dearanonymousfriend

Ramblings from a would be writer

Taking a Trip Back in Time…

We transferred back to the states in spring of 1979 from Japan.  We had lived there three years and it was one of the best places we had lived.  We met friends, we started our family, we became Christians there, and we grew up there.  I call those years my ‘college years’ as I never went to college and I spent the years in Japan at the age where I could have been studying in school.

We moved to Maine in early June of 1979.  Hubby worked sixty miles from where we lived.  He got up early (and I did too),  and after cleaning the house and doing chores, I felt lonely.  I knew people, but, it was early in our tour there so I had not discovered the joy these ‘new’ people would bring to my life.

One morning I was moping around the house missing my friends from Japan.  I was lonely and miserable and was crying off and on.  I was in the United States, people spoke my language, but I felt out-of-place.  I wanted to go back to Japan.

That morning, as I cried and prayed, I felt like I learned a lesson from God.  It was like He showed me a scrapbook.  This scrapbook was filled with pictures and mementos.  The lesson learned was this, the people and experiences I had in Japan would always live in my heart and mind.  They were like a scrapbook I could open.  I could remember and enjoy the memories, but, I could not live there, I needed to focus on the present and where I was.

From that time on, I have often thought of that lesson.  I have tried to live my life, focused on the present.

Today I have opened that scrapbook often.  My sister posted a picture of the first house she lived in after getting married.  It was the home where she started her family.  I looked at the picture and thought of the laughter we had when we visited there.  I remembered my oldest daughter taking her afternoon nap on the hammock that used to hang on the front porch.  I smiled and thought of several other memories of that time.  She had found the picture of the house on the web and that got me thinking of finding some of the places we have lived.

My first thought was to go to Japan.  I ended up finding a blog with pictures of the area we lived in Japan, Nagai, or Admiralty Heights.  It was wonderful!  Immediately, I was transported back in time.  Seeing the wide roads in the housing area that were actually airstrips for the Japanese airforce  in World War II.  We could see Mt. Fuji from our living room windows and our bedroom window.  That was our view each day, seeing the sun rise and the sun set with that magnificent mountain always in view.  Seeing the pictures brought back the memories of the people there.  Thanks to Facebook, we have been able to be in touch with one another again.

Finally, I realized that a year ago today we moved our furniture into this house.  I posted that picture and then said, I never want to move again.

As I thought about that, I chided myself, for being so adamant.  We do not know what the future holds and saying things so definitive puts a box around your life.  If I had not had a spirit of adventure 41 years ago, my life would have been so different.  I could not have written anything in this post.  For, my world view would have been vastly opposite of what it is now.  Each of our lives is an adventure and journey.   We all have scrapbooks in our minds filled with moments that our memories are made of.  The adhesive may be yellowing and lifting off of photos that are fading, but those memories are still clinging there.

I have been so blessed in this life.  Starting out from a small town in Northwestern Pennsylvania, I have traveled and met some incredible people along the way.  I have smelled things I could never had imagined.  I have seen sights I didn’t know existed.  I have been so blessed.

There is a quote from the movie Hook that is a conversation between the old Wendy and Peter that goes like this:

Granny Wendy: So… your adventures are over.

Peter Banning: Oh, no. To live… to live would be an awfully big adventure.

I have had an awfully big adventure and I am waiting to see what is next…  Thanks for stopping by today,  DAF (Cathi)

 

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Good bye 2014….

A year ago today, hubby and I sat and talked about the past year and the upcoming year.  We had a strong feeling about 2014.  We knew it would be a year of events.  A year of change.  A year that was different.  We anticipated it, we felt it coming.  Little did we realize the impact it would have on us.

This year has flown by.  I mean that, it really has.  To me, it seems like it should still be March of 2014.  But, sitting here in my living room with my tree still decorated, I know that it is December 31st.  The last day of this year.

