• About
  • Recipe Index
  • Daddy Oh

an everyday life

an everyday life

Tag Archives: Writing

Flying Pants

18 Thursday Jun 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home, Soul Care

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Childhood Memories, Everyday God, Everyday Life, Faith, Soul Care, Spiritual Formation Class, St. Luke's UMC OKC, Writing

“The waiting is the hardest part. ”  -Tom Petty

My weeks are full, with trips to see Dad, and the care and feed of my spiritual direction related activities, and just normal everyday life.   It’s mostly door number two that’s a time hog.  It leaves me no time to write… except for the spiritual formation class I’m developing for door number two.

Our small group of eight meets on Wednesday evenings.  It’s hard to explain the genesis of this group, except to say that the initial push came out of a need to recruit directees for my spiritual direction practicum.  The writing of lessons has been okay, more or less.  The hardest part has been the development side –the waiting for ideas to magically appear and come together.  I go to bed on Wednesday night, nearly clueless on what next week’s focus will be.  By Friday morning, I have a few ideas.  By Monday, I’m drafting which leaves Tuesday and Wednesday for editing and printing.  

I hate to write toward a deadline.    Yes.  I’m whining.  If I had my way, I would be ahead of the game, with several  lessons in ‘inventory’, a cushion to fall back on in case the creativity craters.   But no.  Instead, the ideas have come just-in-time.  This class, which I’ve called “Everyday God” runs off of  just-in-time inventory — I print the lesson and lead it on the same day.  Yikes.  I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.

I feel like a kid again…flying by the seat of my pants…rather than a big kid who has all her ducks in a row.  I’m pretty sure that this was not what I signed up for.   But last week, driving home after the end of our second class, I experienced this moment of pure joy.   And out of nowhere, came this expression I’ve never said or heard anyone else say:   “Look Ma.  Look Pa.  I’m writing the bicycle of faith!”

Do you remember how hard it was to learn how to ride a bike once the training wheels came off?  You want to be a big kid, but you fear you’re not ready to fly solo.  Then somehow, your parents convince you to give it a go.  And at first you’re excited.  But then you realize you have no idea what this is going to feel like.  But you muscle up some courage to climb up on the seat and start pumping your feet as your dad cheers you on.

It’s not a pretty sight–at best, you look a little drunk, and at  worst, you find youself a crash victim on the sidewalk with a few scrapes and bruises.   But with some experience, something clicks and you begin to get your sense of balance.  And you are so excited because you are flying by the seat of your pants.  And the wind is blowing through your hair and caressing your face, and you are so proud of yourself, and you look back to make sure your daddy is still watching and… ker-plunk.  Darn for that pride and wanting to see someone cheer you on. 

Developing this class has been just like learning to ride a bicycle.  I’m in the wobbly stage right now, but so far no falls.  But each week offers a new test of faith… a different patch of road to explore.  And I don’t know the lay of the land, so a fall may be just around the corner.  And just three weeks into this, I’m sort of ready to park the bicycle.   But don’t misunderstood.  I’m giving it all I have — but I won’t be at all disappointed if the group decides to fold by the middle of July.  In fact, I’m sorta counting on their summer doldrums to kick in.  

Meanwhile, it’s one day at a time and one ride at a time.   I’m trying hard to keep my eyes on the road, trying hard not to look back.  But its Thursday.  Which means I’m waiting for manna from heaven.   

Still waiting.  Hey, anyone up there listenting?

No Matter

11 Thursday Jun 2009

Posted by Janell in Far Away Places, In the Garden, Life at Home

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Aging, Everyday Life, Oklahoma Gardening, Parents, Travel, Writing

It’s the season of vacations, the time of year when one politely inquires as to another’s vacation plans, either out of sincere interest or perhaps as a hopeful seque to discussing their own.

Sometimes I fail to hit the beach volley ball back, totally missing the shot.  This week it was my doctor that was asking, perhaps because she had just returned from her own vacation.  I know because six weeks ago her office called to reschedule my appointment to this week from last.  But when Dr. E  politely inquired as to my own vacation plans, I failed to return the favor.  Sadly, the thought never crossed my mind. 

