They Pray

Though a bit chilly, the day was crisp, clear, and bright. The deep blue skies contrasted neatly with the white exhaust from airplanes high above.

As my daughters were playing outside, they noticed two such lines in the sky, perfectly criss-crossed -- like a "T" or an "X" or a cross.

Excited, they took it as a sign from heaven.

Specifically, from Grandpa Bill in heaven.

So they stopped their scootering and prayed to Grandpa Bill on the driveway. {Imagine two 10-year-olds, heads lifted upward, eyes closed, hands clasped together.}

This was their prayer:

"Dear Grandpa Bill,

We hope you like heaven. We hope you get to have all the candy you want. We hope you get to eat chocolate for breakfast. And chocolate for lunch. And chocolate for dinner. And that you don't have to eat your supper first.

Amen."

Grandpa Bill has been gone one month already. But I guess that's not really right... he will always be with us, especially when we least expect him.

Can We Ever Really Go Back?

Our unanimous favorite of the vineyards we visited two years ago in Napa Valley was Truchard.

The wine was very good, but Betsy, our tour guide, was the highlight. Fun and approachable, she poured generously, and we giggled our way through the tour! Truchard is a small vineyard with a small staff; the employees, along with their families, picnic together at lunch during harvest. They do not own their own bottling facility. Like many other small vineyards, they use a portable bottling facility (the back of a truck!). We were fascinated to watch this efficient, yet seemingly casual, process while we were there.

Although Betsy was our favorite tour guide and was so delightful, it was Linda, a long-time Truchard employee, who provided us with the best quote of the trip: "It takes a lot of beer to make a good wine!"

Not long ago, I received a postcard from Truchard. Instantly the memories from that trip flooded my mind.

The four of us had such a great time on that trip to Napa that we're planning a return trip this summer. We're all looking forward to another memorable trip, perhaps this time with more friends joining us.

But as I think ahead to that trip, I wonder if we can really go back?

{I can't help but feel like Carrie Bradshaw as I pose that question. In the television series Sex and the City, every episode was centered around a question the character asked in her weekly column.}

When we have a really great experience, we often want to re-create it. We try to do everything the same in order to achieve the pleasure that we felt the first time we experienced it. But it's never quite the same the second time around.

Out of the hundreds of vineyards in the Napa/Sonoma/St. Helena area, we visited a dozen or fewer. For our next trip, we certainly have options: Will we revisit those that left us with such memorable experiences? Or will we leave those memories intact and make new ones?

Can we ever really go back?

Double Digit Duo

To two twins turning ten:

Ten years ago today, you surprised us with your early arrival -- three months ahead of schedule. You fought and we cried and you grew and we sighed and they helped and we all became family.

Every day for months, we visited you in the hospital while you clung to life.

Some days you grew weaker, more days you grew stronger.

Still, weighing just 4 lbs 4 oz and 4 lbs 10 oz three months later, you finally joined us at home.

Ten years ago, it was so difficult to imagine you big.

And now you are! Yet amid all the partying today, I'm sobered at how quickly a decade can pass us by.

My lovely, beautiful girls: I'm forever thankful that you fought to stay with us, though it would have been perhaps easier to succumb and leave us. But you knew we wanted you and needed you, and you seized every opportunity you had to stay with your family. And you've brought us such joy!

(Yes, even to your brother.)

Happy Birthday, my darlings! You're now in double digits. Enjoy the coming decade, for it goes by so quickly.

If I Were That Person

Another person might say things happen for a reason.

I think things just happen. Then we reason.

But if I were that person, I'd say I'm now thankful for the hip fracture in September. If it weren't for the fracture, I wouldn't have followed up with a doctor when I still felt discomfort in January. If it weren't for that follow-up visit, I wouldn't have had a second MRI. If it weren't for that MRI, I wouldn't have accidentally found out about the cyst growing inside me, and had a subsequent ultrasound and cancer screening. (It was benign, thank God.) If it weren't for the documented history of the cyst's presence for six months, we would have just "waited."

But instead, one thing led to another. The cyst -- and the organ it was growing on -- were removed on Tuesday. That cyst was the size of a lemon.

And I feel better already.

