Cleaning Up the Outside

What I did today I sometimes put off until the first of June in Maryland—that is, cleaning up the outside seating area. But pollen and tree gunk seem to arrive earlier in Dallas. So, I swept and dusted and hosed down the back porch – and edited a few more pots, before planting a hosta and a drought resistant something or other.

Tomorrow, begins summer morning reading outside, albeit two months ahead of June 21. Sometimes it was June before I could sit outside comfortably in Maryland.

De-pollened, Dusted and Ready for Action!

Thursday Morning Bible Study ends this coming week – it has been another watershed year.  We studied the life of Moses recorded in Exodus, Leviticus Numbers and Deuteronomy and a few New Testament cross-references. He was an old man when he answered a call that changed Moses and the world – literally.

Because God said – This is the way I want you to live, behave and believe – Moses went from a murderer on the run to a man who spoke with God face to face.  

Yet, the voice that seems to dominate is the one that asks, did God say ____?

Looking all around – from neighbors and friends, to nightly news, etc. – the pain and problems, 

. . . the air quality in my spirit stumbles into a downward spiral. My prayers get smaller. My dreams get pared down and my visions get a reality check. The smog of intimidation begins to infect even the Most Holy Place. (The Smog of Intimidation)

That’s why just being able to move this morning and do something about brightening up a space was a tonic. And the above “Snap Out of It!” meditation jerked me out of the remorse, fear, depression that settle on my heart the way the pollen and gunk coated my comfy outdoor chairs and table.

Just taking a broom in hand was exhilarating – and seeing the spiffy spot all primed and ready for me tomorrow – reminds me that Christ said He is at work even today preparing a place from me – and thee – where rust and moth, pollen and dust, will not be a problem.   

Hope the mosquitoes sleep in.

Gardening Goals

Last week, as the weather warmed, I had such a yen to fill up all the barren flowerbed spots with bunches of plants – plants that could not survive a sudden plunge in temperatures. (And it has turned chilly in recent days!) I longed to see blooming red geraniums – reminders and portenders of good summer times. And I wanted to see roses everywhere there’s a gap in the garden!

 

UGH!

But, sobered by a warning about knock-out roses’ susceptibility to “diseases” and remembering that rain is not a given here in July, August and September, I rethought my daydreams to recreate an east-coast style “spring” garden. (As if that’s what my “gardens” ever looked like when I lived there!)

Moreover, that winter ice storm gave me an extra patch of dirt to beautify -- the spot from whence  our ice-laden old cedar departed. This spot enjoys the afternoon sun, unfiltered, and little water.  

 

Barren and BORING!

 It’s tempting to quickly fill it up with favorites but even geraniums bred for Texas heat, and knockout roses would be poor choices. What I need are plants that can withstand heat and drought -- but most of them aren’t my first choice.

Musing on what to plant and where leads me again to think about my own  opportunities to keep on flourishing in the “golden years.”  Bloom where you are planted is an exasperating adage.

Coming closer to seventy than I care to admit, I have gained understanding, insight, and so much practical experience – so much good advice to give!   But just when it seems the perfect time to plant some of these precious “seeds,” I hear wise women in my past say, “Keep your opinions to yourself – and be useful instead of an expert.”  Then, I remember:  I can’t force desires or daydreams to become realities, anymore than I can force Maryland –friendly plants to take root in Texas.

A good gardening goal, literally and spiritually, is to do things differently instead of only talking about it. I am still itching to fill in around the house with vibrant, long lasting color – and Paul reminds me, there’s still work to do in this “autumn” garden of mine:

·      Love from the center of who you are; don’t fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good.

·      Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle.

·      Don’t burn out; keep yourselves fueled and aflame. Be alert servants of the Master, cheerfully expectant.

·      Don’t quit in hard times; pray all the harder.

·      Help needy Christians; be inventive in hospitality.

·      Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they’re happy; share tears when they’re down. Get along with each other; don’t be stuck-up.

·      Make friends with nobodies; don’t be the great somebody.

·      Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody.

·      Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.”

·      Our Scriptures tell us that if you see your enemy hungry, go buy that person lunch, or if he’s thirsty, get him a drink. Your generosity will surprise him with goodness.

