Of Fireplaces and Traditions

 It was a glowing idea.  I did not need an alternative two years ago when my husband's endurance and health required him to stop bringing in wood and building our fires. I picked up the slack. We are a team. 

Local son kept firewood on our porch and several times a week, with my trusty pull-along, even on shivery cold days I could bring wood indoors and stack it next to the fireplace.

 

 

Under my husband's watchful eye and patient suggestions, every evening I built our fires.

All winter. We love our evening fires. Addicted might be the better word.

This year, it is now too much for me. Too much to lug, lift, shovel, squat, stoop, bend, lift, lug. Too much. I can't do it.

Okay, I said; no more wood fires.

Oh, I know: I will have a candle place. 

For days, I planned, thought, pondered, and decided yes! I must have something to flicker and glow.

Today was the day. I went to work with joy. One lone and charred log remained from the last fire we had just before Spring. I tossed it into the back yard and sang as I polished the glass doors, measured strips of aluminum foil, and cleaned candle holders.

I thought and arranged. Stepped back to assess. Rearranged and moved candles and assorted holders back and forth. Finally. Yes.

For the final touch, I added my collection of sea shells. I filled the floor of the fireplace, between all the glowing lights, with beloved treasures I had gathered and collected through many years. Shells from Texas beaches in Galveston, Rock Port, Corpus, and South Padre; from the white sands in Jacksonville, N.C.; from a memorable beach inTampa, Fl. and one in Charleston, SC. 

Perfect. Beautiful. I sighed deeply.  No, not the same as a blazing wood fire, but this is fine. I struck a long match and quickly the candle place glowed and flickered.

What? Did you say something about pride?  ... a fall???? 

Within an hour, one large candle melted down its center core and spilled all over the floor of the fireplace. At least that aluminum foil idea paid off.  I cleaned up the wax, added a few tall tapers, and surveyed. Okay.  Maybe . . .

Less than ten minutes, my tall, expensive tapers burned down to a figment of my imagination. No way could I keep the candles glowing all winter. Night after night. The town would run out of candles before New Year's Eve. 

Well.

I swallowed hard and quickly busied myself in the kitchen, clearing away the evening meal.

Still undone, I went to the laundry room. Sounds are muted there. I grabbed a few things to wash and as the washing machine roared to life, my tears started.

I cried. Hard.

Yes, I am ashamed. I am painfully aware that I am blessed beyond measure  with loved ones, with a safe, warm house, food to eat, and that I am still able to take care of my family and our home.  I give thanks, daily, for blessings upon blessings. But, I cried.

So many changes.

So many things we will never do again.

So many people already gone.

Stories still untold, trains not ridden.

A book not written.

Gardens that soon will not be tended.

Fireplaces that will not blaze a welcome.

Writers who no longer gather, warm their hands, and read their words.

Even as I asked forgiveness, the tears gushed.

It is just a silly tradition. It is just a fireplace. Its just a silly crackle and glow and flicker.

Yet, it is more. It is change. That cannot be reversed.

They say a wise woman knows when to give in. 

Tomorrow I will clean out the candle place, throw away the aluminum foil, and shut the glass door.

I will find a pretty, colorful, and large arrangement to set next to a comfy pillow on the hearth. 

I dried my tears and retrieved the piece of burned and charred wood from our last fire that I had carelessly tossed aside. I took it to the front rock garden and it will lie in state next to the piece of driftwood Gus and I picked up the last time we were on the beach. 

We did not know it was our last time.

Those two pieces of slowly rotting wood will remind me to make an intentional effort to pay attention and cherish even the mundane things. Even through the hard days. And I will smile more.

Blessings 3 Plus MANY

       I'm thirty-one days into my 78th year and after all those birthdays, you would think friends and familywould say, "Boring. That's a lot of birthdays. Let's find something more fun to celebrate."

      But, guess what?? I was blessed with a delightful birthday. This post will be boring and non-spectacular to most folks, but this is my blessing list so I'll write it down anyway!!

      My son called first. "Hi, Mom." 

And he was immediately the Fern Creek High School Marine Jr. ROTC Drill Team shouted, "Happy birthday, Master Gun's Mom. Yeaaaaaaa."

     Then my daughter grinned and said, "You HAVE to open this, Mom. NOW!"

Gift from my Daughter. The one with special needs.

The one who can't drive. The one who had to make specific and special plans.

The one who had to ask for help. The one who spent an hour in the store searching for the

perfect gift from her to me.

An angel. On a swing.

A hundred blessings wrapped up in one.

Next, the doorbell rang. Flowers from my son's family.
His delightful wife chose a flower arrangement that would keep on giving.
A dried wreath. Bright, colorful.
A new blessing every day when I walk into my dining room.

