How do you put a title on emotion?

So how do you close one year and welcome another?  How is it that the memories begin to fade as quickly as they are etched.  As I stand on the rim of  2014, hands flared at the hips, face embracing the horizon.  The horizon that holds the memories of 2014.  Memories not yet created.  Life unheld. 

Theme for 2014?  Absorption.  To absorb what God intends me to be.  Like the sunrise of a dewy morning touching every blade of grass.  Drying it out, yet retaining the moisture to hold form, to keep the scaffolding in place in the inner being of my life.  God gives us so much.  We squander. 

Theme.  2014.  Laying down.  Taking off.  Laying at the alter the things that distract, take from and steal joy.  Remembrance.  Wrapping arms around the sweetness of the memories of yesteryear and being thankful for all the gifts.  Gifts that will be unwrapped when Heaven arrives.  Unwrapped, revealing the true meaning of love, hope, joy. 

Theme.  Thankfulness.  Believing.  Knowing that prayer holds everything when offered with great Faith.  Becoming the prayer.  Feeling the pulse of communion within the outline of flesh.  Breathe.  Breathing the very grace that is given.  Giving the same grace.  Grace that knows no bounds. 

2014.  Giving.  To give up.  To place at the feet of Jesus.

Never Forgotten

So representative of what we had.  At the age of six, it was a Christmas present to his mama.  So carefully selected to show his feelings and share them.  Always cherished.  Never forgotten.  I can see our faces and hear our voices of those tender moments so precious. 

As the song sings in the background "it's a wonderful time of the year"-- I can still agree.   The wonderfulness is an inner remembrance of the time spent with family during this special holiday season.  Whether it is a ten year old memory or as recent as last weekend.  As soon as something happens and it passes, it is a memory.  A memory not to be worried about or mulled over but a piece of what makes us who we are today.  It is a spark to ignite our future and provide hope.

The subject of vacation came up this week with a parent of one of our students.  A little disgruntled about my lengthy vacation during this season, she said over her shoulder "yeah, I get a whole two days off".  Poor lady.  I couldn't help but wonder if she would amass her whole family around for those two days.  I sure hope so. So, yes, I'm so fortunate to have vacation during the holidays.  And yes, I'm so fortunate to have so much family that the celebratory festivities are spread throughout many days.  What I miss is evident.

A friend and I shared some time together this past week.  Sick.  She has had the cold/flu for many days.  It's hard to get up for the holidays when a sinus headache overtakes your energy.  Such a dear lady.  She always tells me she's "elderly".  I hardly think so but I laugh all the same.  Our visit was deep and the tears numerous.  We spoke of loss and heartache and how holiday memories are not always poinsettias and beautiful wrapping paper.  We spoke of letting go and loss that surfaces often.  It was a cluster of minutes, making up a larger period of time and life stood still. That's what sorrow does to people.  Slows life down, calendars do not matter, time has no relevance.  So we ended our visit with a prayer and a never failing hope.  Hope, birthed so many years ago in a manger.

Tradition X2

It's the season of tradition.  Traditions make people feel secure.  "What do you do for Christmas?" Over the years I've been asked this question many times.  The answer.  Always made me take a deep breath before the many events came rolling off my tongue.  Ya know.  Granny's house for Christmas Eve.  But before that we have a light dinner and gift opening at Grandma and Papa's.  Christmas morning at our house, followed by afternoon Christmas dinner at Grandma and Grandad's.  Whew.  Is that it?  So some years ago I insisted we start our very own, Momma made the best prime rib dinner ever dinner tradition so my chilins' could remember the sweet Christmas aroma in our own home.

The last two years have been a mixture of tradition and new experiences for this jolly season.   Last Christmas, while in a grieving fog,  my "fine figure of a man" and I set out for my first international experience to visit our son in England.  Christmas Day was celebrated on the White Cliffs of Dover.  It was a rainy, blustery day.  One we will never forget.

This year Trevor was stationed in Tucson, Arizona, so we headed south.  After 20 hours of hard core driving by my “fine figure of a man” and myself, we arrived in Tucson, Arizona, for Christmas.  We spent the night with my sister and boys in Orange County the first night and enjoyed family time with the Birminghams. 

 

Christmas Eve 2013.  We had a few errands to run before starting our prime rib dinner.  Trevor and dad took off for the inner grid of the city streets with me, "Mrs. Garmin", following closely behind in the other white Camry.  We were looking for a specific store so I could purchase my “fine figure of a man” a present he has always wanted but has never gotten.  I immediately found a radio station and blared the Christmas music with my window down.  I left the two holiday shoppers at an undisclosed location (I say undisclosed because I haven’t a clue where it was) and set out with Mr. Garmin as my trusty assistant. 

I arrived at the Boot Barn uneventfully.  The sales lady was helpful and efficient.  Selecting line #2 of two was an easy decision.  That’s when it fell apart.  The line didn’t seem to be moving and was getting longer on both registers.  Everyone was getting a little antsy, doing the foot shift while trying to maintain their last minute Christmas attitude.  The computers went down and the poor sales people were scrambling.  So, after quite a bit of time, I left the store with present in hand.

