The Rhythms of Life

The leaves were approaching their peak as we traveled through Michigan.

A year after meeting in October of 2014, Chuck took me on a weeklong vacation touring the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, first staying on Mackinac Island, and coming home along Lake Michigan through Wisconsin. It was a bucket list getaway for us that took place during my most favorite season of all, and yet. I am learning to dislike those events that follow "and yet."

Early morning on Mackinac Island, the streets wet with rain.

Our vacation just happened to coincide with one of those weeks when I watched life events unfold around me that left me shaking my head in disbelief, and feeling very, very sad. It just seemed that trials kept happening to people I cared about, and there was nothing I could have done to change the events that left people hurting.

Tahquamenon Falls, Michigan

The backdrop for all of this sadness was such a sharp contrast to how I felt because my husband and I were enjoying the fall leaves, and celebrating Chuck's 56th birthday that week. I was surrounded by such stunning scenery, and spending time with my sweetheart. I felt such guilt as I fought to keep tears from brimming my eyes, and struggled to keep my composure as we drove from one scenic spot to the next.

Near Munising, Michigan

What could be so troubling, you may wonder, and why was it affecting me so deeply? What was happening around me? Life, plain and simple. Ordinary things that happen every single day  to people I don't know were now affecting people close to me: death, loss, illness, canceled plans, unrealized dreams. 

A loved one went to bed one night, and didn't wake up the next morning; a young life ended way too early. A friend's father died who was one of the most beloved bus drivers at my elementary school. My oldest called to say that somehow the settings on his camera had been changed, and the thousand shots he took this month had all been shot at the lowest resolution. (If you are a photographer, you know this is a big deal.) We had to cancel my husband's birthday celebration planned with his boys and parents so no one else caught whatever the terrible virus he was battling at the end of our journey. A road trip with my younger son to celebrate his 18th birthday looked like it was not going to happen. My daughter's life was in limbo, as she was deciding to leave California, and head back home to Utah. And I couldn't deny that lethargy seemed to be taking me over, and there was an annoying tickle in my throat that made me nervous about flying to Utah the day after our vacation ended. 

One evening in Munising, we stopped at a local market to buy a chocolate birthday cake and food for a few meals, and while Chuck was paying for our groceries, I perused the greeting cards, something I love to do. I was so emotional, that reading a sweet sentiment struck a chord. A mist started to form on the inside of my sunglasses, and I put the card back, thankful for the dark glasses that hid my tears from Chuck and the other shoppers. I didn't want to ruin his birthday with my melancholy mood. I realized I missed my kids so much.

Falls near Munising, Michigan

There was a rising sense of panic that I needed to gather my children around me, to know they were safe and sound, that they knew how deeply I loved them, and that I wanted to make sure I took every opportunity to tell them "I love you." Chuck suggested I call them, and tell them. I was worried I would burst into tears, so I sent frequent texts while we were gone, checking on them, and reminding them of my love.

It seemed that everywhere I turned, all I could say to friends and family was "I'm so sorry. I feel your pain. I have been where you are." And I had to trust that everything would work out the way it was supposed to. Sometimes there is just nothing that can fix what has happened. What's done is done, and all we can do is help our friends pick up the pieces, and start over.

Tahquamenon Falls

When I relinquish the ridiculous notion that I can control any of the variables that affect the lives of my loved ones, it doesn't change much of anything, except my reaction, which in all honesty, is the only thing I get to control anyway. When I am at peace with uncertainty, I feel more calm. When I learn to let go of those things I can't change, I become unstuck, and I can start living again. When I take stock of the situation, I realize that everyone deals with loss, pain, and suffering. Nothing lasts forever. That is very reassuring when we are going through trials of our own, and reminds us to enjoy the fleeting moments of joy that come our way while they're here.

We were surrounded by water as we traveled along Lake Michigan, and then went to Mackinac Island which is surrounded by Lake Huron and Lake Michigan. There were waterfalls galore near Munising, Michigan, which borders Lake Superior. We spent a lot of time watching the lakes. It gave me time to think.

