The End

 The end is here - at least for 2020.

So many memes today about how the world seems to be ready to kick this year to the curb:

*Don't let the door hit you where the good Lord split ya

*Peace out, get out

and on and on.

They are hilarious and right on trend. I'm ready for the year to be done. I'm tired, weary, constantly under this overarching presence of fear, concern, worry, etc. Some days are great, some are not - and that's true in any year. But in the middle of a global pandemic where the sides of science and news and politics and emotions collide faster than I can keep up? Yea, that's where I chime in and agree with the adieu of the year.

I did make every attempt - twice - to focus my energy and spirits on things I was grateful for. Even when Hank died of this nasty virus. Even when I gave up trips and vacations...hugs and hand holding...when it took me to lows I didn't like experiencing. I tried to be grateful.

Perspective is good - like I have a warm home, plenty of food (or toilet paper!), access to funds and resources and high speed internet. 

But I also vocalized this year that just because I have perspective doesn't mean I am not allowed to be sad or bummed or depressed. I can honor that - and then hopefully put my big girl pants back on and keep moving.

(Great song: Move (Keep Walkin') by Toby Mac...

I know your heart been broke again
I know your prayers ain't been answered yet
I know you're feeling like you got nothing left
Well, lift your head, it ain't over yet, ain't over yet, so

Keep walkin', soldier keep movin' on)

So I keep moving. 

My word for 2021 is Forward. Keep moving forward. A heart rooted in forgiveness does not dwell in the past. Easier said than done, but perspective, gratitude and forward motion might make for a good way to greet a new year.

Many things went awry this year. Many things got cancelled or postponed or forgotten.

But love didn't - neither did kindness or compassion - certainly empathy and gratitude - those didn't go astray.

So when I watched the In Memoriam and said good-bye - I made sure to watch the triumphs that we still collectively shared.

And when the ball will drop - with nary a soul around on the ground - I'll still shout out Happy New Year and greet a new start.

Some Memories

There are just some memories that you can't take a picture of. Moments in time where you can't grab your phone or camera fast enough. And maybe they stay with you, and maybe they don't.

My husband is a little glum this morning. He feels the weight of Covid and 2020 differently and he is quiet in his own way.

One of the gifts I could give him is to allow him to sleep in and take care of the house until he felt like waking up. When he emerged with a smile, I played with the dog. Which made him grin, because he knows the dog and I have a love-hate relationship. 

And then I dog-piled on children, and we giggled and laughed and then decided to take our chaos to daddy. There was so much laughing and giggling and squealing even from the males in the family that I had a chuckle to myself. 

I laughed at a comic that my BFF sent me this morning of a mother quite literally shouting at her children "we will have a lovely Christmas memory, I will make you do it or I will ground you!" I actually didn't need to threaten anyone. It was natural and organic and crazy and chaotic and it brought smiles. Sometimes those best Christmas memories are the ones that don't require packages and bows. 

My Birthday Girl

 I am so happy to say that I no longer have children in the single digits. My youngest is now in the DDC - the double digit club.

A whole day, mid-pandemic, of celebrating the sweet little miss that drifted into my life one day before her scheduled arrival - because I had pleaded with God to allow her to be born before the December Twenties. He heard my cry then - as he does now - and every moment in between.

She's fun and feisty. She's strongly opinionated, likes to correct me if I'm wrong - or even thinking about being wrong. She's quick. Like super quick to come up with a reason for something, even if it might be a smidge off base.

She's also extremely compassionate, has big feelings and big tears. She feels all the big stuff -and the stuff that I think shouldn't matter.

She's a helper. Her teachers love her. She wants to please, and be right, and be first and be in front. She's a born leader.

It'll bite her in the butt from time to time, but I'm glad she's got it.

She's an extrovert, a snuggler, loves her stuffies, her dog and her brother. 

And I get to be her mom.

Here's to your next decade, sweet girl - can't wait to watch you grow.

It all worked out

I forgot to write about this earlier in the week. On December 1, I mailed out a big Christmas package to my friend in Atlanta. I never do this. I always have Amazon take care of it and have her do the wrapping. That way I can guarantee it gets there. And, I like free shipping.

OK, I should've led with that. I like free shipping first.

Regardless, I sent out the box to the tune of $18.75 two day priority to arrive by December 4. By December 11, the package was "in transit." This does me a bunch of no good. And then you begin to read story after story about how the USPS is completely backlogged.

And so as I wasted an hour of sleep worrying about this, I resolved on Monday to pray once that God would make it work out or, that the insurance will cover most of it. I let it go.

Funny then, as the text chime on my phone went off and I wondered- then looked - and I got delivery confirmation that it arrived yesterday, one day before I needed it to be there. Just as I hoped it would all work out to be. And today, I even got a phone call from the Marietta post office. In the middle of all this, some tired, worn out woman, still checked up on my package.

Of which to say this has nothing to do with what my post is about but has everything to do with how things work out.

