Category Archives: Life at Home

Louisville Here I Come

17 Thursday Sep 2009

Posted by in Far Away Places, Life at Home

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Tomorrow I leave for Louisville for a Gal-Pal weekend. 

I should already be in bed as tomorrow’s flight is indecently early.  But I just want to exhale into words all the events of this already packed week and relish this quiet time of the evening when my loved ones in the next room are already fast asleep.

I’m glad I didn’t know what the week would bring when I was living in Sunday.  I fear I would have hyperventilated rather than live as I did, being fully present in one movement to the next.  So many extra events have transpired to make my plate overly full this week  — Joe’s medical emergency, helping Christi with some paperwork for Daddy, two master gardener hope desk stints, a dinner for four at my favorite Paseo Grill and — surprise of all surprises — receiving the go ahead from the duplex owner next door to redo his front yard landscape.  Dreams really can come true when one moves themselves out of ‘Park.’  

And then today, when I should have been packing up for Louisville, I instead sat down to write an article for Bloomin’ News, the Oklahoma County Master Gardener’s monthly newsletter.  What was I thinking?  Speaking from the other side of the finished article, I now confess that it was much more work that I first imagined it would be  — which in my life, is par for the course.

So now its time to move a standard poodle off my pillow and put myself to bed.  I’m tired.  But in the very best way.  And tomorrow promises to be another late night.  You know how it is when a group of long-time girl friends get together to relive old memories and  make new ones.   Even with bags under my tired eyes, it will be good to see their faces, these women I grew up with in the Oklahoma City office of Arthur Andersen in the early 1980’s.

Sweet dreams everyone.

Marshmallows & Rocks

15 Tuesday Sep 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Prayer

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I’ve been thinking about definining moments of everyday life, especially with everything going on in my family of late.  But last night’s events helped crystalize my thinking into two words: Marshmallows and rocks.  

As in….Me Marshmallow, Hubby Rock.  Kate Marshmallow, Glen Rock.  Daddy Marshmallow, Mother Rock.

Married couples in my family support the notion that opposites do indeed attract.  And after last night, if there was ever any doubt, we now know Kara is marshmallow and Joe is the Rock.

I was thankful the resident rock of our household was the one to take Kara’s distress call, when it came in about 5pm yesterday afternoon.  Always off in my own little world, not paying too much attention to Don’s telephone call, I heard the soothing sounds of my husband’s voice talking to the caller.  But as my husband’s voice climbed the stairs and rounded the corner to my writing desk, and when I over heard him assuring the caller that we were on our way, I knew something big had gone down.  And that in spite of my husband’s calm collected exterior, it was time to worry and pray. 

I was in the midst of doing a little housewife drudgery — paying bills, updating Quicken, filing paperwork — but I literally dropped everything, leaving my unfinished business strewn across the room.  I didn’t even save my Quicken file, though thankfully, I had the forethought to put our little termite terrier into her crate.  My husband wasn’t as collected as his appearance suggested, for he walked out the door, leaving his freshly prepared sandiwch on the counter  for our poodle Max to help himself, which Max does on a regular basis.

As we locked the door behind us, Don filled me in on the sketchy particulars while we walked to our car.  The short version is that Kara’s Rock hit his head and blacked out, leaving marshallow Kara in charge of her rocked world.  Though Kara nit-picks her performance to death,  I say she did beautifully under the circumstances.  Kara got us there, then called Joe’s oral surgeon to demand emergency advice (Joe had oral surgergy yesterday) and then called 911.  And after doing all that, Kara looked at my husband and me; and realizing the enormity of what had just transpired, she began to cry.  So my Rock gathered Kara in his arms to give Kara a strengthening hug.  And then I followed Kara and Joe to the ER to sit by Kara’s side, as the ER team gave Joe a thorough checking over before releasing him to go home. 

It’s good to report that this time we got by with just a scare.   And that once again, all is well.   And in the tired morning after, after a long week of family stress, what else is there to say?  Except that housewife drudgery can be a lovely thing.  And that the clarity gained from last night’s emergency makes me realize how much marshmallows and rocks need one another.  Rocks get too hard and unfeeling without their marshmallows by their side to keep them soft.  And as I witnessed last night, marshmallows need a rock by their side to weather the trials of life. 

Only together can we work it out.

No Regrets

14 Monday Sep 2009

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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Today’s blue plate special is white milk sky and drippy outside.

It was the same yesterday when I put on my rain jacket and ventured outside to sow grass seed.  I was going against the experts when I decided to sail full steam ahead and sow my seed in the rain.  Sometimes I ignore well-meaning recommendations and do what my heart and gut tell me is right.  And with all the lovely Irish rain we’ve received, this time I’ve suffered no regrets from doing it my way.  

Wouldn’t it be nice to live ALL OF LIFE without regrets?   I think some people can do this fairly successfully.  People like my husband for instance.  When he makes a mistake, he doesn’t beat himself up.  Instead he shrugs it off — knowing he’s done the best that he can — and then doesn’t look back.  How I wish I could be more like that.  Is it self-confidence that allows this man to sail through trials so easily? 

One of my children is going through rough seas right now.  Part of me wants to throw out a life preserver to keep my child from drowning in sorrow.  But  I sense this situation may be a life-defining moment for one who tries to live life as a people-pleaser.  So I’ve forced myself to give my child space to swim out of the storm without my well-meaning intervention.

The situaton reminded me of a letter I wrote to one of my children not too long ago.  In it, I tried to string together a few motherly pearls of wisdom on this very subject. 

While it’s not easy asking for help or admitting mistakes, you can do both with grace and often with a sense of humor.  But if I’m going to keep this real, you do not do this as quickly as you could or should.  Humor your mother by allowing me to offer lessons I’ve learned from the school of hard knocks:   Be vulnerable – accept that you do not always need to be strong or right.  Especially trust in the goodness of those who love you.  Don’t sit on bad news (or what others might perceive to be bad) that needs to be shared.  And don’t worry about other’s opinions – seek the input of those you love then own your own decision – make no apologies for living your own life.  It’s yours to live.  It’s a funny thing that we humans strive for independence when I think God designed us to be interdependent, one on another. Why else would each receive different gifts and graces, if not to give and receive help?  Child, I think your life choices have shown you the value of dependence.  If others knew the story of your life, they might think the trials and challenges of school were a cakewalk in comparison.

It’s hard to see those I love suffer.  And though I’ve made sure my child knows that I am here if needed, I know that this trial is something that must be overcome without my direct involvement.  So even now, I sit on my hands and take solace in the words of the good book when it teaches that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope and hope does not disappoint.  And in my book, one who experiences no disappointment is a close cousin to one who experiences no regrets.