I started out writing often.  I was encouraged and thrilled that I was consistent in writing.  But, as is so often the case, life took over and writing was squeezed in when I had a few minutes to sit and put my thoughts together.

During this year we have spent two and a half months in Pennsylvania.  We tramped through old paths.  We shared memories long dormant.  We held hands where we first held hands together.  We remembered those high school kids who fell in love, got married and travelled the world together.

We remembered family members no longer with us.  We remembered laughing with them, talking with them.  We remembered.

This year we saw Little Man turn two.  We saw him go from a toddler unsure steps to running and jumping and snapping his little fingers.  We saw him put puzzles together, recognize the shapes of the states, name the states and sing songs to melt our hearts.  We shared our Christmas with him.  We counted going up steps and down steps.  We cried when he had to go back home with his Momma and Pappa.

We met Little Miss this year.  She was a surprise to us, which added to the excitement of 2014.  She captured another part of our hearts.  She fascinated us as we watched her squirm in her little bassinet, eyes wide open, ready to move and explore if only her feet could hold her up.  We know from experience that won’t be long from now.

I was in California for seven weeks this year.  I said a proper good-bye to the city I called home for almost 28 years.  This good-bye was a slow one, not hampered by the rush of packing and moving and schedules.  It was a good-bye in a visit.  I was able to ramble through and recapture good memories and times.  I then packed those memories away in my heart scrapbook that holds all the precious times of my life.

Yes, 2014 was a unique year.  I have no idea what will happen in the next 365 days.  But, being the age I am, I know there will be wonderful days filled with the very best of things.  There will be days that will strike me in the core of my being.  There will be days filled with questions and no answers.  There will be days that seem to stretch into eternity.  This time next year, though, I know I will look back and remember fondly.

May your new year be filled with the best of everything.  Health, wholeness, laughter, and tears.  Happy New Year.  Thanks for stopping by, DAF

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Winters in the Past…

I have lived with many types of winter.  Each one is wonderful in itself, but my favorites have been the ones with snow and ice and gray skies.  I miss those winters.

Growing up in northwestern Pennsylvania, we had good winters.  Sometimes they would arrive early and stay late.  I can remember wearing winter coats under Halloween costumes and wearing snow boots with the costumes also.  We had snow and if we were lucky we had snow days where we could miss school and stay home and play outdoors.

When I married we moved to Norfolk, VA.  The winters there were a shock to my system.  First off, there was the smell of the sea air that attacked my senses. It was cold in a different way.  The gray skies were not the comforting skies that I grew up with .  The snow was more like a heavy frost and yet the city would come to a halt when there was snow.  I really did not like the experience of winter in Norfolk.

We moved overseas after living in Norfolk.  Mostly we did not see snow while living in Japan.  Although, there was one year where we did get a decent snowfall.  It was exciting.  I remember leaving the store after getting groceries and seeing snow flurries.  I was thrilled.  It continued to fall and accumulate.  We got about five inches and I was in heaven.  My best memory of that snowfall was having a friend who grew up in Hawaii call to ask me how to make a snowman.  She had two small children and wanted to take them out to play in the snow and she wasn’t certain how to make a snowman.  I stifled my laughter and asked if she knew how to make a snowball.  She replied that she did know how to do that.  I told her to make a snowball and roll it around until it was large enough to be the bottom, then to repeat the process two more times, making each ball a bit smaller.  She succeeded and was thrilled with her success.  Her children thought she was a genius and I still laugh at that.

From the land of not much snow we moved to Maine.   Maine was the perfect place for someone who loves winter.  I love Maine.  I loved the cold, the snow, the ice, the wind chill.  It was all wonderful.  I would move back in a minute.  But, alas, hubby is not as keen on snow as I am, so that’s not going to happen.

