One Is Silver, The Other, Gold

I had a 3-hour coffee date yesterday with three friends. We had all been in a weekly Women’s Group together for four years or so, and ended our little group last year when various commitments were pulling us in different directions. Over lattes at a book store yesterday morning, we each took a turn and caught the others up on the events of our lives over the past year. The time flew by, and I was regretful that I had to leave to pick my boys up from school. I would love to have stayed all day!

Then, later that evening, Super Hubs and I went to dinner at another couple’s house; friends whom we have known for half a decade yet haven’t connected with in a while. We shared a meal of turkey chili, crusty bread and good wine, and talked and relaxed.

It was a Friendship-Filled Day. A very good day. It made me reflect on how lovely it is to have friendships with whom, no matter how much time has passed, you can pick up right where you left off.

Oh, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what’s worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away. (George Eliot)

Just Do It For Me

There are not a whole lot of perks that come with Aging. But here is one, and I am going to use it: I proudly proclaim that my brain is too over-loaded to learn anything new unless I want to! And I ain’t apologizing.

I finally can use our DVD player after months of choosing not to understand how it works in conjunction with the TV. Having four other family member who could work the DVD player for me, why would I want to bother trying? I get easily bored and distracted when reading directions. But when this school year came along and I was home all day alone for the first time in years, I decided it was in my best interest to learn how to run it myself. (Just in case I feel the need to watch a marathon of “The Office” or something. For research purposes, of course.)

I learned to use my phone and my camera because I need them. When motivated, I can learn. When I’m not motivated, I refuse. There are just too many facts using up a finite amount of my brain space to continue cramming it with useless information. It’s called Simplifying, and Simplifying is all the rage right now. I am just keeping my brain trendy.

And while I’m on the topic, I have one more point: Any household gizmo that takes more than three steps to complete a function may be smashed with a hammer and drop-kicked out the window during a certain time of the month when the hubs keeps a low profile. Like our new thermostat, for example. I hate it. It’s all too confusing and was clearly designed by someone who once worked for NASA. I refuse to learn to work a gadget that requires 14 steps and a tutorial just to get me warm. I have no patience for that! Just keep it at 72 degrees, and I’ll be happy. And when The Mama’s happy, everybody’s happy.

Blast

I spent the weekend in at a camp with 900 high school students. Am I nuts? Quite possibly. But it was incredible! Where else can you eat a rubber omelette disguised as a pancake, “do your business” in a bathroom with ginormous spiders, function on 3 hours of sleep a night and still have a smashing time? Flexibility is a growth edge for me in my middling-ish age.

The weekend was a Christian retreat for the youth ministry in which I serve as coach to leaders. And our church group was housed in the Comfort Suites, which, compared with the Salvation Army campgrounds, is the miner’s equivalent of striking gold. It was fabulous, dahling. I got my own bed and a daily hot shower, so I was happy. Rock Star was also present on the weekend, but he did a believable job of pretending I was wearing an invisibility cloak. We had an understanding: If he went, I’d give him his space. It was all good.

The spectacularly evil camp food, snooping arachnids and sleepless exhaustion was all worth it as I watched beautiful teenagers raise their hands in worship. And surrender to Christ. And love on one another all weekend long.

It was all amazing and soul-filling, and I am so glad that I went.

A Little Cosmetic Wisdom

A friend gave me some makeup today, and a little lamanated card was in one of the bags. This is what it said:

1. Spread beauty.
2. Do what you love.
3. Love what you do.
4. Keep it simple.
5. Laugh out loud.
6. Go with the flow.
7. Be real.
8. Focus on the positive.
9. Do your best.
10. Just breathe.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Thermostat Wars

The Thermostat Wars have begun and are predicted to battle through April. It’s Team 69 vs. Team 72. The latter team is frequently home, has long, sharp nails, and an ill-humored attitude in the winter months. So far she’s winning. Go ME!

