On the Road Again...

The Retirement Countdown

2009-09-26T11:09:00.000-07:00

Ahhhhh, retirement. You know... the lovely nirvana, just over the hill, that most of us are so anxious to reach. The luxury of sleeping until you wake on your own... more time to spend with family and friends... or to travel... or to volunteer, to learn something new... or to work on projects long delayed. AND a guaranteed income. Oh joy! And soon it will be mine. I am less than twelve weeks from full retirement, and already suffering from a bad case of short-timers' attitude.

My friends and neighbors who are still years from retirement are a tad jealous. How do I know this? Because never, since I was pregnant for the first time, have I received so many well-intentioned but useless suggestions. A typical example: "Oh! You don't want to retire, do you? People who retire grow old very quickly. Surely you want to keep working so you don't just sit around. I couldn't stand to do that."

Yeah, right.

And just that quickly, I am reminded that I am, absolutely, my father's daughter. That man had more hobbies and interests than you can imagine, and I am very much the same. Dad decided to retire as soon as he was eligible, at age 62. Mother was incensed; she nagged and nagged him to reconsider, providing many of the same supposedly helpful comments I have heard recently. Finally, exasperated, he looked at her and said, "My father died at age 65. I don't know what my future holds, but I plan to have some fun before I go." Never nonplussed for long, Mother switched tactics: "You are in excellent health. You're going to live another 25 years, just as your mother did. Why retire now?" I don't think Mother objected to the idea of retirement as much as she did to the fact that she did not make the decision.

Dad never wavered. Mom got over her snit. He retired at 62 and they enjoyed several wonderful years of carefree travel and fun. How does the story end? When he was 64, Dad was diagnosed with cancer. He lived another 9 years, but many of them were not pleasant. And Mom died at age 70, the same year Dad died. Do I have to say it? Father knows best. (OK, unless you are well past 50, you didn't get that one...)

So here I am at age 65, blessed with good health and stamina, and not a fool. I'm ready to go and play. And, darn it, I'm going to start before 2009 has ended. My brother and I are considering a Christmas trip... maybe in Paris and along the Seine.

I'm ready to visit my family and friends, stay up late, learn to play the hammered dulcimer (yes, all over again), make jewelry and plenty more. OK, I'll return to the gym, too. Travel? Australia and New Zealand, here I come!

I'll send you all postcards :-)

How I spent the rest of my summer vacation, aka Beadfest 2009

2009-08-26T09:19:00.000-07:00

Last month, I decided to register for a couple of classes at the Philadelphia Beadfest. This is an annual beading extravaganza/circus that takes place in late August, at the Valley Forge Convention Center. There were hundreds of vendors and classes, all offering an array of goodies, techniques and projects. It is almost too much to take in during one visit, but a lot of fun. Of course, I told myself, my main reason for going was to learn a couple of new techniques I could incorporate into my own jewelry designs. After all, it was a New Year's commitment, I said. And then I entered the proverbial candy store and went a little nuts.

The 2 classes I took were wonderful, as were the instructors. One class taught a herringbone weaving technique using sterling wire. The other was a full 2-day class in learning to weave fine silver wire into chains. This creates a fine, round chain that could be any length or diameter you decide to make it. Naturally, you are not an expert at either technique when you walk out of class, so now I have more things to practice. Actually, I like this -- and will be able to use both in my own work. So, mission accomplished, or at least underway.

Then there were the vendor floors... I've been to this part of the show before and, always, there is more to buy than I could possibly afford. Still, I managed to inflict major damage to my budget. Now it's time to get to work and make jewelry!

So would I go back to the show again? Oh yes, no doubt about it. In addition to what I learned, I met lots of nice fellow beaders and picked up interesting bits of information about supply sources and more. Also, I learned that following these shows around the country is almost an avocation for some. Always something to aspire to, I suppose, but do wonder when they have time to create anything new.

Of course, I don't have the cash to fund treks across the country and follow the show circuit. And then there is the time element. Several weeks ago, my older son made the mistake of introducing me to an online game called Farm Town. My main goal before leaving for Beadfest was to move up enough levels so that I could afford to plant 4-day crops that would not be ready for harvest until I returned home.

Clearly, it is time for me to return to teaching!!

Road trip reflections

2009-07-28T13:18:00.000-07:00

It has been over a month since I last sat down and wrote anything new here. It is difficult to believe so much — and, at the same time, so little — has happened in the interim. Just life, happening, I suppose. Now that I think about it, isn’t that pretty much the way most summers go?