After Maine we lived in southern California for almost 27 years.  I learned to appreciate the winters there.  The winters appeared with a nuance.  There was a certain feel in the air and you knew winter had arrived.  Coats would appear and sweaters.  Sometimes we would actually need to put the coats on, most of the time we didn’t.   The mountains were a half hour from where we lived.  In the winter, we would get up, look outside towards the mountains.  Often hubby would say to me, “It looks like snow in the mountains.”   This would be followed by his taking a personal day off.  We would take our girls to school and head to the mountains to play.  We would drive around the snow,  have a late breakfast or early lunch up in the mountains and get back in time to pick the girls up from school with the tell-tale signs of leftover snow on the car.

Moving to the south we have had snow a couple of times.  The first year we were here we had three inches fall.  I was so excited!  The dog experienced it first hand and he fell in love with the white stuff also.  It didn’t last long, but, each year since I hold out hope for snow.  I look at the clouds and sniff the air.  The past week or so, it could have snowed, it smelled like it could and looked like it could, but, no snow for us.

Winter is one of my favorite seasons.  It is a time where you can dress warmly and snuggle under blankets.  It is a time that is refreshing and brisk.  I am enjoying this cold weather we are having.  I think on the winters of my life and am grateful for all the different types I have lived in.   What is your favorite winter memory?  DAF

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Blizzard and Love…

Thirty nine years ago today I woke up to a bright sunny winter day.  I checked a list and realized that there was not much left to do.  Rent a U-haul trailer, get it out to hubby’s parent’s house, finish packing and get to our rehearsal dinner and decorate the hall.

The day was gorgeous and cool.  It was spring like.  It was the day before our wedding.  Hubby and I considered having outside pictures taken the following day.  We thought of going to the park in town to have some outdoor pictures knowing the park is a beautiful background for wedding pictures.

We did our errands, went to the local Elks club for our dinner, went through the rehearsal then hubby and I went our separate ways. He to his bachelor party, me to the hall to decorate for the next day.  Everything went as planned.  I was still finishing up packing around 2 a.m. when hubby drove past the house honking his horn to let me know he was on his way to his folks.    I went to bed shortly after that.

Our wedding was a morning wedding.   I woke up around seven to a very bright room.  It was bright because of the snow outside.  If I remember right, at seven in the morning there was about ten inches of snow on the ground.  It was still coming down, hard.

The church we were married in had no changing rooms for brides.  You dressed at home and drove over.  When my older sister had married, my dad took the bridesmaids over to the church and then went back for my sister and took her over separately.  He looked at me and announced that everyone was going over at the same time.  We all piled into the car, my sisters in the back seat, me upfront with my Dad.  It was an easier way to get in while at the house.  What we didn’t realize was that when we got to the church I would have to climb over to the driver’s side to get out, since the snow was plowed higher than the car on the passenger side.  Everyone got out of the car and crossed the icy road to head up the marble steps leading up to the church (more like a cathedral on a hill, to me).  My future father in law was standing at the top of the stairs watching everyone arrive.  I got out of the car, holding up my gown and short train with one hand and hanging onto my veil with the other hand.  I stood on the road unable to move except for beginning to slide sideways down the street.  Hubby’s dad started motioning and pointing and my Dad came to the rescue.  I was helped over and the ceremony happened.

Most people didn’t arrive on time.  The snow  had accumulated to about 16 inches.  Some people came into the ceremony half way through, snow clothes on, boots caked with snow.   No one stayed after the ceremony to throw rice or birdseed.  Only my best friend’s dad hung around to watch.  Watch and threaten us with snow balls!

No outdoor pictures were taken, it was too horrible outside.  We took pictures at the church and by time we left the church the 16 inches had turned close to 20 inches.  This was serious snow, my people!

We got to the reception only to realize that the parking lot had not yet been plowed.  Hubby and I jumped out of our car, I hiked up my dress and with the help of my new husband, we tramped through waist deep snow to the reception hall, where, miraculously, people were!

It continued to snow off and on like that for the next day.  The next day we drove to our new home in Norfolk, VA. .  The PA turnpike closed just as we crossed the border  into Maryland.

