A shovel and a snake...

Everywhere we have lived, we have been surrounded by fabulous neighbors.  I think the pattern started with our first house in Liverpool when we met the Robinsons.  They lived across the street and were a family of four, two girls, two parents.  When we moved in, we were still "married without children" so the Robinsons and our family knew each other, were friendly, but didn't really start to hang out until after Andrea was born in 1984.  All of a sudden, I was a mom and had no clue what I was doing and Deb (the mom Robinson) didn't know what she was doing either so we muddled along together.  :-) It set off a great friendship which would involve her entire family to this day.
Anyway, I have lots of Robinson stories, but one in particular I remembered today because I have to go out to work in the garden and I know there is a snake out there that greets me every time I am pulling weeds.
One day, after Andrea was born, I was home (I worked 2nd shift).  I was in the kitchen and out of the corner of my eye I saw something move along the floor.  I turned slowly, thinking it was my imagination, and dread filled my entire body as I realized it was a snake!!  A snake in my kitchen!!

I grabbed the orange phone (which we still have) attached to the wall and stood on a chair and called Mark at work.  I could barely be understood as I blabbered all sorts of hysteria to him about a snake in the kitchen and it must have come in through that crack in the basement wall and now we are infested and we need an exterminator and the snake is going to attack me and Andrea and we are not going to be alive when you get home so I hope you are happy that you said we couldn't afford to fix the crack in the basement wall now and you need to come home right away because I can't get off this chair and Andrea is taking a nap and I can't get down the hall to see her and I really don't like snakes.
There was a long pause at the end of my hysteria.  I said "Mark?" and he said "Yeah?"  I said "did you hear me?  Are you coming home?"  And he slowly and deliberately spoke these words "I'm sorry, but I can't."
Divorce papers flashed before my eyes.  I realized that I was ready to end the marriage and move on to someone who would come home from work to kill a snake for me.
I hung up.  He was ok with that.
I thought and thought and thought about how I was going to get off that chair.
And then, I remembered Dan across the street was home from work that day.  I called him on the phone and pretty much explained the entire scenario in hysteria as I did for Mark.  He said he would be right over!!  Now THAT'S what I'm talking about right there!
If I were to describe the snake to you now, thinking about what I have said over the phone and the hysteria, etc., what size do you think it was?
Well, that's the size Dan thought it was too!  He came over with a shovel and a bucket and work boots and gloves and looked like he was going to go after a Boa constrictor.  I forgot to mention that the snake was about 6 inches long and the size of a pencil around!
Dan walked in the house with all of his equipment to take out this man-eating monster, and stopped in his tracks on the dining room rug.  He put his hands on his knees and laughed and laughed and laughed.  He said "I thought you said you had a snake in your house?  This is barely the size of a worm!"
He picked it up gently (and I mean gently) and carried it outside and deposited it nicely in the garden.
I wanted him to tell Mark about the horrific scene when he showed up and how Mark should have been there for me, but instead Dan walked out of our house with all of his unused snake-killing equipment and laughing hysterically.
So the moral of today's story is that snakes always look bigger when you are alone!  And no matter how tiny they are, slithering snakes should be avoided at all costs.  AND neighbors that come to your rescue are fabulous even if they laugh at you.  AND husbands shouldn't be divorced because they are working and providing for you in different ways than you would like.  The end...

Orange crush

Our first house was in Liverpool.  We were so excited to have a house after two years of living in apartments.  The house was a contemporary one.  It had an "A" frame shape and giant windows across the front and the side of the house.  The livingroom was huge with cathedral ceilings and beams going across the top.  I don't think the house even had 1000 square feet, but it was huge to us and really fancy.  We bought the house in 1980 so it was decorated for the 1970's.  The carpet was dark brown in the living room.  Hardwood floors were throughout the three small bedrooms.  I can't remember what color the bathroom was, so it must not have been blue like our house in Dryden was because THAT I will remember forever.  The living room, dining room and kitchen were all open to each other.  The wall that was considered the eating area wall had crazy mod wallpaper on it.  It was vinyl and shiny and brown, black and white swirls over the entire wall (10' ceilings!!).  That's alot of swirl!  About 5 years into living there, I convinced Mark to put parque tile (like hardwood flooring) on that wall and it took him over 2 years to almost complete it and we ended up hiring someone to finish the rest, but it looked pretty nice.  The outlet on that wall will always be remembered as the one baby Andrea decided to put mommy's car keys into and proceeded to power-outage the entire house (and curl her hair for the rest of her life :-) 

