Jump

It never ceases to amaze me how two people, born of the same parents and raised in the same household, can be so completely different.

Previously I have written about a daughter (Tick...Tick...Tick), but that was my younger one. My eldest worries me in a completely different way.

My first-born is the child I've never had to worry about. As a toddler she would never wander away from me (unlike her sister who walked out of the play area at a Cleveland Indian's baseball game because she wanted to go back to the seats...thank God a security got spotted her before she got very far - she was going the wrong direction!).

Anyway.

She's also the rare teenager who has her license but still asks for rides. She doesn't go out a lot with her friends. She's really a homebody.

I remember a parent/teacher conference during middle school. Hers were never stressful, just lots of comments about what a great kid she is. One teacher, however, said he wished she would take more risks, that sometimes she seemed to hold herself back.

You were right, Mr. Sheldon.

I'm in that wonderous, anxiety-provoking life transition during which the first child leaves the nest. She graduates high school this year, and there have been a lot of decisions to make. It's reminding me what a scary time of life that is - the first time your life is handed over to you. I watched her struggle with this and worried (it's what moms do) over whether she was ready, whether she would launch or need a push.

She had no idea what she wanted to study, so I suggested she pick an area of the country she wanted to see. She wanted to be near a city, especially one with major league baseball teams. It came down to 2 choices: Loyola University in Chicago or Baldwin-Wallace in suburban Cleveland. She fell in love with the Loyola campus, especially the glass study building right on Lake Michigan. But B-W had the advantage of being less than an hour away from home in the same town where her favorite teacher/mentor lives.

Besides being a homebody, my eldest would say she's shy. Change was tough when she was little, like going to kindergarten. Only one girl from her preschool was in her class. To ease the transition I would sometimes volunteer in her classroom. (Which totally didn't work, by the way. She would get way too upset when I had to leave, and she did NOT like sharing her mother!)

Anyway.

One day I was there during recess. The playground moniters were twirling a jumprope and kids were taking turns jumping in. I saw her watching them. She wanted to join in, but she had never done it before and there were a lot of people standing around watching. I stood in line with her and, when the timing was right, encouraged her to jump in.

She did.

Friends, I wish I could share the mental picture I have of the smile on her face. She has this beautific special smile that only comes out when she's especially proud or happy. Her dimples just pop out. That was the smile she had that day.

She chose Loyola, and for all the right reasons. She knows that it will be scary, but good to get away. It will be away, but not too far, and in a neighborhood we know since my brother lives a few blocks away. She'll be in a big city, but in a controlled environment. And I think she will love it.

I'm so proud. She is launching. Not being pushed.

She jumped.

The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul (An actual book title by Douglas Adams. Credit where credit is due!)

Welcome back to my world, friends, it's been awhile.

I have not been in a good space. It started with a bad case of what I was calling "The Februaries." Snow in December is pretty and exciting. The whole month is spent preparing for "The Holidays" and all the lights, tinsel, and general hoo-ha that goes along with it.

We start sobering up a bit in January, but we're still in the thrall of beginning a new year and all the possibility that holds. Snow days, especially if they happen to extend the Christmas vacation, are still celebrated by kids. The holiday withdrawal is pretty rough, but we soften it by creating a new cultural event - The Super Bowl.

By February the charm is gone. Enough already. It's dark, cold, and snow is a heavy, icy burden. The kids are tiring of their video games and various electronic media, and the fun of sledding and snowballs wore off back in December. Stuck inside, I fret about what I consider my non-abilities in home decor. I'm dissatisfied with my nest. I'm also frequently caught inside with an energetic 2 year old and I'm even tired of our usual indoor haunts. I believe that we celebrate Valentine's Day because otherwise February would be unbearable. I looked it up this year and was shocked at how thin the mythological underpinnings for the holiday are. I think we had to set aside a date to focus on love and chocolate this time of year to keep us from general despair.

Maybe I have Seasonal Affective Disorder, and even if I don't I certainly understand it. Even though it theoretically starts growing lighter after the solstice, I find that a darkness descends. My space feels too small, too cluttered, too ugly. The daily routine starts feeling mind-numbingly routine. I'm drained of creativity and mental energy.

Not a good place to write from.

Oh, I tried. The results were really not worth sharing.

