I accidentally turn my cell phone on and it’s in selfie mode. When I see myself up close and personal, I actually shriek out loud. Not to mention, looking at a photo of myself, “Do I really look that bad?” Oh well, I figure this is the best I am ever going to look, so I might as well savor the moment.

So back to nip, tuck. When I adopted Lucy, I was a little put off by some rather large fatty tumors that dominated the trunk and neck of my sweet dog’s body. After 18 months of living with this amazing furry beast I have come to love each of those little, okay quite large lumps, as they are part and parcel of Lucy. I was told, early on, that the lumps were simply fatty tumors, there was nothing to be alarmed about. Over time, the lumps have grown, kind of grotesquely, to the point that Lucy's neck lump might well be a second head. We made a visit to the vet last week and had the growing tumors biopsied. It seems they are nothing to be concerned about, but the vet feels like it would be in Lucy’s best interest to have them removed.  Of course she does, $1,000 later, Lucy will be lump free.

"Lucy to the Rescue" Ann Denton Werline

Couple this with my $4,000 rat infestation, which turns out was one big crummy, now dead and gone rat. I could have taken one really nice trip…like back to Argentina, or taken my family, almost, back to Belize. Oh no, instead, I am footing the bill for the extermination of one rat and five non-harmful dog tumors.

Such is life! In a month or so, Lucy will be adorable again, and tumor free. I will have no more worries about "Ben" and friends, as my house has been hermetically sealed. Oh, I will still have droopy eyelids, a crepey neck, and look like a bulldog, but hey, I am blessed beyond measure.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

1 Samuel 16:7  “God judges persons differently than humans do. Men look at the face; God looks into the heart.”

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.