Minor Breakdowns, Random Lists, and Black Velvet

I feel it only fair to say that on the last day of school before Christmas Break began, I spent a solid fifteen minutes sitting in my car, in the school parking lot, crying (admittedly) a bit uncontrollably. Overwhelmed. Frustrated. Tired. Asking the Lord to change my direction or change my heart. Just throwing that out there first so when you read this feel-good, life-is-great entry that follows, you'll understand that my life, like yours, no doubt- can be quite the roller coaster. That is the reason I take the time to preserve memories like this. We all need reminders.



I am currently sitting on my front porch in 70-degree weather finishing up lesson plans and answering emails (or at least thinking about answering emails) and fully soaking up the remaining hours of what has truly been a wonderful Christmas Break. Those who know me would probably say that I say every Christmas Break is the best one ever, but this one has definitely been one for the books.

What made this particular break so incredible had everything to do with a folded-up, yellow sheet of legal paper I keep in a safe*. I've mentioned it enough that the family knows about it, and I take it out on occasion. It's a list and although I did not date it, I can guess that I must have been around twenty- maybe twenty-one, when I wrote it based on the content. The title seems a bit dramatic, but believe me, I was a bit dramatic in real life at the time.

25 Things I Want To Do Before I Die

All these years later when I look at that list, the 20-year old me makes the 48-year old me smile. I like to think that's a good thing. The top two things listed are to get married and have a baby (check and check). From there it's everything from seeing the ocean to riding a motorcycle to visiting Hawaii. As I've done things, I've marked them off with the date it was accomplished. Some things were easy to do, and some things will simply never happen. I'm okay with that. It's not a do-or-die kinda bucket list.. just the wish list of a young girl leaving her hometown for the first time. Amidst the wide variety of things written, #24 states: 

See the ballet, The Nutcracker, in a black velvet dress.

I'm not entirely sure what prompted this one. Having grown up in a small town, I suppose it sounded sophisticated and worldly and everything I aspired to be at that time. Whatever the motivation, there it sat, written in blue ink and waiting for the time it would be marked off. I know this is not a particularly hard thing to accomplish, but there rarely seems to be a time in life when money and opportunity are in the same place at the same time.

But the stars had aligned for this one.

The youngest directed me to tickets (for her and me) at a local theater for the Great Russian Nutcracker performed by the Moscow Ballet. She went on to insist that I "do it right" and found a beautiful, floor-length black velvet dress that fit me like a dream. To make it all extra special, the date of the ballet ended up being on my birthday. I spent most of that afternoon getting ready- even the husband sported a tie for the birthday dinner with the family before the performance. I seriously felt like I was going to the prom as I walked into a local restaurant while wearing what amounted to a formal dress, but I was so happy that I did not care. This was my moment and I was determined to enjoy every bit of it.

I'm a bit of a birthday diva, I suppose.

After a wonderful dinner with all the kids, our sweet girl gave up her ticket at the last minute so her beloved "pops" could escort me to the ballet. Her instructions were quite strict- he was not allowed to make fun of it in anyway- she knows her blue-collar father well, and off we went. I may or may not have panicked when I saw people walking into the theater in jeans (what kind of world is this anyway?), but with encouragement from the fella and a "who cares" text from the daughter, I proceeded to have the time of my life.

And I've had many a great time in my life.

As I sat through the Second Act, the fella staying quiet as per his instructions, my eyes filled with tears. As silly as it may sound, my life- the good and the bad, rolled through my mind as I sat there, all wrapped up in black velvet with the hand of the man I love holding mine. All I could think of was how beautiful my life has been. There have been dark days, dark years, and yes, a few dark Christmas seasons... but it may very well be those dark times that cause me to embrace the light, to cherish the good, and to hold tight to the moments that make me stand in awe. It was, indeed, an awesome moment and a wonderful memory made as I checked off #24 later that night.

I suppose the reason I write this, along with that sad disclaimer at the top, goes back to those last days spent with my father. I've often wondered how his mind processed the reality of a life approaching the final sunset. He was always one to offer advice or give an opinion, and when asked if he had had a good life (yes, we seriously had this conversation), he said the words that are forever in my ear: We've had good times and bad times, and I wouldn't trade any of it for a dime.

Well said, Dad. I won't ever forget.

The good always outweighs the bad, tears do give way to laughter, and the dreams of a 20-year old are never too far removed to be fulfilled.

I've got the picture to prove it.

*By the term safe, I am referring to a secure location used to store my sentimental stuff and not valuables that would be worth anyone's life or prison time, just so we're all clear. I'm a school teacher, remember. There are no valuables. =)

Wrecked Plans

As I sit in my preferred spot this morning,

I smell two pies baking happily in the oven.
I hear the laundry whishing wearily in the machine.
I feel the steady warmth from the fire before me.

And I fight back the tears.

This week has not gone how I planned. For a month (or better), I planned. I gave notice, worked ahead of the game, dotted all my i's and crossed all the t's. Everything was in place for a much-needed trip home and yet, here I sit. It's been hard not to be ungrateful in a week set aside for thanksgiving.