I'm working on scratching and clawing my way back out, but this spring, which has been a brutal mix of cold, flood, and dark, really isn't helping anything. Nor is the fact that the whole world feels especially topsy-turvy, both geologically and politically.

But the sun will come out again, it always does. And those precious moments of closing your eyes, throwing your head back, and basking in the warmth and light of the sun almost makes all those days of misery worthwhile. Almost.

But excuse me, I should probably end this so I can check the weather radar to gauge the likelihood of another flash flood this afternoon.

And how are you?

So Whoop-dee-do and Dickory Dock...

...and don't forget to hang-up your sock! (OK. That is a quote from what is possibly the worst, most insipid, Christmas song ever: "Happy Holidays.")

But it is that time again and this year I've been curiously and pleasantly excited. In a low-key way, but enjoying it nonetheless. First, however, I must say I am opposed to the holiday creep. Christmas songs right after Halloween? Really? But all bets are off after Thanksgiving as we count down the Sundays in Advent. That's when it is time to break out the music and eggnog.

Even then I have to pace myself. I've come to realize that I'm happiest with about two weeks of intense preparation. More than that and I burn out by Christmas. It must be my procrastinating soul, but it's only fun when the pressure is ON. (Oh my poor, organized husband.) Part of what I look forward to is the night I stay up late working on some Christmas project. The rest of the family is asleep, the lights are low and I have candles lit, with seasonal music in the background. It's magic.

This year the phrase that is keeping me going through the holiday vortex is "good enough." The advantage to having a small house is that it's not good for entertaining. No entertaining means it doesn't have to be perfect. We can have what we want for our dinner and it will include Yorkshire pudding. The decorations and tree will happen when they happen. I'm liking the old-world tradition of not unveiling a decorated tree until Christmas Eve. My baking has not gotten past the contemplation stage. Luckily we have the 12 days until Epiphany to enjoy the fruits of our hard work. Everything will be good enough and we'll enjoy ourselves.

This year I'm enjoying the little things, like my (failed) attempt to make our liquid hand soap seasonal by layering pink and green. It's now a more neutral color (but smells good). I feel inspired making my holiday cards. (Still have to cough out the Christmas letter.) There are holiday shows and music and I love Christmas lights.

I know I must be a grown-up because church has become the highlight of the season, the 10pm Christmas Eve service. I sing in the choir. I enjoy the greenery, candles, incense, bells; lessons and carols with glorious descants. After a few hours of that I feel CHURCHED. Then it's home to await Santa Claus.

So there it is. I feel hopeful anticipation and wish all of it for you no matter what you may or may not be celebrating.

It's Pronounced "Saw-Win" - A Paean to Autumn (way cooler than An Ode to Fall)

It hit me today while I was out grocery shopping. I found myself mulling over home improvement projects: painting, organizing, re-arranging furniture. Some people get spring cleaning fever, I get an autumn nesting instinct. The season is changing and I'm about to spend a lot more quality time with my indoor space. I get the urge to make it cozy.

I think I will always have to be a northerner because I love the change of seasons so. One thing that hooked me on the ritualistic, theatrical, mystical-type church I joined (Episcopalian, natch) was the liturgical calendar. I love the rhythm it gives to the year and how it echoes the natural world. Advent (winter) awaits the coming of the light in the darkness. Lent is a time of dreary purification (perfect for February and March) leading up to the colorful burst of Easter (spring). I'm amused that summer is "Ordinary Time." I'm sure in an early agrarian culture that was necessary, but now it just gives me an excuse to take a spiritual vacation each year. Fall brings All Saints Day and it's (now) secular cousin, Halloween.

When I taught Sunday School I loved connecting All Saints and Halloween with their ancient ancestor Samhain (the saw-win previously mentioned), the Celtic celebration of the change of seasons from light to dark. It was a time to prepare for the winter ahead, harvesting crops and butchering livestock. I swear I can feel nature "powering down," preparing for a sort of death. It makes perfect sense to me that the Druids believed that the curtain between this world and the next is thinner this time of year, and thus easier for souls to travel back and forth. It's a good time for feeling close to those who have gone before.

