Pajama Day...

Waking up from a sleep over last week, Harper, Harris and I were having our early morning snuggle time…our favorite time of the day. This is that sweet time when the three of us discuss all things “important” before the day begins. 

This particular morning, Harper wistfully said, “Honey, I wish we could just stay in our pajamas all day and play with you.”  My heart soared and that was the exact moment plans for "Pajama Day" began. We discussed, in great detail, which p.j.’s we would wear and we made a mental list of activities for this monumental day. Discussion of this day continued for well over a week. Finally, The Day arrived.

Harper and Harris blasted into the house yesterday afternoon, backpacks in hand and jumping with anticipation. They were ready for the jubilation to begin.

We decided that all things special needed to happen on Pajama Day. Wisely, I let them dictate what special meant, and their requests were simple and easy to carry out.  After dinner and baths, we pulled on our 24 hour pajamas and climbed into my bed to watch “Grease.” I think we have now watched “Grease” for the last four sleep-overs, but hey, a good thing can last forever!

Bedtime came before the movie was over so Harps decided it would be really crazy to finish the movie the following morning before ever getting out of bed…so, this was how our first official Pajama Day began, with the end of “Grease.” I told you their requests were simple.  

After “Grease,” we piled into the car and drove to Shipley’s Donuts. Yes, we were all still in our p.j’s. Thankfully, Shipley’s wasn’t very crowded. I think I must have given the wait staff a bit of a fright, but the H’s were quick to tell everyone it was Pajama Day and we would not be removing our p.j.’s all day long! Smiles and nods and extra blue and green iced donuts, with rainbow sprinkles were given as we raced back home with a full agenda.

Unlike other days, this special day allowed limoges boxes to come off my shelves and  be ever so carefully played with on the floor. Bunny palaces, made out of building blocks that held small wooden bunnies, super heroes, Peanut characters and my limoges boxes. We pulled out china tea sets and had a bunny picnic on the floor, as well as, a picnic outside under a delicately constructed tent made out of a card table and blankets. Our picnic lunch consisted of oatmeal and scrambled eggs, after all it was Pajama Day! 

After reading a chapter of “Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s Magic” (a favorite of mine, when I was a child) we made magic concoctions of strawberry milk that helped us fall fast asleep. Afternoon naps came easily, due to the magic potions, as we all three climbed back into my unmade bed for a much needed snooze. 

By the time Brooke and Jared came for pick-up, we had made Pajama Day t-shirts, we had eaten everything in my pantry and my house looked like a tornado…inside and out! 

All that mattered to the three of us was that Pajama Day had been a huge success.

As the Meabon family drove out of my driveway, I could hear my precious little grandchildren yelling, “Thank you Honey…we love you Honey!” I walked back into the house a little pooped, but my heart was overflowing.

If someone were to ask me what brought me the greatest pleasure, what filled me with extraordinary joy, it would be days like today. Days that are filled with the sweetest laughter and delight of two of God’s most incredible little creatures to ever fill a pair of pajamas.

I may be a little pooped, but I am blessed beyond measure.

For what it’s worth,

Honey

Proverbs 17:6 “Grandchildren are the crown of the elderly

and the glory of children is their parents.”

Making turtle soap...

My shower was running, reaching for a brand new bar of soap, I shut the shower door. Grabbing the existing sliver of soap, I hold it in the palm of my right hand, taking the new bar of soap, I smush them all together. My mind had been a million miles away, not thinking what I was doing, my actions on autopilot. I look down at my hands, and smile. I had just made, in Steve’s words, “turtle soap.”

When Steve and I married, I thought his ritual of “turtle soap” was quite bizarre. Steve thought nothing of melding his old soap with his new one, it was simply...prudent. I remember thinking it was, well…peculiar. I had always thrown the sliver of soap away, replacing it with the new bar. As our married life evolved, I continued to follow my standard of soap disposal. Though we never discussed it, I think it might have irritated Steve that I never made turtle soap, as it was, simply the “right thing” to do. 

Steve had a few idiosyncrasies, aside from turtle soap, that I found amusing and he thought, perfectly normal. Okay, to be completely honest, some of these peculiarities were annoying, but they were so Steve that I often simply shook my head in wonderment.

