Left Behind - CR Unyielding Lent

 

    

      As I anticipate my husband's disappearance off the face of this earth (to Brazil, anyway) with the hope of maybe a daily short text or two, I justify and symbolically give him up!! ...for Lent.

     Ahhh, night-time hours would certainly fly by with medications like ZzzQuil or Benedryl, but even reduced doses of liquid Benedryl manage to burn the tip of my tongue, and ZzzQuil would most likely put me into a coma with no one to revive me.

     One healthy way I will cope with being "left behind" is to remember our 2012 missions trip to Costa Rica. I accompanied Jeff on that trip and recall distinct memories, like the video above. We visited the Basilica, during the Season of Lent. It is a spectacular structure, but even more impressive was our experience inside.

 

     Devoted Catholics painfully travailed, on their knees, up the endless (almost football-field-length) tiled, center aisle, to atone for their sins and identify with Jesus' pain and suffering. Young and old participated.

     I noted one elderly woman's unyielding journey, humbly and painfully inching her way and stopping many times, still kneeled but leaning against a pew from time to time on the lengthy route. The unforgiving tile floor woefully afflicted her aged, burning knees. I felt embarrassed watching for too long; it was her personal worship time. But I am certain she achieved her soul's goal because she pressed on; and maybe, too, she experienced the significant added "oomph-factor" of God's Special Dispensation of Grace.
 

Left Behind

Bolivia 2006

     I will be... left behind... My husband soon departs for his annual spring missions trip.

 

    In the past, he has ventured to Bolivia (3 times), Peru, Paraguay, Argentina,

 El Salvador,

 Guatemala,

Cuba, Costa Rica, Chile, and China (I did accompany him to Argentina and Costa Rica). He started leading missions trips way back in 2004 (maybe as a healthy response to mid-life crisis). One of his passions is to experience new cultures and people, as well as capably lead college students on potentially life-changing experiences. This year he will experience Sao Paulo, Brazil.

     I know the drill. There will be ♫One less bell to answer. One less egg to fry. One less man... to pick up after. I should be happy...♫
 
     He requested that I blog missions experiences, so today let the blogging begin. We'll see how it progresses, and the party begins eating leftover Taco Bueno Party Burritos. Woo hoo! Admittedly, I don't like being alone. In years past, frightful things have happened, including 2006's literal AND figurative near-miss tornadoes. The week before departure, emotions are edgy. Because of almost nil overseas communication, this widow feels keenly "left-behind."

     After almost being resigned to widowhood, too many days later, he will re-appear. Because of overnight flights and severe sleep deprivations, he will be a zombie, carrying boatloads of dirty laundry. One year when he returned home, he seemed close to death. But by the third day he did resurrect and he surreptitiously returned... to the Land of the U.S. Living.

Oh, My Aching Knees

 

      The above self-produced, rudimentary, 108-second video explains and displays my new sitting technique. It was first demonstrated by a daily talk show host. I make no promises of knee improvement, but you never know... maybe a minor adjustment in the way one sits down might make a difference for the knees? Maybe so, and maybe not.

      Three disclaimers include: 1) Each person's body type and knee challenges are different, thus, this technique might not help you. 2) Always ask a health professional about your sitting technique... I am in no way, shape, or form a health specialist nor am I a health professional.  3) Always sit into a chair rather than thin air.

Right Under My Nose!

      I have accumulated a host of delayed sewing projects and finally decided to tackle one quick-fix, of my hubby's sweater. As I sit down to sew, the thought pops into my mind that, being rather absent-minded (and I'm not even a professor, but I do hang out with some): It would be punctually prudent to find my craft project before sewing, for 1:30 crafting time with Jane. I'll set it by my purse to grab when I leave.

     I look in the regular places for the project: the kitchen, pantry, and the utility room. Nope, it isn't in the regular places. There are still three strong possibilities.

     I dart into the chilly garage to check my car, and... brrrr... no... chipmunk craft project. Next, my craft area. Nope. Surely it is in the extra bedrooms. Nooooo!

