OLW 2017

All of 2016 was intense.  To say the least.  Friends and coworkers have commented on "how strong you are."  Come November, I no longer felt strong.  I wanted the year to be over.  You see, my OLW for last year was hope.  I hoped my husband and I could support my mother-in-law through her battle with liver cancer, which ended up being a nine-month endurance challenge until we said goodbye.  I hoped that we could balance support for my family dealing with my father's dementia and the new challenges in our lives.  Then six weeks after my mother-in-law's funeral, my husband was diagnosed with kidney cancer.  Both kidneys.  And so I landed on a new word - Faith.  I continued to hold on to hope and look forward to a new year; a new start when I could breathe just a bit easier and feel as if I was not just treading water, but moving forward.  Come 2017, I told myself, I will I hold on to faith that we will see the blessings in the challenges, faith that we are in just the place we need to be, and faith that God will prove Himself faithful, again.

So as all years do, this one also has begun to pass.  Here we are on March 1, 2017.  On this day I am thankful that: my husband has recuperated successfully from two major surgeries, he is now cancer-free, my friends have continued to be loving and supportive, and how I have seen God's faithfulness repeatedly in multiple areas of my life.

So now, what will faith continue to look like across my life?

Faith might look like:
  - Answering the phone with a smile on my face
  - Leaving work with just a bit undone to spend time with family
  - Being vulnerable with colleagues to admit when I don't have all of the answers
  - Letting go of my worries, again and again
  - Basking in the sunlight, and enjoying that moment

It seems that the impact of 2016 has left me just a bit more empathetic, still, and cognizant of the tremendous amount of blessings in my life.  Hope and Faith are doing their good work in me!

The Crayons Are Back!

   The crayons are back!  If you are half of the fan of Oliver Jeffers' work that I am, you need to run to your nearest bookstore and pick up the sequel to "The Day the Crayons Quit."  Drew Daywelt and Oliver Jeffers have completed the sequel to the hilarious text that had students from grades K-9 pointing, laughing and discussing at length.
   Not only is this a fabulous text for a read aloud, it can also be used to demonstrate pathos, logos and ethos in an argument.  Primary students will have strong opinions about the adventures of the crayons and boys will adore the "gross" humor the author provides.
   In my opinion, this is a five star book.  Enjoy!

Holding On

  "Mija, will you ask your mom if she has any tweezers?" my father asks as he motions me over to the large chair he is lounging on.

  "Sure, Poppy," I reply.  This is odd. I've probably been here for an hour and a half at this point, and this is the first time he engages with me directly.  And it's to pluck out the hair in his ears.

    I gather the tweezers from my mother and slowly walk back to my father who hasn't moved from his reclined position on the outdoor lounger.  "Here we go Pops," I remark as I take his chin in my hands to turn his face sideways.  He complies.  

    I make small talk with him as we move through the task.  I ask him about memories from his childhood.  He still holds keen details of those days.  "I remember when you called your brother, Brother," he offers.  He brings that up each time we're together and I wonder about the meaning from that tagline, and how it managed to cement itself into his ever-growing-hazy memories.

    As  I turn his chin in the other direction I think of how often he turned me over when I was helpless, changed a diaper, bandaged a scraped knee.  Now the tables are turned, and I'm thankful for this moment, each of us holding the other in shared memories, eyes persisting to find mine and hold on.  

   It's in these small and brief moments that I find my father again, and I know I was prepared for these trying times by the gentle man who held my hand in his, and is still holding on.

Blessed

Taste and see that the Lord is good;
    blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.

Psalm 34:8

I noticed my dog as I was climbing onto my exercise bike the other morning.  You see, we have a routine.  As soon as Pal jumps out of bed in the morning, he receives a few pets, then takes himself to the back door.  The door is opened, and he begins to survey the yard.  He'll patrol all day...bark at the walkers, run to see the other dogs passing by the gate, greet the postal carrier and UPS man with boisterous (and loud) exclamations. Later in the morning, his food bowl is filled and his water bowl refreshed.  The routine stays the same.  Each morning we move through that dance together.

