Middle Perspective

I am comfortably in the middle. I don't know why middle children complain because the middle is quite nice actually. Expectations are low. Production is high. Anything is possible in the middle. 

I am most comfortably in middle age at this point. While I do mourn the passing of time and that my Big Littles are going to be out of the house in the next few years, I find my own self quite grounded. 

Friends, the twenties are the worst years of your life.  It's a fact and if, for some reason, that was the opposite for you then consider the rest of your life on the downward slope. For the rest of us, life is increasingly better the older you get. You grow so much in the twenties and thirties so by the forties you are enjoying the knowledge of who you are and what you want to pursue in this life. Many times that leads to the "midlife" crisis where you realize that job you are doing because your 'rents paid your college tuition isn't at all what you want to do with your life and you change careers.  I never really had a career so I am not plagued by job doubt or regret; I do already know I am passionate about writing. 

Aside from the aging of the body, and the subsequent changes that occur, I have never felt more beautiful and confident in my own skin. I picture myself daily in reading glasses with a smile and a mug in my hands and it fits.  I am firmly moving into more of a matron status and it is the best thing since sliced bread.  Matrons. We're smart. We're confident.  We're capable. We're in the middle. We know what we want. We aren't afraid to pursue it.  The twenties and thirties drift away and we are left with life and the understanding that has been elusive. Aging is better. When you can put the insecurities of your earlier years behind you, it frees you to be effective.  And I think that's what middle people are, effective. 

Tell all your friends...celebrate all the birthdays. 

Jumbled Thoughts

Gentle readers.... 

I am always waiting for the perfect time to write my thoughts, and, frankly, there really isn't a perfect time. It's like waiting to have babies or waiting for the job you 100% want.  There is no good time for any of that, you just take the plunge.

 I only wrote one time in December which is maybe the least amount of writing I have done in quite some time.  There might be some lack of content, but mostly it is a feeling of limbo.  Neither here nor there, neither quite settled or unsettled.  It is hardest to express my thoughts and so I wait with expectation for some revelation to strike which will crack open the vault.

No revelation. No brilliant clarity.

But a pile of jumbled thoughts I have so in no particular order....

I'm not so sure about the job I'm doing. It stresses me out every day and it doesn't feel worth it.  I don't know what to do about it. 

I have been walking each day for some exercise and I so enjoy our new neighborhood - the Christmas decorations are unrivaled for any place I've lived.

It poured rain today and several storms with lightening and thunder came through. I loved every minute. You can't ever be lazy here because it is temperate and sunny every day; you feel guilty. It's probably going to be like this in heaven. 

My son has made his way back to me and now he is almost a man. Your kids leave you for a few years, locked in teenage separation, and then they come back and you realize it's almost time for them to leave the nest. He grew up while he was lost and is he ready and have I been successful? Three years is a vapor.... It feels a little like permanent loss. 

There are no friends in limbo, that continues to be a struggle for me. You can't rush it, there is no rushing it. The kindred spirits take their time, but eventually they come.  

I finally changed my google map setting for home this week. I'm tired of typing in the entire address when I want to find my way.  It felt like betrayal. All my starred places are now thousands of miles away. 

Someone that I love is dying. Right now. These are the final days. He will be letting go of this world and taking hold of the next.  This person taught me about chickadees and held my hand on many hikes. This person carried me on his shoulders more than once and always around the last bend of Monroe Falls. I love to hear him say my name. One day I will hear it again.  

I'm hardwired for my people. In all my thoughts...this is what lingers...  

Love. My people. Full and grateful heart. 

Never Alone

 Hello dear ones...

It is the first weekend in December. I'm sitting in bed, not feeling very well, and thinking about every last minute of this year and wondering how I made it to December 4th. 

I think only the love of good people and the grace of a good, good Father. 

I've written about the struggles of this year, both physically, starting off year 40 with surgery and medication to make one crazy;  emptying my life blood on the roof of 6 Temple Hills (someone please drive by and admire it); and then, emotionally, as I closed my life, watched my beloveds close theirs, and then all of us, painstakingly, beginning anew.  January and November were SO hard.  

This old lady has been on one heck of a journey. No more babies. No more leaking roof. No more peeling floor tiles.  No more pharmacy life. No more Scrabble games. No more mexicano date nights. No more colorful trees. No more pine needles. No more Grace friends. No flour. No diet coke. No mask free days. No church. No touching. No breathing. No coughing, sniffling, nor sneezing. 