The road trip was lovely. D. and I meandered down quite a few back roads. When those roads crossed middle Tennessee, I was delighted and astonished by her knowledge and memory of people, places and events. Traveling with her during those times was like having my own three-dimensional Fodor’s guide — in the best possible way.

One highlight came on the first day of our trip. We decided to leave I-81 and take Rt. 501, almost a back road, into Lynchburg, VA, for the night. The road we chose turned out to be a grand scale showcase for nature’s magnificence. We crossed the mountain and dropped down toward Lynchburg, taking pretty much the same path as a tumbling river beside the road, while the sun began drifting toward the horizon and trees filtered the light. Such sights fill the senses and remain in memory forever.

Most days combined a little sightseeing and visits with friends, a leisurely way to spend any vacation. Other days were spent retracing our family’s steps through Wartrace to Chattanooga, as well as points west and south. One Sunday, we attended a dear little church built on land donated 150 years ago by our family — many of whom are buried nearby. Lest anyone think we were on the trail of spiritual goodness only, I should mention that we also visited the Jack Daniels Distillery in nearby Lynchburg, TN :-) Basically, this was just a good old-fashioned road trip, combining a basic plan with lots of spur of the moment choices.

There is something deeply rewarding about a trip like this. Even so, it is not my normal vacation, I have to admit. I love grand adventures to faraway places — and am, in fact, planning just such a trip for next year. But there is something very special about revisiting the past. Moving forward is not an option; looking back, especially with someone who shares your family memories, is a gift.

On the road… Summer 2009

2009-06-19T17:05:00.000-07:00

Ahhh… the summer road trip. The idea summons fond memories of Jack Kerouac, my aged but trusty VW, winding back roads across Europe, accidental destinations and more than a few romantic wine and cheese picnics along the way. Youth is a marvelous time, and those rambling road trip memories still elicit smiles.

Alas, road trips these days are no longer about romance. But they are still a fun way to escape for a while. Which is what I am about to do. Yippee!

I’m traveling with my cousin, D., and in a few days, we will be on our way to her home state of Tennessee. D. is a great traveling companion — funny, interested in everything along the way and very willing to depart from the plan to explore anything that looks interesting. (Sometimes we get a little carried away exploring unmarked roads, so it’s reassuring that she has OnStar :-)

Right now, the plan is to combine time with family and visits to historical sites with whatever catches our eye and “speaks” to us. It sounds like a recipe for a great vacation.

Stay tuned…

Mid-year reality check

2009-06-17T17:48:00.000-07:00

Way back in January, I came up with what I thought were nine good, basic guidelines for 2009. June seems like an appropriate time to check in on these. How am I doing? Short answer = mixed progress. Evasive answer = about like everyone else, I expect. Here is the progress check:

Pray, meditate, listen and help — I’m trying, but really need to spend more time here, especially working on listening.
Exercise — Doing more, but not nearly enough. Should apply more energy to doing this and less to creative excuses.
Eating less — This one is on track. My weight loss is slow, but steady. At this rate, it will take me a couple of years, but that’s OK. After all, it took me more than a decade to put the weight on.
Read more and watch less on Tivo — Hmmm… let’s move on to something else.
Finish projects already underway before starting new ones — Seem to have this backwards. Have started and completed several major new projects but the old ones are just shoved further back in my closet.
Figure out what income I need to retire — Check this one off. Alas, it means I need to work another year, but I can do that.
Learn a new jewelry technique — Not yet, but that’s all right.
Tune and play the hammered dulcimer — Ditto.
Don’t take time or people for granted — Still one dear friend I need and want to call or visit before summer ends.

As I said, mixed progress. On the other hand, there are completed projects that were not even on the horizon last January. More pluses = a loving family, good health, a beautiful garden to delight and refresh my spirit, developing friendships with some of my wonderful neighbors, and, always, a deepening gratitude for my new church family.

So far, a fabulous year!

End of the semester instructor's rant

2009-05-05T22:24:00.000-07:00

I swear, some day I am going to publish a small book, filled with all the best (and most entertaining) student excuses about unfinished work and poor grades. Perhaps there will be a special foreword/curse for some of those well-intentioned high school teachers who tolerate all manner of sloppy work and unmet deadlines, all in the name of graduation and marching forward into the future.

