A Good Place to Be

Weddings have been a big part of our summer. I have lost count of how many we have attended. Well, if I stopped to think about it I suppose I could figure it out. ;-) I love weddings. They are a special part of life and one of the things that bring a spark and joy to our days.

I suppose there have been many special and unique moments from each of the weddings we have attended. But none gave me pause like the one we attended last night. None had a moment that inspired me to write. The wedding last night most certainly did.

Throughout the reception, as is the norm, the Best Man gave a speech, the Maid of Honor spoke and we heard the thoughts of a guest speaker that was close to the bride. I think the Father of the Bride also said a few words. All were very meaningful and the Best Man’s speech was especially entertaining. One could tell each that spoke had deep love for the couple.

Also, as is the norm, there was a good deal of poking fun at the groom. The Best Man was hilarious. The bride’s special friend was very funny too. He was also very emotional as he spoke which was incredibly touching. But warn and poke fun at the groom he did. He is a triple black belt (or something like that) and he was a member of military Special Forces for 32 years. It was hilarious when he told the groom, if he ever hurt the bride, he would find him and take him out…or something equivalent to that.

I laughed and enjoyed every moment. I hadn’t given any of it too much thought, having come to expect this kind of banter toward the groom at most weddings I have attended. It is all in fun. And most grooms have come to expect it and they take it very well, laughing and nodding their heads in earnest agreement. They also want to protect their bride! It is what they have been taught to do and this is the woman they love; most, more than life itself.

But I wanted to stand and cheer when the Bride’s mama stood to say a few words. It was obviously unplanned, and she later told me that she felt it was the Lord that prompted her to do it. I believe her. I felt the Lord in her words. Below is a pretty close paraphrase of what she said:

“It seems like we have been doing a pretty good job of roasting [the groom],” she stated. We have poked a lot of fun at him. But I just want to say a few words on his behalf since no one else has.” And she proceeded to say some of the things that she so appreciated about this young man and the reason why she is so thankful he had come into her daughter’s life.

It was beyond beautiful. And it struck a chord with me that hit deep. I have long believed our men go largely unappreciated in today’s society. They are mocked and distrusted and even belittled. I remember years ago, upon the beginning of the women’s lib movement, my dad taught me the harm this would bring to our society. My dad, (who has 3 daughters and one son) pointed out the belittling of daddies and men that was taking place on television and in the movies. He was absolutely correct and pointed out several examples. Thirty years later or so, James Dobson caught up with my dad and said the same thing. I took it to heart. I had written about this subject in the book I wrote about my dad. And I knew these two men observed something important and were trying to impart truth.

Since that time, I have watched with concern the world’s way gaining place in the Christian community. We have worried so much about our daughters, we have neglected our sons. Oh sure, we have taught our sons to treat women like the Bible instructs us, but I believe we have protected our daughters to a place that we have failed to teach them the respect due our men and sons. We are quick to point out God instructs the man to leave his father and mother, but we fail to point out the same is true for our daughters. I had noted the pastor of this bride and groom did a good job of pointing out the roles of each during the ceremony. I was impressed. But too often the words and even the Scripture go unheard and we choose the world’s way, instead. 

This wedding and this special mama of the bride spoke words that washed all of that concern away from me - if only for the moment. I could not have been more proud of this mom. And I am pretty sure I was the first to clap and woot when she finished her words. A pastor’s daughter sitting next to me just as quickly joined me.

"This needed to be said," I commented to the young woman when I saw her join my cheers.

"Yes, and it needed to be said by a woman," my intuitive new friend responded.

Many of us were in agreement that our sons have been neglected. Some do understand men are to be respected and encouraged in their endeavor to provide for, decide for, and protect their families. That is no easy task and can only be done properly when following God’s instruction and direction.

Our young women need to offer support for the man they choose. The Bible tells us they are to act as a helpmeet to their spouse as planned by God. They need to be proud and excited to take a new name and join a new family. I wish I could remember the way a friend of mine explained it not too long ago. She was thoughtful in her observations and eloquent in her words, as she spoke of the place a man should have in a wife's heart. I do not have that eloquence.

Further, each family should embrace the new member with love and acceptance. Obedience to God’s word is key. Only then, will both find true happiness and be a part of a union that works. The pendulum does swing in our community, and I think it is time to come back to where God actually intended us to be.

God uses marriage in a symbolic measure of His love and plan for us. The church – His bride. He loved His bride enough to die. But then what is the bride to do? And no, I am not saying the bride should worship her groom. But love, honor and obey is a good place for her to be…for her own benefit and the benefit of her someday family.

Something to think about, anyway.

When the Mourning is Over

I never thought I would say this, but I think I am ready to sell our home. I am old and it has simply become too much. There is no joy. There is too much distracting me from it. I am doing it all alone and nothing is getting done.

