And then there was the sun

The screech of the alarm this morning at 5:50 was greeted with a hearty smack of the snooze button.

It was dark.

Too dark.

Without the orange-pink slips of burgeoning morning light dancing between the slats of my bedroom blinds, there was no real incentive to get up. Dark + cold = night = sleep. It's math.

Math is power.

Unfortunately, it was daytime. A gloomy daytime.

Bleh.

Overnight, the temps had dipped all the way back into the 40s. Egad, it's March all over again! I cuddled further into the blankets, hoping to stave off the chill and inevitable "eh eh eh eh eh" of the alarm a little longer.

Breezy and damp, the highs only reached the upper 50s today. Multiple jolts of caffeine couldn't keep the yawns at bay. The afternoon dragged on. All the way home, I consoled myself with, "I'll curl up on the couch in sweats, watch Supernatural on NetFlix and take a nap."

My evening was planned.

And then the craziest, most unexpected thing happened ...

The sun came out.

Okay, maybe it wasn't so crazy or unexpected to those who had watched local weather reports. I had been ensconced in season 6 of Supernatural (Sammy got his soul back!) and hadn't caught the forecasts.

The sun tugged at me. It pulled me off the couch. It whispered, "Come out and play."

Creepy, whisper-y sun.

I ventured out, abandoning my Winchester boys to NetFlix and hit the dirt. I planted my veggie garden, pulled weeds, cleared mountains of helicopters discarded by the maples, and took in the blissful kiss of lilac on the soft evening breeze.

I also stepped in dog poop.

All in all, a good spring evening in the garden, thanks to the invitation of the setting sun.

Spring scenes

"No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn." - Hal Borland

Did you think it would never end? You know, winter? Oh sure, it's officially been spring for like a month now, but even last week here in our little corner of Indiana, there were snow flurries and frosted windshields a couple of mornings. 

Yet, despite our impatience and fears that winter may actually last, gosh,  forever, spring arrived - not just in name, but in action. Temps stretched into the 70s and the sun shined all weekend here, ushering in a gorgeous Easter Sunday.

It was the perfect day to grab the camera and capture the moment.

Baskets line a tree outside an art shop in downtown New Albany, Ind.

Sculpture in downtown New Albany, Ind.

Stations of the Cross.

To you it may be a nuisance, but to a bee, it is life giving.

The real gift of this weekend was not just the warm weather and sunshine, it was also the reminder - at Easter, no less - to remain steady in our faith.

When it seems our sorrows, tribulations ... our long, cold, dark winter ... will outlast us, we are granted a reprieve; a promise kept of better days and of light; of life reborn beside us, all around us, and even underneath our feet.

"He is not here, for he has been raised just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay." - Matthew 28:6 

 

Happy Easter!

A helping hand

It's been a while since I've been in this space. In my last post, way back last month, I talked about how things were falling apart around the house. What I failed to mention at that time was that I was one of the things falling apart.

Seems my gallbladder was being a jerk, and so it had to go. I had surgery a little over three weeks ago there ain't no gallbladder no more.

I had an attentive - hovering - husband to care for me during my recuperation. He held up his part of the whole "in sickness and in health" vow like a champ. Still, there came a point where he had to go back to work and that left me on my own.

I needed help.

I'm not comfortable needing help. I rarely ask for it. Truth is, I learned early on in life that, for the most part, I would have to deal with situations big and small on my own. I would have to be self-sufficient and I pretty much always have been.

And while I have always accepted this as my reality, I do not apply this philosophy to everyone else. I know too well what it is like to be left hanging on your own in the world, and so if someone tells me he or she needs my help, I will try to help.

Sometimes, you don't even have to ask. 

I do not have the financial resources to write blank checks to those in need, but I offer what I can share - a meal or a ride. I give advice of a personal or professional nature. I help make connections to resources or people. I pray. I roll up my sleeves and dig in. I listen. I offer a hug, a pat on the back, or even a kick in the ass. I call, text or send a card. I will mop the floor, sit bedside, bring in the mail, feed the fish. I will do what I can to help.

