What winter???

So much for the forecasted rainy, cold winter that El Niño was to bring to South Texas. I don’t think we’ve had more than a handful of sweater weather days these last few months. It looks like El Niño has waved his furry little winter mitten at us proclaiming, “Hasta la vista baby!” as he sailed north.

Those wet frosty winter days when all you want to do is peek your head out of the covers, spy those icy windows, and duck back into the warmth that awaits you under those billowy blankets. Nope, not the case this year…we saw no winter.

Those frigid mornings when just walking to your cold car makes your bones ache and all day long you shiver thinking you can’t wait to get home to snuggle up next to the fire with hot tea and a warm blanket. Wouldn’t know the feeling, winter skipped us this year.

How about those dark dreary days when the clouds muddle the sky, cold drizzle settles in and even the warmest of coats, boots and gloves can’t keep you from being miserable. Only a distant memory from years gone by, as winter didn't choose us this year.

Several weeks ago I attended the funeral of a sweet friend. Her husband passed away very unexpectedly. Three of us, already widows, were walking out of his memorial service as our friend was getting into her car. Hugging her, we saw the pain that was etched into her lovely face. Looking at the three of us she quietly said, “I never wanted to be in this club of yours, but it looks like I am…”

Unfortunately, winter this year, hasn’t skipped this friend of ours. I wonder what would happen if, much like this El Niño winter we have had here in South Texas, grief could simply skip over this precious one?

What if she didn’t need to brace for those cold and lonely days? Could those dreary long grieving days, filled with tears that won’t stop, decide not to choose our friend? What if this bone aching sorrow could bypass her, and this process could be over and done?

What if grief, like winter, could wave its long, cold, unwelcome fingers in a gesture of farewell and simply move on?

As difficult as cold, dreary, freezing winters can be there is proven research that winter’s cold is beneficial. Winter freezes are known to kill bacteria, viruses and insects such as mosquitoes and mites. This cleansing cold can strengthen our immune system. Winter’s rest is nourishing for our soil and plants. The list of positives goes on and on concerning the benefits of cold winters.

I wonder if that’s true of grief? Is grief not a time to put our minds to rest for a season? Is it not a time to allow ourselves to know that bone chilling loneliness that comes with great loss and find our sources of comfort? Aren’t our tears a cleansing agent for our aching souls?

Isn’t suffering the loss of someone we so love a good time to wrap ourselves in the warm blanket of security that comes from our family, friends and our faith? To burrow in until we can feel the warmth of the sun again? To believe and to know that spring and new beginnings are inevitable?

Winter may be able to pass us by once in a while, but grieving, I believe, must be experienced after a great loss. I have come to realize that as much as I would like to shield my friend from having to endure this season of her life, I cannot. 

There are times in each life when we need to put on our warmest coat, thickest gloves and most durable boots. We must trudge our way through the most devastating winter storms knowing that by doing so, we are providing rest to our soul and the strengthening of our faith. We can be assured that in time, we will see the joy of the promise of spring and of new beginnings.

So while we didn’t expect, nor wish to invite another friend into our club…we welcome her with all the love we have in our hearts and we walk by her side until she can feel the spring sunshine once again.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

“Keep your face to the sun and you will never see the shadows”

                                                                            —Helen Keller

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.” Psalm 23:4

My potty room...

I have a potty room in my master bath. This water closet is awkwardly, a bit too long, and the ceilings, a might too tall, making it feel a little like a tunnel.

When I moved, I downsized to a home almost half the size of my previous house. I have a penchant for buying unusual, quirky stuff, and am known to place or hang things in odd, unexpected places. Our old home enabled me lots of wall space, shelves, bedrooms and table tops to fill with photos, art and artifacts. I loved walking into rooms that held all my treasures. Moving into this home, I decorated the walls and shelves with my favorite items, but after all was said and done, I still had storage bins full of items to display, but there was no place for them.

One day, sitting in my dreary potty room, and staring at this unseemly long tunnel, a light went on, I suddenly knew what to do with those extra treasurers! I grabbed the storage bins, a box of nails, hammer, ladder, and back to the potty room I went.

