Alone at the Fair. . .

I went to the Walton Fair today. Alone. It was a peculiar experience filled with a wide range of thoughts and emotions. It's hard to believe this is the third Fair without Bob. It was such an "us" thing that I had to keep reminding myself that today it was just "me." Last year, Cindy, Michael and I went. The year before that, I went with Jenn and the boys. I couldn't have gone there alone then. I think it was a good idea that I went by myself this year. I was able to focus on some deep analysis while busying myself with (what I call) "surface activity." Everywhere I walked at the Fair today, I had a real awareness of how I continually make comparisons between the way things used to be and the way they are now. I don't expect that to change nor do I need it to. There's the realization, for instance, that there will be no one to steer me around the grounds and that I am the one who has to remember where the car is parked. Bob was the one with the keen directional sense. I certainly am not and never had to think about it. We each contributed what came natural for us. That's how we were. We compensated for one another. Since our interests were not at all alike, we were naturally drawn to look at different things. In the early years, it was a bit of a tug of war but later on, we developed genuine respect for each others passions. Today, while I was taking my time looking at the artwork, I smiled because I could just see Bob standing there, waiting patiently. But with his ear turned toward the hit-and-miss motors. I didn't mind. It made his willingness to wait all the sweeter which, in turn, made me want to get to the motors, too. I did not look at the motors today. That would have been just too hard.

As time goes by. . .

It sure was nice having help and company today. John has reached the age (and strength) where he is more adept at some things than I am, no matter how hard I try. While he was here, he also found out that a person doesn't necessarily need to like zucchini in order to like zucchini bread. Ray Road's sagging flagpole has been repaired so it's worthy, once again, of displaying Old Glory. The hill in the apple orchard is freshly mowed, a small area around some tree roots has been re-sodded and some touch-up mulching is done, thanks to John. I spent some time examining the trees in the woods surrounding the yard, trying to remember which ones Bob planned on cutting, for safety reasons. I was surprised I was able to recognize some of them. I guess I shouldn't be, though, since we had many conversations about them during our routine walks around the property. "Nature walks," I called them. I still do that even though it's not the same.

Thinking about that reminds me of a discussion I participated in yesterday. It was about the discomfort we (who grieve from the loss of someone close) can sometimes sense in others when we talk about our loved one. Particularly, as time goes by. I think I understand a little of why that is but it is a bit stifling just the same and sometimes even hurtful. I realize the reactions I'm talking about are involuntary and I hope I am not insensitive toward other individuals' needs when this happens. Still, I need the fulfillment of settings where I don't have to filter Bob from conversations and by the grace of God, I have them - abundantly so, over and above that which I could possibly deserve. I am so very grateful! It's important, I think, to understand that inevitably, people we love die but the relationship does not. We continue to learn and grow and to be nurtured by the relationship with that person.

Lost time . . .

I used to refer to a day like today as a "lost day." The kind of non-productive day that seems to allow for little or no accomplishment until, finally, I am forced to throw up my arms, surrender in frustration, and vow to start fresh in the morning to make up for "lost" time. Well, I've learned a few things over years of observing patterns. Patterns can be very revealing but only if we contemplate their worth and take the time to absorb what they quietly unveil. Although these periods of dormancy have the look and feel of regression or sloth, I believe, in actuality, they are plateaus (little rest stops) in our onward, upward, ever-progressive lives.

I should make it quite clear that these thoughts are not meant to provide a readily available excuse for pure laziness! That would be putting "cause" before "effect" ... "cart" before the "horse" ... "egg" before the "chicken." On second thought, let's forget the chicken and egg analogy since I'm not sure if that theory has ever been resolved.

For me, the plateau pattern has become predictably reliable. That is, I can rest assured it will be a transitional time with some significant learning evolving. It was through music lessons that this concept was first introduced to me. Frustrated, I would begin to lose confidence when periods of progress were interrupted by these plateaus. That's what my music mentor called them -- plateaus. Her eyes would widen and sparkle with excitement as she said, "This is when the learning is happening!" She knew this as a result of her own experience and I believe that's why she seemed so eager to pass it on. I found the wisdom of her words to be very true. Not only as they applied then, to the violin, but later, to life in general.

Over time, I have come to value these interruptions in the flow of things, although admittedly quite impatiently, at times. Each one is like a little rebirth ... a step forward ... leaving the familiar for the unfamiliar ... no turning back. What an adventure we are in for when we come into this world and live this thing called life! Sure, it includes heartaches. But even they are "plateaus" where (as my wise mentor once said) some very serious learning is happening. How marvelous, how awesome, are the delicate intricacies of day to day living! How honored I feel to be part of this Grand Masterpiece and to have time to take in the view from each plateau!