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an everyday life

an everyday life

Category Archives: The Great Outdoors

Escaping the Heat

23 Thursday Apr 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, The Great Outdoors

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Everyday Life, Writing

I’ve slept with the windows open the last two nights in our upstairs bedroom that is patterned off an old fashioned sleeping porch, with six windows facing in three directions.  Being lulled to sleep by the sounds of the night and the stirring of a gentle breeze carries me back to my childhood, in the days before most homes had acquired the cooling luxury of central air conditioning.

 

There were other ways to escape the confining heat of a hot house in those days.  One of our favorites was to load up our Chevy and drive over the Dairy Queen in Seminole to indulge in a Hot Fudge Sundae.  The one in Shawnee was closer, but Daddy always found the local franchise chintzy with their chocolate fudge, so we would drive twenty miles out of our way to ensure we received our fair share of chocolate.  I guess the extra sauce and Dad’s personal satisfaction were worth more than the cost of gasoline—which at that time was only 18 cents a gallon—and the drive over to Seminole with all the windows down was part of the entire cooling down experience.     

 

We often took in an afternoon matinee at one of Shawnee’s two movie theatres.  A sure sign of the times, the marquee carried the words “Air Condition Comfort” right beside the title of whatever movie was being featured.  I went more with Dad than Mom, who probably just appreciated being left in a quiet home without children underfoot.  I remember seeing Cleopatra with Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor and a personal favorite to this day, a film called Marnie, an Alfred Hitchcock film starring Sean Connery and Tippi Hedren.  I recall many Walt Disney movies, especially those starring Hayley Mills, like Moon Spinners, Pollyanna and Summer Magic, which left me with an affected British accent that quickly evaporated in the Oklahoma heat.

 

Then there was always water – sometimes we kids would be go swimming at one of the local municipal pools, but much more often within a small aired up plastic pool in our own back yard.  Sometimes we just ran through an oscillating water sprinkler, or dived belly first on a Slip ‘N Slide or tried to get that water blasting Water Wiggle to work like the one that performed so well on television commercials.  Summer afternoon picnics often took place at a water park, like Roman Nose or Tuner Falls.

 

The ways of escaping heat require less imagination and initiative these days.  When we lived in Texas, my husband and I had this gorgeous outdoor pool that was rarely used.  The kids mostly stayed inside, watching a movie or playing a Nintendo game.  I can’t say that I blame them, as where we lived on the Gulf Coast, it was common to observe steam rising from the ground.

 

But it’s nice to know that the magic offered by a warm evening waits just beyond our doorstep.  It’s as easy as taking time to sit in a lawn chair to wait for the lightening bugs to come out.  And to drink in the sounds and smells of an Oklahoma spring day, knowing that summer is just around the corner – as is our central air conditioner, for those days and nights that stifle all desire for fond reminiscing.  

The Hope Desk

06 Monday Apr 2009

Posted by Janell in In the Garden, The Great Outdoors

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Death, Oklahoma Gardening, Spring Freeze

It will freeze tonight.  How will my garden fare, all those tender shoots of green with swollen buds?  I will not have my answer until tomorrow.  We gardeners do what we can and hope for the best. 

 

At the master gardener’s help desk this afternoon, I advised callers to water their soil, as darker soil will attract more sun to warm the ground.  I also advised them to cover the plants they wished to protect with a tarp, heavy plastic or old bed linens.

 

Today the help desk was more of a hope desk.  I almost felt like a garden doctor dispensing a long-shot cure:  give plenty of fluids, put them to bed and call me in the morning.  But even with medical doctors, dispensing hope helps.   As long as there is hope, pateints have a fighting chance. 

 

One of Kara’s friends recently received a death sentence from her team of doctors.  She has been told there is no hope, that she has no fighting chance.  If she does chemotherapy; she might have 12 months – if she does not, 3 to 6 months.  She has opted to go through chemotherapy.  I don’t know what I would do in her same situation. 

 

But I’ve taken a fighting stance with my garden.  I sent my plants to bed without anything to drink, though I did cover a few with some old burlap.  I hope it helps.  But, if it doesn’t, I’ll lose no sleep over it.  I have done what I can and the rest is up to nature. 

 

Freezes happen, and plants will die tonight.  Cancer happens, and people will die tonight.  We can’t prepare for death, no matter how much help we’re given.  So we prepare for life, even if it means 12 months… and even if it means only a few hours, because burlap was insufficient to ward off death from a spring freeze. 

 

We do what we can.  And hope for the best.  Even for the scary parts like death that no one can help with.  We still hope for the best.           

Hidey Wholes

05 Sunday Apr 2009

Posted by Janell in Far Away Places, Life at Home, Soul Care, The Great Outdoors

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Everyday Life, Friends, Retreat, Soul Care

“Hello darkness, my old  friend

I’ve come to talk with you again”

                                    –Paul Simon, The Sounds of Silence

 

Our fifty pound puppy Max is trampling through this old house at the speed of sound.  The floors groan in protest at such slip shod treatment.  Down the stairs and around two corners and he dives for his hidey hole—plunk…. plop. The space that once fit his so nicely, underneath our dining room buffet, now forces him to scrunch down low to enter.  But once there, he sprawls and stretches to match his entire length and width to the confines of his hidey hole.  He is safe from the torments of his world, which mostly come from his sister Maddie.  And within the sounds of silence, he falls asleep as his head rests on the floor.

 

Like Max, I retreat to catch my breath, to release dark thoughts and to breathe in the aroma of fresh possibilities.  When I empty myself, it gives God room to work a miracle, maybe not overnight, but over the space of my life.  Breath by breath, I work to quiet the riots fighting for attention in the streets of my mind.  I expel the darkness so it no longer eats away at my soul.  Nightly examen is a refuge against the goblins of the night.  And it helps me see those sneaky solutions that come by special delivery, from an angel of light tapping me on the shoulder.   

 

As I write this, two of my friends are seeking asylum from the dark cares of their world.  One has packed up her two cats and a pile of books to go sit out by a river that runs near her country cabin.  Another runs with music in her ear and the wind in her face. As she runs, I envision her becoming lighter than air, as the weight of anxiety and troubles lag far behind. 

 

I’ve written both friends this week to let them know they are not alone in their cares.  The words I normally devote to this blog were offered yesterday to the friend who runs.  I needed her to know that I was cheering her on from the sidelines, just as if she were running the Boston Marathon, because the kind of trouble she faces may not be solved with a quick sprint.  And after she empties from all her running, I invited her to surround herself with all that makes her most whole.  As I always do, I invited my dear friend to breathe.

 

“Breathe dear friend.  Breathe in the aroma of the living God—breathe in the fragrance of spring grass and flowers and salty ocean air.  Run barefoot on the sandy beach and let the water lap around your ankles.  Let the breeze caress your face and dry your tears.  And know that God is not “up there somewhere’ but as close as the air you breathe, that fills your lungs and rests around your heart.”

 

Through the sounds of silence, healing will find both of us… as well as my other friend who sits by a running river and Max who rests under the buffet.  Wholeness will come to those who wait, even in dark hidey holes.   

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