a double three

I missed posting yesterday, although I did not miss knowing what to say. I went through my list before sleep last night, knowing I would get to it today. Here's yesterday:

#1 That nifty effect our brainwaves have when we "connect" with someone. It's an actual thing, and it means so much to know that when there's that click, there's also increased creativity and positivity. I just wish I could remember the name.....

#2 Those people in my life that feel like they've been part of it forever. The ones I can talk with for hours, or sit in silence and not feel the least bit awkward.

#3 Laughter at work. Something that is currently kinda related to the previous two. Some days there's more, and some days there's none, but I really think there is ssomething terrific about being able to have genuine and spontaneous laughter while working. You can feel free to call me crazy.

And then there's today:
#1 Daily Mass. I wasn't going to go today, but I did and was very grateful for the message. And all the rest that comes with going to Mass. I walked in knowing I needed some centering, and walked out with a fresh outlook.

#2 The friends who encourage me to go to daily Mass! They employ different methods - and some of them may not even know they have that influence, but they do. I love each of them in a very special way.

#3 Classes to take! I registered for two classes today. I love learning, stretching, growing. I've missed being a student.

the third three

#1 Our home. It's often a mess, and there are repairs to be made and redecorating/remodelling dreams scattered all over the place, but it's cozy and homey and ours.

#2 Our church. I feel as at home there as I do sitting on my balcony, whether I'm there for worship, for fellowship, to volunteer, or at work, I feel as right as rain. I've been asked a number of times, "Don't you ever get tired of driving there?" I don't. Does one ever get tired of going home?

#3 The seasons. Tonight as I sit on the balcony, it's much darker, feels much later than the same time a month ago. The night sounds are different, too, and I know that before long we'll have to put the funiture back in the shed and move inside again. But that doesn't matter tonight. Noticing the splendor of the little changes is an opportunity to give thanks for the experience of the day.

I am so very blessed!

second three things

On day two, my thankfulness is different. But each day's gratitude must be related to my particular story, and my particular blessings.

#1 My brokenness. It hurts more some days than others (like today), but without it I would not have a chance at seeing my growth or progress. It's slow (to me) but steady, and occasionally I can see glimpses of the mosaic in the works. This one is also interesting to me because of the readings and the homily at Mass this morning. Everything is related, and without pain or sorrow or other unpleasantness, the true joy, the miracles, the wholeness are not as clear or obvious. Not as full. 

#2 Pray-ers. Mosaics require a considerable amount of sticky, messy, goopy stuff to make them hold together. When I can't mix it all in myself, I have friends I can ask to help me out. That's new to me, and I don't always remember to, but they are there for me -- and I for them.

#3 Pinterest. Yeah, I know; it doesn't exactly fit with the others, but today it was particularly helpful! I had a whole bunch of zucchini to do fun things with, but not so many ideas for what fun yumminess to do. (The reason is related to #1 above. Everything is related!) I made really delicious muffins, thanks to Pinterest, and found another I will use tomorrow, as well as a cucumber recipe to try. A win!

Even on a bad day, I remembered to look for the positives. That's a bit of growth in itself! In fact, in the middle of an internal stuggle that had me crying out to God while standing in the middle of my kitchen, I realized that I was, indeed, thankful for the struggle, as it gave me a chance to find in myself the tools I've learned I have and give them a try. It's a little crazy, but in the best way.

first three things

Normally, I don't "do" challenge things that are on social media. For whatever reason, they make me feel kind of like I'm getting chain mail, which I was warned about hundreds of times in elementary school. (Not only is it illegal, it's unsavory; the work of evil minds.) This, however, is different. This is actually an exercise I've been working on--and often putting off or "forgetting"--and is worth the thinking time. The same friend who 'suggested' me for it also recently tagged me in a photo posting exercise which I have not yet done, but have been mulling over. So, here goes. Day One of Three Things For Which I Am Thankful.

#1 My faith. God loves me. I love God. Those simple truths make all the difference. God lets me be me, flaws and all, and brings me back in for a hug when I mess things up--even if I meant to. I talk to Him every day, and do my best to listen. Even when I don't understand what or why or how, I have faith that His plan is for the long-term--and is in His time. Today I have some hurt I'm helping friends bear. Faith makes that both easier and harder.

#2 My husband. It's been a crazy ride, some of which I would rather not repeat, but none of which I would trade or give up. He makes me laugh, he lets me cry, he disagrees with me, and he supports me. He is real, and he allows and encourages me to be real, too. Since the day we married, we have been family, and I cannot imagine--or remember!--any other way.

