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.”

Respite...

This little word has been floating back and forth through my mind like that little cartoon bubble that floats over Charlie Brown’s head wherever he goes. I have heard this little word softly spoken to me for the last few months. Respite, an interval of rest or relief, this is how Webster defines my new little bubble that continues to remind me of this much needed time that I have entered.

A new season of my life. New beginnings, new roads to travel, adventures to discover and a time of quiet reflection while I find rest, rejuvenation and hope to make the most, the best of my life.

For more than ten years some member of my immediate family has faced serious health issues that have absorbed much of my waking moments. It has been the bubbles of fear, of “what if”, of sadness that have hovered over my every step, like dark threatening thunder clouds. 

Every life has their difficult times, every life has seasons of fear, of sorrow, of questioning the unknown. These seasons cannot be avoided. One must put them on, wear them, own them, as there is no hedging life and the emotions that come when loving deeply. 

So I have traveled some rocky, steep roads. I have known what it is to have a broken heart, and grieve beyond what I ever imagined. I have also known what it is to have my greatest fears vanish and turn into amazing miracles. I am realizing that after these years of emotional disquietude, I have come to a season, an interval of rest and relief. I am thankful beyond measure for the time of respite, and I am trying to be content in simply resting in this place that I know is a gift from God.

Last October, Brooke came to me about attending a Women’s Retreat. As we made plans to attend we thought how great the retreat could be if we included some of Brooke’s high school friends and their moms, who were also my good friends. So our retreat week-end began this past Friday evening. Five of us moms and seven of our daughters joined about 150 other women for a really incredible two days of being spiritually fed and renewed. My respite took on new meaning and I am grateful for this opportunity to share my faith, my prayers, my heart’s greatest desires with not only my sweet dear friends, but even more, to share this time with my precious daughter. What a gift. 

I have been guilty this past year, feeling that I should be doing something of worth, something beyond myself, something that will broaden me, that will take me out of my comfort zone and hopefully, allow me to help someone else. I have wrestled with writing a book, which seems insurmountable to me. I have questioned this feeling of being, directionless, unsettled, feeling not quite sure where my compass is pointing. 

“Respite” floats through my mind, but have I been content in resting, waiting, being patient in enjoying the present?

My family’s lake home continues to hold such sweet memories for me. I, somehow became the designated boat driver and waterskiing instructor of the family. I taught each of my nieces and nephews and my own small children to ski. 

The children began this sport at a very young age. Acting as their teacher, I would stand above them from deck of the boat. I would watch them flapping and splashing about in the water. They would exert all their energy wrestling with keeping their skis straight, struggling to keep the ski tips out of the water. Once it seemed they had gotten their bearings, I would slowly circle the boat around them, the ski rope would trail behind. It never failed that each child would reach way beyond their grasp to try and grab the rope’s handle. Inevitably, the skis would flip over, taking their body with them as they gulped mouths full of lake water. All I could see from my boat perspective was a fountain of splashing water, arms flailing, dramatic choking sounds and skis flying all over the surface of the water. All of this lost energy was due to the fact they had lost their center. They had to right themselves again and resume the skier posture and take a deep breath and refocus.

My encouragement would be the same with every child. Be still and allow the rope to come to you. I would tell them that I could steer the rope right into their hands. There was no need to struggle, there was no need to expend all this energy grasping for something so unnecessarily difficult. I would tell them to wait, to watch for the rope coming their way and, when the time was right, they could simply reach out, easily take hold of the rope that was waiting at the end of their fingertips, grab hold and enjoy the thrill of learning how to skim over the water. Eventually they would be able to cut through the wakes of the boat, to fly back and forth across the smooth surface of the lake, knowing that I would steer them safely through the waters and enable them to simply enjoy.

This week-end, I became that first-time skier all over again. I heard the instructions coming from the orchestrator of my life. Janet, stop flailing about. Regain your bearings, and stop expending so much needless energy. Quit trying to reach for something too quickly. Be still, I am God, I am enough. My perspective is higher than yours. I will steer you through this obstacle course of life. I will bring you your rope. I will take you to the places beyond your reach. I will allow you to skim through the waters of your life. Keep your eyes on me, listen to me, I will encourage you and I will take you to places you never dreamed possible.