The waves pounding the shore of Lake Superior

As I took in the scenery, I realized how life is fluid, like water. It ebbs and flows. There are births and deaths; highs and lows; torrential downpours and drought. Both water and our lives can be turbulent one moment, and peaceful the next.Watching the waves of Lake Superior crash on the shore, reminded me of the terrifying power water has when it unleashes its fury. When we watched a small rowboat cross a lake that was smooth as glass, feelings of peace and calm washed over me. 

The still waters above the falls of Tahquamenon, Michigan.

Just like life events, water will not be controlled by the efforts of a lone individual. Consequences are set in motion by choices and actions of those we love. Hearts soften, they sometimes break, and sometimes, hearts simply stop beating. We need to appreciate the power and the beauty of nature, and respect the forces at work around us. 

The harbor on Mackinac Island

In our wedding vows, Chuck and I promised to be each other's safe harbor, to be a soft spot to land when the world seems harsh. 

During that challenging week, I finally opened up to Chuck about my sadness. I cried, and he held me, and loved me through it. He didn't fix it. The problems didn't go away, but I felt strengthened by his love, and knew he would sit with me as I wrestled with my troubling thoughts. 

Each morning, we welcomed the sunrise on the docks of Mackinac, and each evening, bid the sun goodnight as it set over the water, beyond the bridge. There is something so reassuring in the rhythms of life. Even as the sun was setting at the close of day, I knew that it would rise again the next.

We know there will be endings; we also know there will be new beginnings. We get another chance with each new day. There is some comfort to be found in knowing the sun will rise with its warmth and light after a long night of darkness. 

Watching the waves of Lake Superior.

What can we do when it seems we have no control over the events around us, and the waves of life are crashing down around the ones we love? We can observe. We can sit in companionable silence with our loved ones as they mourn, and appreciate what has been, and look forward to good things to come. We can live in the moment, and try not to force things we cannot control. We can cherish what we had, and be grateful for what we still have. We can let go of our pain, and accept the peace that comes from letting go. While we can't always fix everything, and make everything better, we can offer our love, and our support to others until the storm subsides, and the seas become calm again. 

The storm will subside, you know, as hard as that is to believe in the thick of it; the seas will calm. We can take comfort in knowing that whatever is troubling us won't last forever. We need to be patient.

The sun will rise on a brand new day, and until it does, we need to hang on until the morning. The darkness won't last much longer, and when it is over, we will discover strength we didn't know we had, and tender mercies we may have overlooked. 

The lessons I learned at the lakes reminded me of the comfort we can find in the rhythms and cycles of life. It may take awhile, but the solace we're seeking is there, just waiting until we are ready to let go, and just be.

Though She Be But Little

Into each life some rain must fall. 

Remember that dreamy, romantic date Chuck and I had at our favorite Italian restaurant a couple weeks ago? Lest you get the idea that our oh, so perfect life belongs between the covers of some glossy suburban lifestyle magazine, let me tell you how that night ended.

As we were walking hand in hand around Geneva, I got a phone call from my oldest son. I knew right away he had bad news. He had just taken his puppy Elle, a 4-month-old French bulldog to the emergency veterinarian. She was going to require surgery to repair a broken elbow. Our biggest concern was that a heart defect would prevent her from surviving surgery. When Elle was born, a cardiologist in Las Vegas determined she had a stage four (out of six) heart murmur. Our own hearts were breaking. Very tough decisions needed to be made.

Oh, so many tears were shed over that little pup. We were so far away, and I felt so helpless. While the kids consulted with veterinarians in Nevada and Utah, all I could think to do was to ask friends to pray. At the time, out of respect to my son's family, I did a little "Vague-booking," asking friends to pray for people I love who were hurting. And then I personally asked family and friends of ours who are dog lovers to please keep Elle in their thoughts and prayers as she went into surgery.

I am so happy to report that not only did Elle survive the surgery, she is now thriving as a three-legged Frenchie. What a little trouper. She still jumps up on the couch to look out the window, and she chases her ball, and loves to drag big sticks around the yard. 

Thank you all for your words of support and encouragement that emotional week, and especially on the day of her surgery. We are so happy that Elle is adjusting to her new circumstances, and that she is so strong. 

Though she be but little, she is fierce. That's our Elle. 