     Defeat begins to seep into my mindset, but instead I calmly determine that I WILL find that project, by carefully and systematically looking in each room of my home, starting with my bedroom closet. Closet, nope. Bedroom, nope. Living room, dining room, office again, bathroom, kitchen again, pantry again, dinette, family room again, extra bedrooms again, utility room again, chilly car again. Nope, nope, nope.

     I dejectedly wonder: What happened to him? This is crazy. I saw... Chip... just 2 days ago in my kitchen, and now he is NOWHERE!

     Alas, during my search I find an alternate project. I decide to craft a second "wee mouse house." After 20 neurotic minutes of searching for... dearest Chippy... I settle, for mousy.

      Now, back to fixing hubby's sweater. As I approach the sewing ottoman, I suddenly wonder if I could be heading for "the hot seat":  I haven't looked inside that ottoman, but surely... dear, cherished Chippy... isn't there. The ottoman contains only sewing items, not crafts... Ironically, that is where I was sitting when my search began. Could it be?!?

     I lift the lid, and... there he is... my buried treasure... beloved Chipster... safely stored, "right under my nose" (and other body parts).

     Ecclesiastes shares of a particularly expensive and thorough search, experimenting with various pleasures to search for meaning and happiness. It seems we could learn from that author's reflections. Could it be that meaning and happiness are located "right under my nose"? Do earnest searches add depth, in my mind, to THE most valuable Treasure?... *the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows*.

Seasons Come & Seasons Go & Downton Abbey

      Question: What ring tone does a robin choose for its cell phone? Answer: Wing, wing, of course!

      Here is a "not-so-vintage," March 28th nature-themed entry from my 2012 journal that will hopefully begin to warm us into soon-coming spring, as well as 2013's early, March 31st Easter:

 

      "As I sip tea at the dinette table, I look out my bay window, enjoying our backyard. A squirrel scampering along the top of our wooden fence and the pretty evergreens catch my attention. Setting my cup of tea down, I swallow the soothing, warm brew. Not many free experiences could be more peaceful.

 

      I suddenly hear a distant... 'thunk'... from somewhere, and when it repeats, my attention is piqued: "Where is that 'thunk' coming from?"

      I arise to look to our small backyard red bud tree. The 'thunker' is resting on my special tree. We planted that treasured tree 3 years ago. Our son’s workplace was giving out free “trees” and asked if we wanted one. When he handed us a long and skinny stick, it was rather comical because we expected something that resembled a tree. I considered using it to play fetch.

 

      I planted it in a large pot on the back porch just in case it would survive the winter. Alas, it did survive, two winters in that pot before I replanted the tiny... tree, into the backyard. The little fledgling looked so vulnerable, I worried about strong winds blowing it over. I found in the garage a long-handled hot dog grilling fork to hold its trunk steady. Alas, the first summer winds did crack its center stem, but we clipped it and hoped for the best.

 

      That little stick is a survivor, and it is the small tree at which I gaze. It has a skinny branch large enough to perch a friendly (or not so friendly) 'wing-winging' rrrrrobin whose calling card is 'thunk, thunk.' She has an unusual affinity for that branch; I've noticed her sitting on it much of the day.

      The tree is a couple of yards from our bedroom's bay window. I assume it is spring nesting time, and her reflection in the glass disturbs her... she believes it is a danger to her territory. She adamantly flies a close 3-yardsticks to attack herself and, bam! She crashes her breast into the window and flies back to dizzily land onto her safe little perch. It takes a few minutes to stare herself down for the re-attack. This goes on much of the day, and her little foot marks cover my bedroom's bay window.

 

      I am happily reminded that I didn’t pay to have those windows washed. It certainly would have been a wasteful investment as thunk, thunk... she attacks herself again, and again, and again."

      And now, seasons come and seasons go...

