Laughter, Love and ice cream

   In preparation for recording my Children's Sermon for Sundays online Worship, I dug my Dad's old binoculars out of the closet. I opened the case and......I was transported. As impossible as it sounds, they still smell like him. Leather, and office goods - a hint of English Leather cologne and Cigar. I have left them out on my desk, so I can pick them up and breathe deep. More than once during this Sheltering at home, I have thought about Dad and the summer of 1973. We were deep in the midst of the Gas Crisis - and then Dad lost his job. My Mother, like many Mothers of the day did not work outside of the home, So there was no. income. Due to the bills from my Mom's illness, my folks didn't have much in the way of savings. (I knew this because my worst character trait as a child is that I was a MASTER eavesdropper! I am happy to report I have outgrown that particular characteristic - there are some things I would just rather not know/ignorance is bliss - also, I can no longer fit between the sofa and the wall) My Grandparents sent my Parents money each month of Dad's unemployment. Included in that amount was "treat money"(Information that was also gathered in the "behind the sofa" maneuver.) The manner in which that money was spent is one of my favorite childhood memories.....we went to Mayberrys a couple of times a week and got one scoop of ice cream each. We would go to the park, or sit on our front porch and eat ice cream, tell stories and laugh. All these years later, I am convinced that this is what got us through that difficult time. When I think of those days, I remember laughter, and love and ice cream. I am certain that there were many tense moments - but they are not my primary memories.
   In our current hunkering down, I have tried to be mindful. In the midst of the worry and tears, anxiety and fears, I have tried to find and supply fodder for memories that in far flung days will bring a smile....that will be starch for the backbone and balm for the soul. Which is how I find myself covered in flour. This morning, I woke up with my Grandma Florence on my mind. Short in stature and long on homespun wisdom, she was a force of nature and a baker extraordinaire. She would sit me in the kitchen on the red foldy three step stool, and teach me her ways. Her chocolate cupcakes were my favorite, and the stuff dreams were made of. (She was famous for her Chocolate Cake, but I preferred the cupcake version - so she would make them, just for me) As she gathered her ingredients, she would teach. "Sister" she would say," Always use the Nestles Cocoa - not the Hersheys". (Now, the best part of this is that she pronounced it Nes-els Coe Coe ah.) (And yes....that is what I still call it)  "Sister, always sift that flour and cocoa" (Did you say it? Coe Coe ah!) "Sister, you need to even up that cup of flour with the flat of the knife", "Sister, clean as you go".  I still do not clean as I go, and Grandma would be horrified to see that today I am baking in my old grey and pink nightgown in the middle of the day (Because "Sister, always wash (warsh) and get dressed as soon as you get out of the bed"). But I evened up the cup with the flat of the knife, and I sifted the flour and cocoa. I greased and floured the cupcake pans, and even licked the beaters. The cupcakes are cooling, and soon I will make the thick, dark, chocolatey frosting.
  There have been nights around our new firepit - built by the Kennedy menfolk. Early mornings in the den drinking coffee snuggled under blankets. 6:30 suppers where the 5 of us gather around the table and laugh and debate politics and the current state of affairs, (Not so much of a debate - we are all on the same side) share memories of days gone by and laugh some more. Movie night with popcorn, made on the stove top Whirly Pop. One on one deep discussions and Group sessions as well. And sourdough bread. And Brussel sprout salad. John's amazingly delicious Guacamole, and Cilantro lime Black beans and rice. Food, stories, laughter and love.....plenty of fodder to deposit in the bank of future memory.

 

Nothing...and everything.