Did that snow ruin my day that I had planned for over a year?  No.  It didn’t.  Not even on that day did I think twice about it.  I knew even then it was a great story.  I did have concerns when our band arrived late at the reception.  We were in the middle of our meal when the five guys came into the hall carrying equipment.  They stopped and apologized for their lateness.  Poor guys, they had three accidents on the way to the reception.  These were not professional guys, these were five high school seniors who knew my younger sister.  They were a 50’s vocal band, since the 50’s were pretty popular then due to the movie American Graffiti.  They set up, ate and then provided lovely music for the afternoon.

Yes, I know everyone cherishes the memory of their wedding day.  Mine was special for many reasons, but what always comes first to mind is the 22 inches of snow that fell that day.  Hubby and I didn’t mind though.  We had our day and as we drove north for our wedding night, we looked at each other and said, ‘maybe going north is not a wise idea.’   That was just the first time as a married couple we would question some of our ideas.

Thank you for stopping by today and sharing my memories of our wedding that happened 39 years ago tomorrow.  DAF

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Winter…

Yes, I know.  I know that I lived for almost 28 years in Southern California.  I know that I now live in South Carolina.  I know that both of those places are not known for their ‘winters’.    I know that.

There was a time though, that I lived in snow.  I was born in Oil City, PA.  A place in northwestern Pennsylvania.  It is situated in the foothills of the Allegheny mountains, part of the Appalachian chain.  It was cold there, still is.  Winter is part of my DNA.  I know it.  I remember the feel, the smell, the taste of the cold and I miss it.

I truly was one of those kids who walked almost a mile to school (high school it was a mile and half).  The bus routes just missed our home, so, we walked.

We walked uphill and downhill, and yes, that was each way.  Living in a hilly area you had to go up and down both ways to get anywhere.

When I was in school girls weren’t allowed to wear pants.  The nuns would allow us to wear our snowpants to school, but they were hung up in the cloak room as soon as we got there.  In my junior year of high school we were allowed to wear dress pants to school.  In my senior year we were allowed to wear jeans.  I think there were only two days where I did not put on my jeans that year.

So, yes, I can relate to the snow and the cold and the frigid air.  I remember it.  I can remember sitting in a classroom watching the weather turn bad.  It would be cold at lunch time and gray.  The gray would turn to rain and sleet and then snow.  We would leave the school and head home.  Some days the boots would be sitting warmly at home because they weren’t needed in the morning.  So, off  we would head down Seeley Avenue slipping and sliding.  This street would go down hill a ways and then climb up to another street, where we would cross over to.  Going uphill we would try to walk on the grassy part of the curb so we could keep our footing.  Heading across Cedar Avenue was easy.  It was straight. It was level.  It let you catch your breath.  We would then cut across the alley by the cemetery where it was normally oiled, in the snow it was mushy slush.  By this time your feet were soaked and felt like bricks to walk on.  Your knees were burning with the cold.  Your nose was running and your mittens were clumpy with chunks of snowy ice where you had put them down to pick yourself up from falling.

By time we got home we were ready for warmth.  We were ready for flannel pajamas.  But, more than anything we were ready to get our homework done and go back outside, this time for fun.

Yes, I may live where snow is a rare happening, but I remember and I miss the snow.   I lived in snow as an adult also, but that is another post.  Thanks for stopping by today, stay warm!  DAF

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The River…

I think with each life there is something that is a constant.  Something that is part of our lives from childhood on.  For me, it is the Allegheny River.

The river runs through the center of our town.  As a child my Dad would take my sisters and I to the borough where he was born and grew up.  There is a place called Alcorn Island and there we would picnic and swim.  We would spend the day skipping rocks on the river, throwing rocks in the river and splashing around.

We could see the river from our front porch of the house I grew up in.  We would watch rain and storms coming up the river and know when it would hit our house.