 

      Thunk, thunk, thunk  lamenting blogs have bammed and dizzied this writer's mind. 
Like my beloved red bud tree, tough winds have come, branches were chopped... and I AM ever grateful to be a soulful, fighting, assaying SURVIVOR...of   1) Complex childhood alcoholic dysfunction;  2)  Melancholy, mute Mother... "Ada's"... voicelessness;  3)  Depleting and life-threatening breast cancer;  AND,  4)  Residually-sinister, sucker-punching, self-absorbed, cynic-essaying, demeaning depression.... They do NOT kept me down.  My feelings are written about the first three in past blogs, and I duck the blows of the fourth. This small font represents "Downy's" meticulous and... mindful... management.

      As a side note, certainly Downton Abbey's beautifully-refined Mary will be a soulful, fighting, "comeback" survivor in Season IV. Rather than remaining ever enervated, D. A. writers will re-kindle disheartened and downtrodden Widow Mary's character to spirited and energized focus, for the sake of her beloved Downton AND her new little bundle of life and joy... AS WELL AS for the sake of downtrodden viewers. We request positivity, please! D. A. seasons come and D. A. seasons go.

      As spring approaches, with its hope of colorful crocuses and daffodils... positive new life is coming soon, as well as beauty. I anticipate, and I watch and listen, for thunks and other nature orchestrations, created by the colorful Artist and Atoning One: * the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows *.

      For your D. A. viewing enjoyment, click the following link:  * "TEEN's" creative staff perfectly orchestrates the entire cast of D. A. to perform oh, oh special: "What Makes You Beautiful" *
 

Chocolate & Strawberries...sweet!

     These strawberries from Price Cutter are perfect to chocolate coat. Can't wait for hubby to try them tonight.

   Last night, Price Cutter's strawberries were $2.99 for a 32 oz (2 lb) tub. (Thanks, Heather, for pointing them out and thanks, Judy, for giving me the inspiration!)

     I followed this easy recipe: *Chocolate-covered strawberries*.  It immensely helped me to read the comments from others who have already tried this recipe because they gave needed tips and suggestions.

 

 

"What's MY Line?"

My 1982 thumb-sucker listens to a sweet Sesame Street story

            Identifying with others can be a valuable human experience. My son used to don his "blankie" to identify with caped crusaders, and now my grandson wears a Buzz Lightyear costume. Books, television, and movies give a plethora of people with whom to identify. 

    
      My sister and I enjoy identifying with certain movie characters. We seek movies, maybe to escape our past, or maybe to coalesce our confusion. A particular movie seems to mostly follow my life... I key in on the main character's weaknesses, strengths, emotions, and reactions to difficulties that are kindred to mine. The movie is actually corny, so I won't embarrass myself and reveal its title, yet anyway. What's MY movie line...

• Audrey is raised somewhat isolated from the outside world, in an upper-middle-class home. She is spirited, yet dreamy, drifting, and served.
• Audrey is clueless to the plight of others; her life is flat and quite selfish.
• Her world is rocked, and she leaves her familiar surroundings feeling dazed.
• Audrey is frightened and follows a stranger, under the guise of rescue, to a new life.
• Audrey's name is changed by this stranger, to Annie, and she lives with a new family; she is exiled to what feels like a foreign land with foreign habits and customs.
• Annie doesn't understand this stranger, nor the others around her. She feels orphaned and invisible, and they don't understand her... but Annie is dutiful.
• Annie feels miserable and disassociated. She wrestles with two critical questions: Who am I?  and  How on earth do these strangers fit with whoever "me" is?
• As Annie matures, her eyes begin to open. She learns to feel others' deep needs.
• A major set-back occurs, cancer and chemo, with dizzying and spinning side-affects, but she eventually bounces back.
• Annie discovers her sense of humor, and she vigorously LAUGHS. She deeply connects and becomes constructive and resourceful.
• She activates "Audrey-ness" fostering in those around her betterment, beauty, and building.
• Annie is unaware that Audrey is crucial to her voice, and it almost feels like her (prematurely-deceased) Mom is persistently "telephoning."
• She begins to connect with, as well as face, her past... by writing, and she finally fully re-awakens, Audrey.
• Autrovert Audrey and dutiful Annie aren't quite certain how to integrate, creating sadness and depression; but fortunately a softened, vulnerable, and grateful disposition surfaces.
• Writing continues, and integration of the two begins. She takes the plunge into the deep waters (with life vest on, of course) and resurfaces as one: Audrianne.
• Audrianne's writing venue is blogging... she re-visits issues in "logic-filled" CHIPMUNK!, "Ecclesiastic" TOO's, Two's & 2's, "wrestlemaniac" Groundhog Day, "identifying" What's MY Line, and "Monky" * I am IN LOVE... * 
• Audrianne's deep desire is to germinate new life, as she researches "What's My SEGUED Line."