   As a child, my favorite place to be was on a swing...I could swing for what seemed like hours at a time. My favorite Childhood poem? The Swing by Robert Lewis Stevenson...."How do you like to go up in a swing, up in the air so blue. Oh I do think it's the pleasantest thing, ever a child can do...."
   I never outgrew my love for a swing, and if I see one, you better believe I will be on it, and you will be hard pressed to get me to leave it. I passed that love of swing on to my children. When we moved to our current house, the kids had mostly outgrown our big play set, but they requested we build a frame for a couple of swings. In a fortuitous turn, the only flat place suitable for a swing in our back yard lined up perfectly with the window over the sink in the kitchen. I can't count the times that I have looked up from that sink over the years and spied one of my children swinging..or wished that they were.....
   Tonight, as I was doing the dishes after supper, I looked out the window, and there, swinging, was my Grown up Boy, talking to one of his friends on the phone. The feet were bigger, the legs longer, but he still pumps those legs with the same form from his childhood. My breath strangled in my throat, and gratitude filled me up. This time we find ourselves in, this season of our lives - is uncharted, frightening...horrible in most every way. But dear Lord, I give thanks that we are all together. John, Baby girl, Babiest girl, Grown up boy and me. Our house buzzes with life, and even in these dark times, celebration. Today we found out that Grown up Boy (also formerly known as College Boy, Peace Corps Boy and most recently Mongolia Man) will become, in August, Ivy League Boy - as he pursues his Masters in International Agriculture and Rural Development at Cornell. Also in August, Baby Girl will graduate from College, followed by Babiest Girl in December. Kennedy paths will diverge exponentially. These weeks that have and will continue to take so much from us, have given me the greatest gift. Time. Time with my family. Time to laugh around a table. Time to swing. Time to plant a garden. Time to try new recipes and tell old stories.Time to do nothing....together. Which is everything.

Sabbath Inchworm

Early last week, when it looked like we were going to need to hunker down, I spent a bit of money I really didn't need to spend. I have been looking at this portable chair for a long while....except it is not a chair....it comes in a tote bag like the many chairs we have for beach and former sport's Mom use, except, as I mentioned, it is not a chair. It is a HAMMOCK CHAIR!! In what may have been an unwise expense in these financially uncertain days, I ponied up the 29.99 plus tax at the Wals Mart and carried it on home.

   I slyly waited for everyone else to be occupied, and took it out of the back of my car and set it up in the Pavilion (fine - I know some of you call it the carport, but I have a table and chairs and my Grandma's glider and some small settling benches and rag rugs in mine - hence the fancy name) Now, to a woman who has some balance issues, getting in said Hammock Chair was a bit of a trick. I steadied myself on the table, and gingerly lowered myself awkwardly into my prize. I'm not going to lie. It was uncomfortable....really uncomfortable. Disheartened, I was about to try to figure out how to get out of the darned thing, when Baby Girl came outside and said "Wow - where did that come from"? I said "ummm, the back of my car", and tried (unsuccessfully) to get up with at least some grace. Once I was up and out (It was a sight, let me tell you), Baby Girl plopped down in it and said...."Huh...not real comfortable, is it?" I turned tail, and made a bee line for the house. I was angry with myself for spending the money, and heartbroken that it wasn't the stuff of my dreams. I puttered around the kitchen for a while. Baby Girl came in and said "Come here...I figured out how to sit in it, and it is wonderful!"

    And she was right. Once you figure it out, well...to me, it is Nirvana.

Which is how I found myself outside early this morning, in the Pavilion, swinging blissfully away, drinking coffee, reading my book and waiting for our pre-recorded Worship service to come online.

And let me tell you....I had  true Sabbath. For the first time in a very long while. I sat. I rested. I swung in my Hammock Chair to my hearts content. I breathed the fresh air. I felt the beautiful breeze. I heard the symphony of birds. I saw the first Butterfly of the season, bright yellow and beautiful.