The thing I remember most about that house was the kitchen carpet!  It was ORANGE!  And I mean orange like rainbow orange!  It was an indoor/outdoor carpet and the kitchen was really small, but the carpet added life to the browns and gold and avocado greens of the wallpaper in that room.  I kinda liked it for the first two hours we owned the house.  We walked into the house with our keys (that's such a weird feeling to have a 30 year mortgage when you're 22 and feel like you just signed away your entire life savings, but you are now a HOMEOWNER!)   We checked out the house up and down and went to the basement.  There was only one thing in the house that was left by the owners and that was a very large piece of plywood leaning up against the basement wall.  It must be that inspectors didn't inspect things back then the way they do now, because the entire foundational wall had a one inch crack from the window all the way down to the floor behind that plywood.  It was filled with caulk.  Um yeah!  So we ended up getting that repaired at some point, but that was the first thing that sunk our spirits.  

The next thing was that Mark declared we needed to get groceries because the refrigerator was empty and cupboards were bare.  We bought a bunch of junk food because we were 22 and celebrating.  Mark carried, like macho man, all the brown paper bags at once into the house and had probably 6 full grocery bags in his arms along with a 6 pack of orange soda bottles in his hand.  As he was walking into the kitchen, he somehow knocked the wall entering into the room with the bags and the soda and the cardboard carrier holding the soda split open.  All 6 bottles of soda went crashing down to the floor on top of each other and the bottles broke.  I stood in the middle of our brand new kitchen floor next to Mark as we watched in horror gluggling bottles of soda, ORANGE soda soaking the carpet, our shoes, the walls and the cupboards.  As if in slow motion, we looked up at each other and Mark said "well at least we bought the right color soda!"

Not funny Mark Searle, not funny at all!

(we had to replace the carpet within just a couple months of living there because the soda wasn't able to be removed from all the padding underneath...)

So duh!  ha ha ha... get it... so-da!

The moral of today's story is that inspectors aren't perfect, soda is bad for you, don't drink it (or spill it) and just about every memory, good or bad, will eventually be a good one to write about and learn from.  (We had so many wonderful things happen in our little house on Woodside Lane.  I will tell you about them someday).

Treasures are in the eye of the beholder

Ok, on the risk of sounding morbid, I have been thinking alot about how short our lives are.  Really...even people who live like 90 or 100 years, that is really short!  Maybe it's because I have been going through Mark's things.  I hold items in my hand that he loved so much.  The ache in my chest gets stronger when I pick up items that he loved.  The dust from years of keeping magazines from the 1970s still intact and his handwriting on the boxes that label each issue.  I reach out and touch the  box, the handwriting, listen to his voice as he asked me to move them over and over to categorize them differently.  I think of how many times we moved these things and stored them in basements and closets that were 'dry and clean' to keep the integrity of these earthly items.
And now...here I am, struggling to find anyone who is interested in buying them for pennies, wondering why a treasure was so precious to one man and so "worthless" to others.
On Sunday I sang Amazing Grace at the nursing home, I heard the words "when we've been there 10,000 years, bright shining as the sun, we've no less days to sing God's praise than when we first begun."  Do you hear that?  10,000 years... if we live to be 100, we are considered old!  What about 1,000 of those 100's more?  Eternity is 10k as Mark would put it ...times 10k times 10k ...times as many 10k as you can write down for the rest of your existence.
I have been writing out the Book of Psalms:  Yesterday it was Psalm 39... whoa... does that ever get you thinking:
(The first part says "I will put a muzzle on my mouth to keep me from sin!"  which I haven't quite learned yet).
But pay attention to Verse 5:  You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you.  Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.
So, I guess what I'm mumbling about today is that here we are, storing up our treasures on earth.  The car, the sewing machines :-), the nice house, the financial status, the 401K, the magazines :-) and it's a mere breath of time.  What are we doing to store up for eternity?  Pastor John said that earning a "good name" is important here on earth, but earning a good name for God's kingdom is more important.  He asked if you were applying to get into heaven and needed a character reference, would you be able to find someone to write you a letter of recommendation?  hmmm...  that's an interesting thought!
I'm off to see my financial guy today lol... and then take my daddio to the dentist (he still has all of his teeth!! and he is 90!  now that's OLD!)... ha ha ha!