      
      The vintage 60s show, "What's My Line" was a guessing game in which four panelists attempted to determine the line (occupation), or in the case of a famous "mystery guest," the identity, of a contestant. When question-and-answer time was over, the contestant with the occupation or identity stepped forward.

      Following the "What's My Line" scenario, I step forward to own my movie identity: I am Annie in Overboard. Annie's adventure takes place over a 2-month timeframe; I am a bit delayed, taking 57 years.

      Why find out with whom I identify? It is therapeutic. I see myself in Annie, and I strive to soften (unlike gritty, egocentric Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, who angrily experiences the same senseless day over, and over, and over again like a hamster spinning in its wheel). MY story seems to have pursued me, and my reaction is to respond in kind and pursue a deeper life that nourishes others.

      In early blogs, I compare my driving will to a race horse. I have spirited blemishes and blights; but, like Overboard's Annie, I distinctly feel grace, compelling me to FREELY submit and surrender my will to the Author and Owner of my new and redeemed story:  *the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows*.


B4 B12
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The Tremendous TOO's, Two's & 2's





 Warning! 

This blog contains dramatic content as well as a syrupy Valentine's message. Any hazardous, heart-softening side-effects cannot be the responsibility of this writer. The reader proceeds at his or her own risk. 

     My sabbatical (a/k/a exile) from work gives me extra time for superfluous things, like photoshopping pink skies, crafting, and receiving blogging inspiration from TV, books, & movies.

      Sabbatical or not, I always take time for back-to-back, quirky Monk episodes (DVR'd, to fly through commercials). Neurotic Investigator Monk TOO reacts to everything. He uses at least half of this country's disposable germ wipes. In one notable episode he becomes TOO annoyed with incense and music streaming into his apartment from the street corner below. He determines to evict the incense-burner, and approaches a colorfully-dressed African man, sitting cross-legged, Indian-style: Get off the street corner, man... Peace and love... and here's a few bucks to move elsewhere.

      As the African man looks up at Monk, his baritoned, steady, heart-wrenching reply is: I cannot move, sir...... This is sacred ground..... My wife, Ansara, was murdered by a hit-and-run driver on this street corner,  just 2 weeks ago........ I must mourn for her.

      Monk's demeanor immediately changes and his facial expression visibly melts. Monk's wife, too, was murdered... 7 years earlier; the case is unsolved, and the sorrow is still fresh, like it happened yesterday. The kinship of unsolved, tragic murders compels vigilante Monk to team with this widower to successfully find the hit-and-run driver. Monk helped someone else seek closure.

      My daughter and I together watched as characters on Downton Abbey a/k/a Downer Abbey Season III experienced sudden tragedy. I was caught by surprise as Mother Cora watched Daughter Sybil die in childbirth. The sadness is incomprehensible. My stunned reaction was: How could the writers do that? NO WAY!! They didn't warn us in the previews! This is TOO sad!! I'm so glad I wasn't watching this sad episode alone. 

      My cherished "daughter-visits" are few-and-far-between, with a 450-mile drive between us. I so love my daughter and identify with her young-mothering days, filled with diaper changes, food prep, Thomas the Train, diaper changes, nap, diaper changes, et cetera, et cetera. Even though it has been over 25 years since babies filled my home, I remember... and I help, by babysitting our tremendous 2-year-old.