You know what? Somehow I'm ending year 40 and 2020 with people who love me and Jesus as close as a whisper.   Somehow my dearest people have not abandoned me. They saw me cry a lot this year. They saw me during some (many) of my most anxiety filled days.  They know, like I know, it is with difficulty that we deal with the shifting of our core foundation, and it takes time. Our countenance does not improve overnight.  Our problems do not dissipate with the rising of the sun.  Little by little, though, we make it. And today, I see that I have come quite far down this road. 

In retrospect, I can see as always, God's hands in my life.  Never once did I walk alone. When I tried to hide and cry, God always caught my tears. And more often than not, my husband was not oblivious. (He's too good, that one.)  God bids us come and find rest. For the pandemic weary soul. For the one who is tired of being alone. For the one who is ready to be forgiven and free of guilt. Rest, and a companion for the journey. One who never tires of your desperate cries. "Is that you again, Angela? Come on over here and sit a spell. Breathe. Breathe. C'mon, I gave you the breath of life for a reason. Quit wasting it. Breathe. Yes, that's good, that's good. You can let go of your old life. You can do it. You can learn to like palm trees. You can learn to like SAP, it's not CFRx, but you can do it. You can choose in this life. I made you in My image and I gave you choice, and, specifically, I put a little bit of feisty sass in there. Year 41 is ahead, look ahead, for I am ahead. I'll be with you there. You're going to continue to miss the turn on Louis Henna Blvd, it's just your thing, but keep driving anyway."

Just like that, friends, just like that, I can breathe easier. The Author of my faith is all around.  He is in my past so clearly.  He is beside me and, most importantly, He is in front of me. The world is becoming very convoluted and uncertain, but I'm going toward a city not made with hands and you know what waits for me? A Savior. 

Peace is spoken into the night. All is well. 

Now that I'm quiet, now that I'm still....

The journey has been so difficult. I feel all the emotion my memory eyes can see. Here I am, though, with people who still love me and Jesus just a whisper away. 

It's been good, friends, it's been good. We develop so much in the valley years. Those people who remain only become more dear. Those lessons only add to wisdom. 

In this night, I'm choosing to say goodbye. 

I'll sip hazelnut flavored coffee. I'll tell Jesus I can what you have done here, you have answered my prayers. 

I'm not adventurous but I am learning perseverance. My will is synchronizing for the long term.  

Goodbye to the elementary years of my children. Goodbye to the place I reared them, the kitchen where I plastered their artwork.  Goodbye to the season that gave me the gift of perseverance. Goodbye to young motherhood. Goodbye to youthful perspective.

I am choosing the next step. I am ready to see these kids as drivers and workers. I am ready to make the turn on Louis Henna Blvd. I am ready for the next bend in my road. 

Thank you, Grief, for being with me all through this year. Thank you for helping me to feel. Thank you for helping me to say goodbye so that Joy arrives.  You are ever a faithful companion, but one day, when I get to the city not made with hands, you and I will part ways forever. 

I will look toward my Savior and all I will need is joy. 

Dear ones, thank you for remaining with me. For reading, for praying, for encouraging me this year. From the beginning when some dear souls snuck into NY in a snowstorm, before COVID, because of love; to the end, now with my little family in Texas, alone, and moving forward. Thank you for your friendship and love. May you also find Jesus meets you just where you need Him.  Merry Christmas! 

Waiting

After evaluation, I can note that I have made two significant mistakes with this move.

1) Underestimating the time it would take to process the shifting of the plates of my life.

2) Getting a new job so quickly. 

I have been winging each day, continuing to hope that the horizon of happiness is coming closer to me.  It would seem this is not the proper way for mental health. I have put myself smack in the middle of a full blown life without allowing for my two faithful companions to first fulfill their roles.  These two follow me all the days of my life; grief and joy. 

I am struggling in no small way to push forward. I believe I have cried every single day this week.  The worst part is that the tears are always just behind my eyes.  I feel like I will cry at any moment.  And then I do. And then I'm mad about it. 

Grief, my old friend, I recognize your creased face. Etched lines; pain filled eyes; small, sad mouth; your face is as familiar as my own. Come, old friend, I think you know the way.  Down the hall and maybe to the right....here we go, here is the room we want.  The hippocampus.  Look in there, isn't it something? Look at all those memories. Pathways upon pathways, mixed, jumbled, severed, dangling, and growing.  You know the places you have been prominent. It still smarts. You can see the memory, dark and then splintered gray.  Without you, friend, this room might be brighter, but it would not be richer. Your part in this journey is so significant.  It hurts when you are here, but you define and shape me. You develop compassion and empathy within me, right in this room.  Sometimes, like now, I need to sit with you and feel loss, fear, unhappiness, anxiety. I need to hold your hand and feel it. I need to know, outside this room, that it's okay to do just that. I need to invite you to come and visit for awhile each day. 