This summer has been a literal curse and it has been brutal. I have hated every minute of it. No rain, no help, no flowers, no grass, no life, no bluebirds and the meadow larks are long gone. There has only been death and grasshoppers, dead grass, bees and snakes. NO JOY!

I have been in pain for 24/7 since March. And why? Because the only thing we can grow is boulders. I am tired of hurting. I am tired of having to run to town when my home decays all around me. I have peaked. I’m out.

My son will be moving on soon. And that is as it should be. He needs to establish his own life, build his own home. He needs to prepare financially to make the right decisions for his someday family. And that is exactly what he is doing. I could not be more proud. There are not many 22 year old men that are making the wise decisions he is making. There are not many men his age that have put so much direction into his career, believing he is following God’s calling - His mission. I could not be more proud. I want to shout it from the roof tops all of his accomplishments. He is to be commended and supported. I will support him with my very last breath. He has done things right.

But at the same time, I am already missing his presence. I cry to think that he will not be coming home here from his job, or waking up to say “Good morning, how did you sleep?” But that’s ok. It is as it should be and I would never hold him back or want it any other way. He is to leave his mother and father; and just as importantly his parents are to let him. We will share in his joy. I will NOT be distracted from his joy and accomplishments.

At the same time, the changes in his life, and the blasted curse of a summer we have had, has made me realize it may be time for a change in my life as well. My husband works hard, and he does not have time to care for 10 acres when he has a day off. We somehow have become old. The whole reason for our home has been for our son. To give him the kind of life we chose for him. I had hoped to have a place from his childhood that he could someday bring his kids to share his fond memories. A place to come back to. But I am just not sure I can hold on...to this one, at least.

I cannot bend over to tend to my garden, it has laid to waste. I cannot ride my horse, I can no longer clean the stalls. Today, I thought I would finally get to the lawn, but I have not enough strength to start the mower. Yep! I’m angry at my inability! So I decided to come in and write and whine. Shed a few tears of discouragement, disappointment and frustration…and write and whine some more. It hurts to walk and push the mower, anyway!

And yes, I am going to post this! No one has to read it! No one likes complaining, but I feel the need to vent.

I have watered until I am blue in the face, and yet it has not been enough. It is as dry after as if I had never watered.

Sidetrack - You know how the flies get in August? All lethargic, but just spinning, spinning, spinning and they just won’t land so you can kill them. They have been that way since June. And there is one spinning around me that I just can’t kill. He is making himself a nuisance as I type – a crummy reminder of this entire no-good-for-nothing, lousy summer. I hate flies. Usually they don’t last long in my house. I can’t get this one. He has landed on my head, on my hand, and buzzed around and around tormenting me.  - End Sidetrack

Someone gave me a beautiful grape plant. Someone I love. Brought it to me all the way from Seattle and kept it for me for the week he spent on vacation in Montana, because we missed each the first time through. He cared for it and kept it healthy. After he gave it to me, I put it on my deck to plant it a bit later, but in my crazy life of run, run, run, I forgot to water it and now it is barely hanging on with a thread. How could I do that to a gift I cherish!!!!! Because I barely have a brain left!! That’s how!

Symbolically - My Life

My windows need washing, I can’t get to it.  The dump pile my husband continues to make, which I have continually tried to clear to make the entrance to the house look better, has now become the dump pile he has always wanted. I can’t clear it any more. The neighbors are mean. The dogs old. It is time to give up.

There have been no quiet moments in the yard, no evenings or mornings on the porch. No star filled night sky, no barbeques. No rides in the woods, no company, no peace, no joy. Only time to put out the most current fire and the next and the next and the next. And in passing, I watch with concern the conflicts placed on those I love the most, with an inability to make anything better.

I will never move to the city. EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!! “Never say never”!!!!! WHATEVER!!!! Somewhere there is a place for us - for our next home. I got a clue this morning that my husband is thinking this way too. "Somewhere without acreage!!" he said. Maybe that float home my son found. Ha! We have somehow become old before our time.

We will move somewhere that I never have to see Highway 95 again!! Somewhere I don’t have to look out to failed pasture, and dried up lawn eaten up further by a plague of grasshoppers. Somewhere where I can give up and give in and simply settle for next best because our dreams no longer have place. Time to find a new dream. I know I will when the mourning is over. Time is all.

Going to the shower to sing the Doxology…and I will come out refreshed...just in time to tackle 95.

 

 

The Little Red Table

“Go get the little red table.” The words came back to me as soon as I saw it. Without being weird, it is like the table spoke them to me – figuratively, anyway.

I am not sure why it caught my eye. Perhaps someone mentioned it; perhaps it just clicked when I finally looked past the items that were sitting on it. I really don’t remember. I simply remember when I saw it, those six words came back to me, and I exclaimed, “That’s mine!”