I didn’t really think about placement, I just started hanging, one piece, after another, after another. Soon my tunnel-like potty room was filled ceiling-to-floor, wall-to-wall with treasures. I hung grandchildren’s framed art work. I put up little shelves that held the red rubber snow shoes that I had worn as a small child along with my first little white leather Bible. I hung photo after photo of my sweet family..old pictures of my parents, of Steve when he was small, a photo of me with Santa, beside a photo of Brent and Brooke with Santa, coupled with a photo of Harper and Harris with Santa. I hung needlework pieces friends had given me. I placed my grandmother’s tatted linen hanky on a small shelf. I hung the design Steve had sketched of our front door. I hammered and hung and hammered and hung and finally sat back and smiled. 

I sat on the floor of my too long potty room and I looked all around me, and it made me happy. Here hung memories of items Steve and I had collected on trips. Staring back at me were the sweet smiles and sparkling eyes of my children as youngsters, framed plaster molds of their tiny pre-school hands, photos of my precious six grandchildren surrounded me, Here was joy, and I was delighted with my new favorite room. I almost wish I had a big squishy chair instead of a potty in this little cozy tunnel of mine, for if I did, I imagine this is where I would spend most of my time.

God has walked with me through quite a few dark tunnels in my life. Even my darkest tunnels have been brightened by his gently hammering of his promises of hope, love and strength onto the walls of my heart. 

Looking back at those tunnels, those trials, those most difficult moments in my life, I am able to see there has been joy, comfort and peace, even in the most difficult times. I have felt God gently tacking his faithful promises on the walls of my heart, lighting my tunnels and enabling me to find my way back into the light.

I am thankful. I am blessed, to know a God that is able to decorate every aspect of my life with his love, so that all I need do is sit in my squishy chair and find joy in all that surrounds me.

For what its worth,

Janet 

2 Corinthians 4:6 “For God, who said, "Light shall shine out of darkness," is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.”

"Honey, why are you so old?"

Precious Harris cups my face between his little 3 year old hands. His question is so earnest, so empathetic as he tries to smooth out the wrinkles of my face with his sweet fingers. He frequently feels the need to ask me this question concerning my age, perhaps looking for a more appeasing answer.

"Honey, why are you so old?"

His question gives me pause, wondering if its time for a total make-over. I smile and try to find a satisfying answer for my tenderhearted grandson. I tell him I’m old because I’m 61 and he’s 3…not good enough. I tell him because I am his mommy’s mommy…hmmm. I explain that I was born a long, long time ago…Harry gets bored and runs outside to kick some balls. 

 That same afternoon, I took Lucy on our daily walk. By now we are on auto pilot, never needing to think to turn right or left…we just walk. On these walks, I find, that my mind drifts, from one thought to another, to another, maybe this is a sign I am “so old.” On this particular day, Lucy and I walk past a home that is being remodeled, with a large dumpster in the driveway.  Peeking from the top of the dumpster is a discarded dead Christmas tree. 

Okay, here we go…my mind sails back to the Valley Forge Gang. It’s 1962, several days after Christmas and our little gang starts knocking on doors, gathering unwanted, discarded Christmas trees. Our tribe of 8 year old girls drags these Christmas trees down the street, leaving a trail of dried, yellowed pine needles down Valley Forge Drive. Each parent has reluctantly agreed to host the annual Christmas tree fort in their backyard, at least once, and The All Girls Valley Forge Christmas Tree Fort becomes the greatest of our neighborhood.

We have our secret meetings within the circle of those evergreens. We rush home from Briargrove Elementary School, grab snacks, and head to The Fort. There we become Laura Ingalls in “Little Christmas Tree Fort on the Prairie.” The next day, we might be Nancy Drew in “The Missing Clue Found in the Mysterious Christmas Tree.” Sundays, we restlessly wiggle our way through church and Sunday pot roast lunch, eager to run to our fort where today, we are the Swiss Family Robinson. We spend most of January amidst the branches of those pines, always sad when its time to dismantle, and forced to wait until next year. 