Every now and then I get to be the hero - my help is just what is needed. Sometimes what I offer is just barely enough.

Sometimes it is not enough at all.

For the most part, I offer help without condition. I don't particularly expect or need to be thanked; I usually don't want anything in return. Still, I always appreciate a sincere thank-you or a kind gesture in return. I am human that way. It is nice, but not required.

If I do expect something in return, I am pretty blunt about it from the beginning: Here's what I am going to do for you, but I will need you to do this in return. If I feel as though I can't be a help or have reasons for not helping, I say no. Passive-aggressive is not my style.

That doesn't happen very often, though.

And so I found myself needing help recently. I had some issues related to my post-op recovery, as well as the fact I was an emotional mess: cranky, moody, exhausted and sick. Worst of all, I was bored.

I don't do bored well at all.

I didn't want to ask for help. Asking for help makes me feel out of control and vulnerable ... What if someone says no? That has happened and it stings.

The thing is, I didn't even have to ask for help.

My friends swept in like a tidal wave. They fed me and my family. They got me out of the house, sometimes for lunch or window shopping; sometimes just as tag-along while they did their own errands  Cards, gifts, flowers, texts and phone calls brought me cheer when I was down or lonely. They sat with me and chatted, keeping me company at times when I would have been alone. They visited on my birthday, dressed in sweats and pj bottoms in solidarity with me because I was not quite able to wear pants with buttons yet.

And even more than what was actually done, were the other offers: carpool, meals, errands. I had more out-of-the-blue, selfless offers for help than my husband or I needed. What a blessing.

I will not miss my janky, stupid, sucky gallbladder. I have discovered I can live better without it.

I have also discovered I never want to be without my friends. They bless me a thousand times over. I always thought of myself as a giving person, but I have learned I have so much more to share with others.

This experience has left me - well, without an organ - but also humbled by the generosity of others and inspired to be a better friend, a better person.

"A friend is one who knows you and loves you just the same." -  Elbert Hubbard

Falling apart

That mailbox? The one attached to the post via electrical tape?

That's my mailbox.

This long, cold, snowy winter sucker punched it. Seems a snow plow took it out while scraping our road. The mail carrier was kind enough to hand deliver our mail to the front door and inform us of the assault. My husband fished the battered box out of a snowy ditch.

It was cold. It was icy. Hand delivery of our bills, my Entertainment Weekly and the occasional American Girl catalog was a one-time thing (side note: no one - no one - in this house is in the market for American Girl dolls and yet we have received that catalog for more than 10 years, despite repeated unsubscribes).

So hubs did what any middle class, educated man would do in front of his suburban home: he got a roll of tape and stuck that dented beast back on the post with a promise to fix it in the spring thaw.

It's not embarrassing at all.

[it's possible I am lying]

This?

Now this embarrassed me.

You see, our 15-year-old washer would thump and jiggle like a tiny nightclub each time the load was unbalanced - which was every. single. time. we ran it. Eventually, the thumping shook the front panel loose, adding a percussive element as it moved away from its set placement, much a like Stevie Nicks twirling on stage with a tambourine.

Hubs would balance the feet, tighten the panel ... until the next load. Eventually, it would rattle and shake into a boot scooting line dance of sorts.

Then one day, it made like a stripper on dollar beer night and dropped the front panel completely.

You might say, "Who cares? It's just the laundry room. You're the only ones who will see it."

Naturally, this happened the week we had a guest who needed to use our laundry facilities. Our dirty shame (literally dirty - the inside of a 15-year-old washer is nasty) was not hidden; it had a witness. And I was embarrassed by it.

My husband is a handy guy. He can fix stuff. He's good at it and I am not going to lie: I dig this quality in a man. It's downright sexy. He fought this machine for more than a week and let me tell you: there was some unusually foul language flying about from my normally sweet, polite guy. I thought it might best him. I had duct tape anxiety, knowing he might choose to tape it shut or worse yet, just leave it open. Buying a new washer is not an option financially.

