Stuff

           Like most Americans I have a lot of stuff. Not that any of it is worth any monetary value.  But it’s just a bunch of well—stuff. It’s hard to categorize all the things I possess; lots of papers, versions of unpublished manuscripts, basketball drills, notes from clinics, magazines, school worksheets and diagrams, adaptors, cords of all sorts of old electronics, and even a blow up mattress that doesn’t really hold air anymore. All these things, I guess, I thought I’d hold onto and sell in a garage sale or I’d just file away another day, but that day never came and more stuff got piled on top of that stuff. I’m not like a total hoarder, but I have too many things that I don’t need.

            I have a two car garage that’s full and only one car. I also have a spare room, guest room or whatever you want to call it. (I don’t get too many overnight guests these days and I only have a twin bed in there so I guess it’s best to refer to it as the spare room.) You know what they say today’s as good as any day to start something you’ve been meaning to do. Actually I started last week, but I’m keeping my organization and purging project front and center and doing a little purging each week. I want to get rid of all these things that have no value or no emotional bearing on my life so I can make room for something else. I don’t know what I’m making room for, but I’m making room. Maybe it’s merely an overnight guest, maybe it’s a housemate, maybe it’s just sanity and peace of mind. Whatever it is I hope it finds its way to me soon because even though I don’t know exactly what’s coming down the pike . . . I know I’m getting ready for something and that’s kinda exciting in and of itself!

I'm Not Sitting on the Back Row Anymore (Figuratively Speaking)

            When I was in college many years ago all freshmen participants in the sports programs had to attend a seminar about the university’s expectations of student-athletes. I just remember several coaches from all the diverse sports, along with the athletic director, telling us to represent on campus and in the classroom. They mentioned that a few professors already thought every athlete was a dumb jock so we weren’t supposed to feed into that stereotype. The main points of the discussion were the importance of:

1)  communicating with the professor about when we were going to be gone  

      on road trips,
 

2) getting any assignments we’d be missing or to reschedule labs and/or exams promptly,

3) arriving to class early, and

4) the school officials emphasized sitting near the front of the room.

            Sitting in the front meant you cared. It communicated that you valued the class and the professor. Sitting in the front meant you were willing to participate. At least that’s what they told us. I was never a dumb jock and in most of my classes I don’t think I would’ve chosen to sit in the back(well okay maybe a few of the really boring classes) but that speech has always been in my head. And all these years later as a high school teacher myself, when students get to choose their seats in my class and certain students choose to sit in the back of the room the above statements run through my mind. But conversely, I also think about these things when I choose my own seats be it in meetings, in seminars, or in church.

I’ll be honest I don’t always sit in the front, in fact, there have been many times I’ve chosen to sit in the back row. Times that I needed to leave early. Or times I wasn’t feeling well. Or even times my friends wanted to sit in the back of a meeting. Those are all good reasons, right? But there are other reasons I’ve sat in the back— because I wasn’t interested, so I could make a quick get-a-way, because I didn’t want to be stuck. Well, this past Sunday I went to hear a dear friend sing at a church that I hadn’t been to in quite a while. She had told me before that she’d be near the front with other people. I didn’t really know her new friends and thought it might be awkward so instead of sitting up front I chose to sit in the back. The very back, by the door. A lone.

I thought about my seating choice during the service and decided that this might be an analogy . . . that I’ve been sitting on the back seat of my life way too long. In certain areas I’ve been passive, professionally and personally. Perhaps I’ve even become half-hearted in participating in my own existence. Maybe cynicism had kept me on the last row. Fear? Fear of being swept up by insincere people or caught up in something I have reservations concerning. In some ways it does seem safer in the back where no one will see you. Where you can limit your engagement and take in the environment, but not really partake.

I heard my friend sing a beautiful song and after the service I went up to find her and her new friends. I don’t want to live a passive life. I don’t want to just play it safe. I want to care about what’s going on and I want to engage with those around me. An introspective investigation of my own seating choice leads me now to these questions, where are you sitting? And most significant of all, why are you sitting there?