When the going gets Tuffy

Mark had a cat growing up named Tuffy.  It was the meanest, most terrifying cat I have ever met.  Tuffy was a long-haired gray and gold tiger stripe.  His fur was matted and clumped up everywhere.  You couldn't go anywhere near that cat to brush it or clip it because you wouldn't live long enough to get to the hospital for the stitches.  You would have died from blood loss.  So everyone let Tuffy just exist and run the house.  Jen Searle will vouch for this story, every word of it is true!  The cat was mostly an indoor cat.  It slept on the couch, therefore anyone who wanted to sit on the couch was forbidden to do so.  If he changed his mind and slept on the chair, that meant you had to move.  Sometimes Tuffy went out to the garage and would prowl around out there and check out the nooks and crannies for mice or to bury things that he killed earlier in the day, who knows.
The funny thing about Tuffy is that he would climb up the door in the kitchen that led to the garage and he would suspend himself 4 feet off the ground looking outside.  It was a signal to open the door.  Tuffy also did this for coming in from the garage.  If you were in the kitchen, sometimes you would jump a mile from a sound of a 15 pound cat throwing himself at the door's window.  He would stick his claws out and hold himself up staring at you through the window with hazel green eyes that saw right through you.  At that point you had a choice: open the door and let the cat in the house, losing your seat and probably getting bit, OR leaving him out in the garage so that when he came in later, he would get revenge.
The reason I am writing this is twofold.  One is because up until I met Mark, we never had any pets.  Thinking about how devastated I am to lose our cat now, makes me remember.  I was afraid of dogs and terrified of cats.  Tuffy didn't help the situation, as a matter of fact, I was convinced that having animals was dangerous and a crazy thing to do! HA ha ha!!!  Whoa, have times ever changed!
The second reason is because one time Mark Searle was out in the garage up in the attic trying to retrieve some things for his dad.  You could hear him shuffling around in the rafters as his dad and I sat in the living room and chatted.  All of a sudden we heard a crashing sound from the garage and we looked over and there was Tuffy hanging on the window.  We ignored him and figured that Mark could be the brave one to let Tuffy in.  Homer and I kept chatting about stuff and again, we heard some rustling and then shouting.  I got up and walked to the kitchen door, looking out into the garage.  Mark's dad followed me.  There was Mark, hanging by one arm from the rafters and sheetrock and plaster covering his head and the floor.  He had fallen through the ceiling and was just hanging by one arm.  He looked as though he needed stitches along his arms and that Tuffy had gouged out half of his flesh from his arms.  The cat was mortified that we would blame him.
Mark's dad opened the garage door and burst out laughing.  Mark was still hanging there and said "could I get some help."    Homer continued to laugh while getting a step ladder and helping Mark to step down from the ceiling.  It cost us hundreds of dollars to help repair their ceiling and Mark never did find what his dad wanted.  After that, he never went up in the ceiling again.
Tuffy lived for about 100 more years and Mark somehow convinced me that getting a cat (or two) was a good idea.  I will tell you about that the next time.
Moral of the story:  when the going gets Tuffy, the Tuf gouge your eyes out... LOL... (not really)... when the going gets tough, we are supposed to call on God and say "can I get some help" and he sends a step ladder... one step at a time.

Answer the door...it's king kong...

I haven’t felt very much like writing the last couple of weeks.  There have been some circumstances that have had me occupied, sad and overwhelmed.  In the last three months, I have lost my husband, my very good friend, my daughter had surgery, my favorite car died, my most-expensive and favorite sewing machine died, my youngest child has been told there isn’t anything else they can do for her medically, my cat has a terminal illness, and some other things that I won’t mention for privacy issues are making me sad.  Today I imagined pounding God on the chest and saying to him “you are my FATHER, you are supposed to make it all better!  Can’t you see that I’m crying and sad here?  Do something!”  And then I imagined Him holding me and letting me cry until I couldn’t cry any longer (because that’s what I do best).  And somehow, I just know everything will still be ok even in this turmoil.