No matter that we have no vacation plans ourselves this year.  At least nothing serious in the offing, like last year’s trip, when we took ourselves and eleven others to spend a week at Disneyworld.  I wish I hadn’t spiked the ball and killed the topic, because I would have loved to hear about Dr. E’s vacation and maybe even talk about our one day dream vacations to Greece and New  Zealand.   Or even the trips I know I’ll dream about later– as punctual as a time clock –when the calendar turns to Fourth of July, I’ll want to run away to the lake and in August I’ll want to run away to Alaska, though neither dream will materialize. 

DSC01578aBut no matter.  This year, I’m pretty content in my own back yard.  Everyday I go out and putter in my garden — pull a few weeds, pick up a bucket of dead magnolia leaves and do a little supplemental watering.  Every week something new is in bloom, and the tranformation from a few months ago fills my heart with joy.  My grandma’s cottage garden is no longer a dream but a reality, tomatoes growing next to antique roses, hollyhocks so heavy in bloom they look as if they need a holiday, to take a load off and rest their tired feet.  

There will be no more vacations for Daddy.  Even though he’s vacated his house, his stay at the rehab center doesn’t count.  My brother Jon and I stayed through supper last Tuesday, to keep him company and to remind him of his new eating regimen — small bites and sips, followed by two swallows.  It’s painful to watch Dad choke on most every bite.  Daddy eats every meal at the ‘supervised’ table because eating is dangerous to his health.  With Daddy are two faithful female companions, who finish their food rather quickly, then patiently wait for Daddy to finish.  It takes Daddy a good forty-five minutes to eat fifteen minutes of food.  I wonder why they stay, but soon my question is answered.  As my brother Jon starts to wheel Dad away, Daddy stops Jon to reach out for these ladies hands to give each a tight squeeze.

Is Daddy telling them ‘thanks’ for sticking around, ‘thanks’ for not deserting him in his time of need?   Do these ladies pray for Dad as he takes every bite?  Or do they just pray Daddy will remember to reach out to hold their hands?  

No matter.  Even a rehab center can serve up unforgettable beauty that takes your breath away.

Great Scot!

07 Sunday Jun 2009

Posted by Janell in Life at Home

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Dog Tales, Everyday Life, Scottish Terriers, Standard French Poodles, Writing

DSC_0118aI thought about Kelli’s message for three days before calling her back.  Kelli has this great little Scottie lass…if we still want one.  And if… the poodles and Cosmo can play together nice. 

But how could Kelli know she was catching me at a weak moment?  I don’t need another dog.  Two gorgeous standard poodles should be enough.  But… for reasons that defy reason, for the last few weeks I’ve been wrestling with longing for a little Scottie dog.  And it sure didn’t help that I ran into this journal entry a few days before Kelli’s call.

October 2007

“As I read, a Scottie crawls into my lap to rest heavily on my legs.  He is snoring.  A dead weight, dead to the world, completely relaxed in my presence.  I hate to bring it to an end, it is so comforting.  But duty to Karson calls.”

My Scotties are truly dead to the world now.  Tavish, my lap-warmer, died in July 2007 and his brother Mac  adopted Maddie into the fold before dying  ten months later.  Well, to be honest, Mac didn’t exactly throw out the welcome mat upon Maddie’s arrival.  Because at first he tried to ignore her, hoping she would just go away.  And being a little hard of hearing helped Mac a lot.  But when Mac realized Maddie was here for good, Mac began ‘acting out’, letting us know in no uncertain terms of his displeasure.  And this came long before Maddie began her torments, of which her favorite was nip-a-scottie-in-the-butt.

At the ripe old age of twelve, Mac was long past playing games.  He was retired, for goodness sake, at least before Mad Maddie arrived on the scene to provide him a bit of unprescribed grief therapy.  Or maybe we got our signals crossed and Maddie thought she was here to give Max a lot of grief?  Without a therapy component?