The future often takes students into a classroom like mine, where the iron gates of personal responsibility close on them at some point. And this happens before they enter the actual world of work, where perpetual excuses are "rewarded" with termination.

Not all students make you crazy. There are many wonderful students — those who are always in class, always prepared, whose work is turned in on time and completed to the best of their ability. For a number of these excellent students, English is not even their first (or third or fifth) language. They are a joy to teach and help keep us sane when deadlines loom.

And then there are the others. All instructors know them well, and each of us has our favorite student excuses. Here are a very few of my personal favorites, all delivered with straight faces and great earnestness. (It should be noted, first, that I teach computer-based design classes, which require many hours of hands-on work, both during and outside of class.)

I think you should change my grade, because:

I know I did not turn in any of the projects and failed both exams. But I was here every week. That should count for at least a C.
I missed the final exam two weeks ago because my mom needed a ride to her friend's house. When can I take a makeup exam?
I am an A student, so I don't deserve a C. You need to fix this.
My parents will kick me out if I don't pass this course, but you gave me an F. Why? I know I didn't turn in any work, but I could if you give me more time. (There's nothing quite like guilt. On the other hand, I cannot believe the parents waited until the end of the semester to issue this threat.)
I read the chapters in the book. But I don't have a computer at home and coming to the labs takes too much time. So I should be exempt from doing any projects.
I should not have to revise this project for a better grade. My mom said it was perfect and you should give me an A.
I took this class because it was supposed to be easier than [another class]. Now you've ruined my GPA.
I couldn't finish the project because I needed to have my nails done. (Other variations include tanning salons, hair stylists, poker games, impromptu trips to the shore, concerts and even Facebook updates.)
I don't consider turning in work I found on the internet as cheating. And you shouldn't fail me because I am going to graduate this semester.
I came to only 2 classes this semester, but I will lose my student visa and be deported if you don't change my grade. (Yes, I know; that was rather sad. On the other hand, there is such a thing as fraud.)

My all-time favorite excuse came early one semester, from two students who were, clearly, a couple. When it became obvious that one was doing the work for both, I told them that they each needed to do their own work. One replied that, as they were practically living together, it shouldn't make any difference who did the work because they were, like, um... you know... one person. My response was that they were free to do that, of course, and I would simply divide the grade received equally between them. Or, option two, they could each do their own work. The brighter half of the couple realized instantly that dividing the grade meant they would both fail the course. They let me know I had violated their life principles and withdrew from the class.

Sigh. I wonder were they all are now?

The Blue Lady of Pennsylvania

2009-04-02T21:00:00.000-07:00

A while back, I wrote about one of my grandmothers, Blanche, my favorite relative when I was a child. Actually, I had two marvelous grandmothers, but I am sorry to say it took me a few years longer to appreciate my dad's mother, Maude, because — well, because I was terrified of her when I was a little girl. She was an imposing figure in every sense of the word. My grandfather actually called her "The Queen," based on her posture and carriage.

The truth was that Maude was a commanding presence, and not just because of her grand posture. Her father came from Maine to Pennsylvania shortly after the Civil War, to work as a logger. Later, he ran several large logging camps with his partners. All four of his children spent a good part of their childhood in the woods; any one of them could take down a sizable tree in a jiffy. I have photos of Maude wielding a saw, astride a horse, at hunting camp with her own shotgun, tending her extensive gardens and running her floral business. When her own children were young, she would drive them to Maine by herself, to visit her aunts, uncles and cousins. In those days, you could expect to have a flat tire on a regular basis while traveling. Maude was unflappable. She just put a blanket on the grass, placed the baby on the blanket and told the two older boys to watch out for snakes. Then she changed the tire. To me, this is amazing; for Maude, it was all part of the day. As you can see, there wasn't much she couldn't do, and do well.

Maude was blessed with phenomenal organizational and leadership skills. Today, she would be running a major corporation. Instead, like many women of her era, once her children were in their teens, she became involved with a number of organizations. And, being Maude, she didn't just join them — she chaired committees and served as chapter president or regent before continuing to move up to regional and state level offices.

The year I was born, Maude served as Worthy Grand Matron, Pennsylvania Grand Chapter, Order of the Eastern Star. It sounds like, and is, an impressive title and a very big job. Part of her role that year included attendance at a number of official dinners and functions, always in formal evening wear. Now, Maude's favorite color was blue. Before she took office, one of her friends made her a blue cape to wear for Eastern Star functions. Before long, she was known far and wide as "The Blue Lady of Pennsylvania." She was wearing that cape in the photo above, her official OES portrait. Now that I think about it, she was the same age then that I am now, an intimidating thought indeed.