·      Don’t let evil get the best of you; get the best of evil by doing good. Romans 12:9-21 (The Message)

Reminders and Portenders

Waiting on a Summer's Day

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Yesterday was that summer day that artists see and composers hear. It would have inspired Monet or Van Goh or Vivaldi!

We are on a waiting mission with our daughter as she and her family prepare to welcome a new baby who is not ready to join her siblings.  Whenever she arrives, she will be a welcomed new dynamic in her family – whether as daughter, sister, grandchild, cousin or niece.

We go about the daily duties – but there is in my heart a hushed anticipation – similar to how the prospect of Christmas morning still thrills me – a gift is being given to me, wholly one of grace. (Psalm 113)

·      It's such a grand thing to be a mother of a mother - that's why the world calls her grandmother.  ~Author Unknown

·      One of the most powerful handclasps is that of a new grandbaby around the finger of a grandfather.  ~Joy Hargrove

Ruminations

Fog looked like steam rising from the Susquehanna River, and obscured the hills across from us on our last day.  The grayness dissipated in the sun’s heat – and we had another sunny, cool day. 

Watching the changing beauty of this river – I know that rivers, if gorged with rain, and wind-driven, are deadly – not delightful. A picture on the wall of our vacation home is a grainy enlarged image of women wading almost chest high in the waters of the Susquehanna during the 1933 hurricane. In 1972, when Agnes inundated this area, the river reached the deck of our current abode. That storm was a dozy for Pennsylvania! 

As our family holiday wound down, each moment was bittersweet. The simple pleasures of fishing, swimming and feasting, however, contrasted against the news of hurricane Isaac’s hammering the Gulf coast.  And learning of more trials for dear friends and family reminded me that if I have my health I have everything – a proverb oft quoted by my parents and grandparents.  It drove me nuts to hear it then – but now, well, getting up and going is no small mercy – and blessing.

In the week after our Pennsylvania adventure, Doug and I emptied the storage locker – that small patch of Maryland that held “stuff” – sorting, packing, and shipping a couple dozen of boxes. Having recently watched Hording: Buried Alive, I gave myself a few stern words too about why I had to keep this book or that.

And then we headed west and south, listening to The Greater Journey by David McCullough -- On September 11, we marked that grievous anniversary – watching and remembering, and prayed for the families of all who suffered and served, and for our nation and our leaders; we awakened yesterday to the news from Libya and Egypt. On the last leg of our return, driving through Tennessee and Arkansas, and then Texas, we listened to The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell, absorbing news of Benghazi.   

Little things really so make a big difference – whether enjoying the views as the sun burns of a river’s mist. Or, hearing a grandchild confides their desire to become an artist; or, gazing on the glorious landscapes of our country; or listening to words of good writers – all parts of a gift of peace that passes understanding in times of trouble and heartache.  God help me to live in it!

. . . do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. (Philippians 4:6-8)

What I Told My Writing Students:

You can’t write well, if you won’t read. And taking care of three little critters has shrunk my reading time this week.

But, I am managing to read Agatha Christie’s autobiography – and she was a voracious reader as a child. She read the works by G.A. Henty.  The third child and second daughter in a happy home, her education, during the last years of Queen Victoria, was not rigorous; she had plenty of time to read and play, and had time to create a world of imaginary companions. These gentle times hardened when her father died – but not her appetite for reading.

Reading is a gift I too often take for granted – until I watch my grandchild pick up beginner readers and plow through them, delighted with the discoveries words unlock. Watching her brother practice writing his name on every slip of paper he finds shows me the wonder writing is – lines and curves that convey meaning from one human to another.   And then, the littlest grandchild can be instantly soothed (often) by the phrase, “Let’s read a book!”

Picture credit  

Back in Texas . . . through the Cherokee Nation

We arrived home this afternoon to join with others who are enduring the triple digit dry heat. Who knew Maryland in July would be so cool compared to Texas?

We drove down through Oklahoma, having traveled  through Virginia and  Tennessee and crossed  the state of Arkansas.  The parts of Oklahoma we saw were lovely – I have never been to this great state. 

Now, when we packed up and left in the morning, we skipped the free-breakfast in hopes of something a little more special on this the last day of our vacation.  Assuming we’d also find a gas station we decided to keep driving – quickly covering a hundred miles in the wide-open spaces that I am coming to love. 

