Monday, February 25th. . .

Monday, February 25th...Day 10, already, of NC visit and I have yet to 'blog.'  I could have written about the unseasonal blizzard that followed us all the way down I 95, and about the ground that was still snow-covered when we arrived at Jenn's and Allen's. I also might have described how wonderful it was to have most of my family all together in one place; what a joy it was to listen to the eager reunion of laughing siblings and the chattering - sometimes bickering - of "the cousins" (as they so aptly refer to themselves.)  I was much too immersed in all of that as it was happening and, later, basking in it to take time to write about it.  But all too soon, it was over.  Dan and Michelle were back home across the state and Cindy and kids on their way back to French Woods. 
 

I am having some memorable moments, one of the most poignant when Kaitlyn (almost four) said to me: "I am very sad......because I miss Grampa Bob." (Whom she has never actually met.)  I am always in awe of the capacity of children to grasp that which we believe to be beyond their understanding.

While the McQuiston family is at work and school, I have been spending quiet hours knitting, meditating, and practicing relaxation exercises in hopes of finding the path that will lead me in my journey to a clearer mindset.  I am noticing fewer, less severe anxiety attacks and for that I am thankful.

I don't know yet when I'll be going home.  There is much to be said for focusing on just one day at a time (which is what I have been doing) but I suppose I need to get a plan in place for my return trip.
 

Maybe I'll think about that tomorrow.  Right now, I'm just 'twitching' to get my hands on the *new yarn* I bought yesterday!

Where have I been. . .

Where have I been? That's what I have been asking myself these past couple of months. I feel as though time has been toying with me; or that I have been 'somewhere else' for the past five years. Asleep, maybe...emerging, now, from an unsettling, vivid dream. During November, a realization occurred suddenly one day, that time had not stood still since January of 2008! That realization left me feeling as though I was being thrust into a reality I hadn't prepared myself for. How could I have? We never know what is on the 'next page.' I looked around and saw that the older grandkids had matured beyond the point where they were five years ago, and the little ones (now, too, maturing) had not even been born then. My own grown children are different, too. They have been steadily gaining five more years' worth of wisdom and confidence...and it shows. As I glance around my house, I notice little things as well as some home improvements that, until my recent 'awakening,' I was still referencing as "new" when, in fact, they are now quite established. Some, needing a little touch-up here and there. Intellectually, I have had total awareness of what was happening while, at the same time, emotionally, I was blind-sided.  Again, I ask, "Where have I been?" during this leg of my journey.

The question took me over some peaks and through some valleys as I embarked on my quest to clear the muddle from my mind. I knew, given the way I was feeling, that this was going to take awhile.  Reluctantly, I even postponed my usual visit with my NC families.  I had no stamina for traveling nor did I think it was a good idea to subject them to my present eccentricities.  Although, they’re probably used to it by now.  =^)   Having decided to stay home, I secluded myself away from anything that felt the least bit stressful. (...counting my blessings for being in a position to do that.) I spent a lot of time just knitting, sometimes for entire days. The rhythm is relaxing and allows me to probe deep inside the core of my thoughts, and the creative satisfaction is a plus, too. There were dark days and bright days; depression and joy; quiet time, music and prayer; and some tears and laughter, too.  The most difficult obstacle for me during these months was the prolonged anxiety attacks that struck anytime-anywhere. I don't know which is worse -- the fear in not knowing what's happening or the frustration of knowing, yet being unable to 'turn them off' on your own.  During an attack, it is physically draining to maintain a facade of normalcy while interacting with others.  Fatigued, I slept more than usual.

Briefly, what I have concluded as a result of my painstaking seclusion is that I have been rather numb these past five years.  That is, the initial raw grief has subsided and in its place is a tender aching that has chiseled out its own permanent little chamber in my heart.  I have been living and dealing with life in a way that has become pleasant and comfortable to me.  I thought, “Oh, I guess *this* is how it’s going to be,” but I was mistaken.   There was more to come.  I mentioned being numb.  What I mean is that, in a way, I felt ‘safe’ because, you see, nothing really mattered.  The worst thing I could imagine had already happened, so I had just been putting in my time, so to speak; moving forward a day at a time.  Enthusiastic anticipation of anything I really cared about was part of my past, I thought.  I was simply holding up my end of God’s bargain.  The one that reminds me that as long as I am here, I must be here for a purpose, and by golly, I vowed to do my utmost to fulfill my part!  That hasn’t changed.  However, there has been some transitioning taking place and I am finding myself genuinely looking forward to some of what remains in the future.  This feels foreign to me right now and I believe that in order to protect my heart, I am instinctively resistant.  Now that I understand that, I’m sure more insights will follow and I will find my way back to a peaceful place just as one might come upon a meadow after being lost in the woods.  

The good thing is that I have learned to journey through the middle of these ‘dark woods’ with the assurance that, sooner or later, (in God’s time) I will see light begin to filter through the trees and I, like my kids and grandkids, will have grown and be all the wiser for it.

