monday miscellany

• Our sunrise service yesterday was fun. Seriously! The sun broke the plane of the horizon just as the service began. Don't you love it? It was chilly. 45 degrees. By the time we got to communion the paten and chalice were so cold! We had a good turnout, and I think I preached one of my best Easter sermons. I love Lent (no, really, I do!). I love Holy Week. I love Easter. I'm so glad all of that is over.
• A winter wreath is still hanging on the front door. It needs to come down. Maybe today.
• My plans for the week are to be a Domestic Diva Extraordinaire. The house is a total wreck. Dust rules supreme, though dog hair might trump the dust. My work is cut out for me.
• If the weather remains pleasant (i.e. doesn't get much above 70 without a pleasant breeze) I will try to get some weeding done. The weeds trump the dog hair and the dust.
• I'm allergic to heat and humidity (yes, that's exactly why I live in the south!).
• Junior has a new job! He'll be going to Fort Benning (Columbus, GA), full time active duty National Guard to do training. I believe a promotion comes with the gig.
• I'm thrilled for Junior--one of his best friends from his Ranger unit is at Benning, the husband half of the couple at whose wedding Junior and Trisha met. This means Trisha already knows someone there! I have no idea if this affects his scheduled deployment next January, but I suspect that is still on track (bummer).
• The wedding is less than three weeks away!
• Taxes loom. Ugh.
• The church was beautiful yesterday, and the fragrance of those glorious flowers was delightful without being overpowering.
• It's time for a closet purge.
• I received my first set of hand tracings. Yay!
• Breakfast calls.
• Have a fabulous Easter Monday!

being a sponge

That's my baby up there in the blue, heading to a landing at Fort Gordon during a recent training exercise with his National Guard unit (photo from the Augusta Chronicle). I'm proud of him. Prouder than you can imagine. And this from a pacifist Mom.

I've just listened to a segment of NPR's "On Point," where a collection of knowledgeable people discussed--not debated--discussed, the dilemma faced by President Obama in making a decision about US strategy in Afghanistan. I was impressed not only by the depth of knowledge of the guests on the program, but the comprehension of the events of our engagement in wars of the "recent" past (at least back to Korea). To me, they sounded like they really know what they are talking about. Better yet, they didn't counterpoint one another, but were sharing observations and responding to questions from a place of knowledge rather than agenda. I listen carefully when people talk like that.

I also lean toward reading and am influenced in my thinking by the likes of Thomas Friedman, and Greg Mortenson's story in Three Cups of Tea. I referred to that in an earlier post. The impact of Three Cups of Tea continues: I pay far closer attention to news about what is going on in Pakistan and Afghanistan, and my views on that region are more precise as a result.

To offer some context: as noted above I am a pacifist (and was a registered conscientious objector in the early 80's, at a time when registering women for the draft became a topic of public conversation); I tend toward perspectives that emerge from issues of justice and compassion; I value diplomacy as a means to resolving conflict; my husband is retired Army, and my step-son is fourth generation airborne and spent five years in the Rangers. The latter opened up a new world of understanding and insight when I married Ken, and though I am firm in my personal convictions when it comes to war, a balance in my thinking exists that probably had no chance of seeing light without the exposure or such close proximity to a portion of the military machine. I believe in the draft, a view not popular with the mother of my nephew, a sophomore in college.

I have not been happy about the news that Obama intends to send more troops to Afghanistan. My view on this stems from my own pacifistic perspective as well as from what I have learned from some of my preferred reading. But I also listen to Ken, whose military history and shaping offers another point of view. And I listen to programs like "On Point" to find a way to a more thorough and comprehensive understanding of the issues involved, and the consequences intended and known. I'm trying to soak it up and find as objective an opinion as is possible given my context, my capacity to listen without judging, and my desire to understand points of view different from my own.

I confess that it is a challenge. I want my president's decisions to prove warranted and achieve the desired results. I want stability for the people of Pakistan and Afghanistan. I don't want further loss of life at the hands of the US military. Any life. I want our nation's relationship with other nations to deepen with understanding, cooperation and respect. I want the governments of Pakistan and Afghanistan to be supported in their efforts to respond to the agenda of the Taliban (how's that for a polite statement?). I want US policy to be guided by the desire to help those countries find the most peaceful way possible to prosperity. I don't want Junior's scheduled deployment fourteen months from now to be moved up. I don't want the cost of war to burden our citizenry any further. I know that doing nothing is not an effective means toward achieving anything positive.

Being a sponge is hard on the little gray cells and a heart that is torn. Maybe if I focus on what color sponge to be the burden won't feel quite so heavy. I'm leaning toward pink. That's a little out of my comfort zone.

jumpin' jehosophat, part 2

continues today with part two of my hat tip to the special "Js" in my life!