About two weeks ago I happened to be at the right place at the right time. I was overhearing a conversation from the school counselor and the principal discussing how to add in one more family to the operation Christmas child, after the program wad already closed. Postulations and wondering, I quite literally interrupted their conversation and said "I'll take a family!"

And I was supposed to get one girl, a sixth grader at my son's school. Slam dunk. But as luck would have it, I continued to talk to the school counselor who is retiring tomorrow. It was one her final things to wrap up. She had to continued to push with the mother to find out there were two more children not on the list. Of course I said I would take them. And then I went for a cocktail conference call with my beloved Girl Scout ladies.

And yes, absolutely, they said they would take the other two kids. So just like that all three kids who are not supposed to make the list were squarely on it.

OK, so cute and quaint and lovely. And per usual, the story doesn't end there. 

The list arrived on Monday of their wishes. It was not gratuitous, it was not outlandish, it was mild and sweet. And it was heart wrenching because the five-year-old and a two-year-old had bedsheets on their wish list.

 My two friends easily took care of it, but needed to know what size sheets to purchase so I had to inquire with the school counselor again. Revision to email arrived not less than an hour later but now oddly enough, the list now included sheets for the mother and the 12-year-old girl.

Hmm. OK. We certainly can swing it, but it wasn't necessarily in my initial budget. I had already spent all the money on the presents for the girl.

But there's no way I'm going to let bedsheets not be unwrapped at Christmas. For the love of all that is holy, everyone deserves a pair of sheets.

And I went to Amazon and I added another two sets of sheets to my cart and let it be done. And then went to check my email, and found that an odd email had come from Walmart. Apparently they owed me a credit. It didn't make sense but I checked my credit card, and alas, there was an extra $70 refunded to my credit card.

Just like that, the sheets were paid for.

Say what?

Where millions of packages are going to arrive late. Mine arrived with 24 hours to spare. Sure, I planned ahead and mailed it on December 1. But still. My plea at 2 AM on a sleepless night did not go unanswered.

Where the budget has been spent, but leaning in and trusting that supporting this family was the right thing to do… Immediately it was rewarded with extra money that miraculously appeared.

This, by far, is my favorite thing to write about. When the story doesn't end where you think it does, or there's always some blessing or provision or learning lesson to be had. The unexpected kind. The kindness of my girlfriends, the perfect timing of a conversation I really was not meant to overhear. And 100 other little things that add up to the goodness of life. Even in the middle of the pandemic.

Hallelujah. It is well with my soul. 

What To Do

So what do you do when you feel like you've pretty much at the end of your rope?

What do you do when you are mentally and physically exhausted, When I can't seem to take another minute, want to kill the dog, run around like Kevin McAllister in Home Alone like a crazy person or simply find a blanket, crawl under, and not come out until next year?

Pray.

And really, it's not always been easy for me. It's supposed to be some grandiose prayer. Or so I think.  But I was reminded today as I offered some counsel to a sweet girl who needed it… That sometimes the most simplest prayers are the ones that gave the biggest impact.

Help. 

Thanks. 

Wow. 

I told her that sometimes just muttering the word over and over again is quite simply enough for God.

Last night when I couldn't take it anymore, and didn't even know how to find one thing to be grateful for, I turned out of my desk chair to see the sun and its final setting moments. I was muttering Help. And got Wow. 

Downright glorious. 

And wildly unexpected for the middle of December. It was there but I found my spot. And it was this morning that I could offer wise advice.

Wow. Help to be sure. And thanks. Indeed. 

My Pack Rat

My beloved husband, he might be a little bit of a packrat. Only occasionally, don't get me wrong. For the most part it's pretty cool stuff. Models he's created, paintings he's done, dreams and wishes of his youth. But it also contains four large Rubbermaid totes of Star Wars items.

So, when watching the Mandalorian and hollering out every ship or fighter or a trooper or what not… He then comments somewhere under his breath "I think I have one of those!"

His daughter then squeals with the light and forces him to pause the movie, go downstairs and find it.

This is Bobba Fett's ship, Slave 1. From 1981. 

And the smile of a vindicated husband who was happy he saved all his stuff.

His Tears

When my son cries, my heart breaks.

I'm sure it's the same for many moms.

All the protection and love and compassion - and then he cries and I can't fix it for him. And my heart doesn't know what to do. 

He was terrified to show us seven weeks of school work that he's been amassing in his backpack.

Terrified.

Shaking and sobbing..."I'm so so scared you'll be disappointed in me."

Hear me that we love on this manchild like no other. With reckless abandon.

His need to have his bucket filled is daily - and his bucket is deep - fraught with worry. Worry to the point where sometimes I can't grab him back from the brink fast enough. 

It's not about a lack of love or attention.

It's unadulterated anxiety.

That somehow he can't control or verbalize - and I can't snag him from the pit he sends himself to.

He was filled with fear and shame we wouldn't be happy with his work.

Which was all A's and B's. And "Good Job!" and "Well Done."

