Detours. . .

This has been an emotional day with abrupt mood swings.  Something has triggered them.  The odd weather?  Pictures?  A smell, perhaps?  I know that my heart has taken to missing Bob with renewed rawness.  Most likely, my delicate state of mind comes from a combination of things.  Suddenly, I find myself feeling quite fragile...for no apparant reason.  It is one of those times when I feel at loose ends and wonder what to do about it.  Trouble is, the options do not present themselves with any clarity.  It is during these times that I am especially thankful for my faith that never falters, even when the rest of my being seems to.  Step by step, I know I will be led straight through the middle of these murky detours in my journey until the path becomes straight and clear again...and I will be all the spiritually wiser.  There is always, always something to be thankful for!    

Forsythia in winter. . .

Finally, the look of winter! This being late January, I had begun to wonder, "What's the point?" Now I find myself breathing a contented sigh and looking forward to the three or four inch accumulation -- enough to provide a proper setting for our "bundling up" clothes and sleigh runners and enough for kids to frolic in. There's not so much frolicking going on in my yard these days. Most of the tracks, except for those leading to my front door, are those made by the wildlife living nearby or, occasionally, "Neighbor Cat" who helps to maintain the rodent population. Even if that's not so, I have given him the credit for fewer indoor “Tom and Jerry” chases between my cats and mice.

The bird feeder gets very busy this time of year and since it is positioned just outside a sliding glass door, Clementi and Clara are entertained and alert for hours on end by their own "100-inch flat screen in full HD." Entertainment for me comes when the birds hop along the porch floor right under the cats' noses or when they swoop in the air just above them. If I was quick enough to capture a shot of a cat's expression the split second after it has tried to lunge through the door, I would. I can understand that happening once or even twice, but the fact that they continue to repeat the process makes me wonder about them. I've heard about rooky deer hunters getting "buck fever" -- I guess my cats get "bird fever."

The forsythia bush we planted along the basement wall under the back porch has grown to be quite high now. I keep it pruned but have allowed it to grow high as an experiment to see the effect of weaving those upper branches around in the spindles of the porch rails. In the winter, the branches are bare, of course, and last spring and summer was the first year they were long enough for the leafy effect to be noticeable. This year, I'm hoping they will bloom full of the yellow blossoms that announce the official arrival of spring. Back when I was anticipating the spring and summer "look" I wanted, I imagined these off-season bare forsythia tops as bland and wondered if I would even want to see (what would appear to be) dead sticks wrapped around the railing. What purpose would there be in that? Would it be an eyesore? Well, as it turns out, the birds have claimed them as perches for their picnic area, creating an ever-changing tree full of life. The feathered companions now arrive in small flocks with no need to compete for space on the feeder perch and they have convenienced themselves further by choosing to drop down into the forsythia to enjoy their meals rather than make repeated round-trip flights between feeder and hemlocks that border the yard.

Watching the dormant branches of the forsythia as they have come unexpectedly to life reminds me of all that happens beneath the snow while all we can see is the surface. The same can be said of bodies of water -- brooks, rivers, ponds, lakes, or an ocean. Wherever I take time to look and whatever I see, I always hear it whispered, "There's more."

Colonoscopy is not a dirty word. . .

Colonoscopy is not a dirty word. Why is it, then, that we hesitate to talk about it (except maybe to confide in our innermost circle of friends and family) when it’s our turn to undergo this procedure? I have to admit that I, too, harbored some of those reservations at first but I am gradually weaning myself from such outdated standards of etiquette. It seems to me that some topics that ought to be taboo – aren’t while those that ought not to be – are. I was pleased to hear a discussion of this very subject on a talk show recently. It was interesting to observe the division of comfort in the participants. Although the discomfort was subtle and was never really acknowledged, the body language made it discernibly obvious.

Shall I say “misery loves company?” Well, not always. If I were looking for distraction from my misery, then yes, I wouldn’t mind some company. However, there are times when I prefer to wallow through my misery alone. Not because I enjoy it but because, in some instances, it’s easier for me to find distractions when there is no one distracting me…if that makes sense. This is one of those times.

Tomorrow is the day. D-day…or maybe I should say C-day. At the present time I’m certain I am growing weak from starvation. More so than necessary, I’m assuming, but worth it. When I had my last “C-day” some years ago, the amiable gastroenterologist shared a helpful tidbit with me (in the same hushed manner as one secret agent might pass valuable information along to another.) “If you start the clear liquids a day sooner,” he whispered, “you probably won’t have to drink all of the stuff.” “Sounds good to me,” I thought. He was right and I appreciated his selecting me as the one person to ever be made aware of this. Or so it seemed at the time. Later, when I had time to think about it I realized, of course, that he most certainly made a practice of passing along that “inside” information to all his patients. I can’t be sure, though. It could be that my wide-eyed, tell-tale expression that clearly indicated, “You’re saying I need to do what?!” prompted his decision that I should be the chosen one.