Another door bell. OH MY !!!
Flowers from my husband's first granddaughter and family.
The one who chose to allow me to be her Memaw.
The one who brings joy and delight and smiles and surprises
and who shares her life and her family with so many.
I'll bring out the Happy Birthday vase for each of our family's birthdays.
A blessing that will give over and over.

On my birthday evening,
my husbands son and his wife, who live down the road,
invited the three of us to their home to celebrate my birthday with a family dinner.
A delicious meal, made to order with laughter, hugs, visiting.
To be celebrated by my "step kids" blesses me every day.

And, to ensure my birthday did not stop with the delicious meal,
that special family sent these flowers home with me.
A month later, the yellow blooms are still spectacular.

Even though I am just today finally finishing this blessings post, last Thursday was, technically, the last day of my 78th birthday celebration. My writer pals took me to lunch. Local Italian. We spent about 90 minutes talking, praying, crying, sharing, and laughing together.

I am blessed. Many times over. May it be also with you.

Blessing Two

There are days when I simply have no energy to think of blessings to count. There are days when I cannot find my smile. There are days . . . . well, you probably know what I mean. Sick or exhausted or over whelmed by the to-do list.

That's when I forget to say or think or whisper

THANK YOU!!!!

Tuesday was one of those days.

      I dragged out of bed at 7 a.m. to help Daughter get ready for her twice a week school for special needs adults. While she dressed, I poured another cup of coffee, looked at the day's schedule, and sighed.  Maybe it was more like a growl. My ole Restless Legs had kept me up, litterally most of the night and a fierce pain pounded in my head. 

      Daughter came in, dressed for her day and a special outing the school had planned. Sunshine filled the kitchen and I could only mumble 'thank you, thank you, oh my thank you'.

My beautiful Gift, dressed for Living Well College class outing
in the school's new tee shirt.

Thank you, Father, that you chose me to be the mother of this remarkable and beautiful and delightful woman who must struggle for the smallest of daily activities but who never gives up. Thank you for the sunshine and joy and abundant love she adds to every single one of my days.

Today, my soul is that little hummingbird getting free, life-sustaining nourishment just by drinking from the pen of Gratitude. After all, He provided the nectar; all I have to do is drink. 

Thanksgivings Begin Again

Ten months ago I stopped taking time to write down my praises and thanksgivings. I stopped putting them into print.

Why?  I bowed to the dailyness of life. My caregiver role increased and my time and energy decreased. Gradually, I picked up my pen less and less.

Oh well, my thankful spirit is fairly natural and relatively strong so, if I thought about it at all, I’m sure I assumed I could keep my grateful heart without INTENTIONALLY LISTING thanksgivings. You know:  in writing.

My husband's health quickly spiraled downward and my adult daughter with special needs went through a period of additional health challenges.

I was IT.

      Time evaporated.

I don't think I stopped being grateful; there was just too much to do.

C.o.n.s.t.a.n.t.l.y.

Oh ---- and, I am no longer young. Or strong. Or healthy.

The pressure, the stress, the endless to-dos bore down on me. Excuses took hold. Suddenly I got seriously, physically ill.

In addition, I felt, emotionally, just like that old house on our property:

Empty. Dilapidated. Decaying. Weather worn., Forgotten.
The old house surrounded by bare trees and dry weeds and the
old barn that is literally falling down.

It sits alone with nobody to care or repair or visit or water its dead grass.

Yesterday, while sitting in a dark pit, exhausted, I clicked aimlessly through the internet and stumbled (! ? ! ?) onto Shari Dacon's blog http://sheridacon.com/2015/03/09/battling-depression-heres-antidote/ on: Writing One Thousand Gifts.

You know... Ann Voskamp. One Thousand Gifts. 

I read. And reread. And remembered.

I found my pen.

     The words flowed like a gushing well. Words of praise and thanksgiving. More. And more.

I wrote each blessing. Intentionally. Many blessings.

    Those many but little repairs and those big projects that God had continued to do.

            All that nourishment for my soul.

                     Those sunsets and gorgeous moons.

                          Those countless loving things our children do to help, to care, to water.

All those mundane life-sustaining blessings our family pours onto us.

            All those thoughtful gestures and prayers offered by friends.

Things that my Holy Father sends to me.

To my family.

To my care receivers.

      Lovingly.

              Faithfully.

                     Constantly.

Today, I smile. 

And I keep going.

And I will continue to write them down.

I will post my blessings. Hopefully others will be encouraged.

“I’m grateful. I am blessed.”

                       Do you write your blessings?

Then we your people, the sheep of your pasture, will PRAISE you forever; from generation to generation we will PROCLAIM your praise.    (Psalm 79:13)

Love from Liz