Buying multiples. When Steve found something he really liked he bought a ridiculous amount. Tennis shoes. When I first met Steve he had 12 identical pairs of tennis shoes all lined up in his garage. His philosophy, buy it while you can because when you need to replace it, it is no longer available. As a result of this mentality, we had extra toilet seats, multiple faucets, extra sprinkler heads (you could have started your own sprinkler company with the number of spare heads he owned), auxiliary toasters, supplemental toothpaste, toilet paper, shaving cream…you get the picture? It took me a while to understand this odd, hoarding behavior, but after a few years, I found, I too had bought into this mentality of never running out of anything.

Driving and parking. Steve had a very opinionated way of driving, and even more so, very definite ideas of how to park a car. Prior to Steve, I would drive into a parking lot, find the first parking place nearest my destination,pull in and park, never giving it a second thought. Oh, this was wrong on so many levels! Steve felt strongly that you had to park on the end of a row, ensuring only one side of your car was vulnerable to someone hitting your car door with theirs. Next, you should park as far away from said building as possible, making certain other cars would not park around you. Finally, and this was cardinal law, it was imperative to always park uphill so that shopping carts wouldn’t roll downhill and hit your car. There were times we spent a good 10 minutes pulling in and out of parking places because it simply was not a good fit. Trust me, at the time, this was not amusing.

Totally annoyed, I would slam the car door, and march into the store without him.

Cinnamon chocolate cake. Steve made a great cinnamon chocolate cake. The recipe had been his aunt’s and it was written in a very odd order, unlike any other recipe I have ever seen. Those of you who know me, know I’m not real big on following instructions. When it came time for me to make Steve’s favorite dessert, I simply dumped all the wet ingredients in a bowl, followed by the dry ingredients, then mixed and poured it into the pan. Oh my word (Steve’s favorite expression), one would have thought we were reenacting the Civil War. We would yell and argue over that stupid recipe until one of us finally had to walk away. We wouldn’t speak to one another, until the cake was iced and ready to eat. All was forgiven until it was time to make another cake.

Yard work. I hated working in the yard, but with Steve's green thumb, he had a real ability to making things grow. Over the years, he gradually lured me into the flower beds, craftily teaching me how and when to prune, what plants needed which fertilizer and expounding on the positive effects of mulching. It didn’t take long before Steve had me working right beside him and enjoying the fruits of our labor.

True life crime. Steve loved watching television shows about murders. He loved Dateline, 20/20 and was in hog heaven when he discovered 24-7 television channels airing episode after episode of blackmail, betrayal and murder. It weirded me out at first, especially when Steve would say of the murdered wife, “Her husband did it!”

Thinking back, I am reminded Mary Elizabeth Frye’s poem:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep,

I am a thousand winds that blow

I am the diamond glints on snow

I am the sunlight on ripened grain

I am the gentle Autumn rain

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quite birds in circled flight

I am the soft stars that shine at night

Do not stand at my grave and cry

I am not there, I did not die.

When I stood in my shower and looked down at the turtle soap that I had subconsciously molded, I smiled. I realized Steve was right there beside me…”in a thousand winds that blow” and “the diamond glints on snow.”

It is now second nature for me to buy in quantity, okay, maybe not a dozen pair of my favorite tennis shoes, but when I buy one package of toilet paper, it is always followed by a second, and that goes for batteries, light bulbs, I have cabinets full.  I smile and hear Steve’s quite voice telling me its best not to run out. He is “the sunlight on ripened grain.” I hear his voice “in the gentle Autumn rain.”

It’s difficult for me to make Steve’s favorite cinnamon chocolate cake, but when I do, oh how I wish we could be standing together fighting over that stupid recipe. When I “awaken in the morning’s hush,” Steve fills my thoughts with “a swift uplifting rush.”

I may not have succumbed to Steve’s parking passion, but I hear his warning to me as I slide into the parking place located right next to the shopping cart return, and I smile.

Though I may not watch all the true crime shows that Steve so loved, I so wished for him when I was binge watching “The Making of a Murderer.” Oh my word, he would have loved every sordid minute of it!

The yard work I now so love, because here is where I hear Steve so clearly…”prune from the Y in the vines,” “cut this bush from the bottom,” “unbelievable, look at all the blooms on this sucker!” 

“Of quite birds of circled flight” Steve is in every “soft star that shines at night.”

I know I will always make Steve’s turtle soap. I will always smile at my precious sweet memories, for you see, I will not “stand at Steve’s grave and cry” for I know “he is not there, he did not die.”

