Autumn has felt compressed this year because of late colors, vibrant, short-lived, and arriving in unison. There was no gradual unveiling, with colors neatly taking turns on the mountains. This year was a carnival, chalk color run, and confetti parade with all the players on stage at once. Life is like that sometimes.
A fixture is something you think is necessary and useful in a house or schedule, and once it’s there, it becomes part of the landscape. You hardly think of it.
I am challenging many “fixtures” in our home and lifestyle.
The computer desk in the kitchen for kids? Not needed. They now use the kitchen table and my laptop on which I control access.
Books we own but did not enjoy and will not read again: donating those.
Fabric from the past twenty-four years: down to one box.
Cards and letters: while so meaningful to me, the objects themselves don’t bring happiness. It’s relationships that do that. I am parting with many of these pieces of paper.
Collections: what can’t be displayed and enjoyed is not needed.
Papers showing our children’s home education: I have learned most of these are not important to them, and just a few treasures are important to me.
Craft supplies: many of these have not been used since Paige was a little girl. Most can be donated.
Ultimate Frisbee: Just one night a week now, in a city league, not the school team.
Piano lesson times: changed to fit MY schedule better. This has made a huge difference in my stress levels, and we found times to make everyone happy.
Working through these objects and activities is also making me work through my history, my dreams, and my insecurities. It’s no surprise that a home is the best place to find out what a person is really dealing with. Apparently, I have real issues letting go of reminders of my children when they were young. This is silly because while they were adorable and smart and fun back then, they are even more interesting now. I love the new depth possible in relationships with my adults and teens, and it is so exciting to watch them soar. I am also learning to stand up for my personal needs when it comes to scheduling the kids and taking on obligations. I cannot run the pace that others run. For my gifts to flourish, I require a lot of stillness and order, and a good, real, in person conversation with someone every single day.
Summer feels less like a family member and more like a visitor once school begins. I sit in the car at the base of Little Cottonwood Canyon in front of the piano teacher’s house and watch the rays of sun find their path through the leaves of trees. Shifting gold patches of light lay scattered on the road before me and the poplar leaves shuffle in the wind, sounding almost like a stream. Hazy light brings definition to the fins of cliffs layered like a fan ahead of me. The quality of light brings thoughts of football season, new pencils, new shoes, and the crunch of leaves beneath my feet.
I have declared lesson time is writing time, the car, a retreat from the house that seems to echo with reminders of all I need to do.
We do, and do, and do. The lists are getting checked off, but the signs of strain showed up for me this week: mouth ulcers, forgetfulness, irritability toward our naughty dog patient.
Paige began her move back to Provo, her last move to BYU. I watched her drive away through tears even though I knew she would be back the next day. It’s as if I owe each child some tears to mark milestones. They breeze out of the house, anxious for the next step, but I see the path, and the steps of childhood and early adulthood are running out. Their days grow bigger than toys and games at home, their circles are wider than family and a few friends on bicycles, and their journeys as different as their interests and gifts.
Sigh. Hooray! ((Sniff.))
What’s on the list for today?
Buy more cereal, the fuel of choice.
Vet
Calls
A visit
Clean. The. Floors.
Feeling a bit low this week, I went shopping for a gift, and noticed a beautiful rug in the store. I took picture after picture and admired the price. But the thought came that buying this rug wouldn’t fix the way I felt. I remembered a friend in Arizona whose home was filled with expensive, beautiful rugs. When I complimented them, she told me that she bought them during a time of grief.
On this beautiful week of sherbet sunsets, long walks, porch conversations, and a midnight message that family traditions live on while apart, my lapse in courage does not need to be memorialized with a rug!
Finding courage is about gathering from a depth of being and experience we no longer remember. My courage this week came as I studied pictures and stories of ancestors, and from a small voice in my mind reminding me of the power within myself to handle this time in my life. It came as I trusted in my ancient and continuing relationship with God.
Last Sunday, when I made my trusty plan for the week, I thought my highlight would be a small Primary Presidents’ luncheon for twelve women. It was to be a good, but basic week. But then, invitations came. All week, I have been surprised by the expansion of my plans.
One big change in plans was I was asked to accompany someone in church on the violin, only the music was written for the cello. Richard watched me trying to transpose music by hand and took charge and produced the music I needed using the computer. He intervened quickly, without my asking, and this was so helpful!
Another small surprise was being invited to perform our song at two family gatherings last night after playing the song in church. It was an honor to be invited to these two homes for a few minutes.
Do we know how powerful a home and family feel to someone stepping in? Even though I came from my own cozy evening with family, I felt honored and gifted by the family feeling (the Spirit of the Lord) in each of these homes.
Friends, I am certain that your brand of hospitality and your family, even if it’s one person, have power and goodness. That may be a surprise to you, but I know it is true. Invite someone to your home for lemonade or music or a meal. They will not forget it.