   But this week I've been home.  The routine has changed.  After his morning stroll around the yard, I open the back door once more, and Pal spends the majority of his day in the house, with me.  One morning I noticed that as I lumbered onto the exercise bike, Pal was in the same room, toy in mouth, throwing his stuffed animal into the air and then wrestling with it on the floor.  One word came to mind - Joy.  You see, he knew he was in the house with the master.  There was no need to be on extreme alert.  He wasn't searching endlessly for his food bowl, anxious about the other dogs outside or begging me for a treat.  He knew who he was with.  He had his supplies for the day.  He chose to be content.

   Father, build up my contentment in You.  You are completely good.  You supply abundantly.  May I choose to leave the anxieties that fill my mind behind and instead, take my refuge in You.  You are my rest and in Your presence is fullness of joy.

Life Without Boys

Who would have thought that I would befriend the freshman homecoming princess?  Certainly not me.  It all started in homeroom.  Her last name started with a "W", mine with a "Z".  Of course, sorting students by the alphabet must be a research-based approach.  Although we were complete strangers on the first day of freshman year, we finished our high school experience as solid friends.  Now, I'm honored to say that she is truly my soul sister.

The first conversation was about boys.  What would life be like without them?  Perfect! We agreed.  She offered a marvelous suggestion.

"Let's form a new type of nunnery.  Instead of wearing black, we'll wear white habits.  We don't have to stay at the church all of the time...just when we really need to do something there.  And the hats are definitely optional."

I was hesitant.  Let's face it.  I liked boys.  I agreed with her philosophy in theory.  But to really give them up completely?  Now that was a bit crazy.  Like something my parents might have dreamt up.

Still, she was pretty excited about this idea of hers.  No sense bursting her bubble.

"White habits.  I like it.  How about we get to accent the habits with a splash of color?  Red shoes OK?  I'm not sure about the whole rosary thing.  Can we ditch that too?  Just a necklace with a cross?"  (After all, we were proposing this idea on a private school campus after all.)

She considered my thinking seriously.  "I guess that's OK.  Yeah, that'll work."

After a couple minutes of quiet contemplation, we both burst into laughter.  And then the conversation quickly turned back to our favorite topic of late.  Boys.  Who we liked.  Who we didn't.

It's almost impossible to believe that now, thirty-two years later, our conversation still revolves around our "boys".  Her husband and three sons, my husband.  We've both said we're thankful we changed the plan on life without boys.  In fact, we've enjoyed the journey so much more on this side of our "nunnery."

A Full Life

As I walked in the door my eyes landed on his shoes.  He was wearing his clogs.  The new ones.  The ones he bought just for cooking.

Yes, he had been to the market.  Fresh broccoli and potatoes sat in anticipation on the butcher block.  A white-wrapped steak waited neatly on the kitchen counter.  He's at it again.

One hour earlier I had texted in the middle of a mild meltdown.  Just three words:  "I'm feeling overwhelmed."  Those three words immediately set him into action.  And here he was, in the kitchen, doing what he could to make it better.

Isn't that just like him?  Over the twenty-eight years that I've known him he's rode in on various white horses to assist by bringing dinner to the college parking lot, programming a new cell phone at midnight and even purchasing a reliable car the morning after my freeway breakdown.

Twenty minutes later we sit together to a fresh dinner of homemade bread, grilled steak, sauteed broccoli and potatoes.  Comfort food eaten together at home.  And it completes the therapy the hour-long drive home began.

I am loved.  My stomach, but more importantly, my life, are both full.

Face to Face

We sat at a small table, just the two of us.  He eagerly devoured the hot cocoa in front of him.  I sipped on my tea.  I took out the large sized art paper I brought with me for the occasion.  With ceremony, I displayed the array of colored pencils and markers I anticipated he would enjoy.  He smiled haphazardly.  

For the next hour and a half we waited.  I decided this morning that my dad and I would journey through the normal routine chores of my life together.  What can be more routine than an oil change?  I knew this morning would not be filled with personal and lingering conversation.  I knew he may forget where we were, why he was with me, and sometimes ask for my mother.  What I wasn't sure about was how anxious he may become.  How uncomfortable would he be away from his couch and television set?  What difficulties might he have with eating or walking?  When would he ask for me to take him back home?