#3 Words. There is such delight in finding the words to express oneself. Today I read words that brought me joy, and words that cut me to the quick. In between, words raced and bounced through my mind, across my heart. around my being, and found themselves in songs I heard, conversations I took part in, and prayers that rose from my heart to the heavens.

These three are intertwined, as are all the 'parts' of my life. I cannot fathom the strength of any without the others today.

virtual vs. real

Yesterday, before I even put my glasses on, I had the most wonderful virtual visit with a couple of my dearest college friends -- one from the first go-around, and one from the second. The best part was when they were interacting on my page together. I can imagine them sitting together, drinking coffee, or eating lunch, giving me -- and each other -- a good-natured hard time, and I love it! In between, I was having a raucous virtual time with a group of people that I otherwise would have no contact with, or even knowledge of, if not for the "magic" of the internet, social media and other online communication. I love this technology, and vast array of ways it can be used for good.

At the same time, I find myself exceptionally frustrated with the use of media -- social and otherwise -- to cloud and obfuscate (thanks for the word, D-J!) what is important in life, in the world, in our real lives. We do not live in the magical, fantastical world that the internet and all its trappings create. We live in a real place, where people have been killed in the line of duty, and glossed over. Where children are truly and honestly afraid for their safety, the safety (The SAFETY -- Children!!) of their families, their homes, their country. Where every job is in jeopardy, it seems, of one sort or another. Where our peers, our own neighbors, really, are still wondering how to rebuild after a natural disaster. And yet, what are we showered with in the news? Frivolous 'scandals' that, in all likelihood, should be handled privately, behind closed doors, by the individuals involved. Except that the frivolity may just have been engineered. We may never know.

The unfortunate thing is that the virtual reality of our individual internet worlds starts to feel safer to us, because what seems to be happening in the real world looks more and more like a bad movie. Not the kind that one feels one can get up and walk out of, demanding a refund; rather, the type that falls under the category of "train wreck" or "rubbernecking." So many of us are finding ourselves wondering what could possibly happen next, and shaking our heads that it did, in fact, get worse.

Lately, too many things in my life that are dear to me have lead to discussions of breaking down to bare bones, to the very foundation, to the point of no return before anything can be salvaged. Not much is irreparable, in my opinion, but most things take a heck of a lot more work -- and energy -- to maintain than many people are willing to expend. I know this firsthand, and am willing to admit that I was quite willing to give up and watch the results of my laziness (why call it anything else?? I got complacent.) because working and giving got hard, and painful. I'm back, though, and I daresay with a vengeance. To tell you the truth, I feel more useful, more invigorated, more alive for it!

Don't let it all die. Go down fighting, or go away. Beware of propaganda (my youngest son and I have been talking about propaganda quite a bit lately! He's 12, and bringing home questions about what he's learned in school.) and its intent, which is seldom less than nefarious. Pray for answers. Act on them. Fight the good fight, and leave No One Behind.

simple pleasures

Ahhhh, this feels so good! I promised myself that if I attacked the dining room, I could sit down and play with some words. It took quite a while, as I allowed myself to indulge a few pleasant distractions and to make dinner, but it's cleaned, neatened, and minus another 3 square feet of carpet (thankfully!!). Of course, I hadn't factored in the cleaning up after dinner, so there is someone home, rather than my planned solitude. No matter: he likes to read, and when I'm finished here, we'll read together and snuggle for a while. Everyone else is at some practice or other, and even the dogs have decided to stop wrestling for the time being. Radio on, candles lit, smile on lips.....what more could I ask for?

Today was one of those days when I realize just how blessed I am. Despite our visit from Sandy, we had no real issues here, other than being home bound for two (rather pleasant!) days--our power stayed on, no water in the basement, nothing larger than twigs off the trees. We are exceptionally grateful, and have said so, again and again. Our friends and relatives all came through the storm with similar stories, although one dear friend had to evacuate his mother, and still doesn't quite know how her house fared. His car suffered a direct tree hit, but they are safe. I continue to pray for those who didn't fare as well.

At work, I was exceptionally productive--whether because of the extended weekend break, or just the knowledge that we'll be lucky if we can finish our projects by the end of the school year, I don't know. What I do know is that it felt great to get so much accomplished in my half day. So much that I am really looking forward to tomorrow. Another blessing. [smile]

Chatting with a couple of friends topped off my afternoon. Through the magic of Facebook, I was able to "visit" with a friend in Maine, a friend in Harrisburg, and another in Tennessee, as well as my husband; all while making the dining room pretty and presentable! Gotta love it! Just another blessing (as if "just" could ever describe a blessing), showing me the amazing power of bona fide friendship, truth and honesty. I really do have some of the best friends I could ever hope or ask for: they are as much family as friends, and fall into that special category of people that could be mixed together in a room without me, and still get along like they've known each other forever, simply because they are the cream of the crop, the real deal, the best.

