Decisions, decisions. . .

Project "repair storm door from dog damage" has begun. One side of the new panel is painted and drying. Then, I got everything all set to paint the front porch, only to discover the can I thought was redwood was actually natural cedar. So...do I make a mad dash to buy some? Do I switch gears and do some other projects that I already have paint for? Or...do I give in to my impatience with the whole painting idea and clean the gutters, instead? Or use up the two rotting bananas and make banana bread?

I am disproportionately frustrated, therefore, praying for patience. After all, wouldn't some, somewhere, give anything if my problem for this day could take the place of what they are facing?

Maybe this is a "nudge" to take care of some routine tasks I have been procrastinating; like paperwork and follow-up phone calls to insurance companies.

Naa...painting the porch or cleaning gutters is so much more appealing than listening to "phone music" while on "hold."

Life's journey(s)...many or one?

Journey: A process or course ...... the journey of life.

Journal: A personal record of occurrences, experiences, and reflections kept on a regular basis.

Spiritual: Of the nature of spirit ...... not tangible or material ...... relating to God.

A Life's Journey; A Spiritual Journey: Same or different? There's that word, "A" again. The little word that (according to C. S. Lewis in A Grief Observed) differentiates between generalization and personalization.

In the past, when I thought about my life's journey(s), I thought in plural; compartmentalizing each journey's course separately and observing, with interest, when they overlapped for awhile or crossed paths, briefly. Then, one day, I had one of those "Aha!" moments that I now refer to, more appropriately, as "God times." You know, when what once was vague becomes clear, the 'pieces' suddenly fit and you are thrust in an inspiringly new direction. For me, these moments represent tangible evidence that I have taken another step forward in my own journey. It might be a giant step or it might be a baby step. It doesn't matter which. Both are forward moving.

It was a most enlightening realization the day it hit me that since I am only one person, I can, therefore, have only one journey; one that includes everything that I do, think, say or sense. Most importantly, my spiritual journey cannot be tucked away on a separate course from other areas of my life. With that in mind, I have found (am still finding) wonder in the marvelous ways my (formerly plural) journeys have integrated. The first time I read Rick Warren's The Purpose Driven Life, that integration came to light several times throughout the book by the many reminders that we can use even our most menial daily chores to glorify God.

So now, I keep that in mind when I am taking care of tasks such as dumping coffee grounds, taking out the trash or changing a light bulb. . .and it makes me smile.

Project Bathroom. . .

How does a journey of a thousand miles begin? By taking the first step. I've learned that the best way to keep moving forward is to focus not only on what may be ahead but to glance over my shoulder, occasionally so that I can see what is behind me, too. By doing so, I can see where I've been and learn from it. I find that applying this practice makes staying on course much easier, no matter the task, great or small.

Ordinarily, I tend to approach most things with caution. So much so that, over the years, I have missed out on some things that, looking back, I know I would have enjoyed. But we can't change the past. (Although, I do believe we can change how we relate to the past. So, in a sense that might be considered changing it.) That has nothing to do with my bathroom, however!

Ah, yes, the bathroom project I've taken on is going to be a journey, indeed! I am not at all patient when it comes to any kind of household renovations. There's something about the upheaval of disrupting methodical orderliness and having things strewn about while the work gets done that seems to cause me great distress. (I'm sure there's something deeply symbolic there but, right now, that doesn't matter.) In earlier years, whenever I embarked on such projects, I would simply work at them non-stop until they were finished and everything was put back. Sometimes, the paint wouldn't even be dry yet. I hate all the prep work and will side-step it at every opportunity -- painting around things, over cobwebs and even the spiders, themselves, sometimes -- calling it "good enough."

Several years ago, a young man did some interior painting for us. I learned a lot by observing him as he went about his work. I'm not talking about painting techniques, although I picked up a few pointers there, too. First, I was impressed with how patiently he worked. Gradually, I began to notice more about his overall demeanor; his contented, peaceful expression. "He can't be enjoying this," I thought to myself. Besides, he had to be tired since this painting was side-line work after a day at his full-time job. This really puzzled me but the more I observed him, I soon began to understand that he was feeling like I do when I work in the yard. We later had a conversation about that. How nice, that we, God's people, are so unalike, yet so alike in the spiritual things that really matter!