He glanced out the window of the restaurant and hurriedly sketched the tree just outside of the restaurant.  He looked up at me, "This one's for you, Mija."

"Aren't you going to sign it for me?" I teased.

He bent his head down towards the picture and awkwardly signed his name.  "There," he stated.

Over the next twenty minutes, we bantered over his drawing.  Each time he attempted to move it towards my side of the table in a gesture of finality I asked for more detail.  "What about the umbrella on the table?  I think you left out the flowers.  Where's the sky?  How will I remember what the weather was like?"

Each time he hesitantly obliged.  

Spending time with this changing man, my father, is not yet completely normal for me.  I'm still letting go of the patient, soft-spoken and extremely personal "Poppy" I grew up with.  He's been exchanged for this anxious and detached man who I love, and am working to get to know, understand and accept.

New Shoes

My mother remembers the exact moment she decided to have a small family.  She's told the story frequently.  One day in second grade she came home to search for cardboard in the trash can.  She retrieved a piece, then traced the bottom of her shoe and cut out the form to place inside of it.  There were two holes along the bottom of her shoe now.  Her socks were black in those places.  She decided at that moment that she would have one, maybe two children.  She would not have seventeen, as her parents had.  Her children would have new shoes.

Life with sixteen siblings is unimaginable to me.  My mother kept her promise.  There are two of us who call her mother.  Sixteen siblings is also sixteen good-byes, especially when you are one of the middle children in the family.  

Goodbye #1:  Youngest brother Robert was the epitome of life and joy.  Always good-natured.  Always joking.  Always smiling.  Then he served in Vietnam and returned a changed man.  Still smiling, but usually after a few six-packs.  He died at 34 from cirrhosis of the liver.

Goodbye #2:  Youngest sister Jenny was the "black sheep" of the family.  Definitely marched to her own drummer.  Faded in and out of the family, and lived life according to her own rules.  Passed away far from her children - heart disease.

And today she's preparing for…

Goodbye #3:  Oldest sister Rita.  Had nine children of her own.  Worked the farm along with her husband until his recent passing just two years ago.  Never complains.  Makes breakfast from scratch each and every morning.  Spending time with her children in the hospital as she struggles with pneumonia.  My mother's mentor.

My mother remembers the exact moment she decided to have a small family.  My mother remembers the joyous moments with her siblings.  Each one of them.  I doubt she would trade one of those stories for any new pair of shoes.

Runny Eggs

He calls me over to the table and I sit.  We slept in and took some time to lounge this morning, so I am definitely hungry.  He's made eggs.  For both of us.  Previously, his breakfast foods have been limited:  French toast, pancakes, waffles, cereal.  Notice a theme?  Yes, none of the list are savory and none of them include eggs.  He's not an egg man.

He's prepared them the way I like - over easy.  One and a half over easy eggs cheerily smile up at me accompanied by slices of his homemade sourdough bread, toasted.  With a breakfast this lovingly prepared, it has to be a great day.  We linger over our meal.  I'm savoring every bite and he is persisting through it, trying to train his taste buds, forcing his mind to expand to include something different.

He consistently surprises me and affirms my respect and love.  What habit have I settled into that needs to be expanded?  What line of thinking have I let sink in so deeply, that I have not allowed myself room to grow?  I'd like to notice…and make room for a bit of change.

Possibility

Spring is coming.  I can feel it in the air.  The days are a bit longer.  When I drive to work in the morning, I'm driving in light instead of total darkness.  It's becoming the time to take walks after dinner, sit outside on the weekends with a cup of tea and linger with my book, time to enjoy the sunset through the window as my husband and I enjoy dinner together.  It's the time of possibility…

- to renew relationships with friends

- to truly linger in that professional read that's been sitting at the bottom of my pile

- to reflect on how far we have come since the beginning of the year

- to savor the journey and the process

Seasonal changes seem to be part of my internal clock as a human being.  Moving from the darker days to lighter and longer ones renews my energy, my vision, and my hope in possibility.  Take a whiff of the air outside today.  Smile.  Anything is possible!