Flower-powered two fearlessly face the bloomin' tremendous 2's

      During my last babysitting adventure, wills clearly clashed about whether the Law of Physics and gravity are true as they apply to ball-playing on steep, uncarpeted basement steps.

      Two-year-old boys will be tremendous boys. The dare-devil plays ball on the steps, is clearly and fairly warned DANGER, to no avail. I snatch the ball and unsuccessfully try to distract him. He tearfully demands the ball back. I do not yield; my grandson's safety and well-being are non-negotiables. I pray for him under my breath, and he eventually points upstairs, seeking binky-time, which equals crib timeout. 

      We take the long climb up the steps together, to his room, to claim our sides of the ring: He takes the crib; I the nearby rocker. Hearing his squeaky, binky calisthenics, I know he needs consoling...

      ... DeDe loves you...

      I begin to remind him of our morning activities, and mention his hands and feet and nose, and then... we imagine tickle tummy together; I giggle energetically, and finally he breaks his silence, giggling too. After 10 minutes of happy-therapy, for both of us, we hungrily head downstairs to eat PBJ's.

      We eat, he studies me, and I keep mostly quiet. After a nourishing sandwich and milk, it is nap time, so we head right back upstairs. I place him into his crib, and he earnestly stretches his arms to me. He trusts me to rock him. I do. After a few minutes I feel his muscle-twitches as he, uncharacteristically, snuggles in my lap... falling sound asleep. Ahhh, priceless.

      Timeout (a/k/a exile), heartache, and clashing wills happen and produce an urgency to seek some sort of closure, and we also need to feel comforted. Life can be painful; it is unfair; we feel hurt by people... and sometimes we feel hurt by God.

 

      When my 62-year-young Mom was tragically ripped from my life in a fatal car wreck, my heavy heart ached and angered at the same time. It was unfair. Losing her prematurely and so suddenly was incomprehensible to my stunned, 35-year-old mind.

     Mom and I were never "close close," and I regret I wasn't a better daughter. I deeply miss the only person on this earth who loved me, with her kindred mother-love. My being resonates her ethereal, creative, flower-powered essence. I can't help but embellish thrifty and resourceful decorations, capture and caption clever photography, and write gushy and gooey grandchild word pictures. Maybe these ethereal outlets represent my need for closure.

      The Mom-wound sometimes re-opens. HE sees my pain, and His consoling words are...

      ... God loves you...

      Rather than harsh, circular self-talk: It's been 22 years... get over it... Lots of people lose their mothers tragically... or, they lose them eventually in some way or another. I need this world to be perfect with no pain! We weren't that close. Get over it. It's been 22 years. Who really cares anyway?!?

      "I will not waste a good exile creating cynicism to mask my pain" (thanks, Austin J). There is ONE who identifies with me. He viewed the pain and sorrow of His only and Perfect Son being tortured, dying on a wretched and despicable cross. He could have stopped the madness, but He nor His Son yielded, because it was for MY redemption and rescue.

     A Perfect Being lived in this imperfect world. People crucified Perfection. I will remember that during this time of Lent.
    
     [Here is the good, gooey, gushy, syrupy part...] Trusting, and feeling gently rocked (by the ONE who perfectly identifies with pain AND priceless joy) is one of the things I need on Mom's February 15th birthdate... as well as receiving yesterday's sealed and delivered, "pinked," heart-cloud Valentine, specially signed...

      ... God loves you...

      ... forever...  *the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows*

Treat suggestion for a sweet-toothed tremendous 2-year-old
Pour about a teaspoon of colorful cupcake sprinkles (the long-shaped ones, not the colored sugar) onto your child's high chair tray. They will attract your child's sight and taste senses. They are small, so it is also a coordination exercise as it takes finger dexterity to pick up each one from the tray (let them do it) and enjoy!

I am IN LOVE...

     I am IN LOVE... with my new kitchen storage unit!!! It fits perfectly in the pantry and has 3 labeled bins: one to hold trash bags, one for the weeks newspapers, one for miscellaneous items, and it even has a handy top shelf. It is designed like a Murphy bed, for tight spaces.
 