Jill, friend with enthusiasm: When I find that I have some unexpected free time—sitting in traffic, for instance, or having an extended wait to board a plane—certain people come to mind and I pull out the phone and give them a ringy-dingy. Jill is one of those people. When she answers the phone and hears my voice her enthusiasm breaks barriers across cellular lines: “ANNE! (it takes her two full seconds to say my name) Hello, lovely one!” She may say that to everyone who calls her, but I don’t care. I love hearing the warmth and love in her voice when she says that to me. I consider Jill to be something of a free-spirit. She has spent years in theater-related work: acting, teaching acting, consulting in acting; coaching dialect; singing (she sang at our wedding, what a blessing!)… Whatever her mood or whatever cross she is bearing, she is never far from a smile and a positive word. She is fun and funny, creative and generous, hosts parties for any occasion or none. She is the only person I know who actually goes caroling through the neighborhood at Christmas (and on a couple of occasions I have joined her). She enjoys an eclectic set of friends and has a gift for making everyone feel as though they are the center of the universe. What’s not to love? She is a gem, sometimes with a cockney accent and sometimes drawling deeply southern. To think of her makes me feel good, to be with her does my heart good. Everyone should have a friend who offers that to others.

Jill, Juliet and Judy

Johanna, goddaughter: There are many blessings in my relationship with Johanna, the daughter I never had. She was six when our relationship began as members of the same church, but unlike other adult/child relationships that often wane and become warm reconnections, Johanna and I kept our bond intact and vital. One of the wonderful ways she affirms her affection is through her own initiation. She has come to visit me on a number of occasions, and one lovely October we shared a few days of vacation together in New England while she was there on business and I was there for continuing education. When she married I was honored with a corsage as her second mother. Of particular delight to me is the friendship we have. When she graduated from college she took time out from her celebratory party to take a walk with me so that we would have time together to get caught up. She listens, has compassion, prays, and is full of centered wisdom and counsel. She is my joy.

Judy, matron of honor: I met Judy in the fourth grade when we moved to a new house in a new town, which meant a new school. We’ve been friends ever since. We’ve shared vacations, weekends away, season tickets to the ballet, lots of letters, and a lot of dinners. We’ve laughed, cried, confessed our secrets and absolved each other’s sins. In our teen years when life at home felt empty and chaotic her family absorbed me as one of their own. It is through them that I fell in love with hockey, was introduced to the Episcopal Church, and got my first taste of sisterhood. We share a love of language and art, food and family, and though distance and time may separate us, the roots of our friendship are deep and strong.

Johanna, Jules and Junior

Jules, scrapping buddy: One of my first online friends through scrapbooking, Jules refreshes me with a lighthearted look at life. She never fails to offer an encouraging word when my chips are down, and she is a faithful and frequent supplier of sheep for my collection. She pays attention to the details of my life, evidence that she listens, and is constant with her invitation to visit and take refuge in her home when I need escape. She, too, is fun and funny, creative and generous, and she encourages and inspires my creative streak. She is sensitive to my sensitivities and knows that I need a hug before I ask.

Juliet, beloved dog: I had two dogs when I met Juliet, with no intention of expanding my canine household. But when this wee stray puppy appeared at an event produced by Jill (above!) and attended with Johanna (above!), I found her irresistible. Part Akita, part greyhound, Juliet is graceful, beautiful and soulful. She is affectionate on her own terms, yet in spite of that is such a love that she would make ice melt with a turn of her head and a glance in your direction. Her tail thumps loudly, and at the vet she earned the nickname of “Happy Girl.” She is that, and to me, so much more.

Junior, son (I dispense with the “step” reference): I give abundant thanks for the opportunity to be Mom to Junior. We have little in common, but a love that is strong and penetrating. We began to bond while we waited together through a surgical procedure that Ken was having. I knew I was a goner when, after my second visit with him he got in his car to drive home to be deployed to Iraq, the tears stung my eyes, my throat tightened and my heart grew heavy with missing him. He has given me a sense of family that I never had the joy of experiencing, and he and Trisha together deepen that blessing. Our Christmas together last year was one of the richest times I have known, and the bond of our hearts is responsible for that. I posted this video last winter after we had seen Cherryholmes at the Opry, and it continues to reflect my heart.

woohoooooo! part 1

I love a good story. I love it even better when I get to be part of it! Let me set the scene for you.

Tuesday morning fairly early Ken’s phone rings. It’s Junior. It appears that he is looking for his suit, which he thinks is hanging in the closet in our guest room. I’m blogging, so Ken heads down the hall to the guest room for a look. There’s silence for a moment, and then I hear him say, “If you could see this room you’d understand that I don’t know how to answer your question.” I burst out laughing, because once again, the guest room is doubling as a staging area while my office approaches the final stages of its overhaul. But I digress.