Three Things

I read Burkins and Yaris blog this morning.  That post referenced the video above, Matthew McConaughey's acceptance speech for his Academy Award this year.  I took a few minutes to view the video.  He references that he needs three things in his life:  something to look up to, something to look forward to, and something to chase.

I wondered…what are the three things I "need" in my life daily.  Do I have something to look up to, something to look forward to, and something to chase?  What are they?

To Listen

She arrived at 7:36 tonight.   Usually I sit warming my hands on my tea for close to twenty minutes before she shows up.  But since the one morning she stood me up completely, she's mostly been on time.  After paying for her meal, she sits across from me.

The conversation begins as usual…how much homework she has, what her shifts at work have been like, the life of a college student.  I listen.  Ask a few questions.  We began meeting in December and this is what I do - listen.  I am sometimes surprised that she continues to meet with me.  

Then, just before the time winds down, she mentions it again.  "You know, I've never had a good friend.  In high school, friends came for a couple of weeks and then moved on to someone new.  I've always wanted someone to talk to, I guess.  Someone who would just let me say whatever I need to say.  I can't talk to my sister.  And definitely, not my mother.  They would try to tell me what to do, and that's not what I need.  I just need someone to listen."

And I realize it's her way of thanking me.  Her effort at giving me a compliment.  So I take my mug in my hands one more time, bring it to my mouth, and listen as her words pour out.  

Wisdom

Chocolate Strawberry Shortcake is sitting between us.  I notice that we're each leaned forward towards the other, and my body language mimics hers.  We've snuck in one hour onto our calendars to catch up, eat something sweet, and laugh together.  It's been easy like this since I've known her.

"You know you're too old for Forever 21 when you've gone into the dressing room for the third time and come out empty handed," she begins.  "I don't know why I keep going in there.  I mean, the clothes look fabulous on the mannequin.  And I tell myself, ten dollars for a blouse?  Now that's affordable!  So, I grab a few items, wait in the line for almost fifteen minutes, then head into a dressing room.  And then it dawns on me.  I'm in the middle of sticking this dress over my head, you know, the one without a zipper?  And I remember, I've done this before.  You know, you get that dress just past the shoulders, and you realize you're stuck!  There's no one to help you in there.  Those low lights are shining down on you and you start to sweat.  You're too embarrassed to ask the salesgirl for help, so you spend fifteen minutes just wriggling out of the cheap thing, praying that you don't end up ripping it and have to buy it."  

We laugh uncontrollably.  I nod with familiarity at her story.

"Yeah, I'm too old to go in there anymore.  It's just not worth it!" she finishes.

We dive back into our Strawberry Shortcake, giggling as we move into another story, cautious to keep our eyes away from our watches and phones.  And I think, now that's a great idea for a slice of life story!

Colleagues

How's it going?

Can I help with that?

Where does this go?

Are we done with that conversation?

How did it turn out?

Let's meet to finish that up.

Let me know how I can help you.

Take care of yourself.

I understand.

You made me really think.

Thanks for taking time with that.

I appreciate your effort

I see how hard you work.

You really helped me process that.

Thank you!

Purple Pens

I am a pen lover.  I have to confess.  Walking into stationary stores to gaze at the displays of brightly colored pens lining the walls is one of my favorite past times.  Trying out different sized pens with various grips - triangle shaped, sticky rubber barrels or miniature sized writing instruments are so tempting.  There are the varied new colors as well:  aqua, gold, various purple hues.  Each yells out to me from its neatly-shapen container, "Come buy me!  You know you'd love to write with me!"

Invariably, I give in.  I sit in my office, fresh sheet of paper on the table and remove the lid.  I slide the ink across the page in an angled line and admire how the fresh sheen of it slowly transforms to a matted shade of color as it dries into the paper.  My words literally take form, shape and color as my hand creates the letters on the page.

Is this creation at its finest?  Making something out of nothing. Something my own.  And it all began with a purple pen in an aisle of a stationary store.