But he conquered it. Tape free. Our shame concealed ... at least until the next unbalanced load.

Life is like that. Sometimes it seems our world is falling apart physically, mentally, spiritually, literally. We get knocked down, rattled loose. We swear, we fight to keep it together, to hold on and stay useful. We peel back the layers of fear, anxiety, embarrassment. Sometimes we conquer it, and sometimes we need to patch ourselves together a little while longer and hope for a better day; a better way.

"Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try one more time." - Thomas Edison

  

Becoming Mom

Last week my son turned 15.

It was a low-key birthday for him. He had school all day and indoor percussion group rehearsal all evening. He had homework. His dinner was one of time-constrained convenience. His main birthday gift (sweet vintage hi-hat and ride cymbals for his drumset!) arrived a couple of days afterward.

Even though there wasn't even a proper cake in this house, I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip brownies, per his request. The three of us grabbed a few minutes to light a candle, sing and nosh before the day was over.

Though it doesn't sound like all that much fun, he managed to carve out a great day. After all, it was his day. Like all teens, he digs the mystique of getting older. Family and friends wished him well and paid attention to him for that very reason. Cards arrived via post, many included a little something special in the form of gift cards or cash - both his favorites right now. It was a special day for him.

That day last week was not about me  - my own birthday is just a couple of weeks away - and yet, I mark the day as significant.

It's the anniversary of the most important day of my life.

As much as I love my husband - and I truly do - on that day 15 years ago, I was introduced to love as I'd never known it. It's the kind of attachment born of sacrifice, blood, pain and fear. I will spare you the details of my delivery day, but I will say that it was medically complicated for me and took a rapid turn toward serious just after my son's arrival. The quick actions of the medical staff and my doctor in those moments ensured that I am sitting here at this keyboard today and I am forever grateful for that.

But there would be no more pregnancies or deliveries; no more children in this house. This was enough.

Giving birth to that boy 15 years ago didn't automatically give me purpose or grant me patience or make me wiser. It did, however, set me on the path to those things with a less-than-self-serving motivation I hadn't previously known.

[Aside: I have not yet arrived at those destinations]

I was forever changed for the better 15 years ago.

Of course, I was not the only one changed that day. My husband found the role he was meant to play as hands-on partner and loving dad. I never had a loving father figure in my life and one of my greatest joys has been to bear witness to the great relationship and friendship between the two people I love most.

My husband never forgets what the day means for me. Every year on our son's birthday, he gives me a small bouquet of flowers.

Men: give your wives flowers on your children's birthdays. And teach your sons to do this for their mothers and, eventually, their own wives.

But like I said, the day was not about me. It came and went in a blink, much like the years themselves. The baby born that day is now a teen. The earliest days of his life are ones he will never remember.

And they are the days I will never forget.

The save

 

While waiting at the allergist's office today for my weekly allergy shots, I noticed a curly-haired little boy of about 4 or so staring at me.

His mother was reading a magazine and oblivious. I didn't think much of it, as sometimes kids just zero in on stuff when they're bored, so I continued reading a very important article on People.com on my cell about how grown up the kid from Modern Family has gotten (here it is if you're dying to know). That piece of literature now properly store in my brain, I glanced up to see the little guy still agaze in my direction.

I smiled one of my adorable dimple-laden beauties.

He smiled back.

"You're pretty," he said.

Heart = melted.

"Thank you," I replied, all aw-shucks. "I think you're very handsome."

Blank stare.

Followed by scrunchy-nosed confusion.

A head tilt.

Then a frown.

"I'm a girl."

Oh.

Yep, I was having one of those days.

It's been one of those days for several days now, actually. I am off my game.

My week has included two cancelled school events for my son: one cancelled because of heavy snow and the other cancelled a few days later because of the threat of tornadoes. Welcome to the Midwest. We've gone from super busy on those days to ... well, nothing ... in a blink. Schedule = chucked

I've had a  Bob Costas-level case of pink eye. Because at nearly 45 years old, I have the immune system of a toddler in daycare.