A Child of the Universe

Standing on our deck in my bare feet, I watched as my steamy breath rose in front of my face. The sun wouldn't be up for another hour, but I love this time of day. We finally have cool autumn mornings again; 45 degrees today. I knew the puppies would be outside a little longer, so I went inside to pour myself a cup of coffee, and put on my tennis shoes and a sweatshirt.

After I turned off the motion-sensor light, I stepped out into the early morning darkness. I found my way to the railing, and cradled my coffee cup in my palms, my hands enjoying the heat. The sky wasn't as dark as I would have liked, but the hour of sunrise was approaching. I was still able to make out the brightest stars, and certain constellations whose names have have always escaped me.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I surveyed the landscape. The tall maple tree is still full of foliage. I saw our little shed, and the fluffy cedar, and the two big pine trees. Outside our chain link fence is the Rotary Park, which I like to pretend is an extension of our yard. I took a big sip, and let the creamy coffee fill my mouth before I swallowed. 

Then I looked up. I haven't done that much here; the beauty of the night sky is usually compromised by the competing street lights and city glow in nearly any town near Chicago, but today I just wanted to remember the feelings; the conflicted feelings of being so small, and yet feeling so blessed.

A quote I have loved since I was in high school came to mind, this one by Max Ehrmann. 

"You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should."

Looking up into the stars, I feel connected to the earth, to loved ones near and far; here and beyond. There is also a reminder of how insignificant I am in the big scheme of things; that little dose of humility never hurts. But I also feel so blessed to have the privilege of living right now. The beauty of the earth reminds me that God saw to all of these amazing details when he created this incredible universe, and he allows mere mortals like me to enjoy these miracles on a daily basis. So while I realize I play a very tiny role here, I am also reminded of the blessing I have of just being alive; that I am a miracle, too.

Just Say Yes

Chianti's is a little Italian restaurant in downtown Geneva we consider our place. There are little twinkly lights strung around the trees outside, and inside, the tables are covered with white linen tablecloths, and Frank Sinatra is crooning his tunes through the sound system. We like the atmosphere as much as the food.

Sunset over Geneva, Illinois

Knowing we had a crazy-full weekend ahead of us, Chuck surprised me by offering a week night date night at Chianti's. That's a big deal, folks. #Teambennorth heads to bed very early on "school nights;" we're talking 7:30 or 8:00. So going out on a night other than Friday or Saturday was pretty monumental. It was easy to say yes to his proposal.

After we paid our bill at Chianti's, we headed down Third Street, holding hands and talking, strolling past the quaint boutiques and restaurants. As we neared Graham's Fine Chocolates and Ice Cream, Chuck asked if I wanted dessert. 

"Nah. I'm good," I said.

My husband stopped in his tracks. "Who are you, and what did you do with my wife?" he asked. 

It was a valid question. In the three years we've been together, I can't remember a time I turned down ice cream. As I considered my answer, I realized he loves Graham's for their mint chocolate chip ice cream as much as I just love ice cream, in general. I couldn't come up with a reason I was refusing it, but I determined I didn't want to be the wife who was the wet blanket. 

"I changed my mind; let's stop at Graham's." 

Chuck should be getting used to not being surprised about my changing my mind; at least, he doesn't get perturbed with me. 

By the time we got home, I was starting to get congested. The next morning, I wasn't feeling too great, and by Sunday I was SICK, but the generic versions of DayQuil and NyQuil kept my fever down, and my symptoms at bay. My cold ended up lasting less than a week, and now I'm up and at 'em, doing all the stuff I didn't do at all last week. 

Next time I refuse ice cream, we'll have to check my temperature. I'm probably just getting sick. 

I've always tried to say YES to the good stuff life sends my way. I'm glad I came to my senses in time to remember to say YES to ice cream. 

Like a Good Neighbor...

All was quiet in our neighborhood Saturday morning. We live in the middle house at the end of our cul de sac. Chuck and I bring up the average age of our neighbors considerably, but they have included us in their social circle, and we love it. None of us could know what that day held for us. Sometimes it's best not to know.

We had an afternoon family photo shoot in Wisconsin on our Saturday lineup, but our morning was wide open, which was a pretty exciting prospect for a girl who enjoys a loose schedule. I love having a little wiggle room to futz and putter. Maybe we would even all go for a walk! 