You might think, reading all this, that Maude lived a charmed life and, in some respects, you would be right. But tragedy was never far beneath the surface. One of her younger brothers died in their home of an accidental gunshot wound; six months later, her father was thrown from a logging train, run over and killed. Her brother-in-law committed suicide after several years of unemployment during the Depression. Her youngest son died of a gunshot wound and was buried on his eighteenth birthday. And she cared for my grandfather at home for four years, between a first stroke that crippled him and a second stroke that ended his life. You don't survive all this without enormous courage and personal strength. Maude had both, with enough left over to support everyone she loved through awful tragedies.

Well. You can see why a small child would be overwhelmed by such a grandmother and, goodness knows, I was. But as I grew into my teens and early twenties, I began to understand Maude. Guess what — she was FUNNY! She had a wonderful laugh, and loved a good time. For years after my grandfather died, she would invite a houseful of "the girls" to spend several days for an ongoing card and house party. Can't you just see them, playing Canasta, cooking and cleaning up, with evenings filled with a little gossip and lots of reminiscence? And possibly making homemade ice cream; Maude was still hand-cranking ice cream when she was past eighty.

My dad and his brother said it best — "My mother was the most wonderful woman." I've always thought that raising children who thought so much of you was one of the finest accomplishments in life. And really, despite all the achievements and recognition in her life, who could ask for more?

Back roads and bliss

2009-03-18T21:42:00.000-07:00

My parents were firm believers in a Sunday afternoon drive — sort of a rest and reward before the new week began. Like so many other families during that long-ago era, they piled the whole family, plus visitors and friends, into the car, and off we went. This was in south central Pennsylvania, which is a maze of winding two-lane roads and farms of every description. Even small children were entertained by the livestock, while our parents admired vistas and fields, barns and farm houses.

Many of the farms in our area were owned by Amish families. We soon learned to tell the difference between Mennonite-owned farms and all the other Amish farms. Mennonites did not eschew all modern conveniences; the telltale electric posts and cables leading to their farms were as good as a signpost. You drove carefully in those areas, because you knew you would be sharing the road with any number of horse-drawn carriages and wagons. And you know, I don't remember anyone being impatient about it.

Dad was the prankster on those trips. In the spring, local farmers harnessed horse and mules teams for plowing, seeding and fertilizing. Dad would roll down the window, inhale deeply, and exclaim, "Ahhh... manure! Yep, spring is here all right." As you might expect, he was rewarded with a chorus of, "Eeewwww! That stinks! Roll up the window, QUICK!"

Good times :-)

But decades pass and everything changes. No one goes for a random drive anymore, on Sunday or any other day. Gas is expensive and every minute seems to be programmed. For over thirty years, I have lived near a major city, so driving here involves interstate highways and city arteries rather than country roads. It's kind of a shame those peaceful Sunday drives faded away. We learned a lot about other cultures and ways of life, and our parents were relaxed and happy. It beat "quality time" all to bits.

Yesterday, on a whim, I returned to some of those back roads and rediscovered the past. I was meeting friends in southern PA, and decided to leave I-95 and meander along country roads to my destination. It was a lovely spring day and, sure enough, there was an Amish farmer with his six-mule team, plowing his fields. There were children heading home from school, straw hats and bonnets securely in place, and more than a few horse-drawn carriages on the road. For me, it was an hour and a half of pure pleasure and serious nostalgia. I started wondering if one really might be able to go home again — a lovely reverie, but short-lived.

My friends were not amused by the carriages. "It's outrageous that they are allowed on the roads," the husband snarled. "They're a menace to drivers and something has to be done about them. This is the 21st century, after all." He is entitled to his opinion, of course. Personally, I would rather follow an Amish carriage along a back road than be trapped in a truck convoy on the interstate, any day. Happily, I was headed back home the same way, and got to enjoy another hour and a half on the back roads, farmers, carriages and all. It was a good day to be on the road — the back road, that is.

Farewell to my traveling companion

2009-03-08T10:30:00.000-07:00

Last week I sold my beloved yellow roadster. I didn't need two cars; no one does. But the thing is, I really didn't want to give it up, either, for purely sentimental reasons. I suppose selling the car falls under the general heading of "moving on."