Thinking of our Valley Forge Gang, my thoughts drift to the summer months. We spend much of our days outside, running through the “clouds” made by the DDT fogging truck, playing Freeze Tag in the sprinklers, making very extravagant snail-like hopscotch boards, jumping rope, we chant…

Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine, 

The monkey chewed tobacco on the street car line. 

The line broke, the monkey got choked, 

And they all went to heaven in a little row boat, 

Clap-Clap! Clap-Clap!

We have our little handmade bags full of metal jacks and old golf balls and we spread them out on the driveway and play…

No bouncies 

Double bouncies 

Cherries in a basket 

Over the fence 

Pigs in a Blanket 

Around the world

We wait nightly for the ice-cream truck. I wince as I remember Margie, the youngest of our troop, sitting beside me. Each evening, prior to the truck’s arrival, I earnestly tell Margie that there is a village of tiny people that live in the storm sewers beneath the street. I tell her these little people are poor, hungry and in need of clothes. I convince her, nightly, that she needs to drop her ice cream money down the drain so the little people can survive. Margie falls for it every time. Her money goes down the hole in the curb and when the ice cream truck comes into view we all run to meet it and Margie cries because her money is in a drainage ditch. Yep, I was a mean girl, and being punished for teasing Margie never seemed to stop me. Yes, I’m embarrassed, but truthful.

Thinking of Margie reminds me of her little brother, Fred, who was the only boy on our block and the youngest of all the children. Out of our gang of seven girls (minus Margie), none of us had brothers. We were six households of all girls and we were dying to know, first hand, what little boys had that we didn’t. One day, we felt the need to be educated in the male anatomy. I was the only one brave and stupid enough to tell Fred he had to pull down his pants. We circled around 4 year old Fred, waiting with great curiosity. Suddenly, he burst into tears, ducked through the forest of legs that surrounded him and ran straight to his mother. Okay, so I was also a bully, but it didn’t take this bully long before my father called me into the house, and asked me if I was the culprit. Of course, I lied. “No way Jose!” I was promptly spanked, not due to my curiosity, but my dishonesty.

Whoa! On this brief, one hour walk, I have sailed through years of my childhood, only to discover I was a mean girl, bully and a liar. Lots of redeeming qualities, right?

Mean Girl, Bully, & Fibber

Lucy and I are almost home. What a journey my memory has provided me, all due to that one dead Christmas tree sticking out of a dumpster.

How, in such a short span of time, was I able to hopscotch through such a myriad of memories? Arriving home, I realize I have the answer to Harry’s question.

“Honey, why are you so old?” 

If I weren't so old, I couldn't tell you all the stories about when I was a little girl. I couldn't tell you what life was like without cell phones, or Nickelodeon, or DVD’s in the backseat of your car. I couldn't tell you how we could play outside until bedtime, with no parent in sight. I couldn't tell you how we ran through the streets of our neighborhood Halloween night, dressed as hobos, with a pillowcase full of candy. 

If I weren’t so old, I couldn’t explain “the good old days” taught me life lessons that I want to pass on to you. Experiences that I can still so vividly remember, and many that I no longer can correct. I would tell you that I wished for the chance to tell Margie, and her brother Fred, how sorry I was for being so terrible. I would do anything to tell my father I still remember the day I lied to him and how 55 years later, I wish I would have told him the truth instead. 

“Why am I so old?” Being old makes me your grandmother, and being your grandmother means I love you enough to try to teach you the importance of being kind, honest and respectful of everyone. 

Given the opportunity, I will slowly, bit by bit, tell my grandchildren not only of Christmas tree forts and ice-cream trucks, but of Margie, Fred, my father and so many other mistakes I have made throughout my lifetime.

Perhaps that’s why old minds wander aimlessly through time. Perhaps by capturing vivid past memories, and bringing them to the forefront of my mind, I can give purpose and meaning to being “so old.” After all, isn’t that what grandparents do best?