As it turned out, the day turned hot early, and our day went from wide open to really packed, really fast. Chuck looked up from his editing program on his computer, and asked if I still wanted to walk the puppies. 

"It's just too hot," I told him, as I rearranged the throw pillows so I could stretch out on the couch. Well, with Bristol, I never get to really stretch out because he is usually tucked behind me or on one end of the couch, but I felt a nap coming on. 

Chuck took that as having the "all clear" for a nap of his own, and left to lie down on his "headache couch" to let his Excedrin migraine start to work.  Yes, my poor husband has headaches so often that his preferred couch for recuperation is lovingly called the headache couch around here. We had about an hour before we had to leave for Wisconsin, and we were choosing to spend the time resting, and then getting ready.

"What is that smell?" I asked myself, looking first at Bristol, and then Sam. Hm. No, the smell was awful, but it wasn't them. Was it the pillow beneath my head? The dogs have been known to take naps on it occasionally; maybe I was smelling a little "eau de canine." Inhaling deeply, I determined that no, the pillow wasn't the source of the foul smell. 

One thing about me is I have a pretty good sense of smell. I may be deaf in one ear, and may have deteriorating vision, but my sniffer knows when the air is sweet or foul. I wasn't going to be able to sleep with that fragrance wafting through the house, so as much as I hated to disturb my great grey puppy, I got up in search of the smell.

The odor seemed stronger by the window, and I knelt down near the air vent. Ugh. The smell was coming through the vent with the cooled air. Uh-oh. I headed off to the basement. Halfway down the stairs, I saw water covering half of the floor in the main room, and I immediately knew from where the smell was coming. 

"CHUCK! The basement is flooded!" Dang. There would be no naps for us, and no headache relief for my sweet Chuck.

Chuck and I spent the next hour routing out the drainage pipe. No Roto-Rooter for us; my handyman husband had his own equipment to get the job done. I was so nervous we were going to be late for the photo shoot, but as it turned out, the water started draining, and Chuck even had time for a quick shower before we left for Wisconsin. 

It wouldn't be until later that I realized I wasn't slogging through water downstairs. The house smelled awful because our sewer pipe had  spewed sewage over most of our basement floor. Oh, My-lan-ta. Talk about gross.

In checking with our neighbors, we realized that the sewer had backed up into five of our homes. Nothing brings neighbors together like a shared calamity. Through our private Facebook page, we updated each other on information from the city, cleaning tips, and some good-natured joking and teasing. 

We received an invitation to a bon fire with our neighbors next weekend. I laughed when I saw the Facebook post: "Poo Flood Relief, event for Tha Hood." 

You know you have good neighbors when you can laugh about cleaning sewage out of the basement, and you know you have the best neighbors when you not only laugh, but you celebrate it!

Our neighbors are here for us, and we hope they know we are here for them. State Farm's got nothing on these guys. 

Fear of Failure

All of my life, I have been afraid of failing. Luckily, I was a good student, and things came easily for me in school, or my story would be very different. When it comes to athletics or creativity, any talent I have, I struggled to achieve. 

What is under that leaf you might wonder. Hang on. I'll show you.

Basically, if I don't succeed at something with my initial exposure, I tend to walk away, and I don't look back. I do better with things that are incremental, like when I used to lift weights. It was easy to start light, and progress to heavier weights. And when I began taking pictures as a little girl, I was happy if pictures were in focus, and I didn't cut off any heads, or have my finger in the picture. It wasn't until later in life that I took my photography seriously, and now I love it.

In high school and college, I took art classes. I had some fun with drawing, but painting intimidated me. I remember I did a painting with acrylics of some pine trees shrouded by fog. I loved the original work I copied; mine, not so much. It was missing something, but I had no idea what. 

My stepmom and my aunt are artists, and both of them are good at painting. I have friends who are crazy-talented with a paintbrush. One day I would love to paint a picture that does not embarrass me. 

Chuck has encouraged me to return to my art. He would love for me to start sketching and painting. I have thought it might be fun, but then I wonder, what if I'm bad at it? I haven't done much drawing in years, unless you count drawing Peppa the Pig for Miss V. 

