Lost and Found

two bracelets, three earrings
two bracelets, three earrings

I suppose there are some people who never lose things.  I am not one of them.  In fact, there are certain things that I lose consistently, so much so that I plan for their loss.  That would be jewelry, and earrings in particular.  Losing things that you really like is heartbreaking, but at the same time it opens the way for some really good stories of recovery.

In my early 20’s I had one boyfriend (and only one) who had really good taste in gifts of all kinds – flowers, adventures, restaurants, and jewelry.  He bought me a pair of yellow gold earrings that were simple but beautifully designed.  I loved everything about them.  I must have lost them at least half a dozen times.  Once they were lost for over a year before I found them under the bed in the guest room at my parent’s house.  The first time I lost them was the most traumatic though.  I had only been married for a few months (but not to the guy with the good taste in jewelry) when the husband and I took a camping trip.  We were tenting for a week in Tennessee at a big reservoir near Oak Ridge.  The campground was super nice with big tent sites and a convenient bathhouse.  And then one day my earring was missing.

Why is it that no one ever tells you that you have only one earring on?  My ears are right out there in plain sight, but I am always the one who suddenly realizes that one is gone.  I ransacked our tent, shook out all the sleeping bags,  went through our suitcases, looked in every crack and crevice of our van. I backtracked to all the places I had walked.  Pretty much went around looking at the ground for at least half a day.  Then on the day we were leaving, I decided to have one last look in the bathhouse.  I found it in a pile of slime and hair over the drain of one of the showers.  Gross.  But did I care? No.  I was just in awe that I even thought of looking there.

One year for Christmas I told my daughters to tell the husband about a set of jewelry that I had admired in a store.  That’s how I have to do it with the husband – but that’s not a bad thing because I always end up with something I like that way. There was a necklace, a really pretty bracelet and earrings, and he got it all for me.  It wasn’t long before I lost the bracelet.  Everybody at work helped me look until we finally gave up.  I was so upset that I went back to the store and bought the bracelet again.  Somehow that helped, It was expensive but it helped.  Then I lost one of the earrings. Back to the store,  but you know they won’t sell you just one earring.  You have to buy a pair.  I decided having three was a good idea for someone like me.  I never knew when I might need a spare.  Months later I found the bracelet.  It had come off during a cooking demonstration when I was getting a pan out of the oven drawer of the range. I still have two bracelets and three earrings.  Good insurance.

I really like silver, but because it tarnishes all the time, I like white gold even better.  One vacation I splurged on a pair of white gold hoops. (Okay, I got them in Walmart, but they were real gold and they weren’t cheap.) These hoops have a clasp that drives me crazy – they come open with very little provocation.  I’ve lost them three times, one time for every year I’ve had them.  The first two times I found them in really crazy places involving strange medical equipment that is hard to describe, so I won’t.  But the last time I again gave up after several days of searching parking lots and offices I had visited.  I bought another pair which I did not like as well.  That was two months ago.

Last week, after my medical check up, I decided to re-take my blood pressure at home because I didn’t like how high it had been.  I have the old fashioned cuff and stethoscope, and there around the tubing of the stethoscope was my earring.  Who knew?  Good thing Walmart has a good return policy.

I told the story to my eldest daughter, who also loses things.  She said “I wish God loved me as much as he loves you…”  Oh yeah, it’s nice.  But I am quite sure he loves us both the same.

The Desoto Date

 

A wonderful place to spend some together time.
A wonderful place to spend some together time.

 

 

We were challenged to go on a date every week for six weeks. The time is up now and we tried to remember if we had done that, done anything that was memorable, gone anywhere we could actually name. We came up with a few things.

But I decided we’d better do something quickly to add to the list. We went to a beautiful park we’d never visited before. It qualifies as a date because I walked slow and waited for the husband every time I got ahead of him. We read the historical information together. I took a picture of the husband. We connected with nature and each other.

Here are pictures of Desoto Park. It may have been the place where Hernando Desoto landed and started his trek to claim the New World for Spain. There used to be a local festival honoring him and his conquests – lots of men would dress up in conquistador armor and ride a float made to look like a sailing ship in a very noisy parade. Plastic beads and fake spanish coins would fill the air. I digress. Unfortunately the local native americans had a different version of that history and took offense at the festival being all about Desoto. Now it is simply called the Heritage Festival.

