Tomorrow Is Closer Than It Was

This will be my last blog for a few days.

Tomorrow  Mother is having hip replacement surgery. She is nearly 85 years old, so perhaps you can imagine my anxiety over it.

I have not wanted her to have this surgery, even though she has been cleared by a good cardiologist, dentist, and the surgeon himself.

But you see, I don't know if my unease comes from my own disastrous surgery where many things went awry and I'm stuck with it all, or if it is her age and I'm afraid she won't live through it all, or if it is my fear of my own shortcomings when it comes to helping take care of her afterwards.

All I told my Mother was: "It's your body, it's your pain, and only you can decide what has to be done"

And her reply, "I can't go on living with this pain."

So, there you go.

My hope, my sincere prayer, is that in a few days I'll be able to regale you with hilarious stories of adventures at the hospital, as I have attempted to do in the past.

I ask that those of you who are praying folks to lift my mama up in prayer tomorrow. For the Lord loves to hear our prayers, it is a sweet odor to Him. He loves my mother more than I can imagine, and I ask that you pray with that in mind.

And if you have an extra minute, add me in there, too.

I'm Givin' It Up!

I swan, I am givin' up house cleanin' forever.

A few months ago we decided to have the tabletop of our kitchen table redone. After twenty-seven years of meals, bill paying, card playing, board games, homework, and propped elbows during intense conversations, there were places that were worn to the bare wood.

So, off it went. We hauled my work table from the sun room and dumped everything in there in baskets and buckets and on the floor. Chaos ruled.

The tabletop came back a few days ago. We let it air out some because there was still a faint odor and we plain didn't have time to fool with it all.

Today, we (meaning I) decided the time had come to get order back in the house.

This meant taking apart the table we'd been using to put back into the sun room. This table is very old and hand made, so if you take it apart and don't pay attention, it's very hard to get back together, one piece does not go anywhere at all, it goes one place.

Everything had to be moved out of the way. You have no idea.

The kitchen table had to be moved back into the kitchen and returned to its pedestal.

Then everything had to be put back in its place, out of buckets and baskets and floor and "I wonder where that is...."

The more we did, the more I saw needed doing.

It ain't worth it.

See, if you never get started, it's easier to gloss over the whole mess and ignore it.

Holy cow! How could I live in this nasty environment?

Oh! Daughter just brought in a meatball sub.

Things are looking up already.

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

You know how some pictures you see  bring back a flood of memories, while others do not?

I remember seeing a video (reel to reel, honey. We are talking the old days). It was taken at the tag end of some of my first wedding, which took place in 1972. In 1973 we went on a cross country trip with those same people, and he just continued the reel.

About a dozen years later, I got to see the "movie" for the first time. I remembered after the wedding film. But when it switched to the next year and we are all walking around a fish hatchery, I was astounded.

Why?

Because I had no memory whatsoever of being at a fish hatchery.

Still gives me the creeps.

Was I so bored I just blanked it out?

I guess I'll never know.

But then there are pictures that take you right back to the moment.

Like wedding pictures, baby pictures of my one and only chick, that kind of thing.

But I ran across a photo the other day, which is a pretty ordinary picture:

It is late winter. I am thirty-two years old. I have worked all day and grabbed up our then-delivered-to-the-door Atlanta Journal-Constitution newspaper.

I'm sitting at a desk we had just purchased to go in our being-built house.

I knew after we moved in and had a house payment, we wouldn't be able to afford furniture, so I was buying  up pieces I knew I wanted. And I knew exactly where I wanted each piece. Husband would say, "But how do you know it will fit?" or "How do you know that's the right color?"


I just knew.

And I was right!

Everything fit perfectly, everything was the right color.

Picture this: my Victorian Cottage may be small but it is a gift from God. He allows me to live in a home I was privileged to design, decorate and reside in.

Now, that's a pretty picture for you.

Lonliness

I don't know if it's because I can't get out as much since I got hurt - no parties, no shopping/movies/out to eat marathons - or if I'm older and crabbier. But I've noticed I am not getting phone calls like I used to.

And another thing I've noticed: hardly anyone, other than bill collectors, sends me mail.  It seems only yesterday that I was getting lots and lots of personal mail, addressed specifically to me, for me, and with obvious admiration and affection.

It's lonely, really.

Wait - sigh, another interruption - "What is it, Husband?"

Mumbled message.

Me: "Oh."

Husband says the only difference is the election is now over.

Spring in the South

I don't think I ever feel more deeply "southern" than when I'm sitting on my back porch. I think a porch brings to mind lazy days, ice tea, bare feet, wicker, ceiling fans turning slowly in the breeze, and of course, gossip.

Bless their hearts.

I was always a tree climber and sitter when I was a kid, and God has sweetly allowed me to have a back porch that sits up in the trees.

I feel like I have my own tree house.

It's not a big porch, but it's big enough for a little trickling pond, lots of plants, and a visiting bird  now and then.

If I'm quiet and still enough, birds will alight within touching distance. It seems once they get used to you being there, they aren't very afraid.

I've seen a Scarlet Tanager  that just about made me faint. And Rose-breasted Grosbeaks. And humming birds, of course.

I hear the cry of the Cooper's Hawk, the caw of the Crow, the laugh of the Piliated Woodpecker, and the sough of the breeze in the trees.

I smell the forest.

Our God Our Father is everywhere. I can read His Holy Word on that porch and hear Him clearer than anywhere else.

I itch for warm weather so I can get out there to "sit a spell", and I stay until fall gets so cold I have to come in and light a fire instead.

But if you are bored or lonely, come on over. We'll sit a spell, drink some tea and listen. You can take off your shoes, lean back and do nothing.

You know you want to. You know you need it.

Bless your heart.

BAM!

This is daughter. Momma wants me to write that out broadband router was hit by lightening. It was a loud explosion. She will blog again when her hair straightens. Thank you.

The Long Or Short Of It

Here is a little preview of something I've been working on.

My questions are:

1. Is it worth it?

2. Beginnings of a novel or "just" a nice short story?

Who knows, as I asked the other day.

Here goes:

          As he put the car in a lower gear to climb the ever steepening rise of the road, the whole town came suddenly into focus. It was as if a magician had pulled back a curtain and revealed a hidden secret.  And with its appearance, every memory he had hidden from himself for the last twenty years rose to the surface, much like the town had done.

          He took in the bridge, the steeple and the old houses in one swift gaze. Beyond, the entire town was surrounded by the mountains that were at this moment in all their autumn glory. The evening sun shone on them, lighting them with fire from within.

          The little town was where his parents had been born and were raised. All his family had gone there for holidays and summer stays.

          He could never imagine actually living there, but he could not imagine wanting to live anywhere else.

          So many good things were there, including his first love. He could smile and remember how it felt to hold her in his arms. Their first kiss still made a sharp pang zing through his heart.

          Some friends were gone. One lost to a raging storm off the coast, another to a raging storm inside his own body.

          Ready or not, he was here and prepared to stay.

          At least for a while.

Whadda ya think?