Unlike Ritchie Highway, (in Maryland) gas stations in Oklahoma are few and far between. This dawned on us when we were enjoying the panoramic views that reminded us of all those Westerns we used to watch, and our cell phones were on “extended network.”  Checking the dashboard, we noted our cruising range was but fifty-eight miles, and in all that beautiful hilly country, we saw no billboards, for miles! 

Checking my handy-dandy new GPS gadget, I located the next gas station – only it isn’t where the technological wonder says it is, as we find ourselves on some desolate back roads. That rabbit trail cost us ten miles.  Oh great! I worried: We are on the home-stretch of a 2500+-mile car trip and we run out of gas on the last leg. 

But we find a station,  fill up, and spot where we will eat; we have that special breakfast in the local Denny’s. It’s as slow as the one in Maryland, and the waitresses are as nice. 

Driving through the Cherokee nation, we listen to The Mayflower: A Story of Courage, Community, and War by Nathaniel Philbrick. We have learned many “facts” that none of our respective American history classes imparted.   

I know less and less about more and more. 

It has been, however, time well spent, especially in light of discussions on the place of faith in the public discourse.  In many ways the Pilgrims seemed wiser than we do in adjusting to the challenges of living amongst others who do not share the same convictions. In other ways, what were they thinking?   And the author has presented the Indians as evenhandedly; they were as wise and foolish – brave and manipulative as the Englishmen. 

Given all the squabbles, fights, and disappointments I’ve seen in the church and the country these past thirty or so years our problems are not so different; nor are our needs. We need leaders who have courage, integrity, common sense and imagination – people who will not start off on a car trip assuming there is always a gas station around the bend!

Those Walks Paid Off!

 We had a great adventure at Swallow Falls Maryland this morning trekking down and up the trails on a cool, sunny Maryland summer’s day – reminding me that sometimes there is more to the summers here than humidity.  (http://www.mgs.md.gov/esic/features/swallow.html)   The park was the handiwork of the Civilian Conservation Corps. Men who needed work in desperate times were given an opportunity to use or learn engineering skills as well as craftsmanship.  What could we accomplish with such a commitment to renovation, discipline and creativity?  But I digress.

We had the endurance to keep up with our kids!

Woo-hoo! 

All the weeks of early morning or late evening walking around our neighborhood prepared me to keep moving. Still,  walking on level sidewalks didn’t prepare my hips and knees for scrambling up and down rocky paths.  But it was glorious – walking in an ancient forest of white pines and white rhododendrons, gazing up at massive sedimentary rocks from which smaller trees sprouted, listening to sounds of an unseen waterfall – catching glimpses of our grandkids scampering ahead with their dad – and reaching out to grab hold our daughter’s hand to steady ourselves – it was a jewel of a day! 

Oscar Wilde wrote that, “Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us.”

(The Importance of Being Earnest)

 

Everybody needs his memories.  They keep the wolf of insignificance from the door.  ~Saul Bellow

More Walks

No wind today – not a breath. No clouds in the sky, either – the clouds departed   as the sun enlightened the sky to soft robin egg’s blue.  I got out and back, walking while the humid heat was not fully awake.  However it was fully awake by the time I left for appointments and duties this morning  -- and kept trying to smother me all day. Popping out for a few groceries this afternoon late, I discovered I can stroll as slowly as Scarlett O’Hara on a hot day in Georgia – ain’t no point moving fast and fainting.  But walk I did, later tonight, through all that dead still air. I came back dripping more than if I had been in a sauna.

Why am I doing this? Walking makes me sleep better, and it dispels the stiffness that keeps reminding me how old I am. 

Expecting another blast of still hot air when I stepped out at 11 PM to water the flowers not in the sprinkler’s path, I was pleased to feel and smell fresh moving air, about 15 degrees cooler than at 9 PM. Doug’s mother used to say about the weather in Texas, “If you don’t like it, wait fifteen minutes; it can change.” I wish we had an upstairs sleeping porch – tonight would be perfect sleeping weather.  But the weather might change again. 