"Bubba, what in here makes you worried?" I say.

"I don't know," he sniffs and sobs and heaves.

"Is there something in here that I should be concerned about?" I follow.

"No," he mutters.

My arms can't hug him tight enough. I can't grab enough tissues. I can't solve it or fix it. I can just be present.

He has to battle back on his own. With copious amounts of quiet tones, gentle hugs, thumbs wiping tears from cheeks rosy with heat.

It took him a good 20 minutes to breathe clearly.

Ten more to have the rosy cheeks subside.

He made it. He came back. 

But oh, my torn-up heart.

The 11:55pm Arrival

My BFF lamented today. This is the last of our Internet memories that remind us that we have taken a trip together for the last 5 to 10 years or so. Every time in late November or early December.

I miss her so much it hurts.

I will see her again, perhaps even for a short visit over the holidays. When you've been friends for 24 years, a few months is nothing but a blip on the radar.

But I saw a plane fly overhead. And I'm reminded of our time together and my arrival back into the airport. The 11:55 PM slot on Delta from Atlanta.

I'm usually exhausted, it's been a whirlwind. I won't know when I'll see her again. Sometimes it's a few weeks later sometimes it's not until spring break.

But I will have loved every second of it. And this year, I don't get that chance. Somewhere deep down inside there's some lesson to that. But right now, I long for the days to hear the pilot overhead, the final descent into the airport, baggage claim and ground transportation.

One day soon. Here's hoping.

Doing that Thing

I got a chance to do that thing I love to do- hang out in a flower shop and decorate. Again!

This time for a pretty notable family. With egregious amounts of money. Like I am unpacking $40 Christmas ornaments in cases of 12.

With a 17 foot Christmas tree, and more ornaments than I have ever seen in my life. But oh my goodness, it was glorious and gorgeous and wonderful!

Of course you can't take pictures, there are privacy agreements and not disclosures. But the experience was enough to make me giddy. 

Sometimes those little nudges of dreams coming true actually become reality. 

Yay!

Drop Off

A couple of years ago I began to giggle at my cousin who said she was wearing down a path from our neighborhood up to the middle school and high school. Constant trips up and down the major road, back-and-forth, forgetting this, needing that.

I laughed thinking that my little hamlet of my neighborhood and our elementary school kept me within a good half mile square piece of land.

Late Sunday night, we got the plan together about what we would do when Bubba couldn't get Bus Service this week. It's a critical shortage, Covid is putting a huge damper on transportation and his route was suspended for one week. I also happen to work at Bubba's school during the middle of the day. So first it's a trip down to drop him off. Then it's my errands. Then it's back to the school to work. Then it's back to school at the end of the day to pick him up.

That road that I teased my cousin about… That road and I...we are going to come best friends this week!

Oooof!

Blog Reading

Thirteen years ago I started writing a blog.

10 years ago I started printing them and creating books. When I stopped writing and 2017, I switched over to Instagram primarily and began publishing the books that I was creating in cyberspace.

Three separate times this weekend I have found my children finding the box, and scrolling through their lives. It was exactly what I hoped would happen all those years ago when the words started coming out of my mouth.

Turkey Day

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's not entirely as I had hoped, my wish was that Covid was gone by now and that we could I'll be back around my table. But that's just not the case and I'm so proud of the entire family for adjusting and adapting appropriately. I would rather have us all here next year then to rush something this year.

That being said, it certainly didn't feel exactly like the thanksgivings I'm used to. There's supposed to be cacophony. 

There is supposed to be mashed potatoes overflowing and mountains of gravy and lots of laughs and way too many dishes.

And magically with a snap of a finger, people drift back out with promises and longing for the next year.

Alas, it was just my parents this year. But the best part was the ability to make dinner for my cousin who is working his tail off keeping people healthy. The front line teams in the hospitals deserve so much love.

And we will have next year. And there will be more turkeys and more laughs. 

And yes, even more dishes. 

And I will rejoice and be glad. 

Memories that Leak

 There was a little meme the other day about tears....tears are just memories that leak down your cheek.

It was sweet.

And I thought of it this morning as my eyes began to leak.

Because I was cutting onions! But oh the memory that came back. I think I was pregnant with Alex. Mom, Dad, Hubs and I took a road trip to Lexington, KY to pick up a dresser that was my grandparents. It was destined for Goodwill, and I wasn't going to have that. So - off we went.

Others were there - my aunt and uncle, some cousins - and I was in charge of making something for dinner that had to do with cutting onions.

This is about the time where cooking shows on cable TV really took off. And as a nesting, pregnant lady, I watched a lot of them.

Ina Garten, you have my heart.

Anyway - I got to chopping onions. My uncle, one to offer thoughts and advice, came to share a tidbit he had seen on TV. Alas, it was the same tip I already knew, so I was on the case. And I remember thinking it was fun to know something already.

Probably rude of me to think that. I didn't say anything to him but "yes, thank you!"