The posture for May was heads down and knees bent for heavy loads. This last week of school finds me looking up from an appointment book that isn’t bursting out of the margins with the wispy, disconnected thought, “What just happened?”
The spring decorations on the shelves looked weary and a little dusty, so I cleaned and boxed them up. Next March, the same decorations will feel fresh again, and will be a welcome change to close out winter. The reds, whites, and blues are here to replace the pastels, and I have a few new toys to display. I am becoming the kitschy queen. So be it. We survived May, and the ferris wheel seemed an appropriate trophy.
In the high school, teachers turn students loose in the halls early from class, or just let their students play on their smart phones. Tim had one class today where they played Mario Kart. Tomorrow is yearbook day. As I remember, that day seemed so important. It’s the day you hope your friends will write something nice and then you spend a few hours studying each word and comma for meaning, then set the book aside and not look at it again for 30 years. Many of the boys will be unrecognizable in 30 years. The women change less.
Tim and two friends are mowing lawns and landscaping this summer. He will go on Pioneer Trek and a high adventure trip. Mark is going to Scout camp. Richard will camp and camp and camp and fully explore every possibility. I may paint, serve on a jury, and read a biography of George Washington. I may not do any of those things. All I know is that I will meet a lot more people for my church calling and try to remember their names. In the evenings I will turn on the ferris wheel and listen to the children play in the street until their sounds are replaced by the song of crickets and sprinkler systems.
We are ready for the summer treatment.
We are moving forward with carpet after nearly seven years in the house. I guess this means we are staying, although we saw a lot more of our families when we lived out of state. Living close to family means we’re everyday relatives, not destination relatives. In fact, we went to St George this weekend and neither we nor anyone else took a single photo. I’m a little sad that I don’t have pictures of the missionary, his pretty mom now out of the hospital, the cousins, the aunts and uncles, and the grandparents who gathered to celebrate his service. We are still treated like destination relatives, but our stays are shorter. I love being present for the big and little things for the extended family, and there are some very sweet memories that I will treasure from this trip that do not require photographs to recall.
May has been its usual busy self. Richard was away from home all but one weekend, I think. The sprinkler system has been down, but the rain has compensated very well. My new church calling has stressed me out, but with each “first” and introduction, I see that things will be fine. The boys have stayed up late. We have still not planted the tomatoes. I don’t remember the last time I mopped the floor. But sometime this summer, there will be soft new carpet in the house, and I have a pretty new plant. The woman at the store who cares for the plants was a little sad that I took it home instead of her. I kind of want to name the plant Shiela. Wait. Did I just share that online?
We have seen seven winters and springs in Utah. This spring, however, we have tulips everywhere, so many that I wondered if someone planted extra bulbs while our backs were turned. The array of colors is surprising and stunning. Most are tulips we did not know we had. They bloom in places I cleaned out in the flower beds last summer. They bloom in places I have ignored. In glorious display, they proclaim to me that some of the best developments in life happen after an intense season. They show me that latent divine understanding can bloom after drinking steadily from living water through the storms. What a sight!
I think when I look back on this time in my life, I will be thankful that I was present when Tim came home from Frisbee practice, muddy and smiling. I will not regret being home and available to video chat with Daniel for the first time since Christmas. I will smile when I think of the jokes I made with Mark about the DWISBA as I drove him home from school. I will remember the texture of each boy’s hair in my fingers as I gave haircuts and the smell of starch while ironing shirts. I will smile at the memory of the beautiful home I worked to create. I will remember the souls I loved and the ones who loved me. I will remember that this was a sweet time. Sometimes I feel weary, unwanted, and stagnant, too, but that will not be the melody when I look back at this time with the perspective of age. I can see myself looking back with a smile. These little moments make me smile today.
…drives the band in the school bus to and from state basketball tournament games safely…
…sees me and talks to me while checking my groceries…
…gives my sons rides home from church activities…
…stays up a little later to make a lesson plan a little more engaging…
…donates money so our daughter can have scholarships and art grants…
…feeds our missionary son and asks for the recipe of his favorite dessert, even though it is in a different language and has different standard measurements…
…takes time to visit the school to speak encouragement and tell fun stories to my middle schooler…
…reads my self centered words…
…takes time to write to me…
…remembers important days and acknowledges them…
…shares talents…
…RSVP’s to a party invitation even when I don’t ask for it…
…shares a real life experience with me, not a contrived version she thinks would be more palatable…
…inspires me to seek deeper meanings in my study of scripture…
…inspires me to be myself…
…notices when we are missing…
…sees that we are trying…
…asks good questions and listens to the answers…
…doesn’t try to define us as just one thing…
…delivers mail in the snow…
…takes away our trash every week…
…selected our piano for their showroom so we could find it in Tucson…
…planted the trees in the yard…
…selected our white kitchen cabinets…
…wrote the book I finished today…
…shared the Book of Mormon with my family/ancestors…
I feel gratitude for you and many, many more.