One thing about Dallas weather, no mountains change the weather patterns here, like they do in Maryland.  People here don’t really believe Maryland has mountains. (Texans, they are too close to Colorado to be properly impressed with the Appalachians.) They don’t know that we, Maryland, have it all – mountains and oceans – plus we have a bay.  But now I am part of the "they" -- at least for the time being.

One benefit of Texas in the summer is their peaches – they are quite tasty. Not as tasty as the ones that Rookies Market in Annapolis carried, though. Rookies had a connection to a farm in St. Margaret’s Maryland – and their peaches were worth the wait. 

I miss Annapolis – as it was in the 1970’s and ‘80’s.  I used to walk in the early mornings there, too.  Down Southgate, left onto Franklin, up past the hospital to Church Circle, and then down Main Street, through the Naval Academy, past the Chapel, out Gate 3, up Maryland Ave, back around the Circle, down Franklin and back to Southgate. The fact that everything in the downtown has changed – makes being apart from it easier.  While I like to revisit in my memories, I don’t want to get trapped there and miss tomorrow’s adventure.

I remember things that happened sixty years ago, but if you ask me where I left my car keys five minutes ago, that's sometimes a problem. -- Lou Thesz  (Christians Quoting)

Lawn Maintenance Lessons

 

I grew up watching my father cut the lawn, and then saw the duty transferred to my brother. When I spent a decade in apartments and I forgot about the chores that having a lawn will spawn.  That is, until  we bought our first home in Maryland and my husband assumed the mantle of head lawn-man. I timorously became the gardener until poison ivy sideline me for a few years. But that’s another story.   We had no outside help with our yards until after our children went to college.  Those who helped came one by one, spoke English and usually had only a mower.  We knew their last names, and their first. By the time we moved, a crew of yardmen who could swarm over our yard and whip it into shape in short order was not a familiar routine.  

But Dallas is different – at least in our part of Dallas. Lawn maintenance crews are a way of life – a blessing, to which I quickly became accustomed.  But I don’t know their names. They speak little English, and often arrive at a time when I am gone.  I don’t usually see them work their magic; I only see the bagged clippings, placed neatly at the curb for the refuse collectors.  They work for a company who schedules their arrival and pays them for their work.

And then I thought about all the other people I don’t know, upon whom I equally dependent. I live my life wholly reliant on the work and good will of others.  Were it not for them, I would not have potable water, fresh food, shelter, safety, transportation, or clothing.  

I live because unseen others do.

It’s realizations like this when the reality of my dependent insignificance almost undoes me . . . for a few minutes . . . before my aging ego kicks in, and I think I have written something worth reading!   

G. K. Chesterton when he wrote his autobiography near the end of a long and useful life, set himself the task of defining in a single sentence the most important lesson he had learned. He concluded that the critical thing was whether one took things for granted or took them with gratitude. --James Reston  Sketches in the Sand  (from thequotegarden.com)

God bless your day dear reader – with joy and wonder, and a deep sense of gratitude for the life you have before you today – but let’s both speak out!

William Arthur Ward, an American who wrote in the last century, wrote, “Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.“   Indeed, “Silent gratitude isn't much use to anyone. “(Gladys Browyn Stern)  

Let the Word of Christ — the Message — have the run of the house. Give it plenty of room in your lives. Instruct and direct one another using good common sense. And sing, sing your hearts out to God!   Let every detail in your lives — words, actions, whatever — be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way. (Col 3:16-17 from THE MESSAGE.)

Let the Gardening Begin!

Last June, I reported that the Black-eyed Susan seeds sprouted in spite of starting too late, and my careless watering. However, no flowers bloomed, only foliage. I gave up on them, and tucked the greenery in a large pot with a chrysanthemum and liriope – disappointed I would not be seeing any reminders of Maryland in my Texas garden.

But yesterday I was surprised.

Yesterday – a glorious Texas spring day – I gathered my cultivator and spade, “gloved” up and uprooted the wilted winter pansies, flowering broccoli and a ga-zillion shoots from buried acorns from a yard square bed that abuts the covered porch. I preserved three snapdragon plants, hoping they will survive the sun and heat amongst all new flowering plants I intend: Shasta daisies, lemon symphony, lithodoa (grace wind), African daisies and sun bells – all supposed to last in Texas sun and heat.