Just as quickly, I gathered myself together and appropriately asked my mom, “Is that the little red table? Can I have that?”

“Put a sold sign on it,” she just as quickly replied.

We were having a family garage sale. The location was my folks’ house - the home where I grew up. But several family members brought items to sell. It probably wasn’t the best weekend to schedule a sale, with the 100 degree heat and all the other activities going on in our community, but schedule it we did. With summer running short, and busy weekends slated ahead of this one, I felt like it was a "now or never" kind of thing.

It was fairly successful. Everyone sold something and made a little money. But the success of family time spent together was even more significant. My folks seemed to thoroughly enjoy it; and though I worried about them spending too much time in the heat, they really wanted to be out there with us.

We visited with our “shoppers” that stopped to see our wares; we arranged and dickered, and second-guessed ourselves. But most importantly we shared memories, and talked about things that were meaningful to us. A certain item might have sparked a memory in one that the other sibling had totally forgotten.

My oldest sis placed a claim on a thermos that she remembered Dad using for both work and recreation for years. When I asked him if he was ready to "Goodwill it", he said no. He still had some use to get out of it…maybe when he went Steelhead fishing this fall.

“When he is done with it, I would like it”, my sister told me. I put a label with her name on the bottom of it, so no one would forget.

We all remembered playing our records on the stereo that had long been stored away in the basement. My oldest sis mentioned the hours and hours of playing her records while the folks weren't home.  I remembered hiding the “rock and roll” from Dad, while the little sis, remembered sitting on the stereo consul in front of the living room window for hours as it was the best vantage point for seeing what was taking place outside. (I assume, anyway.) Even as I write, I remember Frankie Laine's Cry of the Wild Goose and Johnny Horton's Whispering Pines as a few of our favorites that would spin over and over. Everyone was thrilled when my son bought the consul for his new home. It would stay in the family.

What most struck a chord with me was "the little red table". It wasn’t even as much the table that I desired as it was the words that accompanied it. “Go get the little red table.” I don’t know how many times I heard that refrain as a child growing up. I don’t even remember what it was we were “getting it” for. I think we used it for an extra place to eat as a child, when company came. I assume we used it to set up our brand new record player that dad brought home for us when Chubby Checkers was popular. I’m pretty sure I colored on it, and probably played “school”. Maybe I played Barbie dolls on it. I don’t know. I just remember my mom saying, “Go get the little red table.” And I’m sure from time to time it was a sibling that said those six words when it was time to play Monopoly or Clue.

I need to have my mom refresh my memory about the history of the table. I know it originally had at least one chair that went with it. I remember the little chair as plain as day, too, but I am not sure what happened to it. I think it had been welded a time or two as a repair. The table and chair were metal and when we were kids it was a worn red color. You see, the table was even old when we used it. It used to be my Uncle Jerry’s – my mom’s youngest brother. Uncle Jerry has since passed, but I suppose he would be around 80 years old by now, had he lived.

I got the biggest kick when I got home from the yard sale and heard my son say, “I put the little red table in the trunk of your car; I will bring it into the house for you.” I smiled. His words were music to my ears, because the table is no longer red, it’s black. But some names simply remain, as they should and I love that. Somewhere along the line, the little red table got painted black. Will it stay black now, or will I repaint it red? I don’t know. It wouldn’t be the exact same red, if I painted it; and the black is now part of its life history.  I suppose my folks used it for a variety of things after we kids, were long gone from our home. Who knows how many decades it has been stored away in the folks’ basement, waiting just for this moment when someone would place a claim! I just happen to be the lucky one.

But I hope my siblings know I will share should they ever feel like they want to experience the memory, too. All’s they have to do is tell me: “Go get the little red table.” And I will oblige…at least so they can play on it for a little while.

 

Yes, I have a problem with "letting go".

 

Don't Mess With Crazy

We’ve had some discord in our neighborhood, recently. It has actually gone on for a couple of years now. Renters moved in down the street who don’t seem to understand the importance of consideration of others. They don’t obey the speed limits; the kids race up and down the street on their motorcycles and four-wheelers all day, creating unnecessary dust and noise; and compounding that they have become increasingly aggressive. They have a cannon they shoot off periodically and they often shoot other firearms without a backdrop.

We have a homeowners association here, and several members have complained. Several neighbors have tried to talk to the father of these children who is a single parent raising his kids with the help of a grandma. I understand the hardship, so I have tried to be patient. It came to a climax for me, when a neighbor told me a little over a year ago, that the kids were starting fires in the empty wooded parcel across the street from us. I sent my son in to verify the information. After he had gone in, I heard gunshots and I was immediately worried. He knew I would be. He called and stated, "I’m ok.” But a bullet had grazed a tree branch above his head.