I love the look of autumn. I find that even during bright, sunny days the light seems to have a hazy, tired quality. A few weeks ago while out to buy apples and pumpkins (a quintessential fall activity) I found myself mulling over the beauty of the landscape. The farm fields were mostly tawny gold and tan, their crops spent. The sky was a remarkably uniform silvery-gray. Between them the tree line was a gentle wash of earth tones. I don't know if it was a factor of weather or just my state of mind, but the changing trees seemed muted this year. I found myself picking through a Crayola box in my mind to identify the colors: goldenrod, cranberry, sepia, burnt sienna, ochre, bittersweet...and endless varieties of warm and cool grays and browns. Gentle and beautiful.

Time to stock-up on hot chocolate and candles and pull out the blankets and sweaters. It is getting darker. Time to build the cocoon.

They Taste Better with Salt (A meditation on Emily, the Midwest, and Everything)

Don't worry. It will all make sense at the end.

It's no secret that I have been saddened by the departure of my friend and neighbor, Emily. (And her family - a big shout out to Erik, Eli, and Smokey!) But, I mean, I was really bumming about it. This struck me as a little odd since friends moving on is just a hazard of living in a college town. I'd been through this before - why was I so bothered? Then it hit me.

I had a vision of Emily and Erik in the not so distant future sitting around with friends and family and talking with horror about that time that they lived in Ohio. They'll recall with incredulous laughter how backwards and narrow-minded it all was, playing that endless game of "remember when?..." followed by a rush of relief to finally be back home. I have the honor of probably being forever associated with one of the worst eras of their life. Ouch number one.

Ouch number two: Even if I were considered a high point of their time here, that would be rather faint praise. You can take the girl out of New England, but you can't make her like the Midwest. Even though it IS a relief to see that our regional cultures haven't been homogenized completely, culture shock is not a happy thing. I like to think Emily's opinion of Ohio was colored by her hatred of her job, but I wasn't always sure. She did not like it here.

The biggest adjustment, I think, was to the Midwestern notion of neighborhood. Our boundaries are somewhat looser. What the Easterner would consider nosey the Midwesterner would consider simply being interested. Yeah, we do pay attention to our neighbors and what they're doing. This has saved Tom and me on multiple occasions when someone from across the street called to say the dome light was on in our car.

My favorite story was one winter morning, after a sizable snowfall, Emily called me concerned because someone was snow-blowing their driveway. Why was he doing that? Was he expecting to get paid? I thought that was hilarious. When Tom and I first moved into our home as newlyweds the old-timers of the neighborhood took us under their wing. If someone had a snow blower they would often take it down the whole block. The guy with the riding mower would do our yard while mowing his. I could have taken that as a negative comment on my (admittedly lacking) lawn care habits, but I was too grateful not to have to mow the lawn to take offense.

Aggravating the situation was the fact that Erik and Emily had the neighborhood matriarch as their other neighbor. She has lived here the longest having probably raised her children during the 60's and 70's. Society and the neighborhood have changed since then, which is something she has very strong opinions about and IS NOT AFRAID TO SHARE. When I welcome new neighbors I always tell them to just say "yes, ma'am" to whatever she has to say. And she will have something, usually critical, to say.

Emily recently facebooked that she was thrilled that her new office was in The Robert Frost Building. He, a good New Englander, wrote that good fences make good neighbors. In the Midwest I think fences are for talking over.

My obsessive brain has been working on this post for the last few weeks, and I was prepared to write a paean to the common Midwesterner who can celebrate the ordinary. We are good people more focused on living our lives than setting out to impress others. We have heart.

Then something happened.

I was out shopping at my favorite bulk foods store in the countryside. Around here it's more kountry kitsch and Amish than hippy-dippy. I was strolling around the shelves when my ear caught a reference to "those people" in a nearby conversation. It seemed to be in reference to a car accident that "those people" tried to flee, because "that's what they do." They proceeded to talk about certain housing in and amongst the farms, and "they aren't Americans living there, if you know what I mean." What followed was some major anti-immigrant ranting, including the "fact" that immigrants are receiving better health care than us. And for free, to boot. The woman, purporting to be a nurse, claimed that they can just show up at the hospital and "if they need a heart transplant, they'll get it." This, of course, was why the retired gentleman's health care premiums kept rising.

