Greener Grass

(A repost...since it's still winter in KS! But something that's been on my mind.)

The other day when I was out mowing, I noticed that part of our yard was a lot greener than the rest (no surprise there since our house is basically out in the middle of what used to be a milo field, so much of our yard still yields to weeds). I started thinking about the old saying, "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence." What usually follows is the premise that once you climb over the division between your yard and your neighbor's, you find that it's really no different.
But it is. Life is hardly fair. There are people who have elaborate sprinkler systems and special gardeners who cultivate their lawns with the latest in agricultural technology...and the results are beautiful. Others struggle with Bermuda grass that creeps into flowerbeds, threatening to choke out the lovely things you've planted, and weeds that sprout up in the most undesirable places.
There will always be someone who has greener grass. And there will always be weeds that if left unattended, will overtake the progress that we've made or wish to make. We can be wistful and stand back, viewing other's loveliness and wishing for what they have. Or we can tackle the weeds in our own yard, work in the soil and deal with the sweat and dirt to make our corner of the world as beautiful as it can be.
Sometimes we are given the perfect spot to cultivate our life. The rains come at the most opportune time, the soil is dark and rich and perfect for planting. Others help us till the land and the fruit is plenty. Other times we are plunked down in the middle of a weedpatch during a drought and given a rusty shovel and gloves with holes. We don't always choose our circumstances, but I believe that 90% of life is what we choose to do with what we've been given.
There will always be "greener grass". But chances are that somewhere, someone is looking over the fence into your backyard and wishing they could climb over. Bloom where you are planted. Brighten the corner where you are. Think "Green".

The Valentine Box

Roses in crystal vases tied with red satin ribbon; heart-shaped boxes of mixed chocolates; Cupid with his blazing arrow aimed at affection; sweet sentiments upon lace-edged cards. Today I remember all of those things and the times in my life when I faced Valentine's Day with a mixture of excitement and dread. But the most coveted and cherished memory I hold is of the Valentine Box.

In the month of February when I was a child we were given a shoebox and an imagination to create. Thin, rectangular cardboard was transformed into something splendid; a holder for anticipated words of endearment, hopefully from that one special boy or girl. Each box was original and lovely; a project most children shared with their parents. Back in the 1960's, the world didn't seem to revolve so quickly. People weren't rushed or pulled in so many directions, and an evening of quiet creativity was not out of the question.

I felt I held the monopoly on inventiveness...because I had my mother. Always the artist, she would help me create the most beautiful and unique Valentine box, covered in red and white crepe paper. Truly a masterpiece.

Years ago, while missing this beloved tradition, I purchased a plain paper mache, heart-shaped box, painting it fuchsia and white, and covered it with hearts, flowers and pink-cheeked cherubs. Inside I would tuck little notes: "I love M. because she is kind and caring; a true friend." "D. is special because he always has a grin on his face and is affectionate and sweet." The children, catching the spirit, would write their own little notes, slipping them quietly beneath the lid. The idea was not so much to read what the others had written, but to think about the blessings of one another and what we felt in our hearts.

The kids are teenagers now, and the Valentine box has lost much of its fascination for them. Blue iris and apricot roses from a special boy call attention away from its simplicity, and chocolate-covered basketballs are more "manly" than the sentiments once expressed from a little boy's heart. And that's OK. Their love is growing up. I am truly thankful that in its growing, it has stretched beyond the confinement of a paper mache box and found its way into the true hearts of many.

Happy Valentine's Day!

A Stitch in Time

Two weeks ago my daughter, a friend of mine and her daughter went shopping for material. Our school play is coming up and I always help out with costumes. This year's production has a fifties theme so it's all about ginghamed waitresses with little luncheonette hats, poodle skirts and leather jackets.

I'll be back, I promise. But for now you'll catch me cutting and stitching, serenaded by the sewing machine, and "bonding" with fusible interfacing!

Laurel Facts

OK. Of all the tags I've read on these particular questions, mine is by far the dullest! Seriously, folks. I can basically sum up my whole life in three inches on a Kansas map! I've never seen the ocean, or traveled across it, haven't been on a vacation in five years or been to the places my hearts dreams about. But since Mellissa was wondering, and she was one of my first blogging buddies (AND because I think she's great!), here goes!

Four jobs I have had:
- Selling Grit Magazine when I was 12 - my first job
- Housewares and cashier at Wal-Mart, long before Super Centers

- Reservations clerk in Admissions at a large hospital (loved all the medical terminology. I should've gone into medicine...)

- Interlibrary loans at a university

Four movies I could watch over and over:
- Friendly Persuasions
- Best Friends
- Return to Me
- Anne of Green Gables (with Megan Follows)

Four places in the U.S. I like:
- Galveston, TX
- Grand Lake, CO
- Coronado Heights, outside of Lindsborg, KS
- Home

Four places I have vacationed:
- Ontario, Canada
- Chicago - briefly!
- Scotsdale, AZ
- San Antonio, TX

Four T.V. shows I enjoy:
- Any home improvement show
- Biggest Loser
- Oprah (though I'm never home to see it)
- According to Jim

Four favorite dishes:
- manicotti
- Mom's home-made chicken and noodles
- chili
- anything and everything Mexican

Four places I would rather be:
- on vacation - anywhere lovely and warm - with my family
- shopping with my friend, Bev
- back in my 30's (because I looked and felt better...and I'd have ten years back!)
- out of debt

Four (well...three!) sites I visit daily:
- all the blogs I love
- Google, or another search engine to find new ways to present material to my students
- Yahoo! - my mailbox


Have a wonderful Thursday everyone!