Then, I spied the large pot, quite green with chrysanthemum leaves and liriope, and a clump of oblong leaves – portending Black-eyed Susans! They made it through the unusual winter we had this year!

Cautiously I extracted them from their companions, and gingerly separated them into seven little plants. Three would be the first plants in the cultivated square! And I put four others along the skinny oblong bed on the far side of the covered porch.

So, if gardens are indeed a form of a form of autobiography, (Sydney Eddison) I started another chapter - a chapter that includes the hope of freesias and lilies – three packets of seeds yet to be sown, and reminders of Maryland. This is indeed an antidote to panic attacks – for I must breathe deeply, exercise, and imagine colors, shapes and smells that divert the anger and anguish the world reports.

Summing up from From quotegarden.com:

“Gardening is about enjoying the smell of things growing in the soil, getting dirty without feeling guilty, and generally taking the time to soak up a little peace and serenity.” ~Lindley Karstens

“ You can bury a lot of troubles digging in the dirt.” ~Author Unknown

My Coffee Mugs

None but two of my coffee mugs match.  I brought these two back from our most recent trip to Maryland. They were twenty-nine years old early  this May. Made in Japan, their shape is unusual and their pattern is  cheery but restrained, and singular;  I’ve never seen them anywhere, ever again.  Their  plump shape and  whimsical dollops of color  have impressed almost everyone who used them, too:  their weight, shape, and colors – they even hold the right amount of coffee.

So, now they are in Texas, matching mugs that match  none of our other ones. Could the potter who threw them, the painter who embellished them, ever have imagined how priceless their little creations would become? For, when I open my kitchen cabinet and see them, they match so many memories – priceless memories. They  remind me of so many treasures – and just how far God has led me. ( 2 Samuel 7:12)

When I experience the unique “joys” age brings or,  when I wrestle with what faith in Christ means, Dallas doesn’t have many hills that challenge me to consider the source of my help. Amidst so many clamoring voices that bring me the news of local, national and international disaster – not to mention church failures –  my funny little mugs remind me of the wide places into which God has led me; they recall the loving kindness of so many people, and His unfailing help, as the memories they evoke awaken. (Psalm 16:5, 113:9)

I lift up my eyes to the hills--
      where does my help come from?
  My help comes from the LORD,
      the Maker of heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot slip--
   he who watches over you will not slumber;
       indeed, he who watches over Israel
          will neither slumber nor sleep.

 The LORD watches over you--
      the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
         the sun will not harm you by day,
              nor the moon by night.

  The LORD will keep you from all harm--
          he will watch over your life;
             the LORD will watch over your coming and going
               both now and forevermore. (Psalm 121)

Reading My Garden

Sydney Eddison, gardener and author,  observed, “Gardens are a form of autobiography,” and I see a comparison between my gardening adventures and my life.  In Maryland I knew what I wanted to plant, but I didn’t always bother with a few important details of how to make the plants flourish. Sometimes, I put the flowers in an inhospitable location – like the year I planted Black-eyed Susans.  I didn’t have so much luck growing them in Maryland. I made some basic gardening mistakes the time I tried. I  didn’t transplant the containers of flowers deep enough into prepared soil. I chose a part of the garden that didn’t get as much sustained sunlight, and the soil was too sandy to retain water, and I did not divide them at the end of the season or deadhead expired blooms.

So, they did not flourish or bloom again.

Doing the right things in the wrong way – or with the wrong attitude – often ends badly, no matter how hard I worked. Just because I wanted to plant something, didn’t mean I knew how; just because I wanted it to grow in a particular spot, didn’t mean it could or would. Soil preparation, proper plant tending, light and water matter – so does knowledge.

But,  as grim a reflection of my gardening skills (and character defects) that  my gardens sometimes show, they are happy reminders that God redeems what I count as losses.  He shows me that ignorant enthusiasm can be harnessed, and redirected. And the mystery of life is grander than my blunders. However, as I now read more carefully the directions jammed in the plant pots, I make sure where I plant plants corresponds with what is labeled with bright yellow or purple suns.  By building on what I am learning, I am not killing so many plants. Except for the pineapple sage I just planted in the wrong place.