On the surface, moving on sounds adventurous — opening new doors, trying new things, traveling and so much more. The down side is that, before we can move on, we have to let go. And that is the tricky part, because letting go is seldom easy and often distinctly "unfun." Why? Because what we are letting go are the possessions tied to fond memories. Do I really think the memory will not survive without the item attached to it? This is not rational, but there is not much rational about the process of grief and growth.

It was my husband, K., who was the car person. A few months after we married, and with money from the sale of his house burning a hole in his pocket, he decided that I should have this beautiful yellow BMW roadster. It was an extraordinary and generous gift. I loved that car, as much as you could love an inanimate object. The yellow roadster and I had nine years of "topless" fun together. Never before had I owned such a car, and surely never will again.

Letting go of the car itself — not so very hard. But letting go of the dream we had for our lives together, along with the joy with which the little yellow car was given and received — pretty darn difficult. And yet now that it is gone, is it possible that I feel a little more free to move ahead? Well... yes. Aha!

Rodent Redux

2009-01-30T17:10:00.000-08:00

Hooray and hallelujah! I've done it -- I've really done it! My ongoing battle with the greedy squirrels seems to be over and I WON! Really!

All it took was the simple afterthought of suspending a suet feeder cage from the base of my bird feeder. For some reason, the squirrels now leave the entire feeder alone. I have absolutely no idea why, but refuse to analyze my small victory :-) Whatever the cause, every squirrel around avoids the feeder. You would think the thing was cursed.

Of course, there is still that small voice whispering, "Be careful what you wish for..." You don't suppose... Ah, heck no. They are just rodents. Right?

Snow and soup...

2009-01-19T15:26:00.000-08:00

I dread winter. Night comes early, daylight is pale and the weather can be thoroughly unpleasant. Photographs of frozen streams in the snow are beautiful; here, the beauty of fresh snow lasts about ten minutes. Last week, temperatures dropped to the lowest they have been in years. Just to remind us a little more forcefully that winter can be nasty, it started snowing. Not a lot of snow, more of an icy dusting, but still... frigid temps and snow are not much fun for anyone but skiiers.

Then, redemption arrived in the form of our annual parish soup sale. What a perfect antidote to the weather! So many different and delicious varieties, all made by the women and men of the parish. Each one triggered memories of my mother's and grandmothers' kitchens and family gatherings of long ago. It was all but impossible to choose just a few; my freezer is now very well stocked for the remaining weeks of winter. I've been smiling every since.

Life is like that, isn't it? Sometimes it seems that every day is a little more difficult than our coping skills can handle. Then something lovely and unexpected happens and we know that a brighter tomorrow will come after all.

Today? More snow. For dinner tonight? More soup! I think this may just keep me going until the first crocuses appear :-)

Late, as always...

2009-01-07T12:49:00.000-08:00

Long ago, my mother used to say, "Carolyn is always late for everything, except for every meal." Alas, she nailed it, 100%. So there's no surprise in the fact that I am just now thinking about 2009, a year that is already a week old. Considering that I started this blog under the broad general heading of "beginning life anew," it seems that some thought is called for as a new year unfolds. So here goes.

Pray. Meditate. Listen. Help. No year that incorporates the big four can fail to be a good year.
Exercise at least a little. Sofas do not improve anyone's fitness level. Walk five or six days each week. No exceptions for anything other than ice and snow. Figure out where I hid the dumbbells from myself and use the darn things. (People with replacement knees need strong arm muscles to get up off the beach in summer!)
Pay attention to my own "fuel" intake. Dessert is not a required part of any meal. Neither is wine, darn it. Remember this!
Read more; watch less TV. Tivo is seductive, but also lures me back to the sofa. Refer to #2 above.
Finish at least three projects already underway before starting anything new.
Figure out exactly what income I need to retire altogether -- or how to live on less and retire now.
Learn a new technique to add to my jewelry designs.
Tune the hammered dulcimer and, this time, learn the location of all the notes before I get carried away with trying to play. After all, there is a reason why I can still play the piano after 20 years but cannot remember how to play the dulcimer after 1 year. :-(
Take nothing for granted. Appreciate kind friends, good health and a loving family. Enjoying any part of what we have been given does not come with an unlimited guarantee. Don't put off getting in touch with friends whose health is not what it was, or traveling to see them. Memories last long after those we care about are gone. So does guilt.