Let's see, what else shone through as a blessing today? Texting with my sister on her lunch break...homemade applesauce, and rice that didn't burn a grain...green tea with honey....the last of the pudding with lunch...this adorable picture of Guy that I put in my coaster last night...some of my favorite songs on the radio....the word "impeccable"....joyful greetings as everyone arrived home....a phone call wherein I was asked if I am proud of my son ("Oh, YES! So proud of him!")....a smile on my face all day long....wearing my new pants...simply everything about today. My life is just where it should be. From time to time, I've tried to pull the tiller--HARD--in one direction or another, but following the current without fighting it has led me to a wonderful, blessed place. Thanks, God, for a beautifully simple day.

toe the line

The other day, after changing my Facebook status, I got an IM that made me chuckle afterwards. The status was rather innocuous, and the exchange that followed, though it meant something to the two of us, would have meant very little to many others. What tickled my funny bone was the fact that it happened.

Before I started blogging, I would play with the words in my status very carefully in order to sum up my thoughts of the day succinctly, completely and, oftentimes, somewhat obscurely. Those who know me, and know me well, would probably either pick up on the "code" I was using, or realize there was something they'd "get" if they asked. (These days, I just blog it right out--still choosing my words carefully most of the time, but without the need to be succinct. Those who want to know, do.) I have dear, wonderful friends who would text me, email me, call, or even comment on my status. Many times, the association made would be off-base, by a little or a lot, but, to be perfectly honest, that doesn't matter to me. What matters is when my words touch someone.

Anyway, I have a friend I don't see often when it's not summer swimming time, and she will text or call to talk after seeing blogs that touch her in one way or another. To me, it always seems out of the blue, and that is, quite possibly, the best part. Her contact always serves to remind me that I need to push past my isolationism a bit more now and then, and reach out to my friends, too. The other day, another friend, who I've known for so long I really don't remember not knowing her, is the one who IM'd me. Not only did she know something was up, she knew exactly what was up, and we chatted. Both of these ladies are examples of just how friendship works.

Why did this make me chuckle? Because there have been people in my past (my recent past, unfortunately) that have had this mistaken idea that they know who I am based on my status updates, my Tweets, or even my blogs. Or think they should. These people inevitably had asked my husband just what my updates meant; what, exactly, was I trying to say, and why didn't I just say it? My husband, to his credit, would usually tell them that if they wanted to know, they should ask me. That is what a friend would do.

That is precisely what my friends do.

Over the summer, a very perceptive friend texted me in the middle of the night when I posted a status at a time of night that I don't usually post, one that made her wonder if I needed to talk. I did need to, and she was precisely the right person at the moment. Another friend emailed me from far away, just 'checking in' because of a word in my status. Others have laughed with me about the inside jokes hidden in the updates, knowing that the words will look completely different to anyone else who sees them. But the connection is the thing.

I pour my heart out on my blog, but really only the part of my heart that I am willing to pour. My friends, my household, and my dogs are the only ones who know the rest. Someday I may pour the rest out, but only when and because I want to. If there is something you think is missing; something that you don't understand, you have a choice: ask me, or make your own assumptions. Either one is fine with me, BUT choosing the latter does not give you any true knowledge of me. Perhaps the gaps are there intentionally -- because I need to talk, or because I just don't want to share -- and perhaps you've just missed the point.

What I've found, in a lifetime of reading, is that when words touch me, they are telling me something about me, not about the author, necessarily, and when I want to know if I have something in common with the author, I dig to find out. Most of the time, quite frankly, I'm more gratified by what I've learned about myself. I love the comments that I get on my blog (though they are few, and not all get published) because they show that I'm making a connection, and helping others to learn, or admit, what's in their own hearts -- the sorrow, the pain, the love, the joy, the promise. The ones that don't get published are only marginally related to the posts, perhaps by sharing just a word; they are not carefully worded or thought out in any way. Nor are they edited for spelling, punctuation, syntax. In actuality, they are posted spitefully, and with a sense of entitlement, and they are being viewed as evidence of harassment. I will not be bullied, in person or 'on paper,' today, or ever. Another sweet friend called this anonymous commenter a "dimwit" and asked how I liked that word. I think it fits. Hiding behind anonymity is cowardly -- especially when the veil is so thin.

lightening and lightness

Today I read a post about Love, and it got me thinking a bit. Then I saw a quote that made me think some more. And then I realized that it all tied together in a conversation we had this morning. In the post:

"In any given day, we have only a finite number of opportunities to love and be loved: use them well." ~Fr. King.

