Sometimes we eat fancy.
And when I say fancy, I mean the nice plates, real silverware, water glasses, and cloth napkins – all while sitting at the dining room table. Fancy. When I was growing up, fancy dinners happened every night. Though I didn’t really consider them fancy at the time. It’s just what we did. When I got married and started a family, fancy dinners continued – every night. It’s what we did. When company visited, the table was extended to welcome our guests and fancy dinners commenced. I remember years ago while visiting my parents, they shocked me by revealing the fact that they no longer sat at the table for evening meals. Instead, they had invested in dinner trays and settled in the living room in their respective chairs, all while watching the news or a game show. Hardly fancy. I couldn’t fathom eating in this manner. Ever. But then, something happened. My husband and I became empty nesters. Fancy dinners became rare as most evenings we found ourselves eating in front of the TV while watching the news or a game show with plates perched on laps, or in my case, a throw pillow. (Dinner trays are so obsolete.) Hardly fancy. But occasionally, we eat fancy. And we remember the fancy dinners spent with family and give thanks for the memories and the moments that made dinner time precious time. Fancy.
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Mimi, can I run through that field
Just over there? I want to run free And smell the fresh air! The corn is TALL! And it's so green! I can hide for days And never be seen! I can twirl and sing And walk down country roads! I can jump and run And catch little toads! I could stay here forever And never be bored! There's so much to do And so much to explore! So, can I, Mimi? Run wild and be free? I love this place Where I can be me! If you recognize this picture, then chances are you are now chanting the words (sorry about that)!
Of course, the classic children’s story is none other than “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt.” As a former preschool teacher, I’ve read this book numerous times and I can honestly say I can still chant the words the from memory. But I’ve never paid much attention to the black dog who accompanies the family. Until Jensen. Jensen is our 3-year-old grandson and according to him (and unbeknownst to us), a big black dog lives in our house. He announces this fact every time he visits our house. His eyes get wide while his voice lowers to a whisper and for a moment, the house is silent as we acknowledge the presence of the big black dog, according to Jensen. Recently I insisted Jensen lead me to the big black dog (who just so happens to reside in the basement of our house, naturally). Together, hand in hand, we descended the stairs on our quest to find this ominous creature. So as not to wake the beast, we used our very quiet voices as we searched. We ended up in the guest room (also known as the sleep-over room). Crouched on our knees with a pair of ‘noculars, we peered underneath the bed, in the closet, and finally behind the door (because as we all know, these are the places where big black dogs live). “Mimi, we are on a big black bear dog hunt, right?” (Light bulb moment.) “We sure are, buddy.” (Did I mention how much I love the creative imagination of three-year-olds?) Together, we are going on a bear hunt to find a big black dog who lives in our basement under the bed and behind the door and in the closet. It’s an adventure worth exploring with a three-year old who holds a pair of ‘noculars. And who also holds my heart. #goingonabearhunt #bigblackdog #authorlife #mimilife #preschool #imagination I believe that time in heaven is nothing like time on earth. And for loved ones who have gained their eternal residence in heaven, I believe time stands still.
I'm sure there's a Godly explanation for time on heaven versus time on earth. For example, heaven is a place with no more suffering and no more tears. He knows the hearts of His children and recognizes time away from loved ones can be a time of great suffering. So therefore, time in heaven must be but a blink of an eye before we are reunited with loved ones. But on earth, time continues to tick by. 1 year. 12 months. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. One year ago, we sat by my mom's side. Held her hand. Stroked her hair. Whispered sweet words of love. Experienced ... peace. And then God took her home. God comforts those who mourn. He leads them beside still waters and provides timeless peace. He knows my heart. He knows my suffering. He knows my grief. He refreshes my soul and gives me peace for this day. He is good. Until we meet again ... This week marks my mom's one year heaven date in addition to Father's Day. Therefore, Grief is a little more present this week.