Digging Dirt

     I’ve began again the task of creating a paver patio. You see I started a few years ago by hand… digging down into the hard soil around the foundation of my house with my shovel. Needless to say after my separated shoulder started to remind me of my physical limitations, the realization that I had nowhere to put my discarded dirt, and no means to actually move the dirt off my property, I gave up. I thought maybe I’d completely abandon the project or pay a landscape company to fulfill my vision. Procrastination, indecision, and the busyness of life left a mound of dirt and growing weeds.

            A friend of mine tried to persuade me that I could still make the patio and even offered help. So much so that they delivered bags of paver base and bags of sand that has sat for two or three years along the sidelines. The materials from my friend were supposed to be a symbol of encouragement, but, wrongfully in my own mind, it became a reminder of an insurmountable mountain. Every time I saw the plastic bags I felt inferior and defeated. (Sorry friend. Thank you for the gesture.)

            I had an offer from my brother and other friends at separate times to help, and for reasons I won't go into now I didn't accept their invitations. One thing most people know about me is I don’t like to ask for help. One of many personal flaws I’m working on changing. Recently, another friend has offered once again to help and an opportunity to use rented equipment, borrowed trucks, and locations for dumping my dirt has brought me to a renewed place of action. The area of the planned patio has grown. Obstacles abound, among them:  creating a dry well for a drain, over a ton of crushed limestone needed, and masonry cuts for stone pavers. Just when I have begun to feel confident that one day I will see this patio completed I am frustrated by technical components that complicate the process.

            Why does this surprise me? Nothing in this life comes easy. And perhaps this is why I’m discouraged. At the moment I’m in the thick of things. I believe I’m working hard in all aspects of my life, personally and professionally, and although I see progress, the goals are not obtained. Maybe this is where I need to cut myself some slack. Or maybe this is where I need to work even harder. Or maybe this is where faith comes into play. But for now, at this very moment . . . I feel like I’ll always be simply digging dirt.

Year Round Friends

Yesterday my running/walking group met at my house for exercise, coffee, and conversation. There were eight of us that ran the gambit of age, religion, and life philosophies. They encourage me to wake up early during my summer vacation and run another mile.They are thoughtful to send gift cards and warm wishes to those who are struggling inside and outside our tribe. They are inviting to include my mom from time to time and my neighbor (who is now a solidified member to our weekly gatherings.) I am reminded of how important it is to have people in your life that give to you in meaningful ways. I am blessed. These ladies are my nine month colleagues in the trenches of public education and I’m proud to say—they are also my year round friends.

 

A Drive Down Memory Lane

            I had the privilege of doing something this week few 40 year olds have the privilege of doing. I was able to spend time with my last two living grandparents. My 90, soon to be 91 year old, grandfather from my paternal side and my 87 year old maternal grandmother. To be in the presence of these two individuals, at separate times, this week was overwhelming. My grandpa and grandma have seen me throughout every phase of my life and lived so much history of their own. They are— after all— members of the Greatest Generation. What they mean to me and my family is indescribable. And to have them with us —still— as they are entering their final years— is an immeasurable blessing.

            One of my aunt’s drove my grandfather from Southern Ohio to visit for the day. It had been at least seven years since my dad’s dad had been up to my parents’ home. My grandfather doesn’t like to leave his house for any length of time. He usually prefers his back porch with the fan blowing on him and his view of the creek bank. Although the view is dimming with the condition of his macular degeneration in his eyes, it is, as it always has been, the place that brings him comfort. I’m glad he was willing to exchange his environment for the day to share it with my family. I sat and listened for hours as my grandpa shared stories from a long time ago and provided his opinion of the direction the country seems to be is going. He shared advice that might help our President and Congress members get out of domestic and international troubles. He spoke about the war (in which he had an all too intimate account as a tank driver and purple heart recipient) and talked about his wife, my grandmother, whom we lost over 14 years ago. He described the frustrations of getting older. But believe it or not, for the amount of tough topics that were covered in conversation, most of the day was filled with smiles and laughter.