Twice while I was composing a text containing the word slushy - as in, the roads are slushy - my cellphone autocorrected my typo to slutty ... which is way more interesting, but not at all accurate.

I put my bra on inside out yesterday and even managed to close it (don't ask).

In addition to offending the little girl in the doctor's office - whose mother might want to consider tossing a bow in that mess of curls or at least not glare at strangers making an honest mistake - my day also included near theft in the form of nail polish that fell into an outer purse pocket instead of the cart at Target. The misdemeanor was averted when I found it while checking out - though again with the glaring, this time from the cashier.

I blame the season. We're in that in-between time of the year when you can sense spring is coming. It's in the buds on the trees, daytime highs that pop up into the low 60s for a moment, and ever-lingering evening sun. And then like a rubber band to the wrist, winter snaps back and reminds us it ain't over. The senses are unsettled, bouncing about, trying to land in a happy, familiar place.

Or maybe I'm just a middle-aged spaz.

Anyway, I've had some lucky saves this week: messages received in time to reset plans, keeping conjunctivitis limited, catching autocorrect errors, making like Houdini in a straitjacket to fix undergarment errors, and even pulling unpaid merch out of my purse like a rabbit out of a hat.

Except, of course, for the little girl in the waiting room today.

I stammered, realizing my error, and babbled something like, "Did I say handsome? That's not what I meant. I was looking at a picture of my handsome son," gesturing at my phone.

Liar.

"I meant to say beautiful."

Not buying it.

Finally, resolved to the fact there was no excusing me, I sighed, and said in all sincerity, "You know, you really are adorable."

And with that, I got a smile from her.

And the day was saved.

A little love

Love.

It's a thing, ya know. Pop culture is full of it and we let it shape our behavior beyond our own amorous feelings. We sing about it. Delight at its depiction in art and poetry.  Watch dumb comedies about it. Weep at the end of tragic dramas when its all gone horribly wrong. Fill bookshelf after bookshelf with it in paperback form.

And then there's Valentine's Day.

Its roots go way, way back as a fertility rite, then saint day, then general day celebrating love. And by celebrating, I mean submitting couples and singles alike to tortuous commercial-generated pressure to buy this, go here, do that ... all in the name of love.

It's a thing, all right.

It's such a thing that a lot of single people tend to get down about Valentine's Day. Even married or otherwise coupled people feel the pressure to have the perfect V-Day and less-than-stellar efforts come across as hurtful or thoughtless.

I saw this article the other day on HuffingtonPost.com, The 5 Healthiest Ways to Spend a Single Valentine's Day.  Basically, the article's message is to avoid Valentine's Day and stay busy doing other, though certainly positive, things. That is one way to cope - is cope even the right word here? - with a holiday (real or Hallmark) you may not wish to participate in.

May I offer some insight? Even though I have been married forever?

Love's about a lot of things. Yes, there is romantic love ranging from sweet, simple expressions of affection to hot, sweaty passion.

But love is also about how we connect to one another. Take out the romantic aspect and love can be about appreciation, admiration, (non-lusty) affection, attention, friendship, kinship. In that light, I feel a lot of love for a lot of people.

I've told you how I feel about the truest romantic love here. My husband and I have our wedding anniversary to be all swoony about our life together as a couple. I like to treat Valentine's Day, not as a day for lovers, so much as a day for love - all kinds of love.


 

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. - John 13:34.

If Feb. 14 gets you down, don't shun it. Embrace it and make it about being a blessing to others. Whether you are married, single, coupled ... use the holiday to share simple kindnesses - a smile or compliment - to a stranger, a special treat for a friend, lunch with a co-worker, a grocery store-bought bouquet to a neighbor.

God's love: it's right there in how we treat one another.

And you don't have to buy it dinner. Or shave your legs for it.

"God loves each of us as if there were only one of us." - Saint Augustine.