RAIN

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Billed as the ultimate Beatles tribute band, RAIN is in the midst of a road tour that will end on Broadway in mid-October; last week’s stop was Oklahoma City and my husband and I were lucky enough to catch last night’s final OKC performance.

I hate to gush too much, but RAIN was one of those experiences I won’t soon forget.  When the end arrived, I wasn’t ready for it.  I wanted these “Fab Four” impersonators to keep on playing all those songs I grew up with, with music that effortlessly transported me back to the sixties.

Sitting in that audience — and sometimes standing on my feet dancing to these old familiar tunes — I marveled at my luck at being alive when the Beatles were actually writing and singing their songs themselves.  Did anyone realize how gifted this band from Liverpool really was in real-time?  Or were most like me, realizing the miracle of their music long after the Beatles were no longer together?

For me, the Beatles were simply part of everyday life.  I followed their lives in my Tiger Beat and 16 magazines; I collected their music, and like most teens, I faithfully watched the Beatles cartoon show every Saturday morning.

I went to bed thinking of RAIN and woke this morning to the real deal.  Rain.  Driving.  Torrential.  Flash-flooding.  The street outside our Mesta Park home was a river.

Unfortunately, my son parked his girlfriend Amy’s car in the street.  By the time we realized the street was flooded, the car already was. And though he tried to get it started, it would not.

Sometimes we can’t take in what’s happening in real-time.  We need perspective.  Time.  Distance.  And sometimes, like this morning outside my window, we still can’t take in the reality of this thing called rain.

A Whale of a Good Time

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While Sis was off watching whales in Alaska, I kept watch over her home renovation project.

If you were to ask, I’d say I had the better deal… for rarely does my vacation reality measure up to my vacation dreams.  Couple this with the downsides of the vacation experience — like how exhausting travel can be, how expensive vacations are, how vacations never seem quite long enough — and maybe it explains why I believe the best part of any trip is coming home.

So while watching whales and soaking up gorgeous landscapes had to be amazing, I was perfectly content to park myself at my family’s long-held homestead.  In fact, in coming to terms with life without Daddy, there is no place I’d rather be than at my sister’s house, which in a previous life, served as my parent’s home.  Spending time there allows me to remember past times with gladness.  And as we give this old place a new lease on life, it helps me say goodbye to what is gone as it prepares my heart and mind for the new life to come.

Sometimes I wonder if restoring unloved homes and gardens isn’t my true calling.  Because while I’m “on the clock”, time slips away into nothing.  With paintbrush in hand, while concentrating on painting clean, crisp lines, I too have been on vacation from everyday life.

As “our” carpenter said the other day, we are now experiencing the satisfying part of the renovation.   No longer are we tearing down; instead, we are creating and refinishing.  Bit by bit, this “house that Jack built” is losing its former identity and taking on a fresh, new identity.

Along the way, we’ve addressed function as well as beauty.  We’ve run new electrical wiring to address old problems and add a little glamor here and there.  For example, now centered on the antique claw foot tub — which awaits its turn in the beauty chair —  is a sweet little chandelier in my sister’s main bathroom.  Another chandelier has been installed over what will be a kitchen island.  And on the functional side of the equation, we’ve added electrical outlets in both areas — can you imagine a bathroom without an operating electrical outlet?  — and made the house cable-ready for 21st century electronics.

Though we’ve much to do before we can rest on our laurels, it’s good to share that the kitchen is mostly finished —  three days of solid painting remains.  Significant work has already transformed both bathrooms — both feature new sinks and counter tops.

Wonder of wonders, for the first time ever, the new shower in the master bathroom is plumb to the walls.  While making this miracle happen, the  carpenter wondered how the  previous shower door had ever shut.  No use wondering I told him:  The door hadn’t shut in years.  Not to be outdone in the wondering department, the plumber asked if we knew that the old shower was draining to the crawl space under my sister’s house, rather than safely exiting the house through the intended drain.  Well… no, I told him.

To learn of the few inches of standing water sitting underneath my sister’s house, along with news from “down under” of dripping HVAC ducts in need of insulation were surprises of the worst sort.  But in a renovation project, the only true surprise would be one that held no surprises.

The scariest part of the entire project is not dealing with the surprises.  Somehow, these will be made right in the end.  No, what disturbs me is that the end (at least on the interior) is almost here.  With less than two weeks before the floor refinishers arrive — and a good three weeks of hard work remaining — it’s my turn to wonder at what needs to give.  It’s time to set priorities and not get sidetracked, as I am so apt to do.

I know that somehow, everything will come together.  It always does.  And in the meantime, can I say how amazing it all looks?  I hope Sis will be pleased with all the changes the week has brought.

In my book, pleasing Sis is better than watching whales in a gorgeous setting.  And though I never once “wished she was here”, I am so very glad she’s back home.

Coming and Going

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Being on a four-day vacation from my sister’s renovation is granting me space to contemplate the comings and goings in my own everyday life.

Last night, I helped my youngest son pack for an 8-week stint in southeast Asia.  Had I not insisted, the packing would have been put off to this evening — too late for my stress level as he leaves tomorrow.  Kyle is so hard to settle down; he always plays before he works.

Kyle’s view about work reminds me of Jesus’ view on “the poor”:  we will always have both, no matter what we do;  the poor and our work will always be waiting for our helping hand.  It strikes me that Kyle’s travels will place him at the intersection of work and the poor.   Writing  this thought leaves me unsettled, as Kyle’s leaving will create a gap in my everyday world.  And though it helps to remind myself that 8 weeks is not so terribly long, the ache in my chest isn’t  buying into the rationalization; my eyes tear up at the mere thought of his departure.

It helps that when one goes, another comes.  Around a couple of pizzas last night, my husband and I talked with Bryan and Amy about the new apartment they are hoping to land.  Pending approval of their leasing application, Bryan and Amy will be moving closer to us, just a little south of Mesta Park.  Like kids that can’t wait for Christmas, we all drove over to their new apartment last night, which is really not new at all.  The building dates back to the days of early statehood, when all apartment buildings carried their name proudly etched in stone above the entry.   This one is all fresh and renovated, just blocks from Bryan’s new job, making the location perfect.  And to the extent they want my help, I’ll be there to settle them in.

For now, my oldest and her husband live the most settled existence.   Their four children keep them grounded.  But if not for these, I think Kate and Glen would be jetting off hither and yon to see the world.  They both have an incurable case of the travel bug; when they aren’t traveling themselves, they travel vicariously by settling down in front of their television set to watch The Travel Channel.  Even their wedding was held on location.  I wish I could travel with such ease.

My youngest daughter Kara  — the one who lives just north of us  — surprised me with good news on Mother’s Day:  God willing, come next January, I’ll have five ‘grands’ instead off four.  You’re the first I’ve told, because I wished to give Kara time to tell her own good news.  But it feels so wonderful to finally share the good news, especially in the midst of the trail of words I’ve written about Daddy.

New life comes.  And it’s always unsettling.  And this new baby is a reminder that there is joy amidst sadness, and somehow, between all the comings and goings, we float on hope that everyday life will make perfect sense in the end.