I wasn’t OK! I was furious! Still in my pajamas, I jumped in my car and told my son to meet me at the entrance of the woods. He did and we proceeded to the neighbors to talk to the father. Now there had been a lot of disruptive action that day, and this dad had already been confronted by two other neighbors. He wasn’t about to talk to me and he was equally furious. I stood there at the entrance to his garage watching him, until he had no other choice but to come talk to me. I won’t go into it; suffice it to say, it didn’t go well. But at least I made him aware of what had happened and he got my feelings as I returned fire...both barrels.

Since that time, the noise and disrespect has continued. The shooting of the cannon, the shooting of their firearms and the racing bikes. Several neighbors have called the sheriff. The homeowner’s association wrote a letter requesting they obey the rules of the CC&R’s, and also show some respect for their neighbors. All to no avail. The kids became increasingly disrespectful, seemingly singling me out as the sole source of their problems. The older boys, rev their engines as they drive by our home in their trucks. They have yelled out names at me when I am in the yard. They have antagonized my animals. And the younger kids seem to follow the elder’s leads by revving the rpm’s on their bikes as they drive by.

The father came to my door one day accusing me of something I didn’t do. My response to him was “I’m not the only neighbor out here, C., that is upset with your children.” His response was “I know that.”

He walked away. He wanted no further communication. But since that time, it seems things have gotten under control. No more cannon, no more racing bikes. I am not certain of the reason. I don’t know whether C. finally got tired and took action, or if some of the kids are gone for the summer. I have no clue. I just think it is all sad.

So that’s the preface. I wanted you to know what has led to what I really wanted to write about. This is the part I think you will find entertaining and a bit humorous.

I was at a local grocery store in the larger town south, when I happened to notice the oldest boy. I had just pulled into a parking spot, not realizing I had parked diagonally to the young man’s car one or two spaces north. He and a friend (or possibly a brother) were walking to their car with ice cream cones as I was gathering my things to go into the store. We noticed each other at the same time.

The oldest boy watched me as he got into his vehicle, with a smirk on his face that I wanted to slap into next week. They smiled at each other and continued watching me the whole time. They sat in their vehicle licking their ice cream cones staring at me with the smirk on their faces. I didn’t want to have to confront them, approach them, or walk past them. But they were in direct line of my approach to the store. To go another way, would have made it seem like I was purposefully avoiding them and that I was intimidated by them. They were certainly trying to intimidate me, I had no doubt. I pretended to need to spend some time in my vehicle before getting out to go into the store. I tried this a couple times. I pretended I got a phone call. They did not back off or relent, watching me the whole time. Clearly they were trying to intimidate me.

I thought about what I should do. I did not want to give them the upper hand. I remembered one time when my husband was driving truck, he told me there were times he had to go into an area that was less than desirable. Often times, it would be an area that was down-right dangerous. On one particular occasion, he had to walk down the street after parking his truck to try to find something to eat. He knew this was an area he shouldn’t be walking alone. His solution to the problem? He would act as crazy as the craziest person out there. He roughed up his shirt, turned his hat around backwards, and walked down the street talking to himself, and wandering from side to side on the sidewalk. I howled as he told the story. I could easily visualize just how “crazy” he could look by doing that. The memory came to the front of my mind. I was going to confront these boys who would not relent.

I gathered what I needed for the store (as well as my courage), and I stared them down as I walked directly to their car. It caught them off guard. They were not expecting this! They quit staring. The smirk was gone. I had a crazy smirk of my own. The oldest boy looked straight ahead.

Arriving at their vehicle I saw the window was rolled down. I dramatically made my entrance, by bending over and sticking my head directly into the window of their car. “HIIIIIIII!” I exclaimed in the craziest voice I could muster. Pretty sure I saw him gulp, but he just stared straight ahead and never said a word. I had called his bluff and won. He wasn’t so cocky now. Seeing the effect, I had to do nothing more than straighten back up and continue my direction into the store.

By the time I got to the door, I was laughing so hard I was snorting. And I DON’T snort! ;-) I had never felt such empowerment. And I apologize for that word; I hate that word, and I don’t typically believe in the philosophy behind it. But that is exactly what I felt. I continued into the store, in case they were watching trying to keep my laugher under control. I grabbed a couple items on my list, then left my cart momentarily to go back outside to make sure they weren’t seeking any retaliation by harming my vehicle. They were long gone.

I haven’t had opportunity to be in contact with them since…and that’s ok. I haven’t really seen any of them since that day. I don’t know why. I certainly won’t claim my actions are the reason. For whatever reason, things have died down. I have no idea as to whether that will continue. I’m not recommending doing something like this if one is ever in a dangerous situation. One must always be wise, careful and conscientious. I’m just saying in my case, don’t mess with crazy. But if one does, I may enjoy it a bit more than anyone.