Spring at Heart

19 Friday Mar 2010

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The weatherman’s winter snow warning nipped tomorrow’s plan in their daffodil buds.

Instead of Jon and I going to see Dad tomorrow, it was my husband and I this afternoon, a spur of the moment decision to quickly go and get back, to get back before the big bad winter wolf showed up blowing at our door, threatening to huff and puff, and kill all my lovely spring green and flowers.  Will my daffodils freeze tomorrow?

It was a lovely day.  Today, not tomorrow, by all rites, should have been our first day of spring.  We floated on the air on my husband’s new wheels, with blue skies and warm balmy temperatures surrounding us.  I wish I had been able to carry a hint of spring into Daddy’s dark nursing home bedroom.  But this is real life I’m living —  not no Hollywood script.

We found Daddy hibernating, curled up in his recliner sound asleep, with an oxygen tube up his nose.  I looked at him sleeping so soundly — like all parents do when finding their young child asleep.  Then I leaned down to wake him — “Hey Daddy, I’m here.”   Three more gentle nudges finally caused Dad’s eyes to open slowly.  Dad looked slightly startled at first, as he greeted me with that frozen blank stare I’ve come to expect.

I think Dad finally placed me — but Dad never recognized my husband.  It’s been August since my husband has accompanied me — time enough for Daddy to forget I have a husband.  How long will Daddy know me, I wonder.  What if he really didn’t know me today — what if Dad didn’t know that he was my father and that I was his first-born daughter — what if he didn’t recall the life we once shared before he wore Depends that are not dependable, before he wound up in a nursing home, a dire prediction of my mother’s that he once laughed at?

Winter will not loosen its grip on life in this world.  The resurrection of spring that awaits most of us will meet Dad in another space beyond time.  Spring forward, fall back, who cares?  None of that funny timekeeping business bothers Daddy.

It’s winter from here on out.  It’s winter until it’s not.  It’s winter until eternal spring arrives to claim my Daddy’s heart.

Going to the Gym

18 Thursday Mar 2010

Posted by in Life at Home, Writing

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I’m uninspired to write most days.

I know I could find something to write about if my life depended upon my churning out words — but since it doesn’t, I don’t force it.  Yet, even when I’m inspired to write, my pieces run together, indistinguishable, one from the other.

I need a creativity vitamin, something that will help my posts be less generic.  So I’m shaking up life with a little ‘research’ and development.  I’m going to finally ‘do’ something about my writing, to see if I can take it to the next level, whatever that means.

The biggest shake-in-my-boots change will occur in mid-July, when I run away from home for a week to attend the Iowa Summer Writing Festival at the University of Iowa.  I discovered these workshops three years ago, when our youngest son Kyle briefly attended the University of Iowa.  All I could afford to do then was dream since we were ‘college poor’.  To be honest, we’ve been strapped for cash for the last four years, with two boys in college at the same time.

But since I paid the final set of tuition bills last month, I decided to pull out the dream, to see what workshops were being offered this summer.  Each of the workshops is limited to twelve participants — some are weekend workshops and others last five days, Monday through Friday.  I had a hard time narrowing the field down to two but I finally did.  And before I could change my mind, or convince myself that I didn’t need to do this, I picked up the phone and registered.

The smaller creativity shake-up is that I’ve joined a new on-line writer’s group for women, — www.She Writes.com — a venture that is less than a year old.   I joined primarily to take advantage of the on-line courses, though it appears to offer support for publication and other writing adventures.   The class I’ve signed up for is called “Word Yoga.”  I fear the class will give me — a former ‘mild-mannered’ accountant with a smallish vocabulary — a big linguistic workout.  Maybe the class will be like going to a writer’s gym.   Five writing exercises are promised each week for four weeks — and our unpolished ‘best’ must be submitted for workshop each week.

I don’t know what will come of either of these writing endeavors.  But what I do know is that I need more energy and that I’m ready to stretch and flex my writing muscles.  And if either or both of these changes could offer me a boost, I will be glad I stepped out of my comfort zone to enroll in the writer’s gym classes.

Unlike those gym classes in junior high, I am consoled by the fact that I won’t be required to get naked.   Or will I?

Murphy’s Luck

17 Wednesday Mar 2010

Posted by in Home Restoration, Life at Home

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It took time to settle into the land of dreams last night, with my mind spinning with remodeling ideas for my sister’s house.

Accompanied by our aunt and my daughter, my sister and I sashayed through the aisles and departments of a local big box hardware store, gathering up potential pairings — paint samples and stain samples, tile samples against carpet and counter top coverings; the choices were perfect for Christi as everything grew out of her choosing rather than what the three of us might have each selected for our own homes.

And while my mind was spinning with colors and textures as I laid my head upon my pillow last night, it was the heaping portion of concern sprinkled over all the remodeling possibilities  — for I long to help my sister get exactly what she wants for her ‘new’ old home — that kept me from falling asleep.

Budgets are always tight in a remodel.  We who remodel want what we want and it’s hard to settle for less.  We know we’re going to have to live with the results for a long time — and while we say we can do ‘this’ or ‘that’ later, we know we won’t.  And we know that there will be a budget surprise or two — something that costs much more than anticipated — or something that breaks unexpectedly, a Murphy’s Law sort of day when “anything that can go wrong will go wrong.”   Inevitably, most of us are forced to settle on our dreams, forced into taking care of needs first and prioritizing wants with whatever money is left over.

Every bit of work I can help my sister do is a dollar saved, a dollar that can be devoted to getting something done that must be subcontracted.   Will I climb a ladder to heaven to paint that high gable?  You bet I will.  Will I scrape popcorn texture off the ceilings and sport unusual looking dandruff on my heads and shoulders?   No problem.   Will I ask my husband to install all of my sister’s new light fixtures?   Will I scavenge around to see what skills my two son-in-laws can contribute to the remodeling effort?  Absolutely — this sister isn’t too proud to beg for a sister in need.

Amidst that waist-size budget that’s too tight, perhaps we’ll run into some bargains.  My sister has always had good luck — whether it’s the luck of the Irish or not, Christi always seems to receive exactly what she needs when she needs it.  When Christi decided it was time to get a job, she had two job offers.  When she was desperate to sell her building, she had two interested parties, with one buyer offering her a cash deal.

I think my sister’s good luck stems from having good family, one that actually descends from great-grandparents whose last name was Murphy.  For the sake of my sister’s house remodel, I’m hoping our Murphy ancestors are a zillion times removed from those who birthed Murphy’s Law.   With high hopes and tight budget, here’s wishing for a bit of Murphy’s luck.  We need it.