But every time I cut an onion, I think of that moment and laugh.

Monday's Back

 ...Back again.

I asked it not to - but it returned.

And we hit the morning running with Bub's IEP meeting with his teacher and SpEd team to come up with the next iteration of ways to support our sweet boy as he preps for Middle School.

Say whaaaaa?

Middle School.

He's got acne at times, he's smelly at times. He eats me out of house and home.

But he's still my tender-hearted, sweet faced boy. The kid who owns the title of making me a mom.

For the first time in 10 years, he joined in our IEP meeting. He is interested in knowing why we're talking about him and what his benchmarks are. I commend him for being grown up about the situation. We felt that if he knew the why behind the reason he gets pulled out occasionally, he might be more apt to doing the work we're all asking of him. It's a hope at least. And he's willing to try.

I'll take it.

Sweet Bubba of mine.

A Good Laugh

 I won't be able to type it out with as much gusto as my daughter delivered it....

....but she found a small stash of wrapped presents in the basement.

To her credit, they aren't hidden, and they are wrapped and labeled. If she ran across them, I wouldn't mind and I wonder what she might do.

This morning, she came in to the room for a morning snuggle. Still a blessed, loved occurrence even if she's almost 10. We chat about things while she wakes up and often think about big things. Today's topic: do you want one large (expensive) Christmas gift that will cover your birthday and Christmas...because you're getting to that age where that's totally fine. Or, do you want to skip that- save up your own money and end up getting a few more things under the tree or by your cake.

You could see the wheels turning.

She still waffles about volume vs value. And this is totally expected. It's hard at that age.

Which is why I have been insanely careful to be purposeful about gifts, numbers, value, etc. All good learning lessons developed over time.

She couldn't make up her mind.

Which is probably half the reason I had some presents already wrapped. Just because you're going to get one big thing if you go that route doesn't mean that you won't get a few extra smaller things - and you've got loads of family who still want to help you check things off your list.

But when you can't see things, it's hard when you're 9.

Alas, on her own, about an hour after we chatted - she found the small pile. Just four each per kid - jammies, socks, hair ties, etc. Nothing glamorous, but still fun. Except one larger box. That's really heavy. It's a ginormous blow up llama to play on at Grandma's lake. It's 5 feet tall and the box weighs a good 4lbs. 

Up she comes.... I SEE PRESENTS!!! AND THERE'S A BIG ONE.

AND.

IT'S.

FOR.

MEEEEEE!

Loud and proud. I just laughed. I shrugged and said "we'll see!"

Trust me when I say we are going to get to the reason for the season, God's faithfulness through this crappy pandemic, giving to others, being grateful for what we have, etc. 

I've got a long list of bubblegum mindset skills to work on in the next 30ish days.

But today - when you find you're still getting a big, heavy box and your heart is full of joy. Go ahead and do the fist pump touchdown dance of joy.

Knock yourself out, kid.

What a Shower Will Do

My friend, WK, keeps sending me things, and I do the same for her. Random notes of encouragement that speak to us at any portion of the day. Yesterday's was a quick list of self-care options.

They all seemed quite obvious but it was more about giving yourself permission to do things… She will tell you that hers is to take a nap! Oddly enough, mine is to take a shower. Something about hot water and good music and being able to close the bathroom door on the world!

So I took the dog for a mile and a half walk this morning and decided to pop in the shower just to change the outlook on my day. I popped around to Justin Timberlake, even pulled out the curling iron for the first time in months.

Let me tell you, a little JT and some hot water does make the world a better place! I like it when my friends are onto something.

If you find me in the shower 27 times between now and December 1, don't be surprised! 

Planning Ahead

Covid doesn't let me plan for anything.

Nothing. Zip, zilch, zero...N.A.D.A.

And for the planner in me, that drives me nuts.

However, as Monty Python is always reminding me (always look on the bright side of life...sing with me now..) - I can find some sunshine in all the lemons of 2020.

Postal Service says Christmas packages might take longer this year? Plan ahead? Amazon shipping delays? Plan ahead?

THIS IS MY JAM!

So - I've spent the last week or so sorting out wish lists, snagging deals - and today, I wrapped some presents. Not all of them - but some. As next week Friday, we put the tree up - and I am a little giddy to torment my children for a full month by already having something for both of them under the tree.

And I'll get my two boxes off to their destinations. By using my eBay and PayPal account to pack, weigh and address at home - and then drop off at my local grocery story because they take packages, too.

Boom!

And I'll support some more small businesses this week for stocking stuffers...and and and.

Look at me, 2020 - I'm planning.

Take that!

Early Morning

 It wasn't the early morning - it was the middle of the night. Because those people who get up at 4:30am for a good run or spin class - you are inspiration, but you are not my people.

At 4:30am, I consider that the middle of my sleep and I should not be awake.

But there I was, staring out the window at the glow from the lamppost in the neighbor's backyard. It's a little warm glow that allows me to see the trees sway. Generally, it's nice to see. But not in the middle of the night. My brain would not shut off.

