Thursday, August 31, 2006


My friend died last night. Not one of my inner circle; someone I had hoped to at some point get to know better.

I remember reading in Guideposts a while back and article written by a woman who was struggling with an aging family matriarch not giving the her, a younger but mature daughter, mother, room at the holiday dinner stove. I forget most of the details; how she resolved the dilemma. Now, though I long to have her problem. My mother, my mother in-law are both gone, with the Lord. Having only one sister-in-law, there is just me to create "the holiday meal". Five sons, a husband, I have failed them; falling short of the creation of a festive, warm, family holiday season. Even thinking about it makes me tired, Then depressed. More tired. More depressed, since I am too tired t and depressed to feel like doing the holiday deed.

Still, my husband has stepped up and made some darn good holiday meals. The meals are good, but the holiday lacks the woman's touch. I whine, that I lost my mentors too early. Not just their teaching, leading, but our family table lacks the glory of the gray. The gray haired ones who have lived longer, laughed and cried more, hurt more and been hurt more. The table misses their rounding out.

I miss them.

Now, my friend's family has lost their matriarch, a woman not many years my senior.

Heartache descends upon a woman's spirit from many directions. I must step up and shoulder the mantle bequeathed upon me. Wear the honor I did not wish for. Jesus fills our lives with blessing, but He sometimes gives gifts we would like to return; gifts we may not want, but gifts He knows we need. Without a doubt what He has ordained is for our good, the good of those around us. For His Glory.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Another day done. My extra-large size sofa is full to the overflow of men/boys. The Steelers are playing Philadelphia in the City of Brotherly Love. Drew is streached out in his corner. Son #4 and two of his pals are huddled abound a bowl of homemade salsa. Occassional cheering or jeering interrupts the munching and the murmuring over whose turn it is to hold the bowl. This is a good thing

If I choose to look back on today, its happenings, and heartaches, which I think I will not, not look back on, that is; but if i chose to do that, I think might be saddened by the sublime and not so sublime jabs that were tossed about. Words that cannot be sucked back into the vocal cords, words that once spoken aloud take on a life and subjective truth all thier own, distinct in their interpretive meaning to the speaker, the spoken to, and the just happend to hear about. A day with no words, just silent wordless interaction; a day like that could turn out to be a sober relief to the illict and careless dagger-like utterings that slice and dice without reserve. Phrases and paragraphs slink about as jungle gorilla fighters. Fighters pose as innocent allies, yet their ammo when relased never misses its vulnerable mark.

Good thing I do not choose to look back on today. I might be saddened.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Today, today I played like a little boy. Yup, had to move some dirt piles around in the practice arena my husband Drew is putting in for me and the horses. A couple of truck drivers from the tipple he owns delivered three tri-axle loads of sand. Before they could tailgate if off I had to do some clean up work with the highlift bucket and back blade of my John Deere. Pretending I knew a whole lot about moving dirt than I actually did I was able to more or less get the job done. If nothing else I sure had the dust flying. But there was just something fun about sitting in the tractor seat and running the not so big bucket. I remember when I was a kid I always had fun playing in the dirt with the boys. Today was sort of like living a memory and making a new one at the same time.

I wish I knew how to put into words the deep resonating kind of satisfaction I have been experiencing lately. Seems like the horses, the chores involved in their care; the muscle streaching activity of riding and training, just fills me to the overflow with a sense of accomplishment. But it is more than that, it is if in a way I have come into my own, sounds like some sappy 60's song. I guess I "found" myself. Truely, I wasn't even looking for myself. I was pretty ok with were I was. How can dirt and sweat, and manure and mud give me an emotional buzz like I have not know.

Obviously, this is not bigger than my relationship with God, or deeper than my love for my family. At 47 years old though, it is good to be secure in a nitch, a new nitch at that; secure and content in a new adventure. Yup, I played in the dirt, and it was just alright.