A Cozy Day. . .

Ah...this is a cozy, rainy day. The kind of day that brings fresh-baked bread, homemade soup and crafts to mind. Not that I will necessarily do any of those things, although I might...we'll see. The woods are full of mysterious mist and all outdoor sounds are amplified. From inside, I feel soothed and very peaceful, wrapped in the closeness of the elements.

I realize there was a time when I would have described such a day as gloomy and depressing, and I would have been impatient for the snow to be all gone, for the fog to lift, the sun to shine and make all things bright and beautiful--according to ME. Somewhere along the line--my lifeline--my journey, that changed. I'm not sure exactly when it happened. I think it was a process more than a sudden revelation. My realization of the process having taken place was more abrupt, though, and since the transition was already complete, there was nothing for me to do except give thanks for this new (to me) and wonderful gift.

Don't get me wrong, a totally passive existence is not what I am suggesting. The gift is in learning, not only to recognize, but to accept the things we cannot change. Such as the weather. What I have found is that the process doesn't have to end with acceptance. The gift goes on until, sometimes, we can even embrace that which we originally wished to change.

I do embrace days like this.

Besides, on plenty of occasions, Bob would say, "Wish in one hand, s--- in the other, and see which one gets full, first." And you know. . .he was absolutely right!

A Perfect World. . .

I don't know what made me think of this right now, but, for some reason--right in the middle of making the birthday chocolate sheet cake that Michael requested, I began to wonder what my idea of a perfect world might be. A vision unfolded--just as I stuck my finger in the icing for a sample. I found myself smiling--as I watched my leftover morning coffee reheat in the microwave. "It's very simple," I thought, "and would require very little effort, really." What I saw in my mind's eye was this: Every person in the world forming one big circle, then each turning to the one on the left, and asking, "What can I do for you?"

I'm not sure why I was smiling. I would like to think it was a reflection from the imaginary mere glimpse of something so wonderful! But I'm afraid it might have been the result of some self-ridicule going on there, too, as reality began closing in and clouding my vision.

However. . .which IS reality? WHAT is reality? And who decides? I think I'm going to choose to hold out--to continue to believe--to have faith--that my version of a perfect world is at least a possibility.

A Sunday Morning. . .

This is just some of what will always cause me to pause and give thanks for the gift of "blooming where I am planted."

Make a photo slideshow

Time passes. . .

Today I realized that because of the passing of time, I am beginning to have memories that do not include Bob. I don't like having them but they are there just the same. This came to mind when I was thinking about a winter incident that took place just a couple of years ago, but after Bob was gone. It felt strange that it seemed so long ago while my memories with him are as clear as the present. Memories, like dreams, have no chronological order, so it would seem. They come and go in no particular order, triggered by who knows what.

It's reassuring to know that, while recollection of some aspects of my past may fade, my memory of Bob and the life we built together will remain as vivid as it was during the days when we were living it.

Expectations. . .

It is puzzling, indeed, to find ourselves where we never, by any stretch of the imagination, expected to be. Although, sometimes I’m not so sure what it was I expected…or if I had expectations. I just know it wasn’t “this” -- finishing out my life as half of something. I sometimes feel like I am taking the “road not taken.” Even so, there is pleasure to be found, if I choose to look for it. I am assured I have purpose, God is good and I will continue moving forward, one step at a time, further down whatever road He leads me, thankful for where I have been and in wonder of what lies ahead.

Sweet serenity. . .

Rachael and I are back inside, having been out and about, tending to morning chores at her house. I'm always glad when duty beckons me out of bed before sunrise since my own willpower has never developed to the point of my greeting that part of the day "just because." Bob, who was forever programmed according to the discipline of farm time--later, military time, would often say (about folks who sleep in)--"they're missing the best part of the day." It is, I believe, the most inspiring time of day. Time for refreshment of body and soul. Even in a day that might hold some dread, there are those moments before the day's timeline begins to unfold, when there is the opportunity for near perfect peace. Especially on a crisp, snow-white morning such as this, with soft billows of snow being blown in the breeze, glistening in the sun as it rises, sprinkling themselves here and there, whispering of sweet serenity.

There would have been carrot cake. . .

Outside, the snow is deep and bright. The snow gauge measures eighteen inches. There are just a few fine flakes adrift in the air now but earlier, there was what resembled a blizzard. It took me back. How, I wonder, can I be taken back to a memory that is not really my own, but someone else's, that took place even before I was born? That is something to ponder. For now, I will simply lay claim to it. It was on this day, February 12th, seventy years ago, that a baby boy was born; right on the farm across the highway. Being a home birth was not intentional. Since the road had drifted closed, traveling was not an option. And so, Bob (Robert Allyn) made his debut right there in the farmhouse. Three years (three years!?) ago, he began an even greater, unfathomable (to us) eternal journey. In between, his contribution to the world mattered to him. Someday, I hope to write about his in-between but that is for another time.
The farmhouse, itself, is gone now. But the terrain--the lay of the land, the mountains and hills, the valleys, and even some of the trees are the same. I am often awed by consistencies like this that link us in time, from one generation to the next. I find it quite soothing to meditate on ideas of this sort. It is a most genuine opportunity for closeness with those I love and to experience the beauty of the earth through their eyes. Of course, it's possible to experience some of that purely from memory, too. But I rather like the idea of being physically present in this place where others' memories have mingled with so many years' worth of my own. I miss Bob. I feel his spirit in unexpected places--trees, clouds--soaring on the wings of eagles. In the past, whenever I had heard the expression, "love does not die," I would think, "how nice, what lovely words." But now I see clearly. I understand.
Today is one of the more difficult ones for me as I swing back and forth from the "now" to the "what-if's." While the practicality of "now" is crucial to healthy well-being, I think it is important not to avoid the "what-if's," completely. Rather, to invite them in, indulging them briefly, then letting them go, knowing they will be invited back another day.
Today, on this milestone birthday, there most certainly would have been no less than 70 candles! There would have been laughter and jokes. There would have been a ruckus in our house today and lots of noise, instead of the quiet hum of the refrigerator. (Although...the wind chimes are giving their best effort, today.) In spite of everything, though, I count myself among the very blessed--and even lucky, for that matter. I give thanks each and every day for the grace of God, Who has given me the gift of seeing my life in terms of all I have had, rather than all I have lost. And that has made all the difference!
Oh...and there would have been carrot cake. Made from scratch. Lots of nuts and raisins!