 

That’s where I’ve been………….    

Just tired. . .

...just tired.  Even so, here comes another day.

When the storms of life are raging. . .

So...what was my priority first thing this morning in preparation for the oncoming storm?  Why, cutting back the black-eyed-Susans, of course.  Maybe my kids are right--there's something wrong with me.  In my defense, however, I will add that my little generator is primed and on stand-by to plug the freezer in, I have filled jugs with water, the coffeemaker is brewing a surplus pot of coffee for a thermos, and there is a filled pail of water in the bathtub.  With a fresh charge, my iPod should be good for at least one audible book for nighttime.  Candles?  Batteries?  I always have those.  Kerosene lamps, too.  As much as I dislike being left in the dark with no power, I guess I'm as ready as I can be.  What I'm not ready for are the high winds.  I hate wind.  It scares me.  So...I may station myself in a corner of the basement for the next day or two where I can't hear the wind and I'll sing, "When the storms of life are raging, stand by me."  (Which is what I played for a postlude yesterday, but I'm not sure if anyone picked up on that.)    Or...maybe I'll hide out, out in the Hobbit Hole!

      

Contentment is. . .

It's a "ho-hum" day......so I am sipping Plantation Mint Tea and making little tiny boxes out of old Christmas cards......and lasagna and apple pie.  I might do some knitting or crocheting later.  I rather like setting my own pace and having the time to do the things I was always going to do "if I ever had time."

More rural living. . .

Sharing my journey with the wildlife of French Woods is an ongoing daily adventure.  When I pause long enough to notice, I can see how the seemingly quiet, ever-changing outdoor scene is always bustling.

 

The same several deer who visit the misty apple orchard each dawn, parade single file past my front door on their way back to the woods at dusk.   I sometimes wonder where they spend the rest of their days.  I believe we have come to know each other, those few deer and I.  I think so because they hardly flinch when I am out and about near them.  They raise their heads briefly, take a look at me and then resume their chewing as if to say, "Oh, it's just that peculiar human." 

 

I was about to thank the deer for sparing me the chore of cutting back my day lilies and hosta that grow along my front sidewalk until I saw the tell-tale "cow flop" and upon closer scrutiny, imprints in the mulch that revealed the size of the hoof prints.  I should take a look out my windows a little more often.  I have a feeling that I'm missing a lot of what goes on.  I guess I'm too busy standing guard over the bird feeder on the back porch, batting the chipmunk off it with the broom.  Have you ever noticed that chipmunks are very brazen little creatures who tend to remain undaunted by any obstacles they encounter?  They can also be quite feisty when provoked by a mad woman wielding a broom.  They usually soar through the air and land safely in the forsythia bush when I whack them but, once, one retaliated by leaping, instead, right at me.  While still in mid-air, "Chip" and I met face to face and those little beady, black eyes were full of anger, let me tell you!  For future encounters, my plan is to arm myself with a chair as a shield as well as the broom. 

 

I do hope the wandering cow found its way home but before it did, I must say that I wish it had noticed the black-eyed Susans along the side of the house that need trimming back, too.

 

   

October's bright blue weather. . .

When I woke up early this morning and tipped the blinds to take a peek out the window, my senses tingled with the eager anticipation of settling into the coziness of fall.  Why the seasons excite me so, I don't know.  My guess is that it has something to do with the gift of new beginnings along my journey and how that gift refreshes my soul.  I slipped on my bathrobe and even before I made coffee (!), I took the indoor walking tour to look out every window.  Patches of frost glistened here and there and I could see that some of the perennials had assumed the position of dormancy.  The birds were swarming at the birdfeeder in frenzied motion, their feathers slightly more ruffled.  It amazes me how the instincts of all of God's creatures are so intricately programmed.  For the past couple of weeks, I have noticed the squirrels racing continuously up and down the apple trees and wondered if their little muscles ever ache at the end of the day.

 

I couldn't help myself; I had to step outside and breathe it in!  Yes, it was quite nippy but oh, so invigorating!  I stood on the back porch wrapped in my robe, my bare feet in my slippers, taking it all in until I was sure the moment was completely and forever absorbed within me -- all the sights, the familiar smells and sounds that confirm the arrival of fall.  Dried leaves.  Woodsmoke.  Chainsaws.  Woodsplitters.  Geese.  Once back inside, there was the hum of the furnace.   Instinctively, my thoughts are turning to things like knitting and homemade soup in the crockpot.  That is, once the leaves have been mulched, the birdhouses cleaned out, and the gardens trimmed back.  There's always some chore that gets left by the wayside but I don't worry much about that.  I do the best I can and have learned to simply say, "It is what it is," and let it go at that.

 

On this bright blue day in October, thankfulness overflows! 

 

"Lord, for tomorrow and its needs, I do not want......"