This n that

I had this idea in my mind for how it should look.
And I knew who had experience reading my mind.

So after I had a truck full of cedar boughs, spikey fern leaves, assorted pine branches and 4 strands of battery operated fairy lights, I called Terry.

And yes.
She knew exactly what I wanted.
And yes.
She could do it.
In 20 minutes.

Supplying Ter with the raw materials to create something beautiful transported me straight back to Billie's Country days. When, as a 26 year old brand new mom and shop co-owner, I'd meet creative strangers who'd buy supplies from the craft side of the store. I'd ask them what they were making, could they bring their finished 'thing' back so I could see... and if it was good quality, I'd hire them to teach in our classrooms. Eventually I had a team of 16 talented, artistic, friendly, helpful teachers/friends who taught thousands of classes over the years.

I'd bring in new products/supplies from our wholesalers or trade shows and let them have at er. I loved watching them design, paint, assemble, create, teach.

And watching Terry take a truck full of dead branches and create a masterpiece in the middle of our boardroom table just filled me with all the feels. I am so proud of her and grateful that I'm her friend. That I can call her with a 'crafting help' message and I know she's got my back.


It could be argued that this centrepiece was a bit over-the-top considering we were eating pizza on plastic plates.

Pffft.
Go big.
Or go bigger.
With centerpieces and hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Saturday afternoon I went for a walk.
I turned left out of my mom's driveway and walked down into the dip before starting my trek up the hill.

There, at the bottom of the hill, soaking wet, in the middle of the sidewalk, was a year book from Johnston Heights Jr. Sec. It looked suspiciously like mine. So I picked it up.
Yup.
Mine.
Here.
In the middle of the sidewalk, a couple blocks from my mom's house.

I turned around and walked back to the house.
"You won't believe what I just found," I said to mom who was sitting in her chair in her front room.
We tossed around some ideas as to how it could've got there, but really, it was a mystery.
(I had looked at my box of memory things (baby books, year books, wedding album, etc) only 6 days earlier - and thought I'd moved the box from the garage to the basement. HOW had this annual end up out there in the wild?)

I went for a hill walk, thinking of scenarios, but just couldn't figure it out.

When I got back, an hour later, my mom called me back into her front parlour.
"Funny thing..." she started. "A couple days ago, I was driving to the mail box and I remember hearing a thump and thinking that something had fallen off my car. But I didn't stop or look..."

"Ahhhhh. That's it! I put my box of personal things on your trunk. I was going to move it downstairs. But I guess I forgot... "

"Yeah, that's seems right. It was definitely more than just one year book that fell off my car. It felt like a box..."

"Hmmm. That's a slice of my history, gone. Those annuals, the kids' baby books. Photographs taken by photographers. Wedding album. Notes and letters and journals from a past era... I won't get that back. I had pared it all down to the most important keepsakes and put it all in one box. I guess it's all gone. Can't revisit it again..."

