Unchained

The Righteous Brothers got it wrong: time does not go slowly. 

Out in the yard yesterday, I ran into the little girl who lives next door with her grandparents. You truly never saw a more beautiful child. While she was petting Cassie and telling me about riding the school bus, I realized that when I first moved here, I watched her Dad carry her around in an infant seat. Now she goes to school. Where did the time go?

I drove my friend D to the eye clinic for cataract surgery yesterday. Later in the day, she had to have her cat companion euthanized, and I stayed with her during that. I clearly remember when this now-20-year-old cat was a tiny kitten, terrorizing D's household. This made me stop and realize that D and I have been friends for 28 or 29 years. How is that possible?

Mom turned 76 yesterday. If I were estimating, I'd probably say her 50th birthday, for which we had a great adventure, happened five or six years ago.  Now I'm beyond my 50th birthday.

I wore the motorcycle boots with a sweater dress yesterday. Today, I'm thinking red-and-black cowboy boots and a black-and-white houndstooth bucket hat. People may think I'm a crazy old lady, but not for long. It all passes in a flash. Might as well make my flash colorful.

News of the Weird

Want to hear something ridiculous?

If you Google the word "Jerri," the first result is my little blog. 691,000 results, and this is the first?

Seriously?

I swear, I learn the strangest things when I check out my site meter. 

More Gifts

29 Gifts delivered a delightful gift yesterday. 

Yesterday, Panera Bread collected food for the Salvation Army Food Bank, which is having a very hard time right now. My gift for the day was a bag of food for their collection. As I was delivering it, Katie called. 

"Mom, I just have to tell you about my gift for the day," she trilled. ("Gift for the day"? She's doing gifts?)

In late summer, Katie had a registration crisis. A class she needed in order to graduate was full. She had done everything she could to get into the class, and done it all on time, but still had a problem. As is her way, she planned ahead and weeks before the deadline, started checking in periodically, trying to work it out. A woman in the Administration building took up her cause and, after many, many emails and phone calls, worked out a way for Katie to get into the class. At the time, Katie thanked her on the phone and by email.

Yesterday, Katie found the woman's office and thanked her in person. It's registration time again, so there was a long line. As Katie waited, she worried that the whole thing was dumb and that the woman wouldn't remember her or care, but she stuck it out.

When it was finally her turn, Katie stepped up and explained. "I'm Kathryn B. You helped me get into XXX this semester. Before I graduate in December,  I wanted to meet you and thank you and tell you what a difference you made for me."

The woman burst into tears. She talked about how hard it is to work with students and how rarely they appreciate her efforts. She told Katie how much it meant to have someone say thank you. She said, "This says something about your character. Kathryn B., I predict you have great things in your future. Can I hug you?"

As Katie told me all this, she positively glowed. "Mom, it really made her feel good. Seeing that was So. Much Fun!"

Tears rolled down my face. You want to talk about fun? Hearing my daughter tell that story was fun-on-a-stick, a true gift from the Universe.

Your local food bank might be having a hard time, too. Please check it out and share if you can.

More Than Just the Motions

I wore motorcycle boots to Barb's party on Sunday. With black tights, a knee-length black pencil skirt, a long, gray swing-jacket, and the peacock blue scarf. My hairstylist niece punked out my hair for me and I wore big silver hoop earrings. I may have looked a bit eccentric, but I felt like my true self. I am still 55 and still more than a few pounds overweight, but I have started dressing like I feel. 

If not now, when? 

When we get to the last few reps of a difficult exercise, the sprite/woman who teaches my Saturday Lift class yells, "Say you can."

That little phrase has turned me loose. Whether it's one more rep, wearing boots with a short skirt to honor a woman who LOVED boots, or finishing a magazine story about an impossibly arrogant CEO, when I hear myself think, "I can't..." I consciously stop and listen for Linda's voice: "Say you can." 

A few weeks ago Deb commented, "We have earned the right at our age to stop using torture to change ourselves."  I listened to her wisdom and stopped going to the aerobics classes that feel like torture. Instead, I go to classes that challenge me without  leaving me flat on my face on the floor.

I've learned that I can move my legs up and down, or I can push off  the pool floor with intention and power. I can walk around a lake as usual, or I can throw my legs a little beyond my normal range of motion and feel each stride in a new way. I can move the barbell up and down, or I can squeeze my shoulder blades at the top of each dead lift and discover muscles I'd forgotten.

It's got to be about more than going through the motions. Weight lifting, dressing, eating, living, loving.... In everything, the juice—the improvement—the joy—lies in the difference between simply doing it and embracing it.