I love this park for its walking trail along the mouth of the Manatee River. Pets are allowed, boats pull up on shore while owners lounge in the water, there’s lots of shade over the path when it enters the mangroves. And if you have never seen a gumbo limbo tree, you will see one here – a very old and beautiful one. That does make it a date, doesn’t it?

I was only a little bit ahead of him...
I was only a little bit ahead of him…
lots of access to the river and intercoastal waterway
lots of access to the river and intercoastal waterway
the path follows the beach at low tide
the path follows the beach at low tide
lots of history to view (read)
lots of history to view (read)
bridges take the trail through the mangroves
bridges take the trail through the mangroves
variety of plant and animal life
variety of plant and animal life
a small white heron
a small white heron
and the gumbo limbo tree
and the gumbo limbo tree

 

 

 

This too shall pass…

I didn’t feel very good yesterday, not awful, just not good.  In fact the last three days have been full of supposedly easy things being hard, supposedly reliable equipment being unreliable, and a mostly tolerable body feeling less tolerable than usual.  And the stress and pain culminated in a headache last night that was singularly awesome.  Well, actually I can think of three times when I had pain approaching that level and each time one aspect of it was that it seemed it would never end.  

This morning, on the other side of the worst of it, some words of a song came to mind –  “and time shall be no more.”  Frankly, today I am so thankful for the passage of time that I can hardly imagine being without it.  When no change of position would bring relief, when nausea nearly became overwhelming, one of my only comforting thoughts was that time would pass and so would this pain. 

This is not the first time I’ve thought about time (probably not the first time I’ve blogged about it either, but I forget).  The husband says I’m going off into an “alternate universe” direction when I try to imagine a timeless world.  And I wonder if that’s a bad thing or a good thing.  It is hard to think about seeing things that exist not sequentially as they seem to happen to us but all at once, outside of time.  To me it seems like this possibility could explain some of the mystery of God.  But I don’t pretend to understand – it’s just a feeling that it could be connected. 

Right now, I’m thankful for cyclical things, mornings and evenings, seasons, first and last, alpha and omega, even life and death.  I know that this universe with time written all over it seems to have been made for me. I’m okay with that. 

Men and Tools

I don’t have firmly entrenched ideas about what is men’s work and what is women’s work.  I am more about getting things done than about who does them. I have tools.  But nothing makes gratitude well up in me more than seeing a man use a tool to accomplish something, especially something that I’m glad I’m not having to do.

getting up there..., yeah that ought to be easy.
getting up there…, yeah that ought to be easy.

Our list of things to be done at the oneacrewoods got a bit shorter this month.  We’ve known for a couple years that there was some dry rot under the siding around some second story windows – not an easy place to work and also tricky when it involves making a big hole in the wall to replace windows in a climate where it rains nearly every day and is over 90° F (and a hot metal roof).  But our friends who have done quite a lot of work on our house over the years took it on, with ropes and ladders, patience and skill.  The finish work, inside and out, should be completed today.wpid-20140623_172906.jpg

Like most projects, this one grew midway through the process.  Once this bedroom had new windows, it was necessary to do some dry wall and sanding around them.  And while we’re making that kind of mess, maybe we should think about painting all the walls when we’re done.  And maybe since the carpet is in bad shape we should replace the flooring. Stop it, already.

The men took it in stride and added laying in a laminate flloor – in one day.  As I watched them painstakingly cut the pieces to fit and deal with all that pounding and sawing I was soooo glad that the only tool I had to wield was the broom.

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This Beautiful Place

Good morning world, it’s Tuesday.  Just after putting all my favorite sky pictures up I see this one on the way to work.  And even though I was slightly late, I had to pull off the road and get the photo.  I live in a place where there is something beautiful to see every day.  Where do you find beauty in the place you call home?

 

sunrise over intercoastal waterway.
sunrise over intercoastal waterway.

Do Tell

wpid-wp-1403351651150.jpegwpid-wp-1403351628666.jpegwpid-wp-1403351517432.jpegwpid-wp-1403351419227.jpegwpid-wp-1403351568153.jpegwpid-wp-1403351439848.jpegThe heavens do declare God’s glory, and I love to listen.  I live in a flat land with lots of horizons, clouds, moisture in the air and water to mirror the sky.  I am always seeing something that nearly takes my breath away, usually when I’m driving. I have to pull over and watch

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What About a Business Blog?