I believe I am right where God intends for me to be. To realize that this little bubble word “Respite” is floating around in my head not by accident, but purposefully to remind me this is my season to sit, to restore my energy, to be intentional about resting until God brings that rope right into the palms of my hands. 

For what’s it’s worth,

Janet

Isaiah 48:17  “I am the LORD your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go.

Old friends...

"Old friends you haven't seen in a long time is, for me, a glimpse of who I was. ”

I said good-bye to the last of the four of us today. How many times have we said good-bye to another since elementary school? Driving home from the airport, I found myself smiling, remembering all the years of friendship that the four of us have shared.

Donna, Ann and Louann arrived in San Antonio Friday afternoon. Since our 40 year Houston R.E. Lee High School Reunion, we had all made a conscientious decision to get together on a regular basis.                                                                                                         

Lucy & me with Louann Clark Gallagher, Donna Demanzuk Wilems, Ann Denton Werline

Sooner than we had planned or expected, Donna and Ann showed up at my front door the night before Steve’s memorial service. What incredible friends to stand by my side during one of my most difficult good-byes. A short month after Steve passed away, there the three of them were again, planning a special trip for our little group. We went to St. Petersburg, Florida for a get away, and oh, what a healing time that was for me. Then six months later, plans were made for us to spend a few days in Galveston. Now, here we were united again for a week-end of being together in San Antonio.

St Pete's August 2013

Galveston May 2014

There is something so true about old friends enabling you to see a glimpse of who we were. I find myself thinking I have matured, seasoned, morphed over the years. That time, life, and experiences have all reshaped and molded me into this 60 year old person I know today. Perhaps, I am no longer that naive, fun-loving, shy, insecure and awkward youngster and teenager that I was so very long ago. Perhaps, I have grown beyond that young me and through time, no, because of time, I am now this person I seem used to calling me.

I believe some of this is true. I am older, wiser and wider. I have indeed morphed through time, however, being with old friends, tends to gently blow away the dust of the years and enable us to see a glimpse of who we once were.

Laughing together, we reminisced and relived the crazy antics of our youth. We became “those young girls” again, and it was good. We laughed about some story that maybe two of the four of us could remember vividly, while the other two had long forgotten that any thing of the sort had ever taken place. It is those sparks of, “Oh wow, I had completely forgotten that...” that take us away from the present and happily lure us back into the past.

Suddenly, all time washes away. Memories of our teen years, without warning, come to life again. All the sights, sounds and smells come into focus. These memories bloom into colorful glimpses enabling us to see the images of our younger selves. Perhaps, none of us have grown so far, or changed much from who we who we were at 16 years old to who we have become today at 60 years old. After much laughter and reminiscing, it seems we have not changed as dramatically as might have thought. That underneath the layers of experience lies the true foundation of who we will always be.

Brooke, along with Ann’s daughter, Laura were able to join in our fun Saturday night.  Sharing childhood experiences with your own adult daughters laughing along beside you, holds a joy all of its own. As we sat around the table telling our daughters of our youth, I looked into the faces of each of my precious life-long friends. Here, I was able to see past the wrinkles, past the gray hair (probably because we all color our hair) and I saw, the young girls that we all had been. The twinkle in each eye was the same, each individual laugh was just as distinctive, the mannerism, the personalities, were all still a constant in defining each of my dear friends. It was the briefest glimpse of who we once were and the reason why we had ever become friends in the first place. I realized that we had each held on to what was authentic within ourselves and we have simply become a bit more honed with time.

Old friends with Brooke

With daughters Brooke & Laura

What a gift that we gave one another this past week-end. To take time away from the present and spend a few days with friends of a life-time. To catch a glimpse of who we once were, and recognize why we will always remain very special friends.

For what it’s worth,

Janet

“Two people are better than one, because they get more done by working together.  If one falls down, the other can help him up. But it is bad for the person who is alone and falls, because no one is there to help.”  Ecclesiastes 4:9-10