   I noticed it as I reached forward to get my coffee cup off of the table. A bright green inchworm at eye level, on the other side of the table. As I took a sip of coffee, I put my book down, and decided to watch for a minute, or twenty....you see, as I studied the inch worm, I saw that  he was just going about his daily business of spinning silk to climb, one little scunch at a time. And every few scunches he would stop and rest, then continue on his way, doing his inchworm thing. Scunch, scunch, scunch, rest. Repeat. It was mesmerizing. He had gotten about five feet up in the air, when a big gust of wind sent him swinging like a trapeze artist. He held fast to the silk that had come from deep inside and let himself be carried by the wind - buffeted back and forth, secure in the knowledge that the silk would carry him. Once he came back to steady center, he continued his journey Scunch, scunch, scunch, rest. The last I saw of my friend, he had made his way to the roofline, and continued on, out of my sight.

  I learned a great lesson from that inchworm today. We should go along as best we can, using, relying on that "thing" that is inside of us...that "thing" that carries and guides us. It is good and necessary to rest along the journey. And when you are hit with an unexpected wind that turns everything upside down, hold tight to that thing that comes from within you...let it carry you. Cling to it. Be flexible, and work with what you've got. And when everything comes back to rights, continue on, secure in that which carries you....that which you carry inside of you. Thus endeth the lesson.

The Gloaming

  It's a familiar kind of feeling....one from my long ago past, and while not exactly the same, it is similar enough. It has happened every afternoon for the last couple of weeks. As the day bleeds into late afternoon, I feel it as a dull flutter behind my forehead that funnels under my right ear. It spreads around my neck and down my shoulders - into my arms. Once there, it shoots into my center and floods into my lower extremities  In my teenage years it's name was sadness....worry....melancholy. My Mothers illness and impending death colored my every waking moment, but in that part of the day known as the Gloaming, it went into overdrive.
   In the present, it's name is anxiety....what if....fear.
Once I saw the pattern returning, I tried to change my routine. No news while I make supper, just lovely Celtic music, Native American Flute, or New Age Piano. I am mindful of the warmth of the water and the lovely fragrance of the soap as I wash my hands.  While I chop the vegetables, I say a prayer of thanksgiving that I am able to provide a hot, nutritious and hopefully delicious meal  for my family. I look forward to the five of us gathered around the table - laughing, talking, telling stories....powerful juju for sure, yet none of it vanquishes that Gloaming feeling.

    Tonight, as I was working on supper, slogging through the Gloaming, I caught sight of my reflection in the kitchen window. And I flashed back to another reflection in another window.
  This past Sunday, our Worship Service was live streamed. Just the Four of us - the Ministerial staff -were present. As we met to discuss the order of service, we automatically distanced ourselves in the sanctuary - how odd that there were no hugs, or claps on the shoulder. Although we were happy to see each other, there in that sacred space, the emptiness was palpable - the silence a veritable hum. Our conversation bounced off of the walls and wood pews, making it almost an echo chamber. Our business finished, we turned our talk to Covid 19....sharing bits and pieces of new information we had heard....discussing the possibility (now reality) of a Statewide Shelter in Place order....what that would look like, how our lives would become very small indeed.....
   I was left unsettled and tearful - that Gloaming feeling was kicking in hours ahead of schedule. As I zipped up my black robe, I walked to the window to collect myself before we started recording. Our windows are the most beautiful architectural feature of our Church. They flank the pews, and soar to the ceiling. The light is unbelievable. I looked out into the yard where I played as a child...where my children played, running around the giant trees....Above the reflection of my right shoulder I could see the large solitary candle in the center of our altar being lit behind me. As the candle caught and flared, I saw - not the reflection of one flame, but two. I turned to see if another candle had been added, but there it remained - the lone candle. Once again facing the window, there was no mistaking it....two flames danced happily together. It is that image I want to carry with me into the Gloaming. Proof that we are never alone. There, dancing just above our right shoulder is evidence of God's love and constant presence, 2 flames from 1, whispering "Come ye who are heavy laden, and I will give ye rest". May it ever be so.... for "Those who walked in the darkness have seen a great light".