In winter the river would ice over and in the spring there would be ice jams and flooding when the ice would eventually melt.  We watched the river rise and fall.

As a teen ager I watched the boy who is now my dear hubby race down the river in a canoe.  He won first place and I remember driving down roads watching the river to see where he was at any given moment.

The river is part of me.  It is something that welcomes me home as we drive into town.  It is something that follows me as I leave town.  It is a constant in my life.

When we drove to my class reunion, the river was on my left side.  Hubby and I talked about the river, as we usually do when we drive into town.  The river is up he says… I agree.  It is higher than I have seen in a long time he says… again, I agree.  It is a gentle moving conversation, sort of like the water flowing beside us.  It’s good to see the water high again.  This river was never meant to be able to be walked across like we saw it the last time we were home.  It’s banks were full and it looked healthy, if a river can look that way.

One of the days we were home was spent at the boat club on the river.  I spent the day marvelling at it.  It was a most relaxing day.  The river is a constant in my life.  It is a gift to me from our Father in heaven.  I know it is not just my gift, but I know how much it blesses me.

Here are some of the pictures of my river, I wanted to share with you.

107110112The Allegheny River at Rockmere, PA.

Thanks for stopping by today, I appreciate your visit.

The Lord is my shepherd;
I have all that I need.
2 He lets me rest in green meadows;
he leads me beside peaceful streams.
3     He renews my strength.  Psalm 23 (New Living Translation)

DAF

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The Saga of the Four of Us….

Once upon a time there were four little girls.  They attended the Irish Catholic School in Oil City, PA..  What made these four girls different in attending this elementary school was that only one of them was of Irish descent.   That would be me.  The rest of this ‘gang’ were Polish.  They were also all shorter than myself.

We all met in first grade.  Our friendship developed over the next three years and by the fourth grade we were a tight little group.  We all lived far enough away that we were not allowed to go home for lunch, thus, we were lunch carriers.  Being lunch carriers relegated us to eating lunch in the lunch room, of course, but then we had to have an hour lunch time on the playground.  Playground is a generous term for where we had to play.  It was the asphalt parking lot the church used.  This was our ‘playground’.  No swings, no slides, no equipment.  We did have the errant ball to play with and of course no school girl would be without her jump rope, even if it was a piece of clothesline from their mother.

The playground was hot in the spring and fall and freezing in the Northwestern Pennsylvania winters.  That did not deter the four of us.  We played together no matter what.  We shared secrets, we stood together when one of us was not being treated well.  We rejoiced when one of us had a baby sister born.  We were good friends.

The four of us, Marlene, Vicki, Lorraine and myself  attended one another’s parties and called each other on the phone.  We had sleep overs (never the four of us together, our parents were smart like that!).

In eighth grade, our last year of elementary school, we each had a decision about what high school we would attend.  Would we continue onto the Catholic high school in town or go to that public high school.  Our eighth grade nun approached us one day and asked us the dreaded question.  One by one, we each answered.  We were going to go to the public high school.  We each had our reasons we gave, but actually, looking back on it, the simple fact was that none of us could afford the private school.

High school started.  That was the end of the four of us as we had known it.  Vicki went into the business course of study, which totally separated her from the three of us.  We rarely saw her.  We would catch a glimpse of her in the hallway, but she was surrounded by her new friends and we drifted away a bit.

Lorraine and I lived close enough that we walked home from school together each day.  Her mom would drive us to school, until we got our driver’s license.   We didn’t have many classes together, but we still connected daily with one another.  The commute to and from was really the only connection we had.

Marlene and I stayed in touch with phone calls and sleep overs.  We only had one class together the entire four years.  This was because Marlene is very intelligent.  She was the salutatorian for our class.  Marlene also had a big crush on my dear hubby.  When he asked me out and I went, it put a strain on our friendship for about a year.  After that, Marlene said she was glad I was dating him and all was well.