Why is Junior looking for his suit? Apparently he plans to take Trisha out to dinner that evening. Since his suit is here and he is there (outside of Atlanta) we suggest that he make a trip to the local Men’s Wearhouse to buy one. A quick Internet search tells us that there is one five miles from him. We disconnect, and then Ken tells me, “You know why he wants the suit…this is the night.” “He’s proposing?” “He’s proposing to Trisha!”

Several conversations more with Junior take place. The store isn’t open until ten. He’s worried that he won’t find a suit that will fit him (he’s 6’5, lean, with broad shoulders…). He’s got a lot of things to take care of for the evening. The three of us are all thinking the same thing—meet him halfway and get the suit to him. He’s three and a half hours away.

The suit has fallen off its hanger and is crumpled in the bottom of the garment bag in which it was stored and needs to be steamed. We finish our breakfast, get dressed, and by 9:00 we are out the door and headed to the cleaners.

We are in touch with Junior regularly on the phone, trying to calculate where the “halfway” place will be. Between Nashville and Chattanooga the interstate takes a dip into Georgia, and there is an exit along that small stretch where we often get gas on road trips that take us along that route (GA gas can be cheaper than TN). We estimate that this is the exit where we’ll meet.

And then, about twenty miles shy of that exit we hit traffic. We’re pretty sure it’s an accident: this stretch of road, familiar to both of us, appears deceptively safe. With long, straight stretches between otherwise mountainous curves, drivers often relax their attentiveness and pick up speed. On the phone with Junior, we let him know we’ve hit a slow-down, but up ahead we can see traffic moving, helping us pinpoint the location of the accident. We should be clear of it and on our way in a couple of minutes.

Not! Ten car lengths from the accident site we come to a dead stop. More conversations with Junior. A sheriff’s patrol car goes by. A fire truck arrives on the scene. We wait. We wait some more. Eventually people start getting out of their cars and walking up to the accident to see what’s going on. Four cars are involved, but there are no fatalities. Everyone becomes friendly. Junior is anxious. We’re three miles from the next exit, and we encourage him to come to that point where there is a shopping plaza, gas stations and fast-food. We hope that by the time he reaches the exit we’ll be on our way again.

No such luck. He needs to buy flowers for the evening so he pops into a store at the designated exit to pick up roses. When he's completed that mission we’re still stuck in traffic. The last resort has presented itself: he drives the three miles farther up the highway until he reaches our location, we cross the median with the garment bag and freshly pressed suit in tow, pass the bag through the window, exchanged hugs and best wishes, and direct him to an alternate route that he can take to get headed back toward Atlanta without getting caught in our traffic. Phew!

Ten minutes later we are finally moving again. The holdup meant that we missed a chance to grab a quick lunch with Junior (we were stopped more than an hour for the accident), but our mission was accomplished and he was on his way to finish putting his plans for the evening in place.

Ah, what we do for love. Of all kinds! Tune in tomorrow for the rest of the story.

happy mother's day!

This is a bittersweet day for me. I have no children of my own, a fact of circumstance, and the deepest sadness of my life. There is a part of me that will forever be empty, no matter how many children are part of my life and no matter how much love flows from my heart.

It is bittersweet because though I do, now, have a family by marriage, the joy of surrogate motherhood is shadowed by the neglect of my step-daughter. At one time she initiated calls and emails to me, and I thought we were building a relationship that would deepen through the years. For some reason she has shifted to a mode of painful silence. We have minimal contact with them, and are deprived the role of grandparents with her son and the child that is on the way.

And yet...

There is joy that shines brightly in my life, and that is the gift of my relationship with Junior (and now Trisha). On our way home from Melrose we were able to spend an afternoon with them, and they gifted me with the bucket pictured here, filled with specially chosen items.

The sheep in the bucket is from Build-a-Bear, and though you can't see it well in the picture, she is wearing pink cowboy boots with guitars on them. This is a nod to my affection for country music and to the evening we all spent at the Opry when they were here at Christmas. It is also evidence that Trisha and Junior pay attention to details: like my sheep collection. Tucked into the bear is a heart that they both kissed before it was sealed inside.

Last year for Mother's Day Junior put together a planter of flowers for me, and as soon as I remember to do so I will pick up some new flowers to replace the remnants of those. It is a perpetual reminder of our affection for each other, and particularly of his thoughtfulness.
I am a lucky Mom after all. And though I can be patient until the moment arrives, I can't wait until he has kids and I have the full blessing of being Nana.

Thank you Junior. I love you too.