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Deuteronomy 6:6-7 “And these words that I command you today shall be on your heart. You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise.”

A fish called Johnny Weissmuller…

Call it a weak moment, the day I purchased this little blue fish.

Two years ago, I was in Petsmart, buying dog food, and there, by the cash register, were boundless stacks of plastic bowls containing Beta fish. I remember thinking it would be fun for Harper and Harris to learn, first hand, about caring for a fish.…so, I bought him.

Now, I will say when Brent and Brooke were young, our household was full of animals: 2 dogs, a cat, that delivered 9 kittens, a gerbil and a number of fish. I say a number of fish, due to the fact that their lives were always short lived. Some were found floating at the surface of their bowl, bloated and dead, due to overfeeding. The gerbil somehow managed to get hold of one fish and ate him…not a pretty site, and, on one occasion, I accidentally sucked one poor little guy up in the vacuum cleaner…why our fish always seemed to be on the floor, I don’t know. This being said, in my mind, I thought the life expectancy of this new fish would be equally short lived. Oh, was I wrong. This fish is certain to out live me.

Johnny Weissmuller-the-first, aka Tarzan, was also a gold medal Olympic swimmer, thus, I decided, an appropriate name for my new fish. The kids were delighted with Johnny…for about a week, then it was on to much more exciting things, like plastic dinosaurs and super heroes. I have tried, on more than one occasion, to suggest Brooke foster this fish, but she firmly puts her foot down, and my request is always followed by “Why on earth did you buy that thing in the first place?”

So, Johnny lives on my kitchen counter. I feed him daily, his food, nasty smelling dehydrated ground up bugs. I admit its fun to watch Mr. Weissmuller surface with his little mouth wide open gobbling up his daily meal. Johnny lives in a very small globe-like vase, now bowl, and he seems happy enough swimming small circles in his tiny surroundings. It is necessary to clean his little home several times each week. This entails having a second bowl ready, pouring the first bowl’s water into the kitchen sink through a small fish net until Johnny finally surrenders and plops into the net, thereby dumping him into the clean water bowl. This little procedure is a bit harder than one would think, and more than once Johnny has jumped out of his net and landed in the garbage disposal, where I literally have to fish him out, gag…and still he survives.  

The repeated question I hear is, “He looks so bored, why don’t you put him in a bigger bowl?”

Finally, feeling guilty, I found a larger vase, now bowl, for Johnny.  As days went by, I noticed he no longer was my active little fish making his happy laps around his little bowl. Now, Johnny spent most of his time lying at the bottom of the too large bowl, only surfacing when I shook it to make sure he wasn’t dead. Today, I moved Johnny back to his tiny home, and again, I’m finding he is back to his old happy self.

I think what I am learning from Johnny is that for right now, my bowl is perfect for me. Since Steve passed away, I have been on a quest, an almost frantic mission, to be in the larger bowl. I thought I needed to fill my days with a full calendar. I remodeled a house, moved, planned trip after trip doing my best to jump out of my small little bowl. There have been moments when I flopped myself into a big old garbage disposal, like when I purchased a 1972 Chevy pick-up that lasted 17 days. Recently, much like Dorothy in, “The Wizard of Oz” I realized, “there’s no place like home”. 

I am finding I am happiest swimming in my little bowl. I am learning, for the first time in my life, to live on my own. I’m finding how to make use of my spare time, to be one instead of a pair. I’m learning to make decisions, big and small, dumb and wise. I am finding that I’m capable in ways I never knew possible, and I’m discovering that it’s okay to fail, as long as I learn from my mistakes.

I recognize that my life is fullest when I am surrounded by family and friends. I feel most content when I can sit quietly and be still in the presence of God allowing his gentle voice to speak softly to my thoughts.

Like Johnny Weissmuller-the-second, I’ve grown weary of listlessly lying on the bottom of that too big bowl. I am discovering the joy that comes in the comfort of my own home and in the people that are willing to swim with me.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

“You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people.” ― Miriam Adeney

Psalm 16:11 “You make known to me the path of life; you will fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand.”