NOT Playing it Safe

He volunteered to make lunch for our guests. "Works for me," I told him.  "What are you thinking you"ll make?"  He decided on fish and chips.

Interesting part of that decision is that he's never eaten fish and chips. Not once.  In fact, he hadn't made fish any part of his diet until three weeks ago.  Now. we try to eat salmon at least once a week.  And now he's decided to make fish and chips?  

And he did.  He printed out a recipe from America's Test Kitchen, went shopping last night, and made them today.  They weren't perfect, could have been cooked a bit longer, but the flavor was pretty good. Our guests had seconds.  That has to be evidence that they were pretty good.

What amazes me is his willingness to try anything in this new hobby of his - like cooking something from scratch that he's never eaten before.  And, being willing to do it for some friends of ours who are coming over for lunch.  How does confidence like that develop?  And how can I pass it on, to students AND to teachers?

Friend

I took a picture of him napping today.  My dog.  I have a faithful companion in Pal.  He watches as I prune the creeping fig.  Races with the water hose as I fill the birdbath and comes running at my call.  As a student, I hated when the teacher would choose a book with a dog as one of the central characters.  I already knew it was going to be a tear-jerker.  Life is like that.  For right now, I'll keep taking pictures of his crazy antics.

Struggle

One person can't be good at everything.  I think I know that, but I've been struck by the reality of it as of late.  We're in the midst of redecorating our living room.  I am the designated redecorator.  More accurately, I am the shopper-and-returner.

I find myself perusing websites the likes of Crate and Barrel and Pottery Barn.  I have rarely enjoyed entering into those stores.  Now, I spend hours searching for sideboards and hutches.

Over the past three days, I have visited Home Goods three times.  Once each day.  I purchased three lamps.  I will be returning the third one tomorrow.

It's humbling.  It's interesting.  What am I learning about myself?  I don't often choose to struggle in areas I know will be difficult for me.  I repeatedly hear myself telling friends that "I'm awful" at this new vocation.  Perhaps I need a change in mindset.  Can I call myself an "apprentice interior visionist"?  Let me know if you think of a better title.

Moving On

I thought I'd never get it away from him.  Monkey-man.  Originally, Monkey-man was a Valentine's day gift from my husband over twenty-seven years ago.  He rode in my first car on the stick shift.  He accompanied me to my college dorm.  He made his way to our honeymoon in Cancun.  And he made it into the heart of our terrier.  Into his heart, and into his mouth.

Monkey-man provided Pal with many hours of pleasure - as a playmate for tug-of-war, as a chew toy for solitary afternoons, as a "come and catch me" tease.  Pal even took Monkey-man to bed with him.  

I couldn't look at Monkey-man lately without grimacing a bit.  He was well loved and well worn.  So, I replaced him.  I found a fox at the pet store and brought him home to Pal.  I thought I'd have to bribe Pal to accept the new toy.  I assumed he would protect his old friend and hesitatingly move on to the newer toy.  I was completely wrong.  Pal opened his heart and mouth to Fox, never glancing back to say good-bye to his old friend.

Maybe some changes should be like that.  Maybe sometimes, you need to just accept with thanks, and move on.

Sun Drenched Scones

I told myself yesterday that I wouldn't bake today.  I'm too tired.  Too much to do.  "I'll enjoy the time a lot better if I don't put any pressure on myself to bake," I reasoned.  But I did.

It all began with a simple text from Mary.  "Will you please bring your homemade devonshire cream?  I love it!"  Well, there's just no sense making devonshire cream from scratch if you're just going to turn around and put them on Panera scones!

After returning from the market this morning at 8:00 a.m. (while on my vacation, nonetheless), I soon had made a fine mess in the kitchen.  Food processor down.  Oven on.  Mixing spoons and measuring cups strewn.  I mechanically read through the recipe and put the ingredients together.

Then, it happened.

In what seemed a frozen moment in time, I saw my scones, drenched in sunlight sitting on the oven, just waiting for a smile and a little love.  "This is it," I realized.  "This is my morning, and I can either infuse some love into these bits of dough, or miss it completely."

And so, with an air-blown smooch I sent my cranberry triangles into the oven.  And they smiled right back.