It was part of a greater post about the person of love. It was quite thought provoking, since I have been struggling with loving some of my neighbors lately. Reading that post gave me a reason to consider the whys and wherefores of changing relationships and the various emotions involved, especially when a philosophical stance is unexpected--whether positive or negative (from my own perspective, of course).

Then, while trolling through Pinterest, I came across another quote:

"Sometimes God calms the storm...sometimes He lets the storm rage and calms His child."

That hit home. Recently, when I had a huge choice to make, I knew that I needed some guidance. I wondered just what to ask for help with--I've learned not to ask directly, because God seems to want me to make my own decisions; He doesn't seem to hand anything over for free. Because this was so big, I had to choose my words carefully. As a result, I did not ask for help in deciding; I did not ask for answers. Instead, I asked for the least I could think of: I asked for the strength to be myself. Nothing more.

The last time I remember getting a solid, easily identifiable answer from God was a few weeks after 9/11. I had prayed every day and night, fervently and desperately, for peace and strength, and safety for our children, and anything else I could think of. One morning, as I was about to begin my frantic prayer, I clearly and distinctly heard a voice in my heart say, "Be not afraid. I go before you always. Come, follow me." It had been one of my favorite songs growing up, and when I heard it, I was calmed. Completely. I agreed, but then became the only-occasional-prayer that I had always been.

Until I needed to be myself, before I could be anything else. And I have not stopped this time (so far). Having the strength to be myself has given me the grace to forgive where I thought there could not be forgiveness; to love where I feared love had died; to be loved and nurtured; to be open to possibilities and so many new beginnings.

Saturday, we went to Mass, and (not unusual) my mind wandered, due in part to the fact that I misheard and wondered who this St. Bob is who had written to the Thessalonians, and partly, I think, because God had other things to say to me. I left with a feeling of peace within myself: affirmation that forgiveness and love were possible for me because I am me, and not because someone else thought I should or shouldn't. (this was also related to my favoritest Pin of all: "Don't judge others because they sin differently than you." Wow!! A very old message put in a different way can make such an impact!)

This morning we were talking about praying. I don't really feel like I ever learned how or when, only where, which makes it inconvenient sometimes. The result is that I pray sporadically--not just when I need something; I also pray when I am thankful, or when I hear about a friend who is sick or hurting. This is the longest I have prayed regularly, and by regularly, I mean more than just once a week at Church. And do you know what? I am myself. And I am so very grateful for the strength to be myself.

the day before

Tomorrow is Dad's birthday. I wonder, sometimes, if that is the appropriate thing to say. From time to time, I have said that February 18th would have been his birthday, but if you want to know the truth (and I do), it will always be his birthday to me. I digress...

For as long as I can remember, I have written something to Dad for his birthday: notes, cards, sometimes long, newsy letters. That winter he died is the only time I didn't, and it didn't feel right at all. Of course, what I was doing instead, what the six of us were doing, was chucking huge chunks of frozen snow at the ground, trying to clear the driveway. We threw them, and I screamed with all my might. I was so angry at the stupid, freaking snow, and the stupid, freaking universe, that I threw the biggest, sharpest anvils of ice and snow as hard as I possibly could. It helped. That day. Again, I digress....

When I was little, I wrote simply, "I love you, Daddy." As I got older, I wrote things like, "With love from your favorite dancing daughter," or "Your favorite daughter with a birthday in February." Dad had favorites, and everyone was one. Until Anna and Mattie were born, Chrissy was his favorite granddaughter, and afterwards, she was his favorite granddaughter in all of New York State. (Anna and Mattie lived in New Zealand, then Minnesota.) I was his favorite Stephania. He'd always find something, even if it was "You're my favorite dog named Spot." On anyone else, it might come across as being condescending, or conciliatory, but he pulled it off with a magical combination of love and humor. I loved that, and I try to keep it up with my own kids, my nieces, nephews, and other loved ones. Mostly because it makes me think of him whenever I say, "You're my favorite Bubba." And also when the reply is, "You're my favorite Momma."

Later, when I was in college, and beyond, living far away from home, birthday cards were the ideal opportunity to fill him and Mom in on what was going on. I'd sign the card, and then fill the rest of the space with news, anecdotes, questions, invitations and usually stuff it with pictures or clippings. I never was at a loss for what to say, and it never really mattered if I got a response. It was good to share.