OK, so that's only nine parts of a plan for 2009 rather than the traditional ten resolutions. Call it a 10% penalty for habitual lateness.

Those darn squirrels!

2008-12-29T15:47:00.000-08:00

Without a doubt, squirrels are about the most enterprising comedians in the animal world, but... is there anyone with a bird feeder who has not despaired when greedy squirrels devour ALL the seed intended for hungry birds?

Many folks have tried to devise the ultimate squirrel-proof solution. A dozen different types of bird feeders, all advertised as impossible for squirrels to defeat, are available online and in the local nature emporiums. This year, I succumbed to one. Surely, I thought, a feeder endorsed by both the National Geographic Society and the British Trust for Ornithology would keep the critters out of the seed. Just for good measure, I invested in a bag of very expensive bird seed, treated with something squirrels would find abhorrent.

After setting up my ultimate squirrel solution feeder, I started peeking from my kitchen window to see what would happen. For several weeks, nothing. Oh, the squirrels found the feeder right away, but seemed unable to penetrate its defense system. Whenever I opened the back door, they started scolding me. So I chucked a few walnuts in their general direction. Now they expect nuts. There can't be anything good about rodents that look to you as a primary food source.

So there were squirrels, but... where were all the pretty little finches? One week went by, then another. And another. No birds at all. Perhaps they did not like the expensive treated seed any better than the squirrels. OK, a trip to my local grocery store for ordinary sunflower seed should fix that, I thought. I mixed both types of seed together and refilled the feeder. Finally, a few finches showed up and bellied right up for a meal. Then a few more came. And more, and still more. They liked all the seed. The squirrels could not get into the feeder and the finches were here. Yippee!

Of course, it was too good to last. Yesterday morning, I looked out and saw a squirrel, balanced upside down on the base of my new feeder. He couldn't get in, but had discovered how to rock the feeder enough to scatter some seeds for the benefit of his fellow furry scavengers, waiting below. In no time at all, they emptied my expensive, tamper-proof feeder.

Best not to complain. At a friend's home, the darn critters dangled from gutters to reach her feeder, then managed to knock down and shatter the entire squirrel-proof apparatus. Wouldn't it be great to be born with that much stubborn perseverance and inventive cleverness?

Meanwhile, I will just sigh quietly and keep refilling the feeder. But I haven't given up yet. Today, I added a suet holder suspended from the base of the feeder -- both as an added treat for the birds and a deterrent for, well, you know. Take that, squirrels!

Keeping Christmas

2008-12-22T20:25:00.000-08:00

Today is December 22nd. Christmas is nearly here this year, 2008. Always, I have loved the season but, I think "lost" it for a few years. Life happens, you know. Children grow up, marry, and no longer think of this house as their home. They want to create their own traditions in their own homes. And this is as it should be.

For the past several years, my husband and I traveled to be with them and were touched to be wanted and included in their celebrations. For some reason, we stopped all holiday traditions here -- too much trouble, not enough time. We were leaving anyway. Why bother? Just put a candle in each window. Enough, right?

As it turns out, no. This year I am alone for the first time in over forty years. And so I've been rethinking how I prepare my heart for Christmas. Surprise! I've discovered that I've missed the angels, the nativity, all the treasured tree ornaments made with love for my family or collected for so many years, along with all the memories that go with them. And so out they all came, memories, a few tears and all.

My favorite is the dear little plaster and cardboard nativity set. I still remember going with my parents to Woolworths when I was five to buy the stable, holy family and wise men. The next year we added shepherds, sheep, camels, a pig and a cow. Poor cow, she has only one horn now, but still she keeps patient vigil by the Christ child.

What is different this year is that, rather than holding Christmas at bay, I have welcomed it back into my home, and created a quiet sanctuary from the noise and seasonal craziness outside. This has made such a difference in my own attitude as the days race by.

I'll be going off in the morning to spend a country Christmas with one of my sons and daughters-in-law, and am very much looking forward to the visit. Once I leave the heavy interstate highway traffic behind, there is time to enjoy the journey, too. They live along a rural lane and it's peaceful there -- no malls nearby, no blaring carols, no giant toy stores, no traffic jams. It's a quiet, lovely and gentle place to spend time with my loved ones, and to celebrate the birth of Christ. My heart is open. Welcome, Christmas.