Grocery store humanity

After the strokes, I was left with several deficits. Things that I have learned to manage and live with. The issue that affects me the most on the daily is Post Stroke Anxiety (yes, that is a real thing). On a normal day it is something like the low flame of embers that are burning themselves out -  under every inch of my skin. On a bad day, it is like a conflagration under my skin, racing towards command central, somewhere in the vicinity of my solar plexus. Which is how I found myself in the parking lot of one of our local grocery stores this morning, a few minutes before they were set to open. My rationale is that the germs present will be at their lowest of the day, as will my anxiety, which has been in overdrive since the Corona virus stepped onto the scene. The store was delayed in opening - by 30 minutes - which gave me plenty of time sitting in my car, and then standing in the line that was forming, to observe my fellow man.

   There, in the line waiting for the doors to open, I encountered lovely people - happy to have someone to talk to....share concerns with. I encountered people who looked so terrified and broken that the merest breeze would have shattered them into a million pieces. I encountered people who boldly broke into the front of the line, the look on their face daring the rest of us to challenge them. I knew a moment of pure terror, as a middle aged white man (WHY is it always the middle aged white man?!) pulled into the parking lot, saw the line waiting to get in - and stopped his car dead - screaming and cursing. He revved his engine, hit the accelerator, and for the briefest of seconds, I thought he was going to plow into the people in the line. In a display of  rage and neanderthalism , he circled the parking lot twice, tires squealing, before he sped off.

   We entered the store without further incident - plenty of smiles and nods, as we acknowledged our shared plight. I shopped from my list, and quickly found everything I needed. Eggs topped the list, followed closely by fruits and veg. I was swift, but still encountered a massive checkout line. The manager was directing the shoppers into one long line, flanking the aisle and wrapping around the end cap, which would then branch out to one of the cashiers when you arrived at the front. It really did work very well, and seemed an efficient system. While I waited, I eavesdropped on the conversations around me (one of my less appealing traits, I know). The 60ish couple behind me, were discussing how ridiculous this all was....how people were overreacting, how the Corona virus was just a fabrication of the left wing media....how stupid the closing of the restaurants and schools seemed....(And, once again, I failed at my Lent offering....because at this point I was judging them, and hard) All this I heard without outwardly flinching...I was looking straight ahead, moving with the line, but I whipped my head around when they started congratulating themselves on their superiority....simpering and smirking at those around them, they proclaimed loudly that even if there was a virus,  they would be immune, because they were Christian. I could not believe my ears. I have encountered such ideology in the news, and on social media, but never in the flesh. Fortunately, I had reached the point in the line where I was invited to stand behind a register, thus being spared the rest of their diatribe. After unloading my items, I had a brief conversation with the cashier - she was tired, and feeling on edge, but was happy that I had found the things I needed. I moved to the counter to bag my groceries. Focused on my task, I heard "I'm sorry sir, there is a limit of two on those waters, and the chicken too". Voices quickly raised, and I turned to find the source of the fracas....the self same believing nonbelievers....the immune Christians - fighting with the cashier, who was already weary, 15 minutes into her shift. "Well, that's the dumbest thing I ever heard" shouted the man - spittle dribbling down his chin in his righteous indignation. "I am buying ALL of these things", he continued....In a moment of magnificence, the young woman behind the cash register stood to her full height and said "No you are not. There is a limit, because other people need these things too, and we are going to make sure that as many people as possible can get what they need."  The best of humanity, and the worst - in one grocery transaction. Kyrie Eleison, Christe Eleison.... Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.