It's probably the prednisone I'm on. For the third time. For the hives that have returned. For the third time.

Only to clue me in that I have another cold sore forming. Which is insult to injury - but catching it at 4:30am is better than at 7am, so I fumbled out of bed, got the meds, got back in bed and still couldn't sleep.

Gee, I wonder why.

But I mused on doing something nice yesterday. I sent a message to the staff at school thanking them for working on kindness with their students. That (for the most part) I see it on the playground when I arrive - and I'm never without a day where a student hasn't done something kind for someone else in  my presence. 

(It counteracts the snarky stuff I get from stressed out teachers - which I completely understand - but which I am growing tired of to be sure)

And somehow musing on something nice blocked out whatever it was that kept my brain spinning. And then somehow, the alarm at 7am went off. 

It's a new day.

*********

The Father’s House
Cory Asbury

Sometimes on this journey
I get lost in my mistakes
What looks to me like weakness
Is a canvas for your strength
And my story isn't over
My story's just begun
And failure won't define me
'Cause that's what my Father does

Because Covid

 Why have I stopped writing?

I wrote for years, archiving the growth of my family and marching our way through each month. Two years,  I got up to 300+ post each. 

That's an insane amount of words and thoughts and feelings.

The bottom dropped about about 2 years ago. Something happened, my feelings got hurt and I packed away the proverbial typewriter. 

I stopped doing yoga, too. Book club changed, kids grew older, jobs changed, I was needed differently. I gained back the weight I lost before I went to Italy. Friend groups changed. Parents got older. Life got harder.

Covid came and cemented the fact that my fingers had no longer found the outlet they wanted on the keyboard.

We're 8 months into this now. The stress is high. The constant change is ever-present. Nothing is consistent, there are no plans. Everything is fluid. There is no rhythm to the day or week or month. There can't be. Because when the health department comes on TV, you know things are going to change. Again.

And I still didn't write. 

I wrote a lot in my head. I also yelled a lot at the mirror. Or the dog.

Yea, we got a dog. Another post for another day.

And last night, as my friend WK and I chatted while she walked, she told me about a short article about the benefits of therapy, journaling and meditation.

It was there that I did realize that the removal of my words from the paper, stopping therapy and yoga (or any lame attempt I had at exercise) - all came about the same time and their absence has had an impact.

A big one.

Sure, I'm fine. I'm healthy, so are the kids and Hubs. We have a house and food and heat and water. Way too many electronics and things and stuff. We are in no way, shape or form in any jeopardy. In fact, we had a pretty good run in spite of Covid. 

But the stress is insanely high. The frustrations with the dog in the kitchen and me threatening to serve her up for dinner aren't exactly her fault for being underfoot. They are the long, built-up frustrations of a global pandemic...and self-doubt...and frustration...and all the unknown reasons I lost my voice for a while.

Once I finished the article from WK, I started writing in my head. I heard Confucius say that the line we all know too well - the journey beginning with a single step. 

I probably need to find my voice again to clear the sobwebs in my head. 

I just wrote sobwebs. I meant cobwebs. But the word seems glaringly apropos. 

This might be another attempt that I don't follow through on. But that's ok. I got up, I got the computer out and I tried.

I'm honked off. Grouchy, frustrated, angry, sad and dejected.

I'm also aware this is temporary and not who I like to be. 

Her Pool

We were back to the neighbors for for the first time this year, that inaugural dip and jump off the board! But I have to admit, I choked up when I walked across her grass. It wasn't the same knowing he wasn't there. My beloved neighbor has been gone now for about two months and that lump in my throat still remains.

She asked if I'd like a glass of wine. The children swim. She talked about how she has been doing. And now it's time to start coming back up. She said "I need to restore myself."

I told her that would sit on my heart for a while. To restore yourself. To come back to who you are. Or, in her case, a new version of her she never thought she had to be.

I admire her so.

The lump still remains. But the laughs and giggles were there. The diving board still has a good bounce. The gate still creeks. 

It's a new day. 

Oops

There has been a stretch since I last wrote. The coronavirus spread, the state was locked down further, things felt worse than better.

Life didn't seem to the accept restrictions in our local community and around the country.

And then a white officer kneeled on the neck of a black man during an arrest, prolonged with such racial bias, that he died. Coronavirus was forgotten momentarily and racism swelled.

There were riots in my city. There were riots around my country. The current leader of our nation did not unite but chose to divide. And tensions grew. And anger grew. And violence grew. It's been a rough couple of days for me. It's been decades of pain and suffering for those in the black community. I'm glad change is here. It needs to happen. I hope it stays. And grows. 

Two weeks ago we decided we needed a break. The kids needed a break, I needed a break, so did husband. We needed a change of scenery.

Upon telling our children that we would head to the north Georgia mountains, it only took five minutes for them to find blank paper and sketch out the interior of our van and the packing that they would do for the road trip. They love road trips as much as I do. Their adventuresome spirit is bucket filling. 