If I were THAT person, I'd feel certain it all happened for a reason, starting with the hip fracture last fall.

Am I that person?

Jim's Crap Service

This picture was taken with my cell phone, so the quality leaves much to be desired. But my son & I got a laugh over and over from it, so I thought I'd share!

The sign on this rather nasty truck says "Jim's Crap Service."

Of course, it originally read "Jim's Scrap Service," but someone scrapped the "S," making the sign perhaps more appropriate?

Why Don't We?

Some of us find it difficult to share news of our struggles with others. I'm not talking about blabbing to all the world, but to share even with friends.

At least, I do. And I'm not alone. So why don't we?

I don't mind sharing news of my children's successes. And even some pleasures of my own. But when life gets difficult, I assume no one will want to be bothered by such news.

Yet, when I turn the situation around, I see the illogic in my way of thinking. For example, if a friend is going through a rough time, of course I want to know about it! Not just to be nosy -- I really don't think I'm that sort, and I'm not really a gossiper either -- but because I want to be there for my friend, and to help out in any way possible.

And my own friends are caring and helpful to me in that way, too. So why is it hard for me to tell them when I could use their care and help?

I guess some of us are just more introverted than others. We don't want to bother others. We think we can handle everything on our own.

Well, lately I have tried to acknowledge this side of myself and to open myself up to others. Our family has had a rough winter and early spring, starting with multiple rounds of flu & persistent colds (the regular winter maladies), but also including some traumatic and unusual events. Everyone, and every family, has periods like this at some point, and I try to help them out in any way I can.

So although it's difficult for me to share when times are rough, it's also gratifying to receive my friends' compassion and love and even help.

Why don't we do this more often? I'm not sure. But this week, I shared what was going on in my life with several friends, and I'm so glad I did. There's a reason they're my friends -- we're there for each other through the good times and the not-so-good times. And for that, I'm forever grateful.

Signs of Spring

Anyone who's read my blog posts this winter knows that it's not my favorite season, to say the least.

However, that doesn't mean that I wish to bid it adieu forever.

Having always lived in the midwest, where we get a healthy dose of all four seasons, I can't imagine living elsewhere. The cyclical nature of extreme temperatures, separated by those wonderful mild seasons, is comforting and predictable. Just about the time when we get tired of one season -- too hot or too cold -- it's time for a welcome change.

So winter is not my favorite season. But I love experiencing it anyway. There are parts of it I like (snow, warm fires inside, skiing). But, for me, winter's main asset is its contrast to spring and summer. Experiencing the cold temperatures causes a delicious anticipation for warm air; a gentle breeze; that damp, sweet smell of spring.

And on those first warm days of spring, after the long absence, I find myself inexplicably doing gymnastics on the lawn. I can't really help it; I've performed this ritual since childhood, every spring. The exuberance I feel for the change of seasons just cannot be contained, and spills out and tumbles over. (I'm sure my neighbors think it's odd. But it makes me happy.)

As I say my good-byes to winter, I say, with honesty: I'm not sad to see you go, but I will gladly welcome you again next year!

Moments

It's been too busy around here this week to sit still.

At one point this afternoon, while (almost literally) running from place to place, the adrenaline rushing through my body in response to the urgency with which I needed to complete all my tasks, my mind mentally crossing off the "done" ones and lining up the "next" ones, a visual thought flashed like lightening, interrupting the To Do list. And it changed everything.

. . .

I was in the middle of a large pool.
Floating on my back, arms outstretched.
Eyes closed.
Breathing.
Feeling my body rise to the surface as my lungs filled with air. Sinking below as I exhaled. Seeing how far I could let myself go before I needed another breath.
With my only thoughts on breathing -- marveling at it, actually -- all other concerns fell away.

. . .

As I approached the building, cognition turned to sensation. I no longer thought of tasks or time. I heard my heels clicking on the sidewalk in a brisk rhythm; I felt the crisp air tingling my cheeks; I looked up and saw bright sunlight, blinding me to all the unimportant details of my physical surroundings.

. . .

Inhale, float.
Exhale, sink.
But not too much.
Inhale, float.
Exhale, sink.

. . .

And everything fell into place.