After graduation, Vicki went to work at a business in town.  She is still there.  I have only seen her once since graduation.  When my Dad died, I had to go to her work and there she was.  We talked and talked and talked.  It was wonderful.  Since then, we have exchanged Christmas cards each year, along with letters.

Lorraine went on to nursing school.  She met her husband and had her family.  She and I also exchange Christmas cards and the occasional email.  I went to her wedding, but missed most of it, since my oldest was the baby who cried all through her wedding.

Marlene went to college and became a college professor.  She never married.  She retired last year.  We see each other often.  We talk often.  She is what I refer to as my ‘forever friend’.  We have shared some of life’s’ hardest times together.  She has been an encouragement to me and my girls.  She has travelled the world a couple of times over.  I always expect to get a middle of the night phone call from her from a distant port telling me she has met someone and is married.

Marlene and I have planned on sitting together for our class reunion this Saturday.  It’s a natural thing for us to do.  A couple of weeks ago, I had an email from Lorraine asking if I was going to the reunion.  (You can see where this is going).    Yesterday, I talked with Marlene.  She is going to get hold of Vicki.  For the first time in 44 years, the four of us will be together.

I once wrote a post about friendships, (One is Silver…https://dearanonymousfriend.wordpress.com/2012/04/19/one-is-silver/),  how  different people mean different things to you throughout your life.   I had often thought of the four little girls who clung to each other in friendship.  I think of where we have all been.  I never thought we would ever be together again.  I thought that I was the only one who was sentimental of those times.  Turns out, I am not.  We will be together this Saturday evening.  We will look at one another and catch up.  We will have a bond from long ago.  A part of me knows that this may be the last time the four of us are together.  In reality we know we do not have another 44 years to wait until our next visit, and our lives and families keep us busy.  We all want a picture together, a keepsake of who we once were.   A link to our past.

So, now, I go to prepare for my trip.  My first stop will be to visit my heart that the cute little bandit stole from me a year ago.  It will be good to visit my heart again,  and even better to hold that cute little guy and celebrate with him.  I know there will be stories from that.  Once I leave that place where my future lies, where my little guy is beginning his life, his adventures, I will head to celebrate my past.

It’s going to be an eventful week and I am excited!  Thanks for stopping by and staying through this saga.  I appreciate it, DAF

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There’s No Place Like Home, there’s no place like home….

Daily Prompt: There’s No Place Like Home

If you had the opportunity to live a nomadic life, traveling from place to place, would you do it? Do you need a home base? What makes a place “home” to you?

This prompt caught my attention.  I am a retired military wife.  We have lived several places in our marriage.  Not a real gypsy style nomadic life, but close enough.

As a child I did not like watching “The Wizard of Oz”, it scared me.  I don’t like flying monkeys at all… They creep me out (but, I digress).  As an adult, I find I quote this movie often.  Here is one of my favorite excerpts from the movie:

“Dorothy: Oh, will you help me? Can you help me?
Glinda: You don’t need to be helped any longer. You’ve always had the power to go back to Kansas.
Dorothy: I have?
Scarecrow: Then why didn’t you tell her before?
Glinda: Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn it for herself ”  (Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum)

Home.  That magic four letter word.  You can travel the world.  You can have adventures galore.  Meeting new people is fascinating.  Hearing different languages all around you is thrilling.  You know walking down a street in a foreign country that you are the one different, you are the exception.

Seeing new views of the world is something that cannot be captured by a camera. There is an essence that thrives in places that is indescribable.  It’s the smell of the air that cannot translate onto a picture.  It’s the feeling of the sun or rain or wind that is different from other places in the world.  That is hard to explain.

Travelling, living for extended periods in other places is rewarding.  It is fun.  It is a living education. It is lonely.

To be able to come home is what the heart speaks to you.  Home, that place that your spirit needs.