Right now, we're going to drive to 6 Temple Hills.  Doesn't the roof look great? Can you believe you did that? (Nope.) Weren't those boys so small as they ran off the school bus? (So very small and precious. Why is it over?) Wasn't it amazing that you welcomed friends through that door? (Yes, it was God appointed.) 

Wait, are we heading toward Orem? Those are some pretty swell rocks up that canyon. (Bittersweet. I can't take that one tonight.) Look at that adorable and quirky house. (It was so strange and wonderful.)  Grief, you have been here in many capacities; yet...   Hello, Joy. There you are. It took me awhile to find you, but here you are.  Your face is content; eyes, soft; lips, parted in a smile. Already I feel the shift in the atmosphere, I feel calm. You color the gray memories with peace.  You always visit us eventually. 

It's a long journey through this room, this life.  I'm not as young as once I was. I am more set in my ways than the last times I traveled this road; the experience is different. I really feel I probably can't do it again. Tennessee might now forever remain a dream in my heart.  

Grief must remain with me until I am spent of it. I hope I'll see Joy soon.  I hope the horizon comes to meet me. 

I hope I can do this.  

I hope. 

Small Seems Good

 I am bumbling my way through change, one day at a time, as you well know.  Today I couldn't help but remember at last year's Christmas party, Austin came up in conversation and 3/5 people (plus their families) at that table now live here.  I couldn't have imagined then where I would now be.

My constant struggle is feeling safe, secure and home. Literally every hour still feels full of stress and claustrophobia. I am not comfortable in my house, in my car, or anywhere I go. I don't remember feeling quite this much trouble last time.  I didn't like it, but I don't remember feeling like I couldn't get rest. Unfortunately, I wasn't blogging then so I can't check. 

Tonight, I decided I would try out my new-to-me bathtub.  After I worked all day followed by more cleaning and organization, I felt I deserved a few minutes to be a girl. 

Let me preface the rest of this story and/or posting by saying this: I am merely expressing my feelings and experiences. I fully understand that I am experiencing blessings, but I'm a bit at a loss for some of it. 

For example, the bathtub. 

I figured out how to get the plug working, got the water going; I prepared restful music, I stacked up some towels for drying and added a few for the luxury of pillowing my head against the surround. It's pretty exciting. A tub with surround for candles, perfume, flowers, whatever all the girls want these days.  I realized one must be careful when stepping into the full tub, it's actually pretty slippery (I don't remember this part from Pretty Woman... just saying) and I have PTSD from falling down the basement stairs earlier this year. My shoulder/arm still doesn't work right. Tubs might not be for senior citizens....  I'll keep that in mind. 

The water is perfect for Goldilocks, not too hot and not too cold. I get all settled and lay back. Halfway down I realize Houston has a problem. I'm not going to make it because my legs are already going up in the air. I hit the porcelain and slide right down the side and float in the water. Hum. This isn't how it looks in the movies for sure. I have to kick my legs to get back up to a sitting position. Let's try it again.  Take two.  I slide further back so I'm closer to the back edge. The shower is right behind me so I feel I can leverage it a bit if I can reach the glass and hold myself in the water. I stretch out my "bad" arm over my head and fwoomp...hit the porcelain, slide down and float. I literally cannot keep my body on the floor of the tub without pushing up the water with my hands like you would in a pool. Am I treading water in my bathtub? Is that....ermm.... becoming? I mean I don't see it in the movies.  Did Julia Roberts have an issue like this?  I can't turn on the relaxing music because I can't tough my phone now that I'm completely drenched and not just leisurely damp. I could probably swim around a bit but that defeats the purpose of relaxing my nerves.  Sigh. It's not in the cards today. I'm going to need to apply an apparatus to the tub so I can ground myself with my feet. You know. Like all beautiful, poised adult starlets. For the love. 

I'm not sure I'm cut out for some of this.  I'm kind of a simple person. You know hobbits, good earth and growing things, good food, good friends, a small life.  My Texas life does not feel small; I don't think it's going to be small.  

I'm standing on the edge, so timid to go farther, so afraid of a big life.  I don't know how to embrace it; I stand in Lowe's and cry for the comfort of my old home that already has the perfect colors of my life. I can't even visualize what paints this new season. 

Change is so hard. Being brave is so hard. A new life is so hard. 

One day at a time. One more cannon ball into the bathtub.  Humor finds its way through the tears. 

A phone call came today. A voice on the other end of the line telling me that I am loved. Someone cheering me on from the sidelines.  Oh, dear one, you know who you are.  Your voice touched all the wounded places in my heart.  

Remember encouragement, friends.  Remember the ones drowning in the bathtub. We are not okay.  Among other things, we need stilts, Snickers (no, wait, Butterfingers, because no one else in this house likes those), and a word from you.  