???????????????????????????????????????Notice the question mark after the title.  I want feedback from anyone who has experience with blogging as an adjunct to a legitimate business – you go to their website and on the top bar along with “account” and “shopping cart”, etc… there is an option called “blog”.  In your experience, who goes there and what are they looking for? What functions should the blog serve for the business? What kind of writing is most effective?  I am going to find out the answers to some of these questions through trial and error, probably, but it would be wonderful to hear from some wise ones and not have to re-invent the wheel – just sayin’.

I have the opportunity to write for a small family business (not my own) and am so intrigued by this new challenge I can hardly stop thinking about it.  The business has grown steadily over the past few years but now with an upgraded website and the desire to use social media to the fullest, the business blog is soon to be born.  I suppose that as I learn about the business, other people might also want to learn the same things. So… is it to my advantage that I know almost nothing about it? I hope so.

Another thing that would help me write for them would be to know if you have ever received an award for who you are or something you’ve done. What did it mean to you to have a tangible object of appreciation, something useful or beautiful, given to you?

want need crave comments.

Honor

Today I will think of all the spent hours of your life that translated into food for my body, clothing to cover me and as much security as you knew how to create.  Today I will consider that you started out as a teenage man with little instruction in family life, except that you grew up in a family yourself.  I will think about the times you changed your path and the uncertainty you must have felt as you searched for a better way to provide.  I will think about why you would fall asleep in your chair at the end of all those long days – not from laziness or drunkenness or escapism, but because you were physically exhausted.

I will realize that as a human you probably experienced sadness, frustration, anger (oh yeah), despair and doubt and yet you never bothered us children with any of it.  We had little knowledge of your struggles because you were a man and we were self absorbed children.  You taught us how to work alongside of you, but you always worked harder and longer.  And yet I can remember that you sang in the barn, and whistled and tried to yodel.  You modeled that it was possible, and desirable to enjoy work.  You gave me the idea that sometimes when trouble seems overwhelming the best thing to do is just go out and work at something.  Sometimes the trouble loses interest and goes away unfulfilled.  And at any rate, working is better than worrying.

As you’ve grown older with so many limitations ganging up on you, your persistence to do what you can inspires me (and scares me, but, hey… how can a nearly blind man on a rider mower cause any trouble?)  I see you teaching lessons of humility (when Mom is right and you are wrong), lessons of love (when you rub Mom’s feet and wash the dishes), lessons of trust (when you put those unsolvable things in God’s hands).  And you still whistle now and then and have Pandora playing on your cell phone, announcing your presence as you go.  I honor you for all of that.

Today I will grieve that as a society we have almost lost the concept of honoring our fathers for anything. Temptations are everywhere, expectations are high, psychology focuses on faults and there is nothing that cannot be blamed on a father.  I will remember how hard it is to be the head of anything, particularly a family.  I will be thankful for you – that you have not run away, that you are my dad, my father.

One of my favorite pictures of you, Dad
One of my favorite pictures of you, Dad

Sign Me Up, Please

I was only two steps ahead of a giant lizard who had gained entry into the dorm and was sucking up hapless students as they tried to figure out what was going on. That one had Jurassic Park written all over it.

Last night I dreamed.  I probably dream every night but I rarely remember any of them. For some odd reason I remember two dreams from last night. I willed the Jurassic Park one to go away and not come back.  It worked and I slept again. But the second dream was different and I hung on to it in wonder.

We, myself, my two girls and my mother, were in a large medical building waiting to be called for appointments.  My youngest was only about three and I was carrying her.  I was feeling kind of like a mother who has been denied custody of her children and is suddenly reunited.  I asked if she wanted to get down and run around but she said no and we hugged closer and smiled at each other.  We sat down since the wait was interminable, but we were still content.  My oldest daughter leaning against my knee and the youngest snuggled close on the chair beside me.  It was the most pleasurable situation and I remarked “this is the way it should be”.

The strangeness of the dream is that we do not have a broken home and I have never been denied custody. My children are grown and live far enough away that I do not see them often but they have moved on in very natural ways. I wanted them to grow up and have lives of their own. They have done that successfully.

It was like a little gift – to have that time back again so vividly – when arms were wrapped around my neck and a small head rested on my shoulder. I’m just sayin’ that I would like a regular subscription to that dream. 5-Reasons-Why-Pregnant-Moms-Ignore-Advice-Lift