After he died, when we were cleaning out his desk, we discovered all those cards and letters. Every one that each of us had ever sent him--and also the ones from his sisters, and from Gramma Katie--were stored in a drawer. Through the tears that streamed down my cheeks, I remembered times when I'd go down to "visit" him in his space in the basement where his desk and chair were, where his workbench was, and all his tools, and he'd be looking through the contents of that drawer. I never knew, nor did I ask, what he was looking at. When we saw the cards, letters, and even pictures--photos and drawings--in that drawer, I knew, without a doubt, that he was looking at love; soothing his soul. I sorted the items as best I could, tied them with ribbon, and returned them to the senders. I still have mine, tucked in a nook in my sewing room. And like him, I keep most of the notes and cards the boys and Guy give me. I don't take them out, but they aren't yet far away. Someday, I might need them.

The past couple of years, I've written words to him as Notes on Facebook. And today I find myself pulled to the words I want to share. Trouble is, it's so hard. With all my heart, I believe he is with me all the time--in my family, my children, my husband, my friends, even--and yet he's just not here. On his birthday, I miss him most of all.

I thought I was doing okay today. I thought this year was going to be different; a little less caustic (because that's what the sorrow is: it burns my heart), and then I read a post and a comment on Facebook. A friend I "met" through a friend said that after four years, "it still cuts straight to the heart." Occasionally, we commiserate on having lost our Daddys, but when a friend of hers said that now she is "in a place of real understanding...." I completely fell apart. That's what hits me hardest, I think, grown women who miss their Daddys. That's what brings it back to me--every one of my scars bleeds fresh, and I just want to crawl up in his lap again.

So there will be words for Dad. But not right now. And as I write them, sitting in his chair at my computer, I will imagine him reading them--again and again.

a year ago

I love that my status updates from years past show up now on my wall. Seeing what struck me on "this day in history" makes for some great writing prompts! Last year on this date, my status was "Stephanie is very grateful that these peeps are the perfect stage of stale. So need that right now!" I don't know exactly what kind of a day I was having, but it must have been a rough one, and probably emotional. How do I know that? Because of the peep story.

We always had peeps in our Easter baskets. Always yellow chicks--the original peeps. For whatever reason, I always left them for last when eating my Easter candy.....well, almost last: I don't like jelly beans. It was years before I realized that peeps come out of the package squishy and mushy. I preferred eating the chocolate first, so it didn't get that powdery color, and the chocolate was so rich to me that I took my time. After we were married, I discovered two things: 1) that some people don't like peeps at all, and 2) that many people like their peeps fresh, not with a little bit of toothsomeness. I was amazed.

It took a while to get Guy to understand that I just liked them a little stale--maybe a week, on the outside. Then I went to work on the rest of the world. By then, we had moved away from family, and were celebrating Easter among strangers who had become friends. Unbelievably, none of them had ever even tried a stale (ripe?) peep! Some tried, many wouldn't, and very few enjoyed them. Each stale peep, though, still reminds me of my childhood--holidays with Grammy and Grampy, Gramma Katie, Aunt Alice, even Mrs. Ettenberger. Holidays when I was too young to really pay close attention to what the grown-ups were talking about, but too old to go play somewhere else. I was always underfoot (sometimes literally, after dinner was over and they sat at the table having coffee while I crawled around on the floor under the table), and always waiting for just the right moment to celebrate my holiday spoils.

One Easter not long before Dad died, we went to visit for the weekend. When we arrived, Dad pulled out a package of peeps. It hadn't yet been touched, except for the wrapper. It was torn. I looked at Dad and asked what had happened to it. He smiled and said, "I wanted to make sure they were ready for Easter." They were, in fact, exactly the perfect stage of stale. I so needed that right then.

The peeps from last year had been sent in a package from my oldest brother. He'd heard the peep story, and when he and his wife saw the peeps on the shelf at the store, had to send them. There was another time when he was going to visit, so he bought peeps, opened them a tiny bit, and put them on the rear dash of his car so they would 'ripen' before we saw each other. In all these peep exchanges, I've learned that the yellow peeps stale the best, the purple and blue ones never really get stale at all, and the chicks are the best; peppermint star peeps are just not right, except in cocoa, and chocolate covered peeps are an entirely different confection, not to be compared to, or treated like any other peeps.

Like so many other things, peeps make me cry--or, at the very least, tear up, and I would have it no other way. I love my memories being so close to the surface, and I love that the smallest, oddest things can bring them to the surface.

mmmmmm, Lumps in my Farina......