Credit: Christine Thornton

So, I mustered up some courage, and I signed up for a painting class. "Fall birch trees" sounded lovely. The siren song of all things autumn sang to me, and on an impulse, I registered for the free painting workshop at our Saint Charles library. 

Oh, lordy, what had I done?

When I arrived, the room was full of old women and one man. No offense to the folks, but let's face it, any class offered at one in the afternoon isn't going to be full of college students, stay-at-home moms, or people who are gainfully employed. We were all retirees. 

Each work station was outfitted with a sheet of watercolor paper, watercolor pencils, markers and pencils. There was a beautiful print of fall birch trees for us to copy. I began to feel very nervous. 

I wanted to capture the richness in the sample, with dark shadows and jewel-toned colors.

Paint brushes put fear in my heart. They seem to have a will of their own. This class by Christine Thornton appealed to me because we were going to use water color PENCILS, and then apply a bit of water with paintbrushes to activate the paint. It seemed safer than a full-on painting class with palettes and tubes of paint. 

As I painstakingly tried to copy the teacher, I realized I was taking most of the fun out of it for me. My fear of failure reared its ugly head. 

When Christine stood in front of me, and picked up my painting, I could barely breathe. She said something that had an encouraging tone, but I was so anxious, I had no idea what words she said. All I knew was my painting did not match the original beside my own, and I was disappointed. 

Good grief! Doesn't the red blob look like a humongous cardinal hugging the tree?

Teachers can encourage and cajole all they want, but it is up to the student to be teachable. We were reminded time and time again that our work would be our own, and would not be identical to the sample. I didn't care. I wanted mine to look that good. Never mind that I haven't taken an art class in over three decades.

As soon as she concluded class, I cleaned up my supplies, and headed home. I didn't even stay for the librarian's photo of our group. 

At my kitchen table, I studied my painting. There were things I liked; the birch trees' markings, the shadows on the trunks, and the way the colors blended between the trees. There were things I hated; the too-bright colors, the blob of red leaves on the left that looked like a humongous cardinal hugging the birch tree. 

As I looked at my painting, I had ideas of how I could improve it. I decided I wanted a mulligan. Maybe if I practiced, I would get better. (I know; some of us are pretty dense.)

Amazon will be delivering my Derwent watercolor pencils and my cold press watercolor paper today. I might not get my painting to look just like the professional's, but I bet I can make improvement on my own. That seems a goal worthy of a beginner. And I have to remember that is exactly what I am, a beginner.

Here's to being willing to fail without being afraid. Seeing fear fade into the distance of my rear-view mirror will be a welcome sight. 

Waiting for the Fog to Lift

The fog has blanketed the city of Saint Charles these last two mornings. Yesterday, it felt like a dark, grey fog had settled in my soul. The puppies seemed to sense my sadness, and they took several naps with me. 

When I feel like this, I tend to return to old habits which include grazing my way through the day. I have eaten too many cookies, and too much ice cream these last couple of weeks. Rather than address what's bothering me, I eat until I feel numb. Then I sleep. 

This morning Chuck was at the breakfast table, reading from his iPad while he ate. The steam from the crumbled sausage rose to my cheeks, mingling with my hot tears. I wiped my eyes, and tried to focus on the sweet, maple-scented sausage. I was afraid if I spoke, the dam would break, and I wouldn't be able to stop crying.

Today I will fly "back home;" only I won't even see my house. All of the kids have places of their own, and we are congregating in Saint George for my long weekend in Utah. I've always felt like I was "going home," whether I was flying to Utah or Illinois, but this time, there will be no time at home; not mine, anyway.

I looked up from the sausage, glancing at Chuck. Would he understand my attachment to a building? Would I burden him with my inevitable tears? 

"Honey, I think the thing that bothers me about going home this time is I am not actually going home. I won't see the house at all." That's when the tears really began to fall. Chuck pushed his chair back, and wrapped me in his arms. He knows he can't make everything better, but he can listen to me, and hold me. 

You see, the little house that got me through two divorces, and welcomed Chuck into its coziness when we met in the fall of 2014, is standing vacant right now. I am 1,400 miles away from my home of healing. I love The Cozy Cottage for everything that it was, and what I hoped it would be, our retirement home. What it is right now is empty. Very, very empty.