I've always known about Grief but it wasn't until I was older that she actually became part of my life. When I was younger, I'd see her from a distance - attached to older relatives, acquaintances, co-workers and others - all who were experiencing the loss of a loved one. For years, I was able to avoid personally meeting her. But eventually the time came with the loss of some precious friends and beloved family members. Grief had finally decided to attach herself to me whether I liked it or not. And I did not like it. Nor did I like her. In our early days of togetherness, she was in my face and my space constantly. There wasn't a place I could go to escape her. She insisted on being by my side. ALL.THE.TIME. She was exhausting. And just when I thought I had moved on, she'd remind me of her presence. Sometimes she would be nice and give me little trigger warnings so I could be prepared. But other times she would just show up and show off as if she was in charge. And to be honest, sometimes she was. She's been a part of my life for quite some time now. I know when she is close by and even when she's distant. She's with me always. I'd like to think that we are done with the unexpected and heart-breaking encounters that she is known for, but I also know Grief does what she wants and when she wants to do it. So we will continue on our journey of companionship and with whatever the journey brings. Grief's presence will forever be present, at least on this side of heaven. Some days I just sit with her and she reminds me of our first encounters. Grief is a little kinder on those days as I lean in to her and remember the heartbreaking moments while soaking in the precious little memories. This is when Grief and Love meet. I know that Grief is a result of Love. Without Love there would be no Grief and I cannot imagine a life without Love. For now, I'll simply embrace Grief and wait until I'm reunited with Love. Fun fact ... I love crafting ~ specifically memory pillows using favorite shirts from a beloved family member or friend.
Holding these precious garments is an incredibly personal experience for me. It's like I have been allowed a tiny little glimpse into the life of a person whom I've never met. These shirts once covered a beating heart. These shirts once covered arms that hugged loved ones. These shirts once lived a life. Often the shirts are received still holding the scent of its owner and I love that. Scents can provide such sweet memories and comfort. My dad was an Old Spice and tobacco kind of guy and every once in a while, I allow my senses to remember his fatherly hugs. Sweet memories. Every pillow has a story of a life lived and loved and I'm always honored when asked to create such a special keepsake. Snacks and a seek & find book can only mean one thing.
Road trip! When I was a kid, family road trips happened just once a year ... immediately after school ended for summer break and before summer really hit. And always to the same place ... Springville, Alabama, to visit my grandparents. One of the highlights in preparing for our road trip was choosing snacks, purchasing new puzzle books, and selecting a few toys to keep us company as we traveled. No iPad, smart phones, movies, or other electronic devices to entertain us. Air conditioning meant the windows were rolled all the way down and music selections were left to our parents and a sketchy AM radio station. Motels were costly and not always available. Often my parents would pull in to a road side rest area, along with other travelers, and catch a few before hitting the road again. Road side picnics always included cold friend chicken and a butter sandwiches. And on more than one occasion, one of my sisters would touch me and the other one would look at me. It's a wonder I even survived. And yet, I looked forward to it every year! I love a beautiful garden ... especially this time of year when everything is in bloom. Recently, I stepped into a garden that was lush with green plants, fragrant flowers, and singing birds. In the center of the garden, the gardener talked to the birds as they fluttered around him. His face was full of wonder and love as he held out his hands toward the birds. His eyes crinkled with laughter as the birds rested on his outstretched arms. I didn't think he knew I was there as I silently watched him interacting with the birds. But I should have known better. The Gardner knows and sees all who enter into His garden. And He welcomes all with wonder and love and outstretched arms. Pacquins hand cream. This is the hand cream she would use every night. After dishes were cleaned and put away and after she changed into her nightgown and robe. She'd sit in her chair next to dad, under the glow of the living room lamp, and she would massage her hands with Pacquins.
I had forgotten this scent and memory until recently when I took notice of the aging of my hands and therefore decided to show them some love. Upon opening the jar of hand cream, I was immediately transported back to my childhood days and the sweet memory of my mom. Recently we cleaned out the home of my late mother-in-law. As we walked into her home, immediately we were greeted with the scent of an apple cinnamon plug-in. This will forever remind me of her. Scent is a powerful emotional trigger. I'm so thankful for these scents and the memories that come with each sniff. Love is in the air. Confession. I'm not an early morning person. My body seems to prefer a solid 10 hours of sleep and I'm ok with that.
My mom, on the other hand, loved her early mornings. And by early mornings, I mean up-before-daylight mornings. I'm talking o'dark thirty mornings. Rumor in our house was that she would have a load of laundry hung on the clothesline before the birds were even awake and a second load in the wash. And if laundry day consisted of washing bedsheets, then you better be up with beds stripped by the time the second load was on the clothesline. The woman loved her early morning routines and I loved this woman. Oh to just hear her voice one more time as she hollered up the stairs ... "Staci Jo! Time to get up! And throw down your sheets!" Today is an early start day for me. My body is not yet awake and yet here I am. The birds are singing and the sun is rising. And my heart is flooded with sweet mom memories. It's going to be a good day. |
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