For what it’s worth,

Janet

Isaiah 49:16 “See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me.”

Open windows...

There are only a few times a year in San Antonio when it is actually bearable to open every window in your house and let those cool breezes sweep from room to room. A few days ago, “I tore open the shutters and threw up the sash…” and I am enjoying these wonderful spring like days.

There is something refreshing about open windows. Perhaps, it reminds me of my sweet grandmother’s home. Minnie Mama had no air-conditioning, only warm summer breezes blew through her home. I still love the sound of whirling fans stirring the air. My open windows allow early morning sounds of waking birds to begin my days with a smile.

Fresh air permeates the house when my windows are open. In San Antonio, we are blessed with the aroma of lilac smelling, Mountain Laurels. While the blossoms and their scents last only a few weeks, open windows enable me to savor this delicious fragrance.

Oh, there are a few drawbacks to allowing nature to fill your home. Occasionally, a visit from a misguided bird will flutter through open patio doors, crashing their small feathery bodies  from one wall to another. Until I am able to coerce this lost creature from my home with a broom, I find my heart pounds and my hands sweat trying to remove this pitiful little bird out my back door. I also find, I get quite annoyed with the light film of dust that daily shows up on table tops, due to open windows. Only yesterday, I fertilized my flower beds with an organic mixture of manure and other good stuff. Forgetting my season of open windows, I climbed into bed last night and felt like I was back in Lubbock, Texas. Nature at it best, I drifted off to sleep in spite of the earthy odor wafting around me.

 I was 10 years old when I first saw “The Sound of Music.” I owned Maria. I knew every line she spoke, I wanted to be a novice and live with a bunch of nuns and the Reverend Mother. All of this was all quite exotic to me as I grew up a Southern Baptist. The only catholic I knew was Susie Anderson who lived down the street and had to eat fish every Friday. I would spend long afternoons twirling around my backyard, pillowcase trailing like a nun’s wimple around my head, arms outstretched, I sang, at the top of my lungs, “The hills are alive with the sound of music...”

All this to say, that while enjoying my open window season, I have been reminded of one of Maria’s famous quotes, "Where the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.” 

While not biblical, pretty sage advice Maria, as it seems God has allowed numerous doors to close in my life, and I have no doubt God will close a few more doors before opening those big pearly gates. 

The opening and closing of doors, can be very overwhelming. When I think of moves I have made; college, marriage, even job changes, well, those were some mighty large doors.

I thought the heaviest of my doors to close was when my first marriage ended. I was 38 years old  and I had a 14 year old son and 13 year old daughter. That door had a resounding echo when it slammed shut, leaving me scared to death and a bit numb. Here, wise Maria’s words jubilantly rang true. It is my absolute belief that while God certainly did not close the door to my marriage, he opened wide the window that became an amazing vista for the rest of my life. 

Meeting Steve was so unpredictable, so surprising, that it left us both standing at its threshold in awe. Oh, one might say it was lucky, some fortuitous, but, I say, without a doubt, God “tore open the shutters and threw up the sash” the day he opened that window for Steve and me. It was pure technicolor panavision!

Tomorrow is March fourth, our 21st wedding anniversary. I have a good friend (Dellie, you know who you are) who also celebrates her birthday tomorrow. When she first heard of our wedding date, her words were, “March fourth, the only day of the year that gives a command!”  Twenty-one years ago, Steve and I happily marched forth through a doorway with a command for a new life and great beginnings. I am grateful for every moment of that March fourth command, yet, I feel that Steve’s death was the most devastating door of my life to close.

While I am no longer able to march forth through life with Steve, God continues to open new windows for me every day. I find there is real joy in the cool breezes that those open windows sweep into my heart. Some breezes are warm memories, some bring the fresh air of new adventures and always, I find delight in the open windows that bring the sounds of love and laughter from my precious grandchildren. Oh sure, there may always be a vagrant bird or foul odor every now and then, but hey…that’s living while allowing your heart’s window to remain open.

So tomorrow, I will fling wide the windows of my heart. I will march forth into new beginnings and continue to look for windows that may well become doorways to new adventures.  The hills are alive…and I thank God I have open windows to allow me to experience His beautiful vistas.

For what it's worth, 

Janet

Revelations 3:8 "I know all the things that you do, and I have opened a door for you that no one else can close." 

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