I decided I would write a story about Mark that lets you all know he wasn’t exactly as perfect as I have led you to believe.  Maybe it will help me not miss him so much… hmmm… I doubt it, but it’s worth a shot.

After we got married in September of 1978, Mark’s dad moved back in with Mark’s mom.  They lived in Cicero on a dark street in a small house.  There were no streetlights and there was a swamp across the street that was always a bit eerie to me.  We had been over to his parent’s house for a visit one Saturday autumn evening.  It was very dark outside, but I was inside, sitting on the couch with Mark’s arm across my shoulders, so I was content.  It was a warm night and the windows were open on either side of the pitcher window.   Mark’s father was telling us a story about his pitch game he had played earlier that day with some friends and we were all looking in his direction as he sat just to the side of the window.  Mark’s mom was in her usual chair by the kitchen.  All of us were enjoying Homer’s dissertation about his card game.   Some movement caught my eye from outside and I was not really sure what it was.  It looked like a dark shadow moving across the front yard and then coming closer to the house, but I shrugged it off.  It couldn’t be anything. It was probably just the way the light from the lamp was reflecting off the window and besides, Mark didn’t seem to notice at all.  So I focused back on the conversation and continued to listen to the antics of my father-in-law.  Then, as if I were living in a horror film, a dark, black, hairy creature popped up from outside the front yard and threw itself at the screen window.  It growled and screeched and clawed at the screen.  I grabbed Mark’s chest and screamed at the top of my lungs for I was sure we were all going to die at that very moment.  All I could hear was the sound of my own voice, high pitched and terrorized beyond belief.  My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure the animal at the screen was aware of it.  But something wasn’t right.  Mark, his mom and his dad weren’t screaming, they were laughing.  Hysterical, I mean tears running down their faces, laughing!!  I, too, had tears running down my face from the horror of what was happening.  It took me a few minutes to realize that I was the only one afraid.  As the realization hit me, the front door opened and in comes Butch, Mark’s really good friend from high school, who was in our wedding.  He is holding a gorilla mask in his hands and Mark and Butch do the man-hug thing in the living room and say “we really got her, didn’t we.” 

I believe that I was thinking something else that I cannot repeat here.  Utter disbelief came over me as I suddenly realized that this entire roomful of people had planned this charade as a funny joke!!  What is funny about that??  I ask you??  Any of you??  As I type this, I still wish I had time to tell Mark about how not funny that was…Not funny, Mark Searle… not funny at all!!

So today’s moral of the story is that even though things look dark, scary and not funny at all, underneath the mask, beneath the face of fear, is an explanation, a story, and even a time to remember…all things work together for good (as long as it’s not really a gorilla at your window trying to rip your face off…because I think that would be hard to make that sound like a good thing, no matter how you spin it).

Celebrating cold fruit...

I went to the quilt show in Rochester this weekend. Friday morning, I went to a lecture on longarm quilting and the entire time I was there, I had a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball. It is so odd to go places "fun" now because the only reason I can go is Mark isn't here anymore. It is such an overwhelming sadness that comes over me when I realize my freedom is for that very reason. So I only stayed for a few hours and never looked at one quilt on Friday. I picked up a book off my daughter's shelf that night and thumbed through it. It was called "Cold Tangerines" (Kristina Tanner recommended it a long time ago). Anyway, it's a delightful treasury of small stories. The introduction spoke of the overwhelming sadness in the world and how it can consume you if you allow it to. So she said to "give yourself permission to celebrate." 
On Saturday morning, I slept in with my grandpuppies and decided to just work in the yard and skip the quilt show... and then I got hot and realized that the quilt show was air conditioned so I went. 
I repeated the words "Cold tangerines" about a million times to myself that afternoon as I looked at the gorgeous handiwork of so many people. I kept on breathing and saying "it's ok to celebrate." And I had a great time. Then my sister and I went to church and then we went out to dinner and we had a wonderful evening. On Sunday my sister and I did yardwork together at my daughter's house and crazy enough...that turned out to be a super fun day too. So, now I am home... the sadness envelopes me... and then I think... I could go for a cold tangerine...