A Swift Mistress

I wouldn't exactly call it a slamming on of the brakes....it was more like a moderate, sustained application. At any rate, the result was the same. You see, Baby Growndy Up Girl was driving behind me, as we went in search of the perfect little black skirt for her. As we turned into the parking lot, I was forced to stop rather hurriedly, to avoid hitting the car that without so much as a glance from it's driver pulled straight out of a parking space, right in front of me... then....BOOM. Baby Growndy Up Girl missed the fact that my car was no longer moving, and she rear ended my beautiful Gypsy Rose (recently sprung from the car hospital for the repairs needed as a result of the incident which shall not be named), with the force of something between a bump and a slam.  I would argue that it was more of a slam, and less of a bump, seeing as how every muscle in my back and neck has now frozen up and I am in dire need of a muscle relaxer, but be that as it may, we quickly parked and jumped out to asses the damage. Remarkably, neither car bore a scratch, so maybe it WAS more of a bump, and I am just a wuss. After a mild lecture from me on the importance of being alert when driving, and striking out on the black skirt in the Boho store, we headed to the second shop on our list. No black skirt was found, but when we exited, she was the new owner of a cute tee, a new pair of pants and a dress (Happy Early Birthday to my girl). There we parted ways. One big hug and two I love yous later, I headed to my car. I was answering a text - vehicle still in the parking spot, like a good girl - when my phone rang.
   It was Baby Growndy Up Girl, and I couldn't tell whether she was laughing, crying or both. I managed to make out the words "I didn't hit another car..." "Well....what did you do then?"  I mean really....we had only been apart for a minute - what trouble could she have gotten into?
   This might be a good time to insert that BGU Girl has always been a really good sport about the fact that she drives an antiquated boat of a Grandma car...a BUICK for goodness sakes. She calls him Gunter, and is appreciative that he gets her where she needs to go.
    "Mom", she gasps...."I was trying to unlock my car...I put the key in the door, but it wouldn't unlock. I took it out, tried again, and then jiggled the door handle. Behind me came this old man's voice". "What the hell are you doing, young lady?!", he shouted. BGU girl was unwittingly trying to break into Grumpy Old Grandpa's car, having mistaken it for her own. "Oh Lordy...what did you do then", I inquired, trying to suppress the belly laugh that was starting deep within. "Well, I just kind of yelped, and ran off", she replied.
     As I hung up, convulsing with laughter, I said to myself.....well, sometimes, Karma is a swift mistress - that is her payback for hitting my car and causing these spasms in my back.(OK, fine...I will own up to it - perhaps not the most Motherly of responses)
   Off I went to the Teeter. Produce was my first stop. The aisles were full of  people pushing buggies back and forth, jamming the up and down sides, going the wrong way and stalling in the middle....OH NO!! I silently began berating myself....this is THURSDAY....I try to avoid the Teeter like the plague on Thursday because it is SENIOR SHOPPING DAY. I always leave angry on Thursday, because in the last year, the Cashiers have taken to automatically giving me the senior discount - without even inquiring as to my date of birth...the Senior Discount is for people 60 and OVER. I am nowhere NEAR that....alright, FINE...I am not quite there YET.
   I took a calming breath and persevered. I wanted the Pork Loin that was on Special, and I needed some cream for my coffee....and Asparagus to go with the Pork Loin. The required items being secured, I headed to the checkout. I scanned the Cashiers. I selected the kind looking new girl. I anxiously watched the register screen....and AAUUUUGGGGGHHHH....there it was. The discount....she entered it without so much as batting an eye - and I was wearing my best tie dye shirt and super cute earrings! To add insult to injury, as she put the last bag back in the buggy, she said it.       "Can we take these to your car, DEAR?".       Before I could utter a terse No THANK you, the Malibu Barbie that was unloading her kombucha and Kale in the neighboring lane fixed me with a knowing smile (displaying blindingly perfect white teeth) and gave me a cock of a perfectly manicured eyebrow as if to say "You really should take her up on the offer of help, DEAR".....I stood as tall as my muscle spasms would allow, gathered my dignity, and exited stage right. As I stewed in my aging juices, I could almost hear Baby Growndy Up Girl saying with a shake of her head," Laugh at me, will ya? Karma is a swift Mistress!"