"Well," mom said. "it's probably for the best."

~~~~~~~~~~~

On my drive to church, I let a few tears escape but planned to have a good wail later that night at the lake. The sermon was about joy. And the verse he referenced was that annoying one in James "Consider it all joy when trials and tribulations come your way ... blah blah blah... because ... something something character."

Was I having another character-building experience?
Really?
Am I so lacking in it, that I need another go at it?
What?
Is this a 'let it go' lesson?
Is this a 'in-light-of-eternity-your-box-of-memories-doesn't-matter' thing?
Did I not learn that lesson back in 2012 when another slice of my history was stolen when my house was robbed?

Oy vey.

World's slowest learner, here.

I just wanted to shake my fist at someone but there was no point.


After church I met Val for supper and we commiserated about the lost bits of our past. And she shared about her friend who's ex (dad to her kids) had committed suicide last week. And who's dad died of cancer a few days later.

YEAH OK
I need to shut up about my stuff.

We left the restaurant and went to the mall.
Where I bought $100 of Purdy's Chocolates.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On Sunday evening, I met Karm at Clearbrook MB at 6:15 pm.
We were there for their monthly Hymn Sing evening service. It started at 7, but everyone was there shortly after 6. In anticipation.

There were no seats. No parking spots.
CRAZY.

Can I just say something?
There is something very very Holy about being amongst a couple hundred very old Mennonites who have gathered to worship. They sing, loudly, with all their hearts, in harmony. And it is beautiful. And moving.

Seeing it was December, almost all the songs were Christmas carols. But then, after about half n hour, the choir and congregation sang "Here we are to worship"... and I looked around to the men and women around me, who were singing with conviction. They were worshipping.

And it occurred to me, that these folks, these singers, these men and women, all over 70, and likely in their 80's and 90's, lived through the war. And had stories similar to my Omi and everyone's Omi. They had to flee Russia by retreating with the Nazi's across Europe with NOTHING. Loved ones were executed, relatives were sent to the gulag, and those lucky to escape, ran with nothing.

And here they were. Worshipping God in this country where they raised their families and built their homes in peace.

And I bet a lot of them left a whole lot more behind than one curated keepsake memory box.

OK.
I won't whine about my lost Dear Jane letters.


Perspective is everything.


The final two songs of the evening undid me.
A duet by two men (one had just turned 90, the other was Brian Doerksen's dad, Harry, probably in his 80's)

You can watch it here:

https://livestream.com/clearbrookmbchurch/events/8926881/videos/199962923
They start singing at 1:25: 00

And after that?
The Hallelujah Chorus.

The director invited anyone who wanted to, to join the choir.
Watching dozens of peoples go forward, eagerly, to sing was heart-warming. And amazing. I didn't grow up around men who sang. Not my dad, my bro, my ex, my kids. So to watch men, enthusiastically participate in singing, was just awesome.

And hearing the men's voices? Was the best thing ever.
So much depth and weight and richness with their strong voices acting as a foundation for the music to dance on top of throughout the building.

So very grateful for my heritage.
So thankful that my grandparents sacrificed their things and risked their lives to come here.

I live a damn fine life because of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three things I'm thankful for:

1. Dinners/evenings with so many friends this past week. (Julie on Wed, the Milestones crew on Thursday, Book Club group on Monday, Heather on Tuesday...) I am lucky/blessed/tired. :) Quality 'together time' is my love language, obvs.

2. Christmas cards. OH. MY. GOODNESS. I got three in the past 24 hours that were filled with so many kind/lovely/tear-inducing words. Gahhhh. My love language is defo words.

3. Was at my sister's, gettin my hair did, and while I'm sitting under a dryer with a hole-y shower cap on, and strands of hair dripping with a thick bleach solution, she brings me this:

A glass of water and frozen peanut butter balls.

I am so loved.

Food is definitely my love language.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shalom friends,
xo

#Grateful

He lost his words for 7 years.
During this dark season, he and his wife daily asked each other, "What are you grateful for today?"
And they talked about those things.

He is Brian Doerksen, a songwriter/musician, and after that long dry spell, he is back.

I was at Central Heights last night at his #Grateful concert. (Central Heights is where he and his wife were married 34 years ago. It was the venue for one of his more significant concerts in 2002. And it's where his mom's memorial service was 5 years ago. That building oozed memories and meaning for him.)
Hallowed ground.
I felt privileged to be there.

Music. It slips past your brain and goes straight for your heart.



November is my most challenging month. Not necessarily because of anything too specific, nor because of painful memories. But because it ushers in the dark season. The view from November is nothing but winter with it's gloomy days and long nights ahead.