More Than Ironing

Some tasks in life are simply chores: must-dos with little else going for them.

Ironing is like that. Yet I like it.

It's an incredibly simple, monotonous task. It would be very easy to become bored. But sometimes it's through those dull, repetitive tasks that our minds are able to expand. While our hands are kept busy in an occupation, we are free to think, ponder, imagine, process. Whatever our minds need to do.

My husband likes to tell how the concept for his current business -- the one that puts bread on our table and a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs -- was conceived during one hot summer day while he was mowing. Back and forth, up and down, row by row, cutting every last blade of grass in the lawn. From the outside, he appeared to be doing little more than nothing. Ahhh, but his mind was working overtime! The rest is history.

So it is (almost) with ironing for me. I may not have thought up a great business concept, but my mind wanders to story ideas, characters, relationships, experiences, things that are important and relevant in my life.

And, what's more: ironing is a great metaphor for the smoothing out of life's wrinkles. I feel instant gratification as I glide the hot, steaming iron over a field of wrinkles. What was unpresentable, chaotic, unkempt is "fixed," and swiftly. Such satisfaction!

I feel certain everyone has that one chore equivalent to mowing or ironing. The one we really don't mind doing, because it gives us time for the freedom of thought. What's yours?

Snippets

I love being struck by something someone else has written. How an author can take a pile of ordinary words, and arrange them into a provoking sentence in a way that I would not have thought to do.

Recently I finished reading The Little Giant of Aberdeen County, by first-time author Tiffany Baker. Below are some excerpts from her book that particularly stuck in my mind. It may not be very difficult to ascertain their meaning. I just liked how she said them.

Maybe you will, too.

"I was sixteen and just waking up to the peculiar rules of love--how what's left unsaid between two people can be a far more complicated language than what's written on the page." (p. 116)


"For Amelia, words were like vinegar or bleach. A tiny amount could clean up almost anything, but dump out more than that, and you could have one ungodly mess on your hands." (p 208)


"... it's easy to solve the past in the present, and when you do, you sometimes forget to leave room for forgiveness." (p 210)

Circle of Life

That day always comes.

Yesterday morning, around 6:30 a.m., my father-in-law died in his sleep. He and my mother-in-law were on vacation in Florida.

By twelve hours later, all three of my MIL's grown children were with her in Daytona Beach. She told them not to come, but they didn't ask permission. They went anyway. She was relieved they did.

I stayed behind to take care of our own children and help them through this. This is the first time a close family member has died; my children loved their grandfather and of course never really thought he'd be gone.

I've been thinking of Bill non-stop since we heard the news. He lived a long and full life. He was such a very good person. Very smart. Very kind. Reliable. Fun!

But right now, my focus is on my children's thoughts and feelings more than my own.

We cancelled all our social commitments yesterday. After we drove my husband to the airport, the four of us just hung out together all day. They spent the day in and out of tears. Sometimes I would look up from what I was doing and there would be a child, just standing there, waiting for a hug. They would spontaneously describe an image of him, or a memory of time spent with him.

Food is important, too. There's a reason some dishes are called "comfort foods." We shopped together for the ingredients for our favorite "comfort meal," and enjoyed it together that night. I think it helped a little. It was better than pizza.

After dinner, the kids didn't scatter as usual. We played Sorry together. It was nice to be happily entertained, still within close proximity to one another. We just all wanted to be in the same room together.

They couldn't bear to be alone at bedtime. So all four of us, and the dog, climbed into our big bed and snuggled together under the down comforter. I don't know if anyone got a really good night's sleep. But it wasn't the sleep that mattered: It was the togetherness.

The kids keep asking to see Grandpa Bill one last time. When he arrives back in Indiana, we'll surely be there to say our good-byes.

But death is often about the living. My husband and his sisters are taking care of their mom. She's a strong, independent woman, but she needs her trusted children to rally around her right now. My children need their mom to help them work through these new feelings.

Bill has already found the One to take care of him. He is without pain and suffering now, free from the body that slowed him down in recent years. The kids imagine him eating ice cream in heaven...

Good bye, Bill. We love you and we'll always remember your beautiful smile and your loving heart.