I'm going to be putting some of what I learned from that young man to use in the days to come while I'm working on "project bathroom." His good example in patience, along with the patient technical advice from my son whenever I need it, will encourage me to be more patient, myself, and to be content to work in small intervals. Yesterday, all the "cluttery stuff" got cleared away......and that was enough. Today, everything attached to the walls came down......and that was enough. The room is now empty, except for the plumbing fixtures. Tomorrow, the ceiling and walls will get prepped......and that will be enough. After that, more small steps.

It's bittersweet to loosen screws that Bob has tightened and to take down things he hung in place. Memories wash over me and I ache. Yet I smile for the gift of having them. It's hard to describe the feelings that are evoked as, on my own, I go about the task of maintaining this little nook we carved out together. But it would be much worse if I were to try to prevent time from happening by refusing to make changes.

Meanwhile, my hallway looks as though I could be a candidate for that TV show about hoarders. It's not going to bother me one bit when it comes time to change that!

Missing Ginger. . .

Another marathon day working in the yard. That's three in a row. The ceremonial unveiling of the backyard crocus blooms was quite thrilling, both for me and for them. Once again, I have to say the electric leaf blower was a good investment. It would have taken me more than a week to accomplish what has now taken three days! There are some little perks, too. For instance the look I imagine on the little worms' faces when they are startled awake by being half unearthed -- one end flapping in the wind and the other end still in the dirt, hanging on for dear life.

Much to my dismay, I see the "ant troops" have begun their infiltration, marching, single file across my back porch, to a quick cadance. They are obviously taking their mission very seriously, judging by the determination they seem to display. I am declaring war. Tomorrow's strategy -- ant spray around the perimeter!

I dearly miss my dog, Ginger. That little sting surprised me today because I thought I had pretty much adapted to life without her. But it was winter when she died so this is the first I've been busy in the yard without her. It feels very awkward to be so totally alone. I do admit that there were times when she was somewhat of a nuisance because, even when she had gotten old, she always considered my yard work time her playtime. She persisted until I had to stop whatever I was doing and throw toys for her. Then, as soon as I picked up my tools again, back she would come. I'd try ignoring her but she wouldn't stop bumping her slimey toy against my bare leg until she got her own way. Sometimes, I could buy myself some time by tricking her into running in the wrong direction or by tossing the muddy, saliva soaked toy into the bushes where she would have to search for it. She would always find it. Always. Today, one of her outside toys turned up -- her favorite one. It sent a sudden wave of sadness through me. But I wouldn't wish not to have had my little buddy all those years just to spare myself the loss of her now.

I'm reminded of part of one of my favorite poems:

...Tho nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower,

Grieve not, for we will find strength in what remains...

In love with yard work. . .

I've done it again! Not heeding my own advice about knowing when to quit, that is. Is it possible to become addicted to yard work?

I think it's true that our behaviors (habits) develop because there is something in it for us. A pay-off, if you will. Some form of pleasure we may or may not even be aware of. At first thought, it's hard for me to fathom what possible pleasure there can be in causing one's own body to hurt when it moves, hurt when it stops and hurt when it stands still. =^) --> I'll never know just why that is and I guess I never will! (Hmm...new song lyrics?)

I smell like spring dirt. I have small stones and twigs in my hair, dirt in the fingernails of my blistered hands, and leaf dust in my nostrils. I cannot rise from my chair, now, without wincing in pain. This is pleasure? You betcha! And the pay-off is of a grand scale but not necessarily that which you might expect.

The satisfaction of grounds that are well groomed is of little significance to me, compared to the nourishment my mind, body and soul are fed during what I call my "marathon yard work" days. I wish I could describe what takes place within me during those "sessions" but it is so far beyond the capacity of words that it would be meaningless to try. I just know it is truly a spiritual experience -- a "God time" I would be deprived of if someone were to do the work for me. You see, the pleasure is not found so much in the task getting done (anyone could do that.) Rather, it is in the time spent doing the task that the pay-off (the pleasure) comes.