Yesterday, on the last day of school, instead of packing backpacks and taking pictures outside, we woke them quietly at 3:45 AM. We stuffed them into a fully packed van, and by the light of a full moon and just the creeping edges of dawn on its way, we headed south.

I took the first shift. There's something peaceful about driving at that time of day. No one is around, save a few semi drivers. The world is quiet. After the civil unrest of the last few days, I appreciated a quiet world. 

Upon arrival in a very small border town between Indiana and Ohio, we stopped for gas and to change drivers. I, grabbing the kids, headed inside, chucking the keys on the driver seat and shouted at my dear husband that's where they were as we crossed the parking lot. Five seconds later he shrieked. Somehow, oddly, all four doors were locked.

And yes, the keys were inside.

He looked at me with panic, I shrieked back with panic. Both of us trying not to blame the other but wondering how a completely unlocked vehicle had now four locked doors and no keys.

I thought about ripping a back window off, my mind raced, and for some reason I yanked on the back tailgate.

The darn thing opened.

It opened!!!

Shrieks now came from our children plastered against the side of the truckstop for fear that their parents were about ready to lose their bologna. And they came running across the parking lot. Little KK crawl through the back over the luggage, delicately avoiding breakable items on the floor and unlocked the door to save the day.

Bubba commented that he, volunteering as tribute, would be staying in the car for the rest of the trip. We assured him that we would have better practices in place. 7 AM Friday morning, middle of nowhere, crisis averted.

Joy still comes in the morning. 

For now, fresh off the lake, resting as the summer sun begins to warm the north Georgia mountains enough that my delicate flower of children find it too hot, I'm right at home. My BFF is around the corner.

Social emotional health, mental health, soul healing health… Call it what you will, we found it.

I'll take it. 

Lysol

Did the manufacturer of Lysol just come out and say "wait, please don't inject yourself with our products?"

Yes, yes they did.

Because a situation in Washington warranted their "hang on wait a minute" post.

Which led someone I know to post "oh, that's not really true" followed by someone else using vitriol that I haven't seen for a while.

And when I say "a while" - take that to mean 3 or 4 days. The opinions coming from some people are not only passionate discourses on their beliefs (I like those), but they are riddled with anger, fear, frustration - and I daresay, hate. The hate-speech I've seen has been overwhelming. These posts are also coming fast and furious on social media - causing me to take a break from scrolling, stopping only to slap up my Gratitude Journal post.

I don't want nor need life to go back to exactly the way it was. So much of society and our earth needs subtle or gigantic course corrections.

But civility and compassion would be nice if it could come back in spades.

And a sweeping dose of common sense.

So, therefore, have no fear, I will only use Lysol to clean my counters. Not my veins.

Life Moves On

When I get earworms, they stick for days.

The line of a song that rolls over and over in my head - the scene from a movie that just won't leave my thoughts.

Currently, it's the scene from the movie Steel Magnolias - easily one of my favorite movies ever. The group of women has come together at the funeral of the daughter. Sally Field says she's fine and then she breaks. She just wants her daughter back.

183 viewings of that and I still tear up.

Olympia Dukakis chimes in with some humor at the expense of Shirley McLaine and the group laughs for a moment. The scene cuts - they are at the wake in a neighborhood backyard. Darryl Hannah plays with a baby on a blanket - and is asked what she will name her own baby when the time comes. She acknowledges that she wants to name it after the deceased - the mother replies lovingly and states "life moves on."

She doesn't forget her daughter. She doesn't skip that she's gone. But somewhere in her heart, life has to continue to take steps forward.

Even in the middle of a pandemic - when the world seems to have stopped. Or significantly slowed.

Life moves on.

Every time I look out my kitchen window - or sit on my comfy couch - or prep myself for bed, I see my beloved neighbor's house. I see his chair in the backyard where he would review his day with his wife with a glass of wine - watching the frogs in his pond.

I miss him.

The grass is growing - it needs to be cut.

Hubs and Bubs need haircuts, too.

My bleeding hearts are popping up, the beds need to be blown out again. I've got to track down the deer spray and attach the hoses.

Someone has to finish long division - someone else has to write a paper on igloos versus treehouses. I should really get to stripping the bathtub. It's been on my list for 2 years. The stuff is even in the bathroom.

Life moves on.

"God of Glory, majesty. Praise forever to the King of Kings...."

Joy Comes in the Morning

In the end, the miracle did not come.

My beloved neighbor met Jesus Friday night. In an attempt to keep my rhythm on my gratitude journal on Facebook and Instagram, I wrote the following yesterday:

Gratitude Journal Day 37 - my neighbors. But today, especially this house. 💚
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For a person like me who always has All. The. Words. Today, I have none. I had teased a week ago I had excellent news to share. My beloved neighbor was coming home from the hospital. Signs were made. Plans were hatched. But, by Easter morning, as I celebrated the risen Lord, my high-fiving, ever-smiling, wave to me over the fence, never too early for happy hour, wander the yard with me, Spartan buddy, suffered a cardiac event and our idyllic neighborhood hamlet came crashing down. By last night, he was gone.

