Foggy and groggy. . .

Morning Chapel...then Curves...back home having breakfast on this rainy day.  Woke up with that pulling sensation when I swallow that feels like I am going to swallow my left ear.  Hoping it's just something allergy related and that if I ignore it, it'll go away as quickly as it came. 

The rain is welcome although it was a bit foggy driving earlier this morning.  I like driving with the sun roof open in this kind of weather (as long as I remember to close it again.)  I've found that as long as it's not pouring, it doesn't really rain inside the car when it's moving and the brisk air is quite invigorating.  I hope a little of that vigor kicks in soon; I'm in need of some today.

Let's see...no yardwork in this weather...and without sunshine, lighting is too drab for painting in the basement. Time to re-evaluate my to-do list as I entertain myself, visualizing my ear suddenly being sucked into the side of my head.  

So...exactly what does one do  when life has handed you groggy-ness?  Make grog?  =^)  

   

Sock sorting. . .

Why, here comes the sun!  I thought it was going to be a rainy day.  I had resigned myself to working inside today.  Shall I "shift gears" and head outside, instead?  I should probably stick with Plan A, for as soon as I get settled outside with my tools, dressed in my "yard-garb," surely it will cloud over and rain.  On the other hand, maybe it won't and in that case, I might be kicking myself later.  I'm not sure why it even matters so much but my guess is that since I am, for the most part, in control of my own daily schedule, I really have a need to assign myself specific tasks to undertake each day.  That is partly because I like the sense of organized accomplishment that system provides.  More importantly, I am one person trying to maintain what two used to do and I have fear of falling behind.  There have been a lot of adjustments to make, though, in order to settle into a pattern that is adaptable to my own strength and capabilities.  Those adjustments have gone well, I think, but not without a lot of encouragement from family and friends. 

Right now, there are socks strewn all over the bed and despite the sunshine teasing me through the window, I think I'll stay inside and finish sorting.  I like my socks organized!  They were getting all askew so I dumped the drawer out to get a fresh start.  One thing is for sure - never again will I buy black and navy in the same style.  The only way to distinguish one from the other is to hold them together, under the window.  Artificial light will not do.  I tried laying black in one direction and navy in the other but that's how the "sock jam" got started, making it hard to close the drawer.  My system has been to categorize according to texture and length...thin socks, thick socks, short socks, long socks    (Sounds like a Dr. Seuss book)...work socks, dress socks, sneaker socks.  However, that no longer works, what with the black/navy confusion that has cropped up.  So...I'm thinking maybe I'll re-categorize according to color.  Or...maybe I'll just get rid of the navy socks.  OR......I could decide on the entirely carefree system of shoving them all randomly back into the drawer and grabbing any two to wear each morning. 

Much ado about nothing.  Is it really?  Nothing, I mean.  I have to chuckle as I think of "menial tasks" and what Rick Warren wrote about them.  I'd be interested to know how he organizes HIS sock drawer.  =^)

I'm not sure it matters how I keep my socks. There must be a better purpose for this day. 

Besides, sandal season is coming right up.     

  

The rhythm of life. . .

I have covered some miles since coffee at 5:30 this morning and have taken care of many of those little errands that always seem to accumulate, as well as a few other obligations.  Back home now, breakfast is in order, once I decide what's most appealing.  Pizza sounds good.  The English toffee cappuccino I grabbed during my travels did help to tide me over until now.

This is a typical March day; fickle as ever.  I'm glad I dressed in layers because I have had to shed clothing along the way ever since the sun came up and added its glittering brilliance to the day.  Living in the mountains, I enjoy the contrast between home and the villages in lower elevations where traces of snow and winter are not to be found.  I love walking around my property, stepping in and out of seasons according to where the sun shines most and areas that are primarily shaded.  If you listen closely, you can hear the melting snow seeping down into the thirsty earth.  Together with the trickle of moist, meandering mini-streams and the return of spring bird songs, the rhythm of life makes its own music.  

Spring snow is unique - slushier, heavier, grainier and it smells different.  When I got home, I took the snow shovel and, bare armed and gloveless, I worked up a sweat shoving the rest of the loose, frozen stuff off my front sidewalk.  The front of my house is one of those shady spots I mentioned.  In the entire surrounding area, I think the shady strip along the front of my house must be one of the last places  where remnants of snow can still be found each year.  (Once, when the snow piles had been exceptionally huge, I got impatient and dissolved them with the garden hose.  I have also been known to shovel it all out into the grass where the sun shines.  But usually I just wait for it to melt.)

I'm not sure what the rest of this day will bring but I hope I remember to take some more moments to step outside and listen to the snow melt.

"In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see." ~Natalie Sleeth    

Holes in the wall. . .

Scrubbing the hall paneling was on the agenda for today.  It's one of those tasks that, once accomplished, can instill a feeling of either satisfaction or disappointment.  It depends on the intended purpose.  Since hearing a reactive, "Wow!  Look at that clean paneling!" is NOT my goal, I think I'm okay with the simple satisfaction of checking it off on my to-do list and quietly admiring the somewhat more uniform glow each time I pass through the hallway.  