Everything my senses see or hear, smell, taste or touch are evidence to me of the magnitude of all that God has so tenderly created.

That's why I am in love with yard work.

Who cares about a bunch of clothes. . .

So here I am, back in Hancock, NY. More specifically, French Woods. Back in the mountains of home. There are a few patches of snow here and there--mostly in little nooks and gullies where the sun doesn't shine. In contrast, the little clump of flower bulbs under the rose bush have sprouted, adding a splash of bright yellow to the front yard -- a cheerful welcome home.

It's such a short trip, by air, that it takes some adjustment for me to comprehend the distance I've just traveled. I wonder how it is that I can be here in my own house and still be wearing the baby scent of Kaitlyn and the smear of the good-bye kiss she gave me just a few hours ago.

The flight was pleasant enough, once we got going. The plane was on time but the crew was not so we were late in boarding. Then, we were one of the last in priority for take-off so we were an hour behind schedule. The attendant said not to worry, that once in the air, the pilot would fly the plane as it it were stolen. I guess that was true because we arrived in Scranton just 20 minutes late. The view of the ground was clear right up until landing. It always makes me try to sit light in my seat when the plane is landing and I can't see how close the ground is getting. As if that would make a difference! One of the "passengers" was a little Yorkie in a pet carrier, on his owner's lap, that barked every once in awhile. A little while taking off but he yipped and whimpered while landing. I think it hurt his ears. Poor little thing!

As I said, I'm at home now. My luggage, however and for whatever reason, did not accompany me! So...I'm in the process of dealing with the "delayed luggage" folks now. That's what they call it -- delayed luggage. Note that it is not called "lost luggage." Customer Service Guy in Scranton: "Hmmm...that's odd...this doesn't usually happen. You're sure you checked it?" Me: "Yes." But I'm thinking: Helllloooo......I have a bag claim receipt. So we fill out and sign all the necessary forms while he assures me bags are almost always found. Then he asks: "When would you like this delivered? I look confused. He continues: "Tomorrow? The next day? Sometime next week?" I consciously arrange my facial muscles to exude pleasantry, make direct eye contact and say: "As...soon...as...possible."

Thankfully, there is good news. A little while ago, I called, talked to someone whose 3rd language is English and found out my bag has, in fact, been located. Actually, it never left Charlotte. Oh, but, first I called the number Customer Service Guy gave me. That person on the other end was very articulate. However, she couldn't help me at all because I had called her personal cell phone. She did say mine was the second call she'd had recently with someone looking for lost luggage. ??? As they say, all's well that ends well, and I have been assured my bag will leave Charlotte this evening, arrive in Scranton tonight, and be delivered sometime tomorrow. AND...if I fill out the proper request forms, the bag check fee will be refunded. That could take up to several weeks, so I was told. (Funny...it didn't take that long for it to come OFF my debit card.)

Life is like that, though, isn't it? Humorous, I mean. And most of it really is "small stuff." In every situation, we have our own choices to make. Most of the time, when our dispositions are out of sorts, I truly believe it is not so much because of what others have "done to us" but because of the reactions we have chosen in response to given situations.

I have had this glorious day. I am loved by family as I love them. God is good. Who cares about a bunch of clothes?!

NC Visit - Day 16. . .

This is my last night here. It was a nice sunny day today. We drove around a bit to do some errands but other than that, stayed home doing routine things and visiting. Kaitlyn has been a little under the weather the past couple of days and has a persistant cough.

Kaitlyn and Mommy

NC Visit - Day 15. . .

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NC Visit - Day 15. . .