So,

I have cleaned and decorated and, as aforementioned, am now baking.
I have once again taken up whispered conversations with the cat.
I have been in the same set of pajamas for what is now the third day.

Earlier, I surprised myself and the Lord by opening my Bible. Needless to say, for all my God has a plan talk, I have been slightly irritated with the sudden change in my plan. I was thinking that maybe there was a reason I had to stay behind... maybe something big was going to happen and I would be needed here. And yes, even as I write this I cannot help but notice my ego at play. It really is quite sad how full we humans can get with ourselves; as if something could dare happen if we are not present. We live in a world quite consumed with self-importance.

While reading in Psalms earlier, I was reminded that if I truly remember who I am, my need to understand the whys and hows of life make no sense whatsoever. It really is a waste of time. After this week has passed by, will I look back at wasted days or days well spent? I am choosing the latter. It's a struggle, that's for certain, but the last eight years of this ridiculous distance have been just that. Now that I think about it, my plan has never been the plan. I really should have learned this by now.

So, as this week of thanksgiving continues, I will check on the pies, finish the laundry (current pajamas included), keep my feet by the fire, and I will be thankful for all the resources that allow such luxuries.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Lost Cats & Sewing Machines

I'm slightly disgusted with people right now- no one family or work related, by the way- so I thought I'd reach down into the depths of my positive-thinking compartment (yes, I do have one of those hidden away by years of dust and neglect) and find something uplifting to talk about on a blog that I've not done much with lately.

Whew. How's that for a sentence?

I started with a time of confession with the daughter. Exactly one week ago I wrote a short entry pertaining to her cat that I saved in my archives, but did not publish. It went something like this:



If I were a cat, where would I be?

I'm not kidding here. I came home to a house that should have two cats lounging on the clean laundry, and I can only find one. This is not a good thing when you've got the youngest away and you're in charge of her cat.

Not a good thing at all.

I've checked every nook and cranny. I've shook the treat bag. I looked under the table, under the chairs, and on top of the washer. I've called here kitty, kitty in a pitifully sweet voice (which does no good considering this particular cat doesn't like me much). If that cat is here, she is keeping her presence under wraps.

She has to be here.

The doors were locked. The windows shut. Unless we've had a cat burglar (which makes me chuckle), that cat has got to be in the confines of this house. The other cat is of no help. He just looks at me with total disinterest and jumps on the table as soon as I turn my back. Heck, for all I know, Old Man Cat might have taken care of Young Feisty Cat himself. Even so, I'll still be the one to take the blame.

I simply must find that cat.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The cat was found hiding inside the couch, of all places (torn lining.... who knew?). She made herself known only after the oldest roamed the neighborhood posting signs. We made a pact not to tell the daughter. The time was right this afternoon, however, so I confessed my lack of cat-sitting skills and we moved on.

Which, in a round-about way, brings me to my feel-good story.

I was cat-sitting last week because the youngest, that daughter of mine, was away on a mission trip. The details of the trip and the troubles that attempted to hold her back are not as important as the outcome. On her last day there, she called me to talk about a sewing machine that she helped a lady set up in her home. Now I don't know if this is as big of a deal as what it was to me, but let me ask you,

How many young teenage girls do you know who understand sewing machines? 

Apparently this particular lady had been in possession of this machine for a few years with no one to show her how to use it. Along comes my girl, who for all intents and purposes had been wondering about her place on this trip, and presto! She set things up and gave a few how-to instructions. If that's not God putting you in just the right place at just the right time, then I don't know what is.

It all makes me think of Queen Esther, my favorite of favorites in the Old Testament, and therefore gives me that feel-good feeling that comes from closing the drawer on the negative and spending some time with the positive.

In my book, that's a good place to be.

Watermelon Memories

In my mind there is a picture and in keeping with my usual way of doing things, it is a picture I cannot find.

Ten bucks says it's in the same place that wedding album is...

Anyway.

In that picture are three little kids sitting at a Little Tikes table. They are dressed in swim attire and sitting inside a garage as they drip and dry and eat watermelon. If I remember right, one has a leg kicked up, one is ready to take a bite, and one is just plain laughing. It's the picture I think of when I think of the Fourth of July.

As you know, holidays always make a me a bit sappy. I think of how our kids have grown and how much I miss my own family and well... it can be easy to get locked into what use to be. Thankfully, for you anyway, I'm not so far gone that I can't see the life taking place around me.

The oldest just traded his dirt bike for a boat. I don't see a lot of that boy as it is; now I'm assuming I'll see even less of him. But you know what? He's happy and healthy and free. He's a joy to watch (even if that watching forces me to stay up late some nights).

The middle is so sure of who he is... all I know to say is that there's a part of me that's jealous of that confidence. To see the change that's taken place in that boy is nothing short of miraculous- and there was nothing ever wrong to begin with- but the last year has been marvelous to watch. 

The youngest. She met me at the door yesterday with a cup of coffee, a freshly baked brownie, and a smile. To someone who is drowning in the slippery slime of doubt right now (that would be me, not her), that random act of kindness completed my day and offered me hope. 

Three kids. Growing up before my eyes and yet forever young in my heart.

And seeing as how I can never seem to find the pictures, that's a good thing.