• My thoughts have taken a detour and I am remembering childhood experiences with our school’s kindly dental hygienist who cleaned and checked all of our teeth every single year. Students left her office not only with squeaky-clean teeth but with the satisfying knowledge that each of their set of teeth was the most perfect she had ever seen. As we got older and began bragging that fact to one another, it sure was a letdown to realize she had told each of us the same thing. We also found out that we all shared the "secret" discovery that you could look at her glasses and watch what she was doing.

Since what the doctor had told me previously had turned out to be good advice, I’m assuming it will be again so once more I have tacked on an extra day of consuming nothing but clear liquids. The only thing I’ve eaten (drank) that bore any resemblance to real food since Tuesday was the cup of beef broth I had yesterday (Wednesday.) Last night I downed a bottle of lemon flavored magnesium citrate and I have to say it really wasn’t that bad on the taste buds. It may have helped that I disguised the bottle in my John Deere beverage sleeve. Or maybe I was so hungry that anything would have tasted good. Other than that, I’ve been drinking coffee, tea, water and white grape juice. I’m saving the apple juice for the powdered Miralax marathon later. Meanwhile, I’m opting to ignore the fact that it will be early evening tomorrow (Friday) before I will have opportunity to eat real food again.

As always, there’s a positive side, too. (...half-full glass again! Pardon the pun.) This timing has conveniently coincided with my plans for a self-designated “personal retreat week.” I need focused pensive time every now and then; time that provides a setting conducive to taking in the spiritual nourishment that is my sustenance. Gratefully, I have had that. It has been a quiet, prayerful week and I have tried to let my thoughts flow freely. I find this process similar to physical exercise in that, while smaller spurts are helpful, they are not as effective as the longer periods that allow me to reach that “settled in” feeling when random thoughts and ideas begin to tumble into place at an exhilarating pace. Accordingly, I would call this a spiritually uplifting and fulfilling week in many ways. I have deliberately set aside many of my routine responsibilities and tasks. (I’ll play catch up with them later hoping there are no “surprises.”) I have absorbed the quietness and listened. I have spent more time writing, I did a little wall re-decorating and I listened to some audio books while crocheting. I even watched a couple of old movies…in the middle of the day! It has been quite refreshing not to be concerned with dates or time.

The next day…Friday – “C-day.”

I survived the Miralax marathon although I may have ruined any further liking for apple juice in the process.

It’s a beautiful day. It snowed last night and everything is fresh. The sun is shining through the hemlocks over the Hobbit Hole and every now and then the air glistens in a ray of sunshine. How interesting that the snow-laden trees are in conflict as to how they will unload the white stuff. A grandparent once told me to watch how the snow goes off the trees and I will know what the next storm will be. He said, “If the snow falls from the trees, the next storm will be rain” and “If it is blown out of the trees by the wind, the next storm will be snow.” If that’s the case, I’m predicting "wintery mix."

Ordinarily I try not to wish time forward but I admit I am eager to put this day behind me. But not before having something good to eat! Then hopefully I won’t have to mention that dirty “C” word again for a few years.

The glass. . .

These days I never wonder if the glass is half full or half empty.  Anymore, it’s just a given.  The glass is always half full.  I don’t even bother to wonder why the glass is there in the first place.  My enthrallment lies more in what is on the other side of the glass as I try to peek around it or peer through its vague window.

Home of roots and memories. . .

Good-bye to the former Great American - hello Town Square! 

There's something positive to be said about having roots in a place.  At least that's how I feel.  I suppose I didn't always feel that way.  Or maybe I did but in an attempt to maintain a certain facade and for fear of "what people would think" I just didn't talk about it.  I believe it is a normal youthful tendency to base our validity on the opinions of others (or our perception of their opinions.)  Over time, however, I have come to the conclusion that my true validation comes through an ever-growing conscience that determines right from wrong and by openly owning what is unique within my own heart.  My heart is firmly planted here in the Catskills where the Delaware River meanders through the hills and her east and west branches meet at the "wedding of the waters" at the base of Point Mountain.

The roots I'm talking about are believed, by some, to be a result of settling for something less than climbing the proverbial success ladder and folks who stay  or worse yet, come back, are considered failures.  They become (I believe the term for awhile was) "townies."  I think it has been proven time and time again that whenever we try to categorize people neatly into this group or that group, some sort of conflict will follow. The conflict, as I see it, is a result of our failure to look far enough beyond our own opinions to explore new things without the guarantee of a particular outcome.  In other words, often there needs to be a leap of faith.  