            On Thursday of this same week— I got to spend time with my mom’s mom. We went on a drive to find one of the many houses her and my grandfather had lived. (My grandfather passed away a year and a half ago.) The house we decided to visit was a small country drive away. When we turned on the former road my grandparents had lived, the houses looked different than I remembered. It appeared on a much smaller scale than it had existed in my mind. The plot of land they owned dwarfed by other homes on either side — their property used to be so vast. Once cows had pastured behind the fence row, but progress had long since replaced the pasture with a string of newer homes. My grandmother and I even turned around and passed by the old house again to make sure it was the right location. And before we returned to her current home we stopped at the ice cream store. Not the one we had stopped at decades before, it was closed in lieu of a newer, fancier structure just down the road. We did, however, eat an ice cream cone and in that moment we were transported back in time. In the car as we savored the summer treat the only reminder of the years that had passed was the fact I was the one in the driver’s seat. Grandma and I reminisced about time gone by. It was nostalgic on so many levels.  

            Like so many other families in the midst of navigating the rough waters of aging loved ones—we, as a family, face challenges as my grandparents’ health decreases. And as my grandparents’ health decreases, in turn, certain tasks increase for those family members that are providing care and transportation, but family takes care of their own. And as my grandparents have taken care of their children (my parents) and as they have chipped in when their grandchildren needed babysitting or a special favor, we are taking care of them. This week I am thankful for a generation I have been fortunate to know and I am reminded that time is our greatest gift we give to those we care.   

           

Great Expectations

Don’t worry we aren’t talking Charles Dickens today. We’re talking a regular human occurrence— getting our hopes up. I’m going to skip the negative side effect of when expectations don’t meet reality (because we’ve all experienced that occurrence and that’s not a fun post to write.) This post I’m focusing on the positive aspect. Today I’m talking VACATION! I read in a study that people are happier sometimes weeks and months before a trip because of the anticipation it yields. I believe it.

I’m getting excited for a little road trip outta state, across a handful of states, rather. I’m not sure what it is about trips that make me happy. Maybe it’s because as a kid my family wasn’t fortunate enough to take many vacations. Maybe it’s because I like adventure. Maybe it’s just the idea of getting away from it all for a few days that seems appealing. Or maybe it’s because our older neighbor growing up once gave me this piece of advice – “travel and see all you can when you’re young because when you’re older you don’t have the opportunities or the health.”  

Regardless of the reason I’m happy about a trip coming up. I’m happy. When I discovered an earlier planned trip this summer wasn’t going to work, I admit, I was bummed. But my friend (we’ll call her Awesome) came through. Awesome knows how much I like to travel and how rare my opportunities are. So she made it happen. I know Awesome wants to get away too. She’s a stay-at-home mom who has a supportive husband that encourages her to have an adventure every now and again and explore a different corner of the country. So it’s a mutual beneficial trip. We’ve traveled together before and we’re both very flexible and chill. And an added bonus is I do have a friend that lives in the vicinity of where we’re venturing. And although I do many things alone— and at this season in my life I’m okay with that— the one thing I don’t want to do is . . . travel alone.  

I want to be able to say a few years from now:  Remember when we saw . . .

or that one time when we were at . . .

It’s validating in some way to share a trip or a memory with someone. Oh, I’m sure that one of these days I will take a trip by myself, because my bucket list is too long and my friends who have flexible travel schedules are few. But for now— for my soon-to-be trip— I have great expectations for getting away and making memories to share. And don’t worry— I understand we might run into a traffic jam or the hotel may not be as advertised. Time stands still for no one and I want to follow my wise former neighbor’s advice. Thanks, Awesome and especially thank you, Mrs. Stewart!

A Perfect Summer Day

A morning run.

          Coffee with friends.
  
                         A long drive on back roads-
                                             windows down and music up.

A lunchtime yoga class.

                 Mowing the yard.

                                   Washing the car.

A popsicle on the porch swing.

             Phone call with family.

                         Hanging out with more friends at a local winery.

Definitely A Perfect Summer Day!