I've been so busy at work and at my not-work, that I haven't really taken notice of October ending and November slipping in. But my internal clock was keeping track of the passage of time, and my emotions have been doing a fair bit of swirling. Which I've mostly been ignoring because I Have Things To Do. This week, in particular, I've had a lot of conversations, with colleagues, in my office, or with friends, in coffee shops, where one or both of us, has tears bubbling up just below the surface. Quietly, I promised my soul that I'll have a good cry eventually. Especially after I read this tweet by Diana. (Dr. Diana Gabaldon, author of the Outlander series.) (I am a secret admirer of hers. She unknowingly mentors me in matters of social media responses, relationship maintenance and aging.) (Thank you, God, for Twitter.)

Tears are physically cleansing, not just emotionally. It's a way for your body to excrete stress hormones like cortisol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm at the lake this weekend with Jenn who's working on the final edits of her follow-up book to Sleight.

We left Surrey at 7,  then stopped in to see Dani and her dad at the Vintage Barn Market in Chilliwack, where I had the pride (and joy) of watching my girl (and her family) chat with customers and sell the beautiful items they'd created. Ahhh. Memories of Billie's Country slamming me upside my heart. I love seeing Dani doing hair, but I REALLY love watching her make things. And I am thrilled that she is able to sell them.

Meanwhile Jenn was hanging out in my second favoritest booth - the bookstore on wheels:

(THIS WAS JUST LIKE THE BOOK I READ THIS SUMMER:

"Determined to make a new life for herself, Nina moves to a sleepy village many miles away. There she buys a van and transforms it into a bookmobile—a mobile bookshop that she drives from neighborhood to neighborhood, changing one life after another with the power of storytelling.")

ANYWAYS, (that was a bit of a rabbit hole) our next stop was to buy a pizza which we ate in the front seat of my truck in the Safeway parking lot, (Yes, A Weekend with Jane at the lake is a classy affair) before going in and buying some groceries for the weekend. 

We ate snacks while watching Jack Ryan on Amazon Prime til 3 am. Life doesn't get better. 

She spent Saturday writing her little heart out. I spent mine sleeping, and doing nothing. Because for me, Saturday is my Sabbath. (Hahaha. Let's come up with a spiritual excuse for being lazy as a teen.) I met Sandra at Central Heights at 6:30 and we chatted, (well, OK, I talked non-stop for 30 minutes) and then the music started. 



And it was like a reset button had been set deep within me. 

I was doing OK until Today, I Choose. 
Singing along? Was super hard. Words and emotions got trapped in my throat. Saying the words "As for me and my house, we will serve you" affected my ability to swallow and see clearly. Tears slipped out. But I had to reign them in before my nose got involved because I had no kleenexes with me. 

By the time Brian and his band were belting out The River, I was using all my energies to keep it together.



(Ugghhh. His videos are the worst. Hearing him live, with a band, and not having Papyrus font ruining the experience is how I suggest you listen to his songs.)

The best moment of the night, in my humble opinion, was when Brian invited his 82 year dad to join him on stage to sing "It is Well". Oy. 

When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well, with my soul

I said goodbye to my concert-going, stoic, Pentecostal, non-crying girlfriend, and walked to my truck promising my tear ducts they could overflow as soon as we were on the road back to the lake. 

But I changed my mind when I got onto the freeway. Both the heavens and my eyes cannot be dripping great drops at the same time. Haha. Visibility would have been horrendous. Wildly irresponsible. So I just said all the words. All the words in my heart. I said them out loud, assuming God was sitting in the passenger seat listening. And by the time I got back to Cultus, I was at peace. 

So I baked brownies and cheese biscuits and we watched 4 more episodes of Jack Ryan. (Turning the clocks back really worked in our favor.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up Sunday and dealt with this. 
Rotting garbage on the side porch. 

(Here's the thing. We don't have garbage collection at the lake, so everyone always takes their garbage home. But this is the second weekend in a row (and third time this fall) that one of us has had to deal with the aftermath of raccoons rummaging though rotting garbage.)

Ugh.

So I cleaned it up like a responsible adult then went outside to breathe fresh air in deeply. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

What am I grateful for today? 

Songwriters. 

Three things I'm thankful for:

1. Family on-line chat conversations. 
I'd asked my kids for their advice to a young-mom-friend-of-mine who is struggling with teens who are not doing homework, not doing well in school/faking being sick in order to stay home, not doing chores, etc. 

The conversation meandered all over the place, and in addition to them coming up with some very solid advice, they added this:
"You and other parents, blame yourselves for being shitty parents for literally no reason at all. 9/10 of the things you prolly think you failed in parenting for us, we have not thought once it's your fault."

"Nobody is blaming you of being a bad parent. I hope you understand that."

"When you stopped forcing me to do homework? Finally? I still graduated. 
But I got not-great grades. Which bites when it comes to post-secondary, but I have NOT ONCE thought to myself, "if only I had better parenting. This is mom's fault."
"The only thought I have is, maybe I shoulda tired a bit harder."



2. I am thankful for the sounds of a dishwasher washing dishes and a washing machine washing towels. SO thankful I'm not doing either activity by hand. 

3. And I am thankful for my fam. 

Shalom, friends.
Thanks for reading. 
xo