The Setting: The living room of a small house in East Alabama. It's a wintery-cold day, grey and rainy but not committed enough to actually snow. I'm ensconced on the sofa, heating pad behind me, thick blanket pulled up to my chest. The small, scruffy dog is buried under the blanket, pressing against my left thigh. I forced him to go outside a few minutes ago, and he's pouting. On the table to the right is a stack of partially read books, a jar of pens, a freshly refilled cup of coffee, and a plate of recently re-discovered banana muffins. They've been toasted and buttered.
Sounds pretty idyllic, no? It is. I know that. I am blessed beyond reason. I have a list of reasons to quit feeling sorry for myself, that gets recited when the pity-party becomes egregious. There's the standard stuff- roof over my head, food to eat, the material things that make life comfortable and easy. Chances are, if you're reading this, you enjoy the same things. It's easy to take them for granted, when you have them daily, when you don't have to worry about the next meal, clean water, or a place to live. Complacency is a way of life for a lot of us. Our worries involve other things. The health of a loved one. Our jobs next year. Relationships.
I was chuckling to myself yesterday. I have this project going right now. I'm going to put shelves up on a big blank wall in my living room. I want my books out. They're my friends and I want to see them. I know some of you understand what I'm saying here. Anyway, part of that means brackets. I spent time yesterday putting up the brackets where I *thought* (key word there...*thought*) I wanted them. Then an hour or so spent looking at them and being dissatisfied. Too close, too busy, yuck. So they were removed and spread further out (after consulting with a building site on how far apart was too far, for the type of shelf) Ok, better. And now there's a BUNCH of BIG holes in the wall, from the former bracket location. I am not disturbed by them, but I know a couple of men, both of whom I've had a very close relationship, who would have had a litter of kittens over the wall damage. Pfft, I thought. That's what spackle is for. A bit of spackle, a dab of paint, and no one will be the wiser and if I don't even do that much, there will be books in front of the holes. The wall is a hot mess, but I'm happier with the spacing of the brackets (also, based on the location of the studs. I'm a ditz but at least I know that much)
One of my sons will be here (from Atlanta) Christmas weekend. I imagine the one who lives 10 miles away will also show up at some time. The other Atlanta son will (Lord willing and the creek don't rise) be here the following weekend. It will be good to spend time with them even though they were here just a couple of weeks ago. Right now, in my season of grief, I can't get enough of time with them. It's such a comfort, especially since Capt loved them so much, like they were his own. I hope it's sunny/clear enough, and the wood is dry, so we can have a fire in the firepit. There's something about doing that. No one complains when they're sitting around a warm fire, especially if their bellies are full of something delicious.
Christmas Eve is Dad's birthday. He'll be 86, going on 45. When I can, I cook a good meal and it double-duties as his Birthday and Christmas Dinner. That gets me out of having to do anything Christmas Day. This year, I'm planning on doing a Thai curry and rice. He'll like that. In the distant past, when Himself was alive, I would spend the week prior to Christmas making all sorts of snacky stuff, like cheese balls and homemade crackers, dips and sauces and things to heat up in a crockpot. A big pan of homemade cinnamon rolls would be made the night before, to rise in the fridge, and go in the oven first thing. We would snack and graze all day, playing with new toys and games, just fiddling around in our pajamas and doing very little in the way of work. Now, I have no idea what I'll do. Maybe a cheeseball and crackers. I asked Dad to make pancakes Christmas morning, and we'll walk over there. After that, I don't know. We're all adults now, so I'm not sure it matters. Christmas wasn't a big thing for Capt. It has become more about worship, and gratitude for Christ's birth, than anything resembling a cultural norm, for me.
Isn't it interesting how life forms around the circumstances of the Now. When you're 35 and everything feels settled, you think it's always going to be that way and let's make some traditions. Sometimes those traditions get blown out of the water and you have to adapt to new circumstances. I have tried, in my own way, to keep a couple of my favorite ones going. Whenever we have made a special trip somewhere, a dive trip to Roatan, a week in Key Largo, 10 days on Route 66...I get a commemorative Christmas ornament. I have so many memories tied to a bauble to hang on a tree. Right now, it hurts too much to bring those out. They are in a couple of boxes in the attic. Last year was the first time since Himself's demise that I could look at all of them, the ones my kids made in 2nd grade, memories of assorted trips and events going back to 1986. It was the first time I could combine all of them, from 1986 to 2021, with joy and smiles, without longing and grief. The tree was loaded with those memories and I could tell the story behind each one of them. It was both comforting and poignant. This year, I couldn't even unpack the box. Even thinking about it was a hard NO. Sitting here on my couch, with a silly dog under the blanket over my knees, thinking about it all, I know eventually I'll return to being able to do the stuff that developed over 35+ years of relationship. But for now, I'm ignoring it and working on being able to thank God for what I had, instead of being grieved for what I no longer have.
(and yes, this post is a little bit stream-of-conscious, but that's the mood I'm in right now)
Right now I'm working on figuring out my place in the world. What are God's intentions for me, how will I recognize them and properly act on them? Why am I here, in this position? I fill the time doing small things. Punching holes in walls while improperly hanging brackets. Patching a friend's pajamas. Eating a muffin. When Himself died, it took about 9 months to get my feet under my legs and start doing a thing. I have plans for Spring, about 8 months after Capt's passing away. Nothing much before then, just little things, busy work. Shelves, sewing, Thai curries. Things that are comfortingly familiar that don't require a whole lot of thought. It is a massive blessing from God that I have the luxury to be able to manage life that way. I am grateful.
No comments:
Post a Comment