I can’t tell you how much I admired this man. It was pure luck that we have been able to share a property line with him and his amazing wife. From the day we moved the first item in- to my last memory of him scurrying through my backyard in his trademark shorts, having just dropped off wine and banana bread (see Day 10)- and every day in between - you don’t find better neighbors than these.

We have been so insanely blessed.

To his three children (and the bonus in-laws), 3 grand babies- we promise to watch over your momma. We love her with fierce abandon.

And to my beloved neighbor- love you forever. Like you for always. Will miss you like crazy. Go Green. 💚💚💚

I placed my phone back down.

I went outside, I heard his granddaughter cooing on the backyard deck. I saw his wife - we talked over the fence - she modeled bravery. I wiped tears as I smiled my love in return.

Hubs and I went inside and FaceTimed my cousin and wife to talk about anything and everything. Just to think about something else. Inevitably, since he's a doctor, the conversation turned to spikes and numbers and ventilators and personal protection equipment. PPE. I didn't even know that acronym until a few weeks ago.

I sat with my children - we watched a silly movie, we went for a walk. We had copious amounts of snuggles.

I went to bed for the first time in four days and didn't cry myself to sleep, willing him to come back.

I awoke today to sunshine and warmer temperatures.

Joy comes in the morning.

Grief sucks. This virus sucks.

I want my friend back.

And joy still comes in the morning.

On Optimism

My beloved neighbor has taken a turn.

He bled into his stomach, causing his heart to stop for a bit - and reduced the oxygen to his brain. The MRI for activity is scheduled for tonight.

I'm numb.

He was up...out of the ICU last week. Having heard the applause of the unit upon leaving it - he was eating macaroni and cheese - he FaceTimed his wife.

And now we wait. Again. For another test.

He's a fighter - but how much fight does he have left?

We will pray as a family - I will ruminate and ponder and wonder and worry.

But I will not give in to fear or the darkness that is just outside my door.

I watched Steve Hartman's On the Road: Kindness 101 series this afternoon just after learning the news. It's on optimism.

Has God made me this way for a reason? Looking for the bright side of life at every turn?

I sure hope so.

Easter Sunday

Not as it was in my books to be -

Not that I had planned for -

Not what I knew how to execute -

But....four pairs of feet on a coffee table, while in pajamas, eating Resurrection Rolls (those crescent rolls stuffed with a marshmallow that disappears) watching our pastor from his home talk to us in ours.

No rushing around.

Calm and centered.

Eating rolls I never get a chance to make because I'm too crazy trying to get the perfect picture of kids in outfits that are pressed and laundered.

It was a departure from the normal. And so many news outlets are saying that during this time, take pause to note the frantic life - and choose purposefully what pace to resume when the time comes.

Good advice.

Easter Saturday

Caught in between the pain and sadness of Good Friday - and the of the resurrected Lord on Sunday is this middle ground on Easter Saturday.

I know the end of the story. I know that joy comes in the morning.

But there was a time on that very first Easter Saturday when the world did not know that heaven was counting to three.

The people were stuck in the pain and the chaos that was brought by Jesus' death on the cross. There were stories of hope, glimmers of what could be - but that Saturday, nothing had happened yet.

That's a lot of what I feel today - the truth in knowing that it will get better, the joy that will come some morning soon when I'm not asked to stay home and not see loved ones - I know that truth is there. I have faith in the Lord - and our fellow humans (well, most of them, anyway!).

But today feels "wander-y" - a wait with no end.

The Rain

The last two days have been beautiful - enough that I got a little sun on my face when cleaning out the beds. I'm so grateful for that.

But today it's raining. Blah. Rain. More reasons to stay inside.

Fear still swirls on the internet - I try to avoid reading the hyperbole and conjecture. It's nothing but frustrating. But I would like to get out and go to a garage sale - or to the grocery store - or the home improvement store to buy some supplies.

Everything seems off-limits right now - and rightfully so. I see the maps the CDC puts out on where the virus is - and I see how well Michigan is doing to stay at home. We do our part.

For our neighbor.

For the neighbors we don't know.

For strangers.

And I reflect back on a post recently about how my children will remember this time. Will they remember the stress (because even though they say they are fine - their anxiety is still present and their fears are still real) - will they remember struggle? My hope is that the remember lots of movie nights and playing games and reading books in hammocks and finding new ways to play Battleship over a computer. I hope they remember that.

April showers bring May flowers - and perhaps some hope as well.

Glimmers of Hope

My sweet neighbor - who has been in the ICU, sedated and intubated- for almost a week - opened his eyes tonight! He responded.

Praise be to God - we have been praying continually for his improvement and we hope to see him home.

A WIN! I love those moments of hope when all is dark and bleak.