I don't know what will unfold now that the controversial Great American is gone.  [I do have to say that the very term (Great American) that we have dubbed that boarded up, disintegrating block building surrounded by crumbling pavement makes me laugh at us out loud.  Talk about salt in a wound.  I suppose the former name (Victory) would strike me as only slightly less amusing.]  As I was saying, I don't know what will unfold.  I only know how I feel since this leap of faith has begun.  First, I felt relieved.  Then, excited.  Finally, full of pride in my community.  I don't feel any nostalgic pangs, which is unusual for me.  Particularly since I remember the Victory Store being built on that lot and when it had its grand opening.  It was pristine and had that new-building smell, the aisles were wide and uncluttered and the cashiers gave out real miniature orchid corsages to every single customer, pinning them on as each person left.  I don't remember how long ago that was but I'd say the building has long outlived its dignity.  

I can still picture the old hotels that used to be along that street.  They were so tall and ominous looking to a five-year old walking to and from school.  One had huge pillars along the front.  Isn't it odd that what I remember most vividly are the sidewalks around them?  Maybe that's because I was such an introvert that I always looked down at the sidewalk and my feet when I walked anywhere, engrossed in my own imagination.  I did remember to check for traffic when crossing streets, though.  Other than that, I was occupied with things like not stepping on cracks or, through hearing bits and pieces of local folklore, imagining Fannie Read was peering at me out of her hotel window.  (I was too young to understand the timeline.  I thought she was alive yet and still living inside.)  There were a couple of good-sized grates in the sidewalk on the shady side of one of the hotels.  It made me a little nervous but I usually took that street just for the thrill of looking in those grates to see what new things had fallen in there since the day before.  Usually there were just sticks and leaves but sometimes something shiny would catch my eye.  Occasionally there were coins or pieces of jewelry but more often than not it was foil from a gum wrapper that had glistened.  I wondered whatever became of all that stuff and if any of it was ever retrieved.  As far as I knew, it was the "storm drain of no return."  When I was feeling quite brave, I would sometimes walk right on top of the grates, knowing they were intended to support pedestrians but not quite trusting that they would.  Unknowingly, I guess that was one of my own journey's leaps of faith.

I did move away on two separate occasions and have no regrets about doing so.  Neither move was because I was desperate to "get out of Dodge."  Both moves were work related.  First, as a single young woman (I could write a book about the antics of the "secretarial pool" but that's for another day.)  Then, as a young married couple.  It was an interesting experience to move back to Hancock and be the newcomer in my own hometown.  Some things had changed.  Some hadn't.  Some folks recognized me.  Some didn't.  I heard some wonder, "Who's that mother who comes in here every week with those two beautiful little girls?"  (That scored points with me, big time.)  Once introductions were made, my cover was blown but for a very brief period of time, I experienced what it was like to be the stranger here and what I found was the kindness of a lifetime and warm friends -- some of whom are not even from here!  =^)  It was Bob's idea, not mine, to move back to where we had roots.  I'm glad his farsightedness (so typical of him) was sufficient enough to offset my (then) shortsightedness. He knew what he was doing and I am grateful.

This little town, full of roots and memories, is embarking on an exciting new project.  Godspeed!

You can't go home again.  Yes, you can.

Obstacles. . .

Well, this morning I am not feeling as cozy and contented as yesterday and my plan for today has met with some obstacles.

We cannot avoid having obstacles in our lives.  To try to suspend time when we encounter them, as if they did not exist, while we wait for our journey to become smooth again is a waste of precious time and vital energy.  Obstacles are an unavoidable part of life so we may as well learn to walk right through the middle of them.  I remember when this concept revealed itself to me and the liberating feeling that came with it.  It was one of those sudden realizations that wash over you, seemingly unrelated to what is in your consciousness at the time. We may have thought we already believed it to its fullest extent but only after having experienced a connection (emotionally) do we understand that that belief (intellectually) was just the "tip of the iceberg."  For me, that connection is a spiritual one, directly related to my faith that God is always right on time, never early or late and His plans for me are good.  

Evidently, those plans do not include what I had in mind for this morning -- getting up at the crack of dawn, making coffee, then heading to Curves.  Instead, I am sick (a cold......the flu?) and have been nursing what must be frozen water pipes since dawn.  This water situation is a stark reminder of my inadequacies for handling situations that Bob would have anticipated and found a way to offset.  What I feel is not so much frustration with the tasks undone as it is the revisiting of the rawness of missing him.  There is also some guilt to deal with -- for my failure (so it seems to me)  to maintain the things he cared for so earnestly.   When faced with these particular kinds of obstacles, I am prone to lose my composure in a way that appears directly related to the situation at hand when it is really simply me, missing Bob.  More objectively, I realize if our roles had been reversed that he would have had similar experiences, except that the obstacles, themselves, would differ.   