A few days ago, I talked about my patience with varying weather; the exception being wind. I get a little nervous when the wind is severe. In the wee hours of this morning, I was startled awake by a loud roaring sound. Remembering I was not in my own house and realizing it was pouring rain, I thought, "That must be how it sounds here." I went back to sleep and as I dozed off, I thought about the sounds I had heard and how, if I had been at home, I would have sworn some trees had fallen. There's that first cracking sound, followed by rustling, snapping sounds that seem to happen in slow motion. Hearing no other commotion around me and since the wind and rain seemed to be letting up, I went peacefully back to sleep. Fast forward. . . Now, I am keeping Kaitlyn company, inside, while Dan puts his chain saw to work to clear away the trees that fell earlier, narrowly missing the vehicles and partially falling on the house. Thankfully, there was no damage--just a bent drain pipe. But, what a mess! The grounds, patio and driveway were absolutely pristine after all his yard work yesterday. He sure has his work cut out for him today. Even so, experience tells me "boys" always welcome an excuse to play with their "toys," regardless of claims to the contrary.

NC Visit - Day 14. . .

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NC Visit - Day 13. . .

Phase Three. . .Back to Kannapolis for a couple of days.

Worship at Hope Mills UM Church this morning.

The Bible Garden was beautiful on this sunny day.

Back to Jenn's to relax, then gather up my things.

Good-byes to Allen and the boys; then Jenn and I headed for Dan's.

A beautiful ride through the countryside.

Before long, we were pulling in the driveway and soon after that, Kaitlyn gave us a demonstration of her toothbrushing skills.

Just a few more days until I'll be on my way home again. Meanwhile, I'm going to savor every single minute here.

NC Visit - Day 12. . .

The smell of coffee and Saturday morning breakfast being cooked lured me out of bed this morning. Allen made sausage, eggs and biscuits! Jenn and I went to "old" Fayetteville, walked around, poked around in some of the shops and had lunch at a little place called "Roly Poly's." They make good wraps.

Then we headed for home.

Later, some outdoor cooking and relaxing. Ian performed a private cello recital in the McQuiston music room.

A long, hot bath was in order to help wind down for sleep after a very satisfying day.

NC Visit - Day 11

The clock on the microwave indicated 10:01 this morning when I finally tore myself away from my nest, upstairs, and shuffled down to the kitchen. "Hmm, my favorite time," I thought as I smiled to myself. Ever since the advancement of time-telling devices created digital clocks, I have been amused by 10:01, for some reason. I believe it's because I am always slightly taken aback when I glance at the time and I see those two little wide eyes looking back at me.

I'm reminded, too, of past years when 10:01 on the car clock on Sundays meant we were running behind. Church began at 11:00 then, but I felt the need to be there an hour early in order to comfortably prepare for all that preliminary "stuff" that any church musician knows about. Since then, I have shaved that time down to half an hour--even less, sometimes; much less--which would have delighted my kids back "when." Then, I would be anxious and frustrated, lecturing them, sternly, on "never making us late again!" Ha! What they gleaned from that was their own amusement in watching how Mom's demeanor made an abrupt "about face" as soon as we stepped out of the car and entered the building. They lovingly(?) referred to that tone change as my "telephone voice." (Anyone who has had children will know what I'm talking about. You can be in the middle of household tyranny; the phone rings...you croon, "Helllllooo," in such a sweet, melodic tone that syrup practically drips from your lips. That's the "telephone voice." I believe Erma Bombeck wrote about that, too.) I'm sure that, unknowingly, I provided a great deal of free entertainment for my kids over the years. I certainly hope they appreciated it!

I sure am fascinated by the dream sequences that passed through my brain like a slide show last night and this morning. The details are beginning to fade now but, as often happens, I'm left with residual feelings about a common theme shared by seemingly unrelated, unrealistic events. Usually, my dream scenario is that I am being chased by dog like beasts with gnashing teeth and wake up just before I have to choose between being shredded or leaping over a cliff--that sort of thing. This time, the theme was a little different in that I was not the one running ahead, being chased. I was, instead, behind, trying to catch up and would wake up, not at a cliff scene, but almost reaching a place I needed to be. Then, just as I was about to step into that place, I would wake up. I'm not sure why.

Once, I dreamed Jenn was tapping me on the shoulder, asking me to put a pork roast in the crockpot. Oh! Wait a minute! That was real!