It's April...

When the governor called for classes to be canceled and schools to shut - and then for a shelter in place, she mentioned April 13. In March - the promise of April had the ability for us all to take a deep breath and hang on.

There was this nugget - this dangling carrot of hope, that once we got to April, we might get to the end of the upheaval, the chaos, the change and the confinement. There was a sliver of hope.

April 1 was also to be the day we were to get in the car, and do our annual trek to Atlanta to see the BFF - spend a few days with her and then pop a plan to Miami for our family vacation.

All of that gone.

Enough water has passed under that bridge to know that April 13 isn't going to hold. It'll be later.

School will more than likely be done for the year -we'll go to remote learning, whatever that will look like. Life won't begin to look like normal at least until May - and probably June. School won't feel like school until August.

Those who said this was possible a few weeks ago were right.

Those of us who needed hope put our head in the sand.

In any event - April is here. It's still chilly - there are no trips, there is no school. And we're in our home for a while.

Oof - that's a lot to swallow today.

Tomorrow will be better. It'll be the day after we were supposed to be on vacation. It won't be "there's still hope" - it will simply just be. Perhaps that will help. Perhaps it won't. Time will tell.

Their Hearts

It was a gentle tap from my husband about 7:45am. I had my headphones in (he snores, I like sleep. It works) so I couldn't hear the ruckus.

First, I figured out it was two children.

Then, I surmised that they were up to something with folding tables.

"Surprise!"

Both of them set their alarm, got up, got dressed and made a waffle for me and a bagel for dad. Additionally, they made us a lovely anniversary card.

All to celebrate 13 and Quarantined.

How lucky am I?! Love it - and to my husband, if we're going to be safe at home at least we get to do it together!

Ear Worms

Yesterday, I spent about 9-10 hours sitting at my dining room table (y'all, those chairs aren't made for that much tushy time) - making masks.

First, I started for the woman up the street - that was about a week ago. I made about 16 for her - she's a cardiothoracic nurse of some sort. And of course, I had to make one for my favorite doctor, my cousin. Followed closely by 2 for my parents - because if they are going to go to the grocery store, for heaven's sake, cover your face! One for a friend's dad. And then I got a nudge to make two for my girlfriend in book club, she's a PA at the local hospital - who then came back and asked for 40 more.

Hence the tushy time at the table.

I pushed through the flat tush - I did take a good walk - and finished my night yelling at my bobbin for the umpteenth time.

Probably because I'm angry and depressed. I was supposed to be packing for our spring break trip. I was supposed to be going to see my BFF this week and then spending some much-needed family time at the ocean.

I wasn't supposed to go running out in the grass yesterday morning to see an ambulance at my neighbor's house. I wasn't supposed to hold my children - and my tears back - as they took out my beloved neighbor who was having respiratory distress.

No, I wasn't supposed to be doing that. 

But there I was. Wet hair, cold feet, in the grass, 10 feet from his wife, who I could not go hug. Because if he has this stupid virus, she probably does too.

ARGH!!!!

So - yes, that left me yelling at my machine at 8pm and saying that I was done for the day.

All to wake up this morning, to see the sun and to sit back down to finish yesterday's goal of 20.

I put on church - or at least 3 minutes of online church because everyone else was trying to do the same thing.

"Oh yes I will, sing for joy when my heart is heavy..."

What?

Stop the machine. Listen some more:
"I count on one thing
The same God that never fails
Will not fail me now
You won't fail me now
In the waiting
The same God who's never late
Is working all things out
You're working all things out"

And then over and over, earworming from my brain to my fingers to the presser peddle to the mask in honor of my beloved cousin, and friend, and book club lady - and my neighbor. "Oh yes, I will, sing for joy when my heart is heavy, all my days, oh yes I will."

My heart is heavy today. I'm worried, I'm tired. I'm anxious, I'm over this. And it's not over. Not nearly even over.

My BFF will still be there. Florida will still be there. And I want my neighbor to still be here.

So I will stay home for him. And for all.

I'll sing for joy.

And I'll keep sewing.

It's Not That I'm Back

...but I might be.

We've been social distancing for 2 full weeks now.

Because there is a global pandemic that's pretty much causing the world to shelter in place.

Yea, that's something I never thought I would type. Nor what I thought would bring me back to the keyboard. But things are different. We're stuck at home, hoping not to get sick. Hoping to "flatten the curve" to allow hospitals time and staff to support those who will get sick and die.

Kids are out of school. Many businesses are closed. There is no end in sight. Hypothesis and conjecture are everywhere.

And in our world on our side of the street - life seems pretty ok. We've got perspective: this is temporary and this is light. We've got the benefit of shelter, food, electricity and water. We have neighbors to wave to from a requested 6' distance. We have our health.

So it's with Coronavirus - COVID-19 - that I jump back into writing. I've got to figure out a way to process my head and heart without frightening the fishes.

So it's not that I'm back.

But I might be.