Blessed and Messed

Yesterday morning, I had coffee with some friends. Laughter and conversation were abundant, and as these ladies were talking at the same time, one ended her sentence with "I am blessed" - the other "I am a mess" (referring to the flake of the delicious pastry we may or may not have been consuming).
   You know how I love rhyming words....Blessed and messed. Those words have swirled around in my poor stroke addled brain ever since.
   They really describe my week.
On Monday I took my beautiful Gypsy Rose car to the body shop, for the repair of the damage from the accident which shall not be named. Then, I waved off a beloved group of people heading to serve on the mission field...in Zambia.....where they will be spending time with my Peace Corps Boy/Man...able to hug him, assess his degree of health and happiness, and did I mention hug him?   Messed.
On Tuesday, John and I marked our 30th wedding anniversary. Impossible to believe. Blessed.

On Friday, we woke early, to get a jump start on the fun. John had the day off, and we were going to celebrate Tuesday's anniversary. First stop, my nail place. Kudos to John for suggesting it. (Full disclosure - my feet were in rough shape - I was ruining the new sheets with my cracked heels, and I may or may not have scratched his legs once or twice lately.) After my pedicure, I decided to get my eyebrows done - seeing as how I was already there, and they were approaching giant caterpillar shape and size.
   The lovely young woman stirred the wax and applied the strips. Before she yanked, she took my face in her delicate hands and murmured. "You need chin waxed", and rip - off came the wayward bits of eyebrow. After I caught my breath I stammered, "Beg pardon"? (As any good southern women would). "Chin. Need wax"...after further examination, she amended her statement - "Face. Face need waxed". (Full disclosure - I hate the fine hair that has sprouted on my face as I have gotten older, and nothing sends me running from a room faster than one of my daughters giving me the high sign. You know, the one where they discreetly point to their chin. That is code for - EEWWWW, you have a long white hair sprouting from your chin). "I.....well....ummm." I managed to get out - equal parts insulted and intrigued. "You can DO that? Won't it hurt?!"  "For you, worth the pain" she responded. So, that is how I found myself slathered in hot wax - looking for all the world like Emmet Kelly with a clown beard. Riiiiiip...rip, rip, rip. I rose a good two inches off of the chair, and to quote Wanda Sykes - "Everything went white". It is not an exaggeration to say that when I finally made it to a mirror, I was astonished and mightily relieved to see that I still had a couple of layers of skin remaining. (Full disclosure - I love the hair free look, and I will be subjecting myself to this monthly torture from now on!) Blessed AND Messed.

   The week was bookended with Two post stroke victories that I long felt would not be gained. Last Sunday, I had my first audition since the strokes, and am proud and astonished to announce that I will once again be treading the boards in an upcoming production of Steel Magnolias. Today, after 17 months and 2 weeks of having completely lost my singing voice, I sang in Church - 3 weeks after regaining the ability to sing. I mangled the last 2 measures, because I couldn't sing through my tears of joy.
It was a voice not quite as strong, agile and reliable as in days gone by. But I will take it. It's loss was so grievous to me, that I didn't speak of it to many. It was the thing I mourned the most - hands down the worst thing that the strokes took from me.  I am so grateful that it has been restored to me.     Blessed.

Each day this week, I have struggled with my anger at the state of our world - our country. Appalled by the mistreatment of the Stranger, the child, the other....Disgusted by the twisting of scripture to support things that are the very antithesis of the Bible I read. Flummoxed as to how we came to be so polarized and lost as a nation.....as people....as Children of God.  Messed.....So Messed.

   Messed and Blessed.   Blessed and Messed.      Rhyming words that not only describe my week, but life as a whole. In the immortal words of the poet Stephen Sondheim "Good times and bum times, I've seen them all and my dear - I'm still here. Plush velvet sometimes, sometimes just pretzels and beer, but I'm here. I've run the gamut A-Z, three cheers and dammit, C'est La Vie, I got through all of last year, and I'm here....look who's here....I'm still here".  Blessed and Messed.   I'll take it.