We need help to launch. We can't do it alone. 

Freezing the Snapshots

At The Beginning

Homewood Suites.  Fourth floor. Round Rock, Texas. I'm not sure I can define it as home but it will do for now. 

This is my least favorite part of the process and what I have been dreading the most. I was trying to prepare myself for the feeling of being stuck. Of knowing that this is not a fun situation or place to be.  Of wanting to go back but knowing that you can't. Of having nothing to do and no one to see. It summation, this is the part where you have no life and everyone that you know still has one.

It is the part that is lonely.  

It is also the part where you learn how to cope. No one will can help you with that, it's something you must do alone.

I have quickly learned that driving in Texas will not be enjoyable.  The roads, patterns, signals, and traffic make little sense. The drivers are terrible and I think it's because they just don't know any better. There are so many one way streets and the GPS is little to no help. It can never tell if you are on the freeway or the access road. As someone wisely told me not so long ago, "Technology just isn't where we want it yet."

Give yourself plenty of time to miss all the exits and streets so that you can arrive on time to your destination. I will try to wait to tackle the region until my car arrives, which should be tomorrow or Tuesday. I am better equipped to face the unknown in a car I know how to handle. I will show them how it is done in a professional, kind and aggressive manner. 

Preparing meals has been somewhat taxing for the first few days. Friday was the longest day of my life and yet, we still battled the grocery store for supplies and I cooked. Takeout would have been the better option.  We have one stockpot, one skillet, service for four, two burners, one microwave, and no oven.  I broke the only can opener, as soon as I closed it on the can. One last swipe was all the lifeblood it had to give and it went to its final rest. At this point it is 7pm CST and I have been up since 3am EST. I find a machete in the drawer that is quite sharp, actually, and request that my husband karate chop the can of tomatoes and kidney beans. It is harder than you might think to bust into cans. You'd think the goods would kinda ooze out through even a little space, but, no, it is nearly impossible to pry the tomatoes out.  Frustrating. This meal was frustrating, but in the end, after a long week of takeout and half meals and no eating, it felt amazing to eat something created at home. (Even though it took almost double the time to cook on the electric burner.) 

Yesterday we bought more things at the store including a mega toaster oven so we could bake and enjoy the "local" $16 cherry pie we purchased on Friday before we realized that we had no oven. Seriously, how could we make it a month without an oven? We also bought a vacuum because there is no housekeeping because of COVID.  Our newly purchased coffeepot should arrive today because all they have is a little instant one that you can't use regular coffee in. I felt like I was a little prepared from the last time we did this, but last time we definitely had more kitchen amenities. My favorite blankie, dishwasher pods, dish soap, and instapot will be arriving with my car and I packed a candle in my suitcase.  My bag got searched but they didn't steal it! It smells wonderful in here. 

You know what is not wonderful? Learning at 11:15pm that your beloved cat is chasing a cockroach around the room. Joyfully pacing to and fro and that little (actually really big) thing is chugging. I didn't even want to go to bed because I didn't know where it came from or where it was going. I didn't want the cat to bring it to bed. I didn't want to imagine more bugs in the bed, in the dark, when I could not see. I did not rest easy, but morning brings news of death and I am grateful. Should I report this? Is this just everyday news? Leave me a note in the comments. I hate bugs and I think my Texas life will be complicated.

I think today we will venture out and find an "authentic" dining experience and I shall sit by the pool and catch some rays.  I'll not quite be starting work yet, but soon. Getting the kids into school is also still a work in progress.  We have all agreed it would be so much easier if we could just move into a new house. But this timeframe is the time of testing, it separates the men from the boys, it determines your will to survive and thrive. Because if I didn't have that will? I would have given up at, "Uhh..haha....babe...I think Sam is chasing a cockroach." To lead your family through this time, to guide them amidst frustration and sadness, encourages strength and gives firm grounding for what is to come.  A good life can be built from a solid foundation. 

So.  I have a temporary oven, a new can opener, a vacuum, and a coffeepot. I have a candle. I have a dead bug that is being removed.  I have three people with me, all playing video games, and one cat that isn't quite settled yet.  I have two teenage birthdays to plan for next weekend, because birthdays don't want for better timing. 

This is the hard part, yet from the hard parts come the best stories that add to the foundation that forges bonds. Friendship. Family. All are cemented by memories, hard conversations, difficult times, and laughter.  

I was the only one not chuckling at the bug incident, but I did enjoy hearing the laughter and that everyone else was taking it in stride. 

These are my people. And we are on an adventure in the unknown parts of the world. 

We are at the beginning.