A Heatless Story

Forgive me if I’ve blogged about this story before. (That is going to happen more frequently as I age; I’ll be telling the same stories over and over again. My mother does it as did her mother before her. Let's call it Familial. I am apologizing in advance for my Dementia Days.)

When I was 22, I lived in a beautiful high rise in the heart of Lincoln Park, Chicago, surrounded by tall trees and brownstones. I still get nostalgic for it. It was a darling little place with hardwood floors, a galley kitchen and single bedroom with large walk-in closet. A quick jaunt took me to the lake and zoo. I worked at Children's Memorial Hospital down the road, and many of my nurse and doctor friends resided there as well. It was my own first home, and I delighted in every aspect of it. Except for one thing. The apartment was freezing! I actually lived through the entire winter without heat.

I had no idea my apartment wasn’t supposed to be that cold; that something must be wrong. That's how ignorant I was. I just figured the place was drafty due to the big glass windows facing east, which I covered up with newspaper. I often turned the oven to high and opened its door to warm the place. (I’ve since heard that people die trying that same trick.) I slept in layers under a big cozy quilt, and drank lots of hot cocoa. My extremities were purple, and I suffered from frequent illnesses. It never occurred to me that a freezing apartment wasn’t normal, and I should tell the landlord. I just got used to being cold at home.

The next winter, I was dating Super Hubs. And one evening when he was at my apartment, he complained about the cold and said, "Let’s turn on the heat.” He walked over to the radiator, turned a knob, and with a “whoosh” my apartment became toasty-warm and remained that way all winter.

How dumb was I?! All through the last frigid winter, relief was just a knob-turn away and I’d had no idea.

Life lately feels cold and hard. I am burdened with the pain of so many suffering people. It seems that almost everyone I care about has a major depressing issue going on, and I am walking around feeling chronically heavy-hearted. On some days I want to stoically forge ahead in detachment, while other days find me longing to huddle under a cozy quilt, blocking out the biting arctic blast of more bad news. But I need to learn from my heat-less story. I need remember to turn the radiator knob which is Prayer, releasing the work of God into my life and the lives of others. Like the “whoosh” of heat that radiated throughout my apartment with a single knob-turn, it’s really that simple.

Baby, It's Cold Outside!

I am currently knee-deep into my worst 8 weeks of the year. Forgive me if your birthday falls in January or February. It’s not personal. I just (and picture me screaming this at the top of my lungs with a megaphone) HATE. THE. COLD. Capiche?

We were discussing skiing the other day, my mother and I. And she was going on about all the people in my family who are skiers and how I come from a long line of skiers, and don’t I remember taking skiing lessons as a child? And how she, my father, my brother and his wife ski in Aspen, and my cousins ski in Vermont, and blah blah blah with the skiing.

I left her home feeling like a Negligent Parent, because I have never taken my children skiing. And it’s one of the few things that Super Hubs and I have never done together. The last time I put my foot on a slope was 25 years ago. So I was feeling badly about that, and concerned that I have wasted my life because I have never honed my skiing skills nor given my children adequate skiing opportunities. And I was beginning to mentally spiral down into Bad Me Syndrome until Super Hubs reminded me of two things:
1.) We live in IL.
2.) I’ve always hated cold weather sports because they require that I be in the cold.

I felt better. I really don’t want to ski with my husband or children. Not ever. I’d love to have a Christmas card picture taken of all of us, one year, wearing stylish ski outfits with killer sunglasses on a (fake) slope looking like we are somewhere fabulous. But that’s as far as I want to go with it. I’d truly rather be a Ski Impostor. I’d wear a cute little pink ski jacket to an amazing lodge in the mountains, and stand at the top of the biggest slope, looking all courageous and athletic. I’d give tongue to some ski terminology, like “milk run" and “schussing” so people would take me seriously. But, after being outside for no longer than 10 minutes, I’d head to the nearest indoor hot tub with a glass of something wicked. Ahhh. That sounds like the perfect ski vacay for me. And do they offer massages at ski resorts? This could be fun!

Anyone in for a Ski Impostoring with me?