      Organization is vital for cogent navigation and retrieval, even on this Blogspot page. A plethora of posts are offered in the accessible right sidebar's BLOG ARCHIVE. Anyone can click on the little arrows to reveal the post medley, displayed in a drop-down fashion, and navigate to read every dramatic one. The simple sidebar also contains this blogsite's passion and purpose.
     
      Since it is Valentine's month, with pink and red hearts everywhere, love is in the air. I appreciate storage systems and LOVE connecting relationships. Household organization items are, however, priceless because they offer benefits: they can provide the opportunity to be fully engaged with life, people, and FOREVER things.

      The compulsive question becomes: Is it an over-exaggeration to say "I am IN LOVE with"... an inanimate object and focus on what could become obtrusive organization? What I really value is natural access to needed items to leave more energy for creative pursuits, like blogging!

      My 2012 October through December colorful lamentations could be compared to the de-clutter and re-organization Superbowl... of my life! I earnestly asked for Help to accurately see key childhood issues that my TOO sensitive, obstinate emotions TOO remembered. I needed Guidance. By writing, I stirred flourishing flatness. Now, like Sherlock Holmes I exclaim, By jove, I think I've got it!! and like Monk, Here is what happened.

      I am clumsily and honestly facing my TOO issues, to neatly file away difficult memories for true retrieval. My childhood shaped me, but events are becoming sequenced, neatly stored, and best of all... docile. The awkward chaos is beginning to take up less emotional space. He is THE neatest Organizer.

     I am ever the recovering autrovert, and rather than haughtily hailing "hats off to..." I will yield, kneel, and bow, with frumpled, folded, filigree fedora to...  *the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows*.

Close Encounters of the Teeth

       A news report says that on February 15th an asteroid the size of a 15-story building will orbit very closely to Earth. Our planet will likely experience a rather close encounter with that space traveler!

     On an extended solo road trip, I had a close encounter with a 4-hour audio book, The Call. Author Os Guinness includes a potent reminder that in my seasoned 50s I have fewer years left on this earth... In other words, as my earthly age increases, my remaining age decreases... to when I see my Caller. I so want my remaining years to have purpose, meaning, calling, and FUN too!
           
     On the heels of a busy, week-long visit with my daughter and her family, I reminisce. I treasure each precious visit with my grandson and manage to maneuver at least one camera shot of myself with my little guy. They are close encounters that are "forever-captured."

      Since he is in the always-in-motion, elusive, tremendous 2's, it is challenging to quiet his squirming body AND snap the picture. A food-dribbled shirt or toothpaste-filled mouth doesn't ruin a shot. I intentionally limit my photo ops and try to not strong-arm him for the few shots I do take. I value the naturally-occurring moments and intentionally maneuver into his little world. On this recent visit, I ended up with three forever-captured close encounters: brushing our teeth, playing in the snow, and tumbling on the couch together.

      Recalling my daughter's Saturday night church service, I am reminded of yet another amazing aspect of  *the FOREVER Substance Behind the Shadows*.  He treasures me and respects my little world. He prefers to not strong-arm, but cherishes naturally-occurring close times when my mind enters His FOREVER realm. During a meaningful worship song, I strongly felt His presence, for an unusually extended time. In fact, I now imagine hearing a faint  "click" as He might have snapped that "FOREVER-captured" salty-droplet, face-dribbled close encounter.


News Flash! Proper Technique to Brushing Teeth Slows Gum Recession...
Proper brushing technique is helpful to prevent gum recession and overall dental health. For years, to prevent cavities, I abused my gums with vigorous, intense, wide and damaging brush strokes. I was instructed to brush more gently to save my gums. At my last dental visit, the hygienist said my gentle brushing was causing gum swelling. Argh!

I asked the informative hygienist to once again demonstrate the proper technique. Then, the key was I asked her to watch me brush my teeth. That made all of the difference. She saw my technique and helped me tweak it. Why didn't I do that years ago?