A December Anniversary

2008-12-15T13:33:00.000-08:00

This month marks a special anniversary for me — it has been one year since I transferred to a new parish. Without doubt, moving to a new church home has been one of the best decisions I made in recent years. And it was one of the most difficult decisions, as well. The message here is that change can be exactly what God wants for us; the problem is that we have to be ready to listen and to act.

I am what is known, more or less with a wink and a smile, as a "cradle" Episcopalian — born into an Episcopalian family, baptized as an infant, confirmed at age twelve and still very happy within the fold. Have I visited churches of other denominations? Sure. But the lovely Episcopal rituals, familiar prayers and services are as much a part of me as breathing. This is home, no matter where I may be.

For over thirty years, I was a member of another, much larger, parish. We became members when our first child was born. Our boys were baptized and received their first communion there, and were confirmed in the same church. Their father's ashes are interred in that church's memorial garden, tucked inside a pocket of beautiful flowering perennials. The members of the parish were my extended family; I loved them all. And leaving was the very last thing on my mind.

But things change. And not all change is good, especially when it is forced on an unsuspecting parish. The new rector at my former church turned it into a center for purpose-driven fundamentalism, told parish members that their thoughts and concerns were of no interest to him, and encouraged those who were troubled by the changes to leave. People tend to become disillusioned when they are told by their priest to "get on board" or find a new parish home! And so parish members began to disappear. At first, the drift out the door was slow; soon, it accelerated and became a rush for the exits. Worse, so many of those leaving were parish members who were devoted to service, ministry and leadership — and those who provided continuity, linking past, present and future. When you leave with your rector's foot pushing you out the door, it's impossible to depart without feeling angry, bitter and disillusioned. We did; we're still struggling with those feelings in many ways. In one sense, giving up our church was like experiencing the unexpected death of a loved one — you cannot return to the past, no matter how dear, and the grieving process sometimes seems as though it never will end.

My own epiphany came the day that I visited another parish, now my church home. The reason I decided to visit was based on a service held at a time I could attend during a difficult weekend. Everyone was warm and welcoming, loving and giving. I had almost forgotten what a happy and healing parish felt like. And so I returned the following week, and the week after that. I prayed and thought and understood that I had been led to this parish. As I said, first you have to be ready to listen.

I like to believe that God was leading each of us who left our old parish to a renewed and deepening relationship with Him, and to parishes where our gifts were needed. I consider myself among the fortunate, as I found a new parish home almost in my own backyard.

Not everyone has found a new parish; some may never return full time to any church. And it's easy to see why many are very cautious about becoming involved in a new church. Still, most of us from my old parish stay in touch. And here is the amazing part. Those of us who have found a new parish also found the right place to heal, to find peace and have discovered new ways to serve the parishes and people we have grown to love. We are happy and we are growing within our new parish families.

My prayer is that each of us who left will find the same joy. But no one ever said that moving on was easy.

Becoming Blanche

2008-11-22T00:57:00.000-08:00

Most of us have had a family member we adored. Mine was my Grandmother Blanche. She was funny and silly and made the world's best fried peach pies. When I was a little girl, she made matching dresses for me and my doll; while in my teens, she sent me bikini underwear (to my mother's horror). Yes, Blanchie definitely was a hoot — and the sweetest woman you can imagine.

Blanchie did have a few quirks. For instance, she refused to divulge her age, and lied about it convincingly and consistently. It helped that she was a beauty, and looked years younger than she was. Don't believe me? Look at this photo, taken when she was at least fifty. When she died, my mother and one of her brothers battled over Blanche's age, with my uncle insisting she was a good decade younger than Mother thought she was. Today, I know they both got it wrong. Blanchie was older than either believed, so she had the last laugh. Excellent!

Blanche's other main quirk was that she never discussed the past. Never. She never went back to her home town in middle Tennessee and never returned for a visit to any of the several places she lived before moving to Tampa, FL, in the mid-1920s. Blanche was always involved in today and planning for tomorrow. Yesterday? Piffle. (In many ways, this is an admirable trait, but it creates a serious handicap for a granddaughter who enjoys researching family history.)

Last summer, I received a gift in the form of a trip to Tennessee with my cousin, D., who grew up there. We explored towns and cities where she and Blanchie both lived (albeit in widely separated decades), and D. took me to visit family members I had never met. All of these dear relatives shared family stories and anecdotes, and I began to develop a deeper understanding of how Blanche became the woman I knew. One of the things I discovered was that there was far more sadness in her early life than I had known, and surely that was one of the reasons she never looked back. Well… that and not wanting someone to blurt out her age.