It is during the carrying out of this type of task when I experience my most fruitful quiet time and the most enlightening spiritual communing.  Author, Rick Warren (Purpose Driven Life) is spot on when he reminds us that even the most menial tasks can (and should) glorify God.  As with music, there is something in the rhythmic motion that settles the mind and we become more receptive to "listening."  Sometimes our minds are so boggled by the struggle to think things through that we forget to listen.

Today, during my listening, I was thinking about how thankful I am for the strength and agility to take care of most of the household upkeep.  I'm not interested in martyrdom, however, and when necessary, I do "call in the troops" and count them among my blessings!

There's something very tenderly reassuring as I go about caring for things that Bob put in place - each tile, each screw or in this case, each nail in the paneling.  There is a connection there that I can't really explain.  Today, for instance, I recalled quite vividly the process of the paneling going up.  The selection, the purchase, the installation and the conversations we had along the way.  While I am most assuredly living in the now and not in the past, I am thankful for these spontaneous reflections and their delightful reminders of how blessed I am. 

Putting paneling along the lower half of the wall was a solution to end the perpetual hole-in-the-wall problem.  Let me explain:  First, you have to remember, we had a house full of kids.  There were doorstops for each door; those rubber-tipped kind on a spring that screws into the molding at floor level.  The "crawling age" children took great delight in "playing" them like musical instruments.  Boing, boing, boing!  As a result, they were always loose and falling out.  The older, "running age" children had a habit of flinging doors open, driving the doorknob through the wall (and slamming them shut...sometimes on unsuspecting fingers, unfortunately).  They even discovered it was possible to "ride" a door by holding both doorknobs, straddling the edge and lifting their feet.  We were able to curb the door riding, for the most part...I think.  They probably did it when we weren't looking.  Anyway...it seemed that there was always either a gaping hole or a patch on the wall in our hallway.  The patch, you could live with...sort of.  The hole was another thing.  Toddlers are absolutely fascinated by holes in walls that they have to stand on their tip-toes to reach and try to peer into.  They are incapable of heeding "Leave that alone!" no matter how often it is spoken or what voice inflection is used.  The hole also became a game activity site, I discovered one day.  One child would drop something in while another would be stationed in the basement to retrieve it.  But of course, none were ever retrieved because a house isn't exactly constructed as such.  So there were a few tears, too, over items that vanished into the dark hole of lost toys.  Who knows what all is in there; I have no idea.  Although, I do know for certain there is one plastic screwdriver.  I did happen to witness that.  Gosh, it seems like yesterday......

But this is today and what a gift it has been to spend part of it with visions of family I love so much, then and now, knowing they have all the tools they need to care for their own holes in the wall. 

Mission in progress. . .

This painting is getting tedious but little by little I am beginning to feel the satisfaction of "mission accomplished."  Well, mission in the process of being accomplished, anyway.  When it comes to household upkeep, is it ever really all accomplished?  First of all, I don't like to paint.  Neither did Bob.  As a result, the painting chores were always put off or left undone and that was perfectly okay with both of us.  Sooner or later, one of us would "cave" and have a short-lived painting spree.  These days, I'm finding it somewhat more enjoyable by doing only small areas at a time.  That way, I'm finished for the day before it starts to wear on me.  It's not so much the actual painting that I dislike; it's all the prep work that I have no patience for and the dissemblance of normalcy that makes me twitchy. 

My options were to either continue marking time with my daily monologue consisting of: "I really should get at that one of these days" or I could begin this (painting-of-the-doors) journey the same as any other -- one step at a time; beginning with that all important first step, which is to start!  It was a tussle to conjure up that initial step but there is fulfillment now in what I have done having taken it.

What a time it was!  I cannot even begin to say where I have "been" during those peaceful, thought-filled hours.  I have reflected on the past, found contentment in the present and have contemplated the future.  Why, I have traveled randomly through time!  I smiled, I sang, I was quiet, and I cried.  It was a good "trip."   

I think I'll do the stairs next.  Or maybe the woodwork in the music room.  And the kitchen ceiling really needs to be done, too...but there's no way I'm doing that! 

Although, I do have one of those extension handles.......

Morning commute. . .

Create a picture slideshow

Secret anniversaries. . .

February 12th...birthdays...Bob's and Abraham Lincoln's.  Bob enjoyed saying, "All the great men were born on this day" and then he would chuckle.  I carry guilt from the several years that I postponed the baking of the carrot cake because I was "so busy."  I try not to dwell on those times, though, because I can't change the past.  Instead, I try to remember all those other years of birthday celebrating -- the laughter, the singing, Bob's predictable words of appreciation for his "favorite cake," the ceremonial blowing out of the candles (for the kids' benefit) and later on, the jokes about the likelihood of the Fire Department coming to investigate the smoke. 

This is a sweet, sad/happy day.  I will be going about my Sunday routine today, content in the fellowship of choir family and church folks   during worship, and taking genuine delight in our annual Valentine Coffee Hour afterward.  My heartstrings will be safely tucked away so that, unless I say so, no one will ever know how much of my joy comes from the private celebration of my journey's past, secret anniversaries of this date, February 12th...a day when some really great men were born.