Some people (my mother, my sister, and maybe even my daughter) would say I'm too old to wear tights and boots. They could be right, but I'll never be younger than I am right now. I have been granted the privilege of growing older, and I'm going to make the most of it.

Because I can.

Such Sweet Sorrow

The party in celebration of Barbara's life was held last night. The restaurant did a beautiful job--the room was just the right size for the crowd, the food was good, the drinks plentiful.

After an hour or so of general mingling, Barb's husband Duane welcomed everyone and invited people to come to the microphone and talk about what she meant to them. For nearly three hours, one person after another talked about the difference Barb made in her life, how Barb helped him get his book published, how Barb kept her from going crazy over a man. 

Barb's brother John read a poem he wrote for her. Her sister Janet told stories that made everyone roar with laughter. I'd heard Barb tell all the stories Janet recounted, and hearing them in a different voice brought me the closest to tears that I was all night.

Generally, though, it was not a night for crying. It was a night for laughing, for remembering our outrageous, glorious, talented, opinionated, beautiful and beloved friend, sister, teacher, wife. It was a night to be inspired by her courage and her grace. 

We gathered to say fare well, but not good bye. None of us will ever forget Barbara Robinette Moss.

Photo: Barb beside a burro in Sante Fe, NM...showing off MY brand-new boots. 

Anniversary

Mom and Dad celebrated their 58th anniversary on Friday. 

Several months ago, Dad went with Mom to the Bernina store, the place where she bought her sewing machines and now buys many accessories. While there, she saw a sewing table and fell in love. It was so expensive, she didn't even consider buying it.

The next day, Dad sneaked back to the store and bought the table. Since that time, he's been surreptitiously  cleaning out his shop area to make room for his desk, which is now in our sewing/craft area. Moving it will make space for Mom's new table.  My nephew, Brendan, and I have carted off a lot of stuff for him. 

As part of this effort, Dad finally repaired some of Evan's old riding toys he's had in his shop for four or five years, and we hauled those to my house. He can only go up and down the stairs once a day and can only work a few minutes at a time, so it's been a major project for him, a true labor of love.

On Friday, Brendan and I were slated to pick up the table and deliver it to the house while Mom and Dad were out to dinner. This involved half a dozen phone calls back and forth, mostly to reassure Dad that we remembered, would be careful, knew what time they would be gone, and would leave the table somewhere she could not fail to find it.

When they got home from dinner, it took Mom several minutes to notice the table. Dad hovered near it and talked to her until she looked straight at him, and thus, at it. I don't know how she could not have known something was up. He was all but quivering with excitement all day. 

Fifty-eight years. For 58 years, they have loved and irritated, delighted and disappointed, surprised and been surprised by one another. They drive each other crazy and they can't live without one another.

Saturday morning, Dad got ready to leave for the deer woods, an annual weekend with his brother and some long-time friends. He puttered and pottered, making no real progress toward departure. Finally, Mom walked up and put her hands on each side of Dad's face. 

"What's wrong, Honey?" she asked and leaned back to look into his eyes.

"I don't want to go. I don't want to be so far away from you," he answered as he bent down to embrace her. She wrapped both arms around his waist.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll be right here when you get back. I haven't left you yet. It's probably too late now."

After one last hug, Mom turned away, refusing to watch him leave. Dad shuffled out the door, gasping for air.  Each wiped away tears they thought the other did not see.

For just a moment, the magic and the tragedy of such deep love grappled in the sunny room, Jacob and the angel wrestling among the dust motes.

Gift Update

So...the 29 Gifts. It's fun and interesting and very revealing, but not in a way I could have predicted.

In the first week, every day I gave away several things. Not as part of the plan, simply because giving opportunities arose. Each time I realized how many things I'd given away in one day, I thought, "Gee. I wish XXX happened on a different day. It could have been my gift for a day."

After a week of this, I realized how frequently I give things away. I say this not to pat myself on the back but out of a new realization that I've never stopped trying to be good enough, never outgrown trying to earn love with gifts.

By the end of the first week, I changed my tactics with 29 Gifts. Now, every day I give a gift to someone else. I also give one to myself.

Giving to myself is harder. 

For one thing, the gifts aren't tangible. Instead, I give myself the gift of working out even when time is pressed by the needs of others. I give myself the gift of choosing iced tea when Coca Cola is singing its sweet siren song. I give myself the gift of cooking healthy food instead of grabbing something quick.

I love the idea of giving a gift every day. After nearly two weeks of the plan, I especially love the idea of giving with intention. Intention lets me distinguish between giving from my heart and giving in an effort to earn love or acceptance or friendship. 

Recognizing that difference is one of the biggest gifts I've ever gotten.