There were lovely discoveries, too. The bungalow that my grandfather, a plasterer and builder, built as a surprise wedding gift for Blanchie, is still there, including the ornamental concrete posts he created that flank the front walk and driveway. She must have loved living there. And how could you not love a man who built a house as a surprise for you?

What I brought home is an understanding of the pure sunshine and sense of wonder that were such an integral part of my amazing grandmother. Every day was an adventure, everyone she met an instant friend. Was she like that always or did she create an aura of joy to ward off sadness? I do so wish I were more like her. So far, all I can claim is a shared delight in silliness. If "becoming Blanche" is a goal, I 'd better turn up the wattage on internal sunshine.

That sounds like a good way to start every day. Count me in.

All Fall Down

2008-11-13T23:25:00.000-08:00

I suspect that most folks think of "autumn" and "fall" as interchangeable words. But not me. For me, there is one day every year that marks the time when autumn morphs into fall. This year, that would be today.

Here in the deciduous northeast, we mark the end of summer, as days grow shorter and nights are chilly. We watch with delight as trees begin their transformation from deep summer green to a few glorious weeks of red, gold and orange foliage. This, to me, is autumn... and there are few things more beautiful. Or fun. Suddenly we all are young again, dancing through drifting leaves and laughing with the sheer joy of life. We know it will end, of course we do, but that just makes the enjoyment more intense while it lasts.

And then, suddenly, fall whips in on a day of heavy rain. Within hours, leaves lose their now-tenuous hold on branches and carpet the ground. With little warning, branches are bare and trees brace for winter. But wait... a few have held their leaves. There is still a little time left.

Fall is here, though. We've been warned. Winter will follow, and soon.

I am so not a winter person.

DOG...gone

2008-11-11T09:31:00.000-08:00

I've now learned the difference between "just looking" at dogs in the shelter vs. looking for a dog to take home and love. If you are in the latter frame of mind, you do not hesitate or go home to think over adopting a pet. I did, the sweet and friendly dog went to another home... and I returned to mine, alone. I thought I was relieved, then spent all afternoon on Pet Finder, looking and wondering. Guess I need to give up pretending that I don't want a pet!

My daughter-in-law tells me that, when you are ready for a dog, the right dog will find you. I can live with that idea. Then she threw a curve into my quiet life by telling me that she knows a breeder of Golden Retrievers who gives away to a good home any dogs that will not work in their breeding program. Hmmm....

There's nothing like an angel on your shoulder, giving you a gentle nudge!

Another blog? Oh dear.

2008-10-31T20:42:00.000-07:00

Who, me… blog? The idea is intimidating. After all, there are so many interesting, informative and readable blogs out there already. So then, why start… and why now?

The answer is simple: I'm starting over. Again. And, oh boy, am I tired of starting over. So maybe — OK, definitely — it is also time to examine, possibly to reinvent, the way I live. And this time, starting over is different for other reasons. My children are grown, happily married and involved in careers they enjoy. I love them dearly, but they have their own lives in nearby states. And I am rapidly approaching the joyous day when I can retire. So this time it's about what makes me happy and not so much about caring for others or caring what they think about my choices. Hmmm… there are real possibilities here, right?

There is nothing new about breaking with the past, nor is my reason to begin again unusual. My husband, K., died earlier this year. He was a kind, intelligent and very dear man, but he had been sick for a long time and was in constant pain; his life has ended in the only way it could. My faith tells me he is at peace, and there is comfort in that knowledge. The process of grieving is not new to me, and I know the many levels of understanding and acceptance will continue to unfold as time passes. While I am often sad, I accept that changes need to take place. What other decision would make any sense?

Really, you know, there is only one way to honor the past and to move on with your own life. You put a smile on your face, open the door and go out to meet people and try new things. Along the way, you discover new activities and new friends to complement the parts of your life you still have and love. And, if you are lucky as well, joy will find you.

With all this in mind, my blog will be, I hope, a voyage of discovery and rediscovery. It will be about experiences and travel and friendships. And it will be about the gentle surprises that unfold in front of us if we are watchful and aware.

Oh yes… I am thinking of getting a dog. (It can be very dangerous to drop off old towels at the animal shelter… and this is such a sweet dog…) Adding a dog to my quiet home would, heaven knows, fall squarely under the heading of "major change" overnight, especially as all the shelter dogs I see are listed as "Housebroken: Unknown." Stay tuned!