So......here I sit......headache, runny nose, achy joints and all......thankful for the extra water in the refrigerator to make coffee.  The thermostat is turned up an extra notch, the faucets are in the ON position and an electric heater is adding extra warmth to the corner of the basement where the water pipes enter......while I listen patiently for the sweet sound of running water.

Am I content with this obstacle?  Absolutely not!  However, I will see it through with patience, resting in the assurance that it will pass, the water will run again, the sun will set and rise again and, in retrospect, the significance of this inconvenient morning will settle in with all the other "small stuff."     

Warmth. . .

It's a crisp, nippy morning with a little dusting of snow on the Hobbit Hole.  I hope those silly daffodils that had poked out of the ground on Sunday have the good sense to change their minds.

I enjoy the coziness of winter - sweaters and warm socks, the hum of the pellet stove in the basement and the ever-changing landscape out my window.  I keep my thermostat set so that the indoor temperature hovers between sixty-one and sixty-four degrees, the temperature I have found to be comfortable when moving about during daily routine activities.  I keep a sweater on the back of the chair to throw over my shoulders when I work at my desk.  A favorite cover-up, though, is my Superman Snuggie, a gift from a friend a couple of years ago.  Its hands free feature allows perfect ease for crocheting or knitting while remaining "tucked in."  The snuggie has been a favorite addition to my growing collection of Superman paraphernalia right from the start, however, until recently, I hadn't given much thought to what I looked like while wearing it; only that it felt so delightfully warm and cozy.  Then, a few days ago, I wanted to show it to my daughter, so I slipped it on and stepped out of a room with my arms in the air, singing the Superman theme song.  For a moment, I thought she was going to require resuscitating.  "Do you have any idea what that looks like?" she asked.  No, I didn't.  But I do now.  The grandkids are much less faint of heart.  Their remarks are more like: "That really looks funny" and they smile.

Warmth.  It doesn't only come from the sweaters and fleecy blankets that cover our exteriors.  There is another kind, an inner heartwarming kind like the warmth of friends or the warmth of God's loving arms around you. 

Now that I think of it......aren't they one in the same?  

New Year's Day 2012. . .

This photo slideshow customized with Smilebox

What an unseasonal New Year's Day, indeed! I'm sure there's more of winter to come but right now, having "spring" has thrown me all off kilter! I'm not complaining, mind you; I'm content with whatever comes. Except, maybe, when my basement floods. Then I tend to lean toward discontentment.

All the snowman decorations, all bundled up in their scarves and mittens, look a little silly with green grass as their backdrop. Say, are we allowed to call them snowMEN anymore? Maybe they are snowPEOPLE or snowPERSONS. "People of snow?" At any rate, if there are any snow "individuals" around this vicinity right now, they surely are not made of the real thing.

Traditionally, the beginning of a new year is a time for making resolutions. I used to try to do that but I don't anymore. Here's why: I believe resolving to learn, grow and improve is what we need to do on a daily basis just as "love in our hearts" should not be reserved just for Christmas. That's my theory and I'm stickin' to it.

Although I don't practice the formality of making specific resolutions, I do have a few plans in mind. I think it's important, before making those plans, to identify what patterns of my own are already in place and to be observant of their effect on others and of how I, myself, am affected physically, spiritually and emotionally. Without this process, I think we can often mislead ourselves to believe we are moving forward (because we're so busy) when we are, in fact, repeating a non-productive pattern time and time again (spinning our wheels.) Once immersed in this cycle, it's not easy to change course and the fact that we don't usually see it coming makes initiating changes even more difficult. That's why I feel the need for almost daily "check points" rather than a once-a-year resolution.

The more years that pass, the less willing I am to "spin my wheels." I used to believe this was due to impatience on my part - a character flaw to work on, I thought. Or, worse yet, giving up! The Serenity Prayer instructs us to accept what we cannot change, to change what we can and to seek the wisdom to know the difference. Knowing the difference is the hard part, I believe, and something to think about every day.  I'm not really sure what things might change for me this year.

One thing for sure, time is precious, time doesn't wait, time is the most valuable thing we have and my plan for 2012 is to not waste any of it but to listen even more closely to God's nudges when considering how to use it!

Since 2012 has "come in like a lamb," will it "go out like a lion?"  Oh......wait a minute......that's March!