Yes, I have travelled.  I have had the wonderful opportunity to meet and live among people who did not speak my language.  I would not trade one experience for anything.

What I do know is this, there is a part of you that needs home.  I know I need a sense of the familiar.  Home.  It can be an apartment, a home, a family, or a city.

I must have several versions of home.  A home base that is filled with my belongings, my pictures, my knickknacks, my clothes, my bed.  That is where I live, and I am grateful for this.  I also have home with my family.  Their arms surrounding me, their laughter lifting my spirits.  Their love of me just as I am.  This home is my heart’s treasure.  I love my family.  They are my gifts for my heart.

I also have my hometown.  I moved when I was 19, almost 40 years ago.  There are times when I need to get away from the home where my belongings are, and times when, although my family is comforting and wonderful, I need to go home.  I need to see the rolling hills of northwestern Pennsylvania.  I need to see the green of the trees that is not duplicated in any place I have seen.  I need to fill my lungs with the rancid smell of the air that is perfumed with the oil refineries that make my hometown what  it is.

I may never again live in my hometown, but it will always be home.  There is no place like home to me.  It calls out to me, memories echo in my heart, my mind, my spirit.  I can travel and live and move from place to place, but there is a place that draws me back.  It is home.

Thanks for stopping by.  DAF

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Weary…

1wea·ry

adjective \ˈwir-ē\

Definition of WEARY

1: exhausted in strength, endurance, vigor, or freshness
2: expressing or characteristic of weariness <a weary sign>
3: having one’s patience, tolerance, or pleasure exhausted —
(Merriam-Webster dictionary)
I have felt weary for the past couple weeks.  I have absolutely no reason to feel this way, I don’t think.  I had a delightful fourth of July, and the following Sunday I had a relaxing day spent with friends.  We went swimming in their pool, then took their boat out for a sunset picnic.  Delightful.  Relaxing.  Calming.
Then last week came and went.  Hubby and I discovered a swimming pool on the military base ten minutes from our home.  We went and swam a few times last week.  It was great.  I did burn as my complexion is inherited from my ancestors from the British Isles.  I did as I always do, burn, freckle and peel… I am in the peeling stage as I write this.
Somehow, though, in the midst of all of this I hit a wall.  I have not been able to read my favorite blogs, I have not commented on them.  I see the notifications on my email of new posts and I smile.  Good for them, they are writing, creating.  I have wanted to sit, read and write on them, but somehow it seems like too much to do.  Isn’t that awful?
I think what is most puzzling is that only my mind seems weary.  I still have energy, I am cooking and cleaning and walking and exercising.  I just don’t want to think.
So, I write this, partly to get myself out of this weariness, and partly to know I have at least attempted to write.
Next week we are travelling.  I have already started the staging area on my dining room table.  I use my shopping bags and fill them with things I want to take.  One bag has things I think my daughter may have use for  for our grandson’s birthday party.  Another bag is filled with wrapped presents.  I have a picture I bought years ago in Phoenix for my brother-in-law and his wife.  I bought it for them for a Christmas gift one summer, and then put it away so that it would be safe.  It was safely hidden until this past move.  I have it out to hand deliver to them when we visit Pennsylvania.
I look forward to our trip.  I am thinking this will be a time to be refreshed, renewed, rested.  Isaiah 40:27-31 says:
27-31 Why would you ever complain, O Jacob,
or, whine, Israel, saying,
“God has lost track of me.
He doesn’t care what happens to me”?
Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening?
God doesn’t come and go. God lasts.
He’s Creator of all you can see or imagine.
He doesn’t get tired out, doesn’t pause to catch his breath.
And he knows everything, inside and out.
He energizes those who get tired,
gives fresh strength to dropouts.
For even young people tire and drop out,
young folk in their prime stumble and fall.
But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.
They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
They run and don’t get tired,
they walk and don’t lag behind.  (The Message)
A friend wrote this verse to me a couple of weeks ago.  The same day another friend posted it on Facebook.  I think I may need to read and study this one for a while.
Meanwhile, I want to thank you for stopping by, thank you for your encouragement, thank you for your example in your writing.  It all means so much to me.  DAF
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38 or 40….