Now, I am hoping I had time to add some Maryland color in our Texas garden.  Starting some Black-eyed Susans from seeds, yesterday, I knew I was late . . . two months late. They’re  wild flowers, one of the most common, so I am hoping the seeds I just committed to starter containers will not be temperamental.

Reading the directions on the packet, I learned the seeds, smaller than poppy seeds, need sun to germinate. And I needed to press them ever so slightly into the soil without covering them up. Teeny-tiny black seeds are hard to see against dark brown potting soil, and figuring out how much pressure presses a minuscule seed no deeper than one-eighth of an inch were challenges,  so late in yesterday’s 100+ degree heat.

Now, I am nervous, wondering how hard I pushed those seeds down – if the spot is too sunny, too hot, or too dry – or if I started too late? I really would like to see them sprout. If they emerge, I will have a perennial reminder of Maryland for they are the state flower of Maryland – and another page in my autobiography.

My Window Now Faces South . . .

In our new home, because of my desk’s situation, the morning sky’s light is different – I face south. The light is gentler – in our former home, I faced east in the morning — but I rarely sat at my desk; I enjoyed reading and writing on the screened porch, (weather permitting) an exposure also protected from the sun. So, the light feels somewhat familiar.  

On either side of the desk are books, photos and tiny treasures, some that chronicle thirty-seven years together: some wedding gifts, many we collected. I added to the collection a Maryland memento. Saturday, while yard-sailing, (or, in Dallas, estate-yachting) I found a small Delft ginger jar, inscribed  Maryland – interesting to speculate what the connection was.

Were they transplants, too?

Texas is full of transplants! Business people whose companies relocated; Latin American and African immigrants, university and medical students – quadruple the mix since Douglas left in the 1960's. Many folks here, when asked if they are natives, reply, “No, but I got here as quick as I could.”  I genuinely like Texans – natives and transplants – everybody who have so graciously opened their hearts to us.  But I have never been more aware of being a Marylander – even a Baltimorean, though most of my life I’ve spent in the Annapolis area! What’s that about? I wasn’t so conscious of that when I lived in DC. 

Of course, this surprising tie to my provenance is like Doug’s. One evening as we walked, he remarked on the sunset – brilliant blue melting into orangery-purples – and I realized maybe he’d been missing the memory of how the sun looks – rising or setting.

Stuff

Another move looms . . . Less than forty-eight hours until we settle in to our next home . . . Boxes, empty cabinets, empty walls – and rooms that echo slightly because the curtains are at the cleaners. Yep, I've moved a bunch . . .

My first move -- just a couple of suitcases: I left  Baltimore for Ocean City – to work for the summer before moving to a college dorm, then, into two different apartments in the same building, before I moved two more times around the College Park area – acquiring stuff, discarding stuff –  never having enough of what the next living space required.

Next, I moved into an apartment near the zoo in DC; within a year I moved onto Capitol Hill, NE. From there I moved to Ecuador for a year – moving around the country, twice.  Illness and revolution sent me back to South Carolina, with little more than what I had in a suitcase to recover before returning to DC – the outskirts of Capitol Hill, this time in SE. Then I moved to Georgetown . . . from whence I married and moved to Annapolis. I left most all my stuff for others to use.

In Annapolis, we moved seven times in twenty-four years; we accumulated stuff.  Lots of it was other people’s downsizing. God gave us children, and our stuff really multiplied! The moves became more complicated – and we needed storage lockers.

We’ve moved three times so far in Texas, each time acquiring stuff – and now we are fixing to move the fourth time. We have let go of a great deal of stuff; photographs remind of us of our real treasures: people and places.  An assortment of images, freezing in time people, who are no longer precious babies, toddlers – or teens; of people who now know what is on the other side of this life; rooms we loved in, argued and cried in; holidays, vacations – I see the colors, smell the smells and hear their voices. They all go with me -- 

So, I am  used to moving . . . and the sadness and excitement that fill the minutes and hours of moving day.   Forty-eight hours until we settle into our next home . . . Boxes, empty cabinets, empty walls – and rooms that echo slightly because the curtains are at the cleaners. And in the upcoming abode – the scenario is the same . . . packing up, sorting, tossing, saving for another time to dispose of, . . . my life is still in moving boxes?

