Under construction...

I have a strange curiosity, maybe a mild obsession, concerning new highway and road construction. There is constant road construction taking place all over San Antonio. As in most large cities, populations are growing and newer, bigger, expanded roadways are needed. 

I knew it made Steve a bit crazy when we would drive past the beginnings of an expressway flyover, or the addition of a higher tier to a freeway interchange and my questioning would begin…“How they are going to tie this new expansion into the old one?  Where will they put the entrance ramp or where the exit ramp take us? Will this road now be three lanes or four? Are they going to make a flyover that will cover that entire neighborhood? Are they going to demolish all those existing buildings to make way for that cloverleaf?”  Steve’s reply was always the same, “I have no idea…We will have to wait and see…You ask me these questions every time we drive past this construction. Why do you care???”

The extension project of Wurzbach Parkway began about 9 years ago, at least this was the beginning of the segment of the road that ran right by our neighborhood. This new corridor would create a direct path for us to get from our home, to the airport, to our favorite Mexican food restaurant or to places we frequently shopped. Road construction began and ended in sections. The city would complete one portion, enabling traffic to go from one major intersection to another. Once this part was completed, they would  start on the next leg of construction. Each leg of the new parkway brought me more questions, greater curiosity and a weird type of anxiousness. The questions would begin…”I wonder where it will intersect with the crossing street? I wonder what the speed limit will be? I wonder when they will be finished?” 

The construction of this particular thoroughfare was far more exciting to me than our major freeway expansions because it was personal, directly affecting many of our daily routes. I knew we would use this super-arterial all the time. How great it would be. It would cut our errand running time in half. 

I found I would get impatient with the slow construction. There were weeks when the road was left unattended. I would drive past and think, oh hurry, hurry, hurry, it can’t take this long to build anything. Eventually, the new segment, closest to our home was completed. While we used it often, the next phase of the parkway would be even better, our driving time so much efficient. This leg would involve a flyover, meaning construction would be slower and my questions even more obnoxious.

While I’m sure the parkway expansion was never as big of a deal to Steve as it had been to me, I managed to include Steve in my running commentary every chance I had. I can see him now, shaking his head in crazed wonder that I could be quite so consumed with something so mundanely bizarre.

Steve never saw the completion of the extended parkway and maybe that has something to do with my forthcoming confession. 

It was several months after Steve’s death and I was smack dab in the middle of the grieving process. I was in that place where no matter where I was, it was wrong. If I were at home, I needed to get out of the house. If I were away from home, I only wanted to be at home. I was a nomad in my own body, numb to everything around me and yet, oddly still functioning, well kind of.

I remember it being a warm, sunny Sunday afternoon. I was feeling nomad-ish, so I got in my car and took off. Noticing a passing street sign, I snapped out of my foggy state. Had my eyes actually seen what I thought they had, a new large green street sign pointing to the completion of the new parkway? Jumpin' Jehosophat! My adrenaline started pumping. I made a u-turn to take another look. Oh, my yellow brick road! My completed parkway! The concrete seemed to gleam in the sunshine beckoning me to explore first hand, this new passageway, complete with flyover.

I paused for a moment before beginning my excursion. You see, there was still a smallish barricade barring the entrance, but it wasn’t very wide and there seemed ample room for vehicles to skirt around them. I hesitated. I looked as far as my eye could see, the road appeared completely finished. I was sure it was ready for traffic. The city probably just needed to paint some lane stripes, maybe put up some street lamps or speed limit signs, but this road was ready for travel, and I wanted nothing more than to take the maiden voyage back to my house.

I knew if Steve had been by my side, he would have thrown a conniption fit, laid down in the middle of the street and would have forbidden me from even thinking about driving beyond the smallish barricade. Steve wasn’t with me, and perhaps that’s why this is now a story. 

Remember, it was a Sunday afternoon, thus, very little traffic. Seeing no one nearby, I turned on to the majestic new parkway. It was perfect, four wide lanes of brand new smooth sailing. Smiling as I drove, wind in my hair, I was halfway into the flyover when…BAM! My four-door sedan bottomed out. There was a sickening scraping sound, my head hit the roof of my car and my teeth collided. Uh oh, so this was why those barricades were up. They had yet to finish paving about five top layers of the flyover, oops. Slowly I inched forward to see if my tires were still on my car. I could move. I looked sheepishly around me…thankfully, no one was in sight. I bumped along the partially finished road, until I found the first place I could exit.. Once home, I examined my tires, they seemed okay. I sort of halfway crawled under my car, but it was pretty dark down there and besides, I hadn’t a clue what I was looking for. Crawling out, I determined, no harm had been done and vowed never to tell a soul. Oh well, such is life!

Several weeks later, I’d forgotten about my misadventure (remember I was still in my grief fog), when I noticed my tire pressure light. Not thinking much of it, I drove to Discount Tire. By the time I arrived my tire was on the rim. So, so flat.  After a quick examination, the young attendant told me not one, but all four of my tires were incredibly, irrevocably damaged. Checking his computer, he was surprised to see we had purchased all new tires the first of the year. Looking at me rather quizzically, he asked if I just might have driven over a pothole lately? Great, my secret misadventure was about to become costly. I sheepishly admitted, in detail, what I had done. This young man’s eyes widened, “Wow lady, that musta been some kind of crazy ride!” Perfect, just perfect…

I hadn’t thought of that escapade, until driving home from running errands today. I wondered if I would still make such an irrational, okay stupid, decision as I had that Sunday afternoon? I would like to think I have come a long way from those grief laden, foggy days. 

My life is much like a road under construction. I am a long way from completion and the direction of my pathways often seem circuitous. I wonder where this turn in my road will take me? I’m often baffled by the tangled events of my life, the cloverleaf of intersecting lanes that, at times, seem to have no exit. I grow impatient with my time spent under construction, with my bumpy roads, my detours and barriers.

My questions grow wearisome. Am I on the right path, or should I be making a detour at this junction?  What must be removed or paved over for my construction to continue? I’m curious to know where this path might lead, or how this lane might tie in to a new lane. So many questions, so few answers.

The good news is that I need not know the answers to all of my many questions concerning the construction of my life. My trust lies in the fact that I believe in a loving God who makes my paths straight. A God, who mercifully fills in my deepest potholes and who gently shows me how to follow His direction, His meaning, His purpose. I’m grateful God allows me choices and challenges while I’m under construction and my blessings come when I find the joy there is in discovering opportunity and shared experiences along life’s highway.

I know there will be many more times in life when I choose to ignore the barricades God has wisely and carefully put in place. I'm certain I will travel carelessly where I shouldn’t and I will, more than likely, scrape bottom every once in a while. Thankfully, my assurance allows  construction to continue, for my confidence is in the promise that God is true to His word. He is the Master Engineer and in His time, He will make all the provisions to build a road that will take me safely home.

For what its worth,

Janet

Proverbs 3:6 “In all your ways acknowledge Him, And He will make your paths straight.”

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."