Thirty eight years ago my dear hubby and I were in a wedding.  He was the best man and I was matron of honor (I was an old married woman of six months).  It was a very hot and humid day in northwestern Pennsylvania.  Being the mid 70’s the bride wore a high collared, long sleeve, poufy meringue gown that held heat in and must have acted like a sauna for the entire day.  Personally, I was cooler in my pink dotted swiss poufy gown with a matching big rimmed hat and streamers down my back… I think my friend watched Gone With the Wind way too much…  Hubby looked dashing in his white tuxedo with his pink ruffled shirt.  Yes, those pictures are fun to look at now…

This couple we had history with.  I have known the bride since kindergarten.  She had been to my birthday parties and I had been to hers.  In high school we became best friends.  We did everything together.  We would spend sleepovers and then go home and call each other.  I went on her first date with her and the man who became her husband.  ( I was dating someone else at the time).  They introduced me to my husband.  We double dated and had many adventures together.

They are godparents to our oldest daughter.  We still spend time together, although, not as much as we once did since we live in different parts of the country.

Today, on Facebook, she posted some memories of that day.  She mentioned the heat and how the hall had no air-conditioning and her wedding cake leaning like Pisa.  She fondly remembered it.  That reminded me of how she actually acted that day (which she has forgotten).  She touched my arm (she felt like she was on fire, the poor thing was so warm) and bemoaned the fact that her aunt had made her cake and look how ugly it looks with it leaning like that.  It did look a sight with each layer a different shade of pastel and the top layer starting to be parallel to the cake table.    But, I tried to tell her it was beautiful and no one would notice.

In hindsight, all things become humorous.  We were married in a blizzard, people threw snowballs at us.  But, me being me, thought that was pretty funny anyhow.  My friend fondly remembering heat that not only melted cakes, but people as well.  Time polishes things that seem so rough when they are happening.

This July we will spend a couple of nights with this couple.  We will laugh and the guys will tell the same old jokes and stories and we will laugh until we cry.  We will talk of family and cry some more.  We will try to out boast each other with  stories of grandchildren.  They will win only because they have seven and we have one.  The victor will be because of quantity not quality.   It will be a nice time to spend together.  Memories will come and be shared and it will be good to have our history relived through the older eyes of those we have known since we were young.

The reason we will be able to see this couple is that 40 years ago, I graduated from high school.  Our reunion is happening.  Thanks to Facebook I have had the experience of ‘meeting’ people I graduated with.  Two of my friends that I communicate with regularly on Facebook are going to the reunion.  It will be nice to meet them.  I say meet them because in high school they were in a much different clique than me.  They were the popular girls and through a series of mishaps we started talking to one another and discovered we had much in common and we are now anxious to see one another and put a real person to the Facebook page.   I confess there is a part of me that is a bit nervous on meeting them.  This is because even though the years have passed, age has happened and gravity has taken its toll on our bodies, I still see them in their color guard uniforms twirling and spinning and looking so beautiful.  I still remember them on the prom courts with their gowns and handsome escorts.  I see them as they were.  They are more fortunate because they don’t remember me at all.  This is an advantage, I think.

Anyhow, in preparation for the reunion, hubby and I are trying to lose a few pounds.  After all, you have to do something, right?   Going back in time is good.  It is good to see where you have come from.  It is good to see what you have survived, with grace.  It is good to see where we are now, who we are now.  It is also a good motivation to get into better shape.

So, today, I sit here.  Remembering a wedding so long ago.  Remembering friends and how we have grown up.  I look forward to seeing them and I look forward to the reunion, sort of…

Thanks for stopping by today and listening to my ramblings.  I appreciate your visits.  DAF

 

 

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