Returning to the East grid to find my guys, seemed smooth as well.  Garmin and I.  “In 3.2 miles, turn left on Palo Vedre” he sang as we went from stop light to st  After turning right on E. Broadway, I felt pretty smug about driving in Tucson.  That was obviously a problem, being smug.  I was headed to “Jason’s Deli” to enjoy a Christmas Eve lunch with the guys.  That was a problem.  I couldn’t find my final destination.  After a couple of phone calls and a melt down, I finally saw my guys.  Standing on E. Broadway like a couple of concerned citizens.  Turns out that my friend Garmin didn't know what side of the road I needed to be on.  Needless to say, it was an adventure.  Sure hope my “fine figure of a man” likes his present.

 

 

 

Our traditional prime rib dinner X2 (because we celebrated with Tanner and Michelle in Bend a couple of weekends ago with the same prime rib dinner) went off without a hitch.  The nice family Trevor invited to share with us was delightful and fun.  Their 3 year old son Levi even asked if I could go home with them.  Warmed my heart and I darn near abandoned Grant and Trevor for this sweet guy. 

 

Merry Christmas friends!  May the love of Jesus Christ prove to be the greatest gift of all this holiday season!

 

 

 

 

 

Just a Day?

A day.  It seems that a day would be no big deal.  A day that adds to a day that adds to a day.  A bereaved parent from the Sandy Hook School incident a year ago, this past weekend, said it best.  Every day that goes by is one day further from the life of the loved one so dearly missed.  There is a feeling that only can be breathed out of the inner depths of your being when the feeling of loss is accelerated by a tail light or a movement.  When just being in a room heavy with feeling and the mere mention of "is that what you did with your boys?" can rapidly rise memory of great magnitude.  When you go home smelling like the essence of little ones you so lovingly held.  And a smile that can outwardly radiate after the leg hug you receive from someone a quarter of your height with the ability to melt your heart  in barely audible tones of "I love you".  So I'm here to say that a day is never just a day when you put it into terms of love and loss.  A day is never a day when there are friendships to be nurtured and love to be given.  A day is never a day to be taken for granted.  Love deeply.

The tears of a young man who so desperately wanted life to be different.  That's what I was presented with today.  I told him he was valuable.  I told him he was important.  I'd pray.  That's what I said.  Even if you don't believe.  I do and I will.  I will pray.  He nodded.  Not because he believed but because he knew I was serious and he knew that my faith was a keeper.  A keeper of my heart.  Without knowing why, he wanted that too. 

Today was taco 17th.  Comes around every month.  Rapidly.  Tonight tacos were shared with people who knew our boy and knew of his kindness and goodness.  Knew that he is missed, deeply.  Small group they call it.  Small group, big feelings.  Thank you for caring and sharing.

You the Best

Fortunate.  I have been so fortunate in my life to have such wonderful parents.  Loving, God fearing, call in a crisis parents.  On the night of the biggest crisis of my life, I called.  They came.  Because they love. 

Today my dad turned 81.  So we had soup, biscuits and watched the 49er game with friends.  It was a cold day with ice cycles hanging from the eves and the snow crusting on the top layer while we sat in a balmy living room.  Dad has always had the ability to "slump the sheetrock" while burning a "pinocle stick".  You'd have to go far and wide to find a man who has enjoyed the outdoor activity of cutting wood any greater than my dad.  Therapy.  That's what I used to call it. 

When I was in high school I was fortunate to have a job as dad's assistant.  I "packed rod" for him, ran numbers and I'm pretty sure I made his sandwiches in the morning before we left for work.  I found out that summer that mustard isn't something he enjoyed or even liked.  There's not a whole lot my dad doesn't like and we all cringed when we had chicken legs because he would always tell us to "clean that up".  "But dad" we'd argue "that's grissle".  Always fell to deaf ears. 

Dad has had many jobs and careers in his lifetime.  Sheep herder, wood cutter, hay cutter, baler, hauler, milker, cow raiser, Federal Government, self employed courier to name a few.  We all think that Papa should slow down, sit in his easy chair more often but he seems to have other ideas. 

Some of the things my boys learned from their Papa are:

• shut the door quickly
• don't smack your food 
• loud noises must be muffled quickly, followed by a "sorry" and slight cringe
• wear light weight clothing when visiting in the winter time
• Papa burps very loudly when drinking RC cola
• he'll teach you  how to build a fence, start a fire or stack wood if you are interested
• he loves the SF Giants and 49ers and prays for them
• he loves Jesus
• he's one of the busiest guys you'll ever meet
• most of the time the hanky in his back pocket is clean

For all his good qualities there are many more to follow.  Happy Birthday Papa!  You the best!

First Snow

Saturday morning.  Awoken to Sawyer's Cow and all her impatience.  Feeding time. 

Wood on the fire.  Turn on the coffee.  Boots, coat on.