As most senior dogs do in retirement, Mac slept away his life, either in his favorite kitchen corner, or when I was in it, near my favorite living room chair.  Unfortunately, the latter left him vulnerable to Maddie’s sneak attacks, which promptly began whenever Mac began to snore deep, his unknowing signal to Maddie that the coast was clear.  Quickly springing up on her young poodle legs, this little lady-in-waiting dived toward Mac’s backside to give Mac a little nip — Maddie’s  way of saying — “Let’s play old man.” 

It was a rude wake-up call for our little guy.  Full of idignation and blustery Scottish fire, our faithful old geezer would stand up all our fours as quickly as his arthritic legs allowed and begin to  bark Maddie a piece of his mind, to let her know she’d gone too far.  And poor Mac would be so focused on barking that he wouldn’t notice Maddie had flown around the room for her second sneak attack.  And then the game was truly on, Mac turning like a weather vane as Mad Maddie tried to nip his hiney from both directions, first north then south.  

Somehow, in spite of these torments… and perhaps Mac’s better sense… Mac fell in love with la Madeleine.  I noticed Mac’s tenderized heart about a month after Maddie’s arrival, when Mac began expressing interest in accompanying Don and Maddie on their evening walk.  We knew there was no possible way Mac could keep up with Maddie’s pace.  For even in the prime of Mac’s life, those short legs would have been hard-pressed to keep up with our long-legged poodle. 

But true to Scottie form, Mac was determined, so I volunteered to walk Mac so that Mr. December would not hold his new young love back.  And to give credit where due, our little guy walked as fast as his old short legs would carry him.  But when the inevitable happened, and Don & Maddie disapppeared from sight, Mac threw on the brakes and put his old body in ‘park.’   And no matter how much I encouraged, Mac wouldn’t budge.  Because for better or worse, Maddie was his girl, and he knew she’d be back for him, once she’d discovered he was no longer following.  And in his way, Mac was right.  For when Don and Maddie arrived home to notice Mac and I stalled half-way up block, they trotted up for rescue and recovery.  And Maddie’s arrival would make Mac so happy.  He’d just get right up and follow Maddie back home.

So I know scotties and poodles make great friends and that Max and Maddie will welcome little Cosmo to their poodle games and walks.  And my waiting lap will offer a bit of rest whenever Cosmo’s ready to take a breather from playing with the big kids.

← Older posts
Newer posts →

“Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? — every, every minute?”

-- Thornton Wilder, "Our Town"

Enter your email address to receive notifications of new posts.


prev|rnd|list|next
© Janell A West and An Everyday Life, January 2009 to Current Date. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given.

Recent Posts

  • Queen of Salads
  • Sweater Weather
  • Summer Lull Salads
  • That Roman Feast
  • Remodel Redux
  • Déjà vu, Déjà Voodoo
  • One Good Egg

Artful Living

  • Fred Gonsowski Garden Home
  • Kylie M Interiors
  • Laurel Bern Interiors
  • Lee Abbamonte
  • Mid-Century Modern Remodel
  • Ripple Effects
  • The Creativity Exchange
  • The Task at Hand
  • Tongue in Cheek
  • Zen & the Art of Tightrope Walking

Family ~ Now & Then

  • Chronicling America
  • Family
  • Kyle West
  • Pieces of Reese's Life
  • Vermont Digital Newspaper Project

Food for Life!

  • Elizabeth Minchilli in Rome
  • Manger
  • Once Upon a Chef
  • The Everyday French Chef

Literary Spaces

  • A Striped Armchair
  • Dolce Bellezza
  • Lit Salad
  • Living with Literature
  • Marks in the Margin
  • So Many Books
  • The Millions

the Garden, the Garden

  • An Obsessive Neurotic Gardener
  • Potager
  • Red Dirt Ramblings

Archives

Categories

  • Far Away Places
  • Good Reads
  • Home Restoration
  • In the Garden
  • In the Kitchen
  • Life at Home
  • Mesta Park
  • Prayer
  • Soul Care
  • The Great Outdoors
  • Writing

Meta

  • Create account
  • Log in
  • Entries feed
  • Comments feed
  • WordPress.com

Blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Subscribe Subscribed
    • an everyday life
    • Join 89 other subscribers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • an everyday life
    • Subscribe Subscribed
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...