There are no loaves of home-baked bread cooling on the counter. There are no silly conversations taking place at the kitchen table. There are no suitcases and duffle bags in the bedrooms. There are no dogs or cats on the couch. It is just the shell of the home it once was.

When my daughter needed a place to live, Chuck and I offered the cottage to her. It proved to be a place of refuge for her, too, until she was ready to spread her wings and fly again.

After Chuck left for work this morning, he called to let me know the fog was offering beautiful photo opportunities this morning. He reminded me all of my little chores could wait. I didn't have to be told twice. For one thing, I was glad to postpone dealing with all of these feelings ricocheting around in my heart. I left as soon as I was dressed.

My photography session went from walking around the city by myself, to driving out to a bird sanctuary with my friend Susan. I'm lucky that Chuck and Susan are both good listeners, and they both let me cry when I need to do that. Taking pictures, especially while outdoors, calms my spirit.

By the time I got home, I was calmer. My oldest son called me, and I told him how I was feeling. He offered to take me to my house this weekend; it would be a quick round trip so we could be with everyone in Saint George. I realized how silly I sounded, and thanked him sincerely for his offer. Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and we will go home for our Thanksmas. And that will be just fine. I'm going to be okay.

When I got home, I took the last of the ice cream, and filled the carton full of water and emptied it into the sink. I ate an apple while I edited my pictures. Letting the tears fall and my words find a voice has soothed my soul. I feel so much better, even though nothing has changed. The fog is finally lifting. 

Git 'Er Done

Click-bait. Sorry. This post isn't really about Bristol at all.

After a couple of weeks of laziness and procrastination, things got real yesterday, and I decided I better get busy. It was time to "git 'er done," as Larry the Cable Guy would say. I checked things off my list right and left, and didn't even stop for a nap. What??? I know; I shocked myself.

Post-bath nap. Bristol was shivering; hence, the blanky.

The vacuuming I've been avoiding? Done. The puppy baths I didn't want to do? Check. Contending with the drawer in which a mouse wreaked havoc? Sanitized! The dust bunnies that have been multiplying like rabbits? Removed! The two extra dog crates that have been hanging around in the living room for a couple of weeks? Put away! That mowing I've been putting off? Done and done; sorta. (Confession: I only did the front yard. HAH! But hey, at least we have a little curb appeal again, and our neighbors don't have to look at our overgrown yard any more.)

This is what they look like when you follow THE RECIPE. 

Not only did I get laundry and dishes done, I baked a double batch of my fail-proof BEST EVER chocolate chip cookies. Except I managed to botch the batches yesterday. 

But Denise, they're fail-proof. I know what you're thinking. They are fail-proof when we follow the directions. I was in a hurry, and forgot one little detail. The recipe doesn't call for three cups of flour; it calls for three and a HALF. Oh, well. The cookies are still delicious; they just aren't perfect. (Recipe right HERE. Trust me. You want this recipe. Just remember to read the ingredient list carefully. It DOES make a difference.)

Made me laugh. Wouldn't hiring a maid service be awesome?
But then I think of what I'd have to do before they came. Nah...

My stepmom called me mid-frenzy and I told her what I was getting done. She teased, saying she only does that when company's coming. That's the thing, y'all. Company is coming! 

Last night we had our oldest son and his wife over for Giordano's pizza and Lord of the Rings, and Sunday we have friends coming to dinner. We plan to be gone all day today, so my only chance to whip the house into shape was yesterday. 

Did I learn any important lessons about procrastination? No. It's too late, you guys. I have always been a "wait until the last minute" kind of gal. I'm retired now. There are no schedules, no deadlines, no pressure. Life is sweet. I like to linger in the sweetness as long as possible, and then I dive in and get things done when they have to be done. I've been this way all my life. We're not changing this horse's colors this late in the race.

My husband is realizing that our house goes through an amazing transformation whenever we have friends and family coming over. I guess the one lesson I've learned about myself is having folks over is very motivating to me. Maybe we should have people visit on a regular basis. I'd "git 'er done" much more often.

Gratuitous picture of our pretty girl Sami.