Head to the snowy, cold, crispy December morning air.

 

 

The sun peered through the snow clouds in the fresh morning air. 

The fluffy fallen snow of yesterday blanketed the ground and everything it fell on.  

The first snow of the season. 

Covered.   

Sawyer's Cow, as winter progresses, becomes a friend. 

During the summer, she's pretty sure we are not to be trusted. 
Inbred intuition that you don't bite the hand that feeds you takes over when the
 days shorten and cold settles.

Morning.  Just the beginning. 

 

It was a good day to be outside, if you like snow.

After a day filled with chores and the night chill had settled, we were beckoned outside.  Neighbor kids.  Playful.  So you want to rumble?  Rumble?  What's rumble?  Even though they didn't know the meaning, we rumbled.  The snow being so dry and soft, unable to pack a snowball.  So they brought shovels.  Everyone got a shovel and the snow was easy to toss and fling.  They just didn't factor in that I would insist on the widest, lightest shovel.  Turned out it wasn't much of a fight.  But it was fun.  I told them it was a good day for the Scott Valley Stomp.  Ya know.  Stomp your feet before going into the house to rid them of as much snow as possible.  Hence, the Scott Valley Stomp.

Gym Memories~

Winter seems to really be here.  The bitter cold day chilled to the bone as I "walked the hill" with only one walking partner today.  The flu has settled in co-workers and given them a few extra days off after the long Thanksgiving Vacation. 

It's nights like these that always make us so grateful to have the warmth of the wood stove.  With December well on it's way there are lots of thoughts of the upcoming holidays and things associated with the months that lie ahead.  Basketball started this week in the area schools.  Today when I picked up the newspaper I was automatically drawn to the sports page because I just had to know how our team did last night.

Win.  Sweet.  Always love an Etna win.  Sad?  Sure.  Wish things were different.  Yep.  Are they?  No.  It's a bit of a struggle.

The gymnasium of the high school my "fine figure of a man" and I both graduated from and all three of our boys attended, holds many memories.  Daddy sweated out many basketball games in this gym. Tanner spoke of the leader board and how his name is there for throwing a No Hitter.  Yep.  And Trevor's picture is on the gym wall with his senior year team; they won the league that year.  And my name is on a banner for being a member of a the Hall of Fame team that won the N.S.C.I.F. Small Schools Championships in basketball.  Pretty memorable place.

And.....Sawyer's jersey, retired, hangs on same walls of many celebrated for their successes.

 

A memory came to mind today.  One day when Sawyer was at basketball practice with his dad, the coach, a man by the name of Tom Webster asked him what he would do if he weren't as tall as his brothers and didn't have the height to play down low and dominate the key.  Sawyer, basketball in hand, took a couple of dribbles backwards, did the best jump shot he could do at such a young age and said "I'll be a point guard".  Pretty sure Tom had no doubt that would happen and when it did that Sawyer would bring his "A" game.

Although difficult, I wouldn't trade any of these memories for another. 

Crisp Morning

Early in the morning, the recently hung Christmas lights illuminated the front of the apartment.  As dawn broke the skies, the red sunrise was beautiful and brought promise that rainy weather may be near.  Red sky in morning..... says that in the Bible too.  Storm in the horizon.  Be ready. 

Weekend fun with it's toll evident by the sleepiness of this bunch.  The crisp, cold air of this 1st day of December beckoned me.  So I started the coffee and headed out to feed Sawyer's Cow (yep, that's her name).  The milking crew from next door greeted me through the open barn window.  Just a little friendly chat.  "Come see our Christmas decorations!"  Inside the barn they had looped the white twine from the bales of hay and hung them along the low beams, simulating a string of Christmas lights.  Pretty proud of their ingenuity they were.  Certainly made me smile~

After feeding the cow and calf, I headed back in the house to grab a cup of coffee.  Devotionals on the front porch with the Lord on this chilly morning and a steamy cup of coffee.  Doesn't get much better than that.  As I sat in my little rocking chair, I could hear the two girls in the barn wrapping up their morning chores.  The sounds of their sweet voices always sing to my heart.

Grabbing a second cup of coffee, I headed for a stroll to further fill my need for the fresh, cold air against my face.  Approaching the pond, 10 geese went instantly in flight at my nearness. The fog had settled low in the valley with the mountain tops visible above.  The earlier crispy white ground, turning to beads of wetness as day further dawned.  As I walked through the field with the puppies in tow, Sawyer's Cow finished her fine alfalfa meal.  She's always been a bit skittish, wary of strangers, even when they are not strangers.  Head up, calf in view.  Such a good little momma, always protecting her calf with such instincts.

Upon return to our little home, the coffee was in mid consumption.  Breakfast?  Not yet.  How about yet another game of pinocle?  Well sure.  Girls win.  Seems to be how it went this weekend.  Michelle can go home with that peaceful, winning feeling. 

It's been a wonderful Thanksgiving, long, weekend.  Thanks for coming!  Drive safe.  We love you so much!!