I never stopped perusing the shelves, and I feel quite certain that my face did not betray me, but my spirits crashed to my toes. I glanced at the people as they left: a neatly-coiffed, faux ash blonde and two almost identical silver-haired gentlemen wearing striped polos, frameless glasses, and beer bellies over their belts. Practically the uniform for men of a certain age around here. In fact, they looked pretty typical.

Ouch number three: maybe Emily was right and we really are a bunch of chuckleheads around here. Maybe she really was lucky to escape to where the people are worldly and smart. For Erik I'm sure that the beer is better and his libertarian soul is probably more at ease in the "Live Free or Die" state. Now he won't be vexed by our stupid local government and terrible city services. Montessori schools are apparently easier to find in Manchester so Eli won't need to deal with our inefficient, needlessly rule-bound public school system with its behaviorally challenged and intellectually dull students.

Looking at those people leaving the bulk foods store, I silently started eating my words celebrating my region. I crunched on the consonants and found the diphthongs rather chewy.

Now I don't just feel bad for myself, but also about where I come from.

Could be worse. I could be from Arkansas. :-)

What's the Difference Between a Christian and a Doormat?

It sounds like a bad joke, but I mean it. If anyone has an answer (or a punchline) I'd like to know.

This is not an easy faith for those of us with poorly constructed boundaries. If someone strikes your right cheek, turn and offer your left. If they ask for your shirt, give them your coat as well. If they make you walk one mile, go two. "Give to him who begs from you, and do not refuse him who would borrow from you."

Funny, I don't remember Jesus ever saying anything like "You have to take care of yourself, first." (I also don't ever remember him railing against a culture of entitlement, but that's a political discussion I'm not going to get into here). There is the passage about removing the log from your own eye before removing the speck from your brother's, but then I read it in context and discovered that it's REALLY more about not pointing out others' faults before acknowledging your own.

Where does a Christian draw the line? It's hard to know whether I'm being pathologically self-sacrificing or living the gospel.

Maybe I should get a WWJD bracelet; What WOULDN'T Jesus Do?

Some Have Gone, and Some Remain (I've Loved Them All)

I'm really not good with goodbyes and in the next week I'm saying goodbye to my friend and neighbor, Emily. I like Erik and Eli, the men in her life, but she was one of my women friends and I think all my sisters out there know what I mean. I was even fortunate enough to have her living right next door. Isn't that what we all want? The kind of "sit-com" neighbor you could pop over and share a cup of coffee with? Even when wearing pajamas? I actually had that!

The problem is, Emily didn't want to be here. Not at all. She had her shiny new doctorate and was job-hunting at about the worst time in history to be doing that. She wound up taking a position at an extension campus of a state university that will go unnamed in case I ever decide to print any of the things she said about it. In a nutshell, it took her away from her beloved New England to a job she hated.

So it was with an ambivalent heart that I heard she'd been offerred a teaching position in New Hampshire. A job and a place she loves. I had to agree she should take it, and I'm happy for her. I really am.

Of course, I was terribly sad, too. We walked together, shared coffee, talked about everything. We did yoga together (arranged by her). I shared the joy when Erik and Emily started their family, and by their description I was Eli's "favorite neighbor." Eli and Brandon could hang out together (in a closely supervised way). There will be a lot to miss.

In the age of Facebook, however, I guess no one really goes away. A post is a post whether it's from next door or across the country. I'll get to see Eli grow up in snapshots. I'm happy for the family and friends that will be getting them back. Thanks for sharing!

That's one thing about life I'm not sure I'll ever get used to - the way people pop in and, especially, out, of my inner circle. Lately I've come to think of life as a slow-motion square dance: I have my group, I know the motions, then they call an Allemande Grand Right and Left and my partner moves on and I have to start all over. I'll have a close friend, then our trajectories change and we've moved on. Kaya also needed to get out of Ohio, she was a California girl. Chantay was part of the social work world. Wendi and Nadine were the law office. So was Mary, and I practically lived at her house for awhile! Kim was my support when I was leaving the work world, but she was homeschooling and I was not. I knew there would be trouble when Marla had her fifth child, she's almost too busy for friends!

I still have friends, and gaps fill in, eventually. Goodbye, Emily, I will miss you.

My Christmas card list just got one name longer.