A Yard Sale Ebenezer

This time last week we faced an enormous task: emptying a 10x10 storage locker, moving it to our former home, sorting, pricing and preparing for a yard sale, scheduled for the same day a hurricane was due to visit Maryland. Now, the day before, when flying up from TX, we enjoyed a smooth flight – with an empty seat on our row! Then we relaxed with kids and grand-kids, girding our loins so to speak for the “reveal” day.

So, Thursday a week ago, we rented a truck, and began unpacking the contents of the storage locker; what did not go home, went into a locker one-fourth the size.  Two friends pitched in; our daughter-in-law gave up her last days of summer vacation before beginning a new academic semester and joined the insanity wholeheartedly: loading, moving, unloading. Then, our daughter and son-in-law’s living room and porch became a mountain of Smith clutter. And the sorting began: this stays, this goes, this is trash; the “this” was a pile of priceless pieces of a long and happy marriage.

Friday dawned – the sorting continued while the pricing began. What’s realistic? What’s not? We had some help from an antique dealer who gave us a few bottom lines, and educated us: some stuff we thought was valuable were just decorator pieces; some stuff we thought was knock-offs were the real deal. Throughout the run-up to the sale, we tended a busy three-year-old and eighteen months-old who doesn’t know how to walk; he runs! Our daughter-in-law brought crafts and kept some semblance of quiet.  We worked until 10:30 P.M.; my daughter, taking the occasion to purge her “collection” worked until midnight! Projections of bad weather the day of sale slowly became firmer.  Did we have a fall-back plan if rain was a reality on Saturday? No.

Saturday, the big day began at 6:00 A.M. We awoke to a  humid morning, hints of sun shining through clouds; our son-in–law had secured tables for us, so we  quickly began transferring the inside on my daughter’s home to the front lawn. Buyers showed up at 7:15 – before we finished unpacking. The cloudy skies were a mercy; the humidity was not.  Sell, sell, sell – you offer, we deal – that was my mind set, closing my mind to the memories. That is, until one yard-sailor demanded how badly I wanted to get rid of a carpenter’s chest? I preferred consigning it. By one we had loaded up the truck and deposited what was not sold to the Salvation Army. Our unsold books went to the A.A.U.W.  And nary a rain shower!

Then,  we collapsed – taking a long nap!

Was such an effort worth it? Money -wise, we made some. But it wasn’t the money that made Thursday, Friday and Saturday worth it. (Next time I have the urge to purge, my “junque” goes to Salvation Army directly!)  What made these three days great for me was the people who helped and those who came to the sale – the helpers’ time, kindness and strength were invaluable. And those who came to sale, some shared genuine compassion, understanding what it means to “downsize.”  We also got to see friends we hadn’t seen in many years, who promised to give our stuff good homes.

Some of the lessons of the last week  are still percolating – but, given all the possible problems, I know God heard the  prayers for us – His kindness was overwhelming! From giving us many loving, helping hands, re-routing the rain, to having a good time with kids and grand kids – to getting rid of stuff we can no longer use, God is surely kind.





  

Summer nights

Seeing my husband’s reaction to a Texas summer sunset tipped me off that his re-entry to Texas was faster and deeper than mine – and mine was really fast. One simple pleasure here – or, anywhere – is the evening summer sky. The nighttime summer sky in Texas delights, even in the city. It’s different from Maryland’s evening sky; the lower latitude changes the sun’s rays, making them seem closer. Powder bright blue skies dissolve into richer blues, and backlit pearly clouds mass; then orangey purple hues melt into colors of gray, ever darkening – especially if I look west.

I have loved summer nights – here or in Maryland; they are an ancient badge of being grown-up. Before I got this badge – this right and privilege of staying up late – I was overcome with an unhappy sense of injustice. Robert Louis Stevenson understood the feelings, writing one poem I thoroughly understood!

. . . In summer . . . I have to go to bed by day . . .When I so wanted to play it was not fair to . . . have to go to bed by day!
(A Child’s Garden of Verses)

Then one summer I was old enough. I remember the thrill of playing hide and seek in deepening shadows, lit by a zillion lightening bugs. And, I have not ever gotten over the exhilaration being old enough to stay up late – although I have regretted it from time-to-time. All part of the old rubble of a past life that somehow will build up this autumn garden. (Isaiah 58:11-14)