Carrying the Load

25 Thursday Nov 2010

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Granny’s dressing sits on the kitchen counter ready to pop into the oven while a double batch of her egg noodles sit tight in the freezer.

With such a busy week, I give thanks they are ready to cook, even THOUGH it took til yesterday afternoon to come together.  With only a corn casserole still to mix, I’ll soon be traveling east, carrying my trinity of gifts for today’s Thanksgiving table.

My sister Christi is hosting at her renovated farmhouse — the one that sits on Granny and Granddad’s homestead.   I asked if she’d like to a few months back — I wasn’t surprise she said yes.  Christi is so darn proud of her home.  And it gives her joy to share it with others.  And isn’t this how it should always and everywhere be? Not just with our gifts — like with our particular knack for making certain foods just right — but with our homes and most of all ourselves?

As I gather with a litany of family:  my husband and two of my children — Kyle and Kate — Kate’s husband, my grandchildren, sister, sister-in-law, nieces and aunt and uncle, I think of other Thanksgiving tables and the faces gathered there.  My daughter Kara will sit at a table filled with in-laws while son Bryan is celebrating for the first-time with future in-laws at a borrowed table in Eureka Springs.  And what do you know, but that this year my amazing brother Jon is in Dallas, dining with a new girlfriend and her family.

Then I think of family further afield — like Aunt Carol, hosting her children and many grandchildren at her Utah home.  And my new found second cousins even further east:  in Vermont — John, George and Olga — in New York  — Judy, Rainey and Helen — and in Florida — Butch.

I pray blessings on all these many tables.  But especially those trying to fill the gap of lost love and Thanksgiving table gifts.  As I write, my love embraces Aunt Jo’s family, who somewhere a little further east of Sis’s house, will be gathering for the first time without Aunt Jo and her lovely pecan and pumpkin pies and her own particular version of Granny’s dressing and noodles.

And how can I not think of family even further afield, the love I no longer see but in some mysterious way, carry alive within me? Mom, Dad, Papa, Uncle Sonny, Aunt Jo, Granny and Granddad — even now, I sense all is well with you — and until I gather with you, I’ll do my best to carry your love forward.

Who’s on First?

21 Sunday Nov 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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It’s been a “who’s on first” sort of week.

Though to play it straight, most everyone who loves me knows, without a shadow of a doubt, WHO has been at the top of my list these last seven days.  So the question of the hour — the one that has me juggling  all sorts of puzzle pieces that may have come out of more than one box — is who the heck has been on second, third and home base?

While laying in bed this morning I composed an entire post on this topic in my head.  The flavor of it reminded me of that Faulkner stream of consciousness piece I hated and never finished:  “The Sound and the Fury.”  Forget the story, the title alone should give  one pause — though, in this case, it doesn’t.

My imaginary musings went like this:  Paint Sunday morning birthday party Sunday night Karson will be seven; cold calling Daddy’s back-east family who wouldn’t know me from Eve all Monday but for tending a few EBAY bids and attending Kara’s second baby shower held after-school — while sitting in a kindergarten chair, I won one, lost the other. Score: 1 vintage Pop-Kola advertising sign and 1 photo of  Great-grandmother Victoria, who deserves a story all her own.

Wednesday I was writing a letter to Aunt Carol about all I had earned from the cold call cousins back east before flying to my sister’s place in Shawnee and those three loose ends which needed tying while Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday I spent up on my tip toes and down on my knees at  ‘First’ except for that quick time-out in the dugout for a spiritual direction session that left me with good food for thought which stills needs to be chewed.  That I just described the results of my spiritual direction session like a Happy Meal received through a McDonald’s drive-in window should give me pause.   But in this case, it doesn’t.

Friday I arrived home to the other EBAY prize I won and a piece of mail holding even greater prizes — photos of my grandfather’s sister Anna and her husband and their young family and a jewel of a letter from my 85 year-old second cousin John who now knows me from Eve.  Score:  One Pop-Kola bottle, from the very company my great-great uncle once owned and four old family photos I am thrilled to call my own.

Later this morning I’ll be back on First, which again, is a lovely story all its own that has much to do with that Suessian-flavored poem I cooked up a few weeks ago with son Kyle who played sous-chef which daughter Kate later stuffed into invitations for daughter Kara’s third and final baby shower next Sunday.

Whew!  So a week from now, I hope to be resting on my laurels.   We should find Kara’s home decorated for Christmas.  And playing off the tinsel and lights and the mystery of not knowing WHO this new grandchild will be — a little Cindy Lu or a boy like Jo-Jo Who — we are throwing a baby shower by the tree. Of course, we christened it Who-ville.

The Easy and Hard Side of Amazing

12 Friday Nov 2010

Posted by in Home Restoration, Life at Home

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October 2010

Sometimes I wonder if Sis and I would have taken on her home renovation had we known what we were getting into.

March 2010

Looking back, it was good not to know — ’cause once Sis made up her mind, we never looked back.  And now — long after the construction dust has settled and a week after the final coat of soft white exterior paint has begun to cure —  I shake my head in wonder at what two determined sisters with a dream can do.

Of course, the best part of our adventure is that we didn’t go it alone.  We had family — lots and lots of family — some sharing skills we didn’t possess, while others met everyday needs so that Sis and I could concentrate on the house.  Then we had a handful of great contractors — some who came when they said they would and others who just proved themselves a handful, by almost never showing up when they said they would.

Then there was that one comical contractor that fell somewhere in-between — a wood floor refinishing crew who arrived on schedule — and after driving over sixty miles to get there, took one look at the floors and tried to quit on the spot.  Thank God their boss responded to their groans by giving them a “can-do” pep talk  that I quickly followed with a dose of motherly encouragement.  And while they unloaded their sanding equipment, I shored up support by getting Sis on the phone during her busiest day of the week — so they could hear firsthand how happy she would be with WHATEVER improvement they could make.

I think it was this attitude along with Sis’s easy going nature — and perhaps her childlike faith in the goodness of others — that allowed her renovation to come together so beautifully.  She was married to so very little; her “gotta-haves” so very few.  In Sis’s mind, if something needed to change, then something needed to change.  What good was it to belabor the point?  And if we blew the budget bank in one area, she’d make withdrawals in another.

It was after the wood floor contractors were finished that I first heard my sister speak the word she has used SO many times since to describe her new home:  AMAZING.  I wish photos did it justice.  But we and others who love my sister know what she began with and what she now has:  a long list of new this and that, from her amazing new roof to amazing energy-efficient windows and doors to those amazing newly refinished wood floors.

And now, in spite of the joy I had working alongside my sister, it feels mighty good to be standing on this side of our six-month labor of love.  Yet as I ponder this point, I can’t say for sure whether I’m standing on the easy or hard side of amazing.  Because I’ve always found it easier to begin a project and harder to finish — the three small inside tasks blocking me from the finish line don’t lie.  And as I sleep easier these days, I still find it hard to believe that we (and our supporting cast) actually pulled this off.

My sister’s chorus of AMAZING proves my Lenten anthem right:  It is no better to be safe than sorry. For when we  forget  to play it safe and blindly rush into a maze of grace, we learn there is no room in the inn for Sorry.   There ‘s only room for love.  And with love being just another name for grace, surely it’s no coincidence that Amazing happens to be Grace’s first name.