In Memory

"I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear
Falling on my ear
The son of God discloses...

And He walks with me and He talks with me
And He tells me I am His own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there
None other has ever known."

Anyone who has ever loved a garden, or has ever loved a gardener knows the sweetness of these words. It is a special heart that walks among such beauty, and a special hand that makes it so.

In sweet memory of a lovely woman who shared her lilies, planted seeds of love and who now walks along sunlit paths in the most beautiful garden of all...

Lonely...or Alone?

"I get to work with you today!" she said, big brown eyes sparkling and a wide grin on her face.

"I know!" I gave her a big hug.  I worked in a small classroom, teaching creative writing, but was taking over another lesson with this particular student.

"But won't my other teacher be lonely? She won't have anyone to work with since the other two are sick."  Her smile changed to concern.

"Mrs. Crawford. has been really busy today, and it will be nice for her to have some time alone." She pondered this for a moment. "There's a difference, you see, between being lonely and being alone."

Head tilted to one side in puzzlement she asked, "How are they different?"

I explained that being lonely is when you feel you have no one to turn to, when your heart is alone. And that sometimes you can feel lonely in the middle of a lot of people. "Do you sometimes have disagreements with your friends and they don't want to talk to you, and then you feel sad?"

"Yes. Sometimes they whisper about me and then they won't play with me. That makes me feel lonely." Her brow furrowed into little 8-year-old lines.

"Loneliness makes you feel sad," I continued, "But being alone....sometimes that can be a very nice thing! It gives you a chance to do things that you enjoy, like reading or drawing and spending time with just yourself."

She smiled in understanding....and I began to think a lot about being "alone".Aloneness allows time for dreaming, for trying new things in the absence of watchful eyes. It's discovery on your own terms and looking at the world through your own glasses.It's enjoying moments of pure bliss and taking in everything around us. It's breathing in the very life of Mother Nature, running through tall grass and wheatfields and listening to raindrops on top of a sheltering umbrella.

It's quiet time of reflection and quiet prayer where we find strength and solace in God's tender grace and loving hands.

It's making something out of nothing, filling space with our own creations and making our corner of the world sparkle and sing.

It's growing and being and becoming who we are. By spending time with ourselves....by being "alone", we are able to find that place inside where only we reside. We are able to fine tune our hearts so that when we do come back together, we can give from that reserve and touch another soul. Once we have discovered how to be alone - and how to do it well - we can share what we've learned so that neither we, nor those we love, ever have to be lonely.

Goodnight

The eve has drawn the curtain past the window of today......

Goodnight, everyone.

A Different Path

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference."

--Robert Frost

We all begin life on the entrance ramp, slowly gaining momentum and merging our lives with those of others traveling beside us. Sometimes we slow down, other times we stop for a break and often we are simply lost; confused by the direction we're traveling and searching for landmarks that will point us in a friendly, familiar direction.

We're given a map, but no specific directions. We make choices, wrong turns, have flats and overheat. We encounter impatience, harriedness, low-lying clouds and slick roads. And often we're completely stuck and at the mercy of a fellow traveler to help us get back on track.

On this journey I've found that following the person in front doesn't always take us down the right path. Exits are available: a new entrance to the scenic route which slows us down and allows us to see things we'd never have noticed otherwise. And what may have appeared as quite ordinary at speeds from a distance, is spectacular upon slower, close-up observation.

I'm glad I've taken the road less traveled. No one has to be the leader, and no one has to follow. This path is big enough for two, is better because its shared and has truly made all the difference.

The exit is just ahead. Consider the detour.

Happy Birthday, Kansas!

"O Give Me a Home
Where the Buffalo Roam,
Where the Deer and the Antelope Play...
Where Seldom is Heard
A Discouraging Word,
And the Skies Are Not Cloudy All Day."















Today my beloved Kansas celebrates her 145th birthday. In 1861 she was the 34th state to take up residence in this great nation.

As a child, Kansas Day was celebrated by making booklets about our state's symbols: the Cottonwood, Meadowlark, Sunflower and Buffalo. My favorite was the Kansas flag: a navy blue background housing the state seal where a farmer plows his field, covered wagons blaze across green, prairie grasses and a beautiful sunset introduces 34 bright stars. A banner at the top reads, "Ad Astra Per Aspera" - To the Stars Through Difficulties. I would painstakingly color the intricate lines and shapes and feel proud that I came from the rural heritage of this land.

When my own children were small we would make sugar cookies shaped like Sunflowers and talk about the beginnings of the state we call home. January 29th is a date that is embedded in our minds like any other important birthday in our lives, and I suspect it will always stay that way.

"The Sunflower State", "Jayhawkers", "The Bread Basket of the World", "The Air Capital". We have many names and wear many hats, but our best and truest asset is our people. We are the scarecrow who learned to think, the tin man who found his heart among friends, the lion who gained courage along the way.... all wrapped up in ordinary folks who know what it means to reach for the stars through difficult times. And though Dorothy Gale was a fictional character who took an infamous trip to Oz, she certainly had it right when she said, "There's no place like home".

1980

The year that I graduated from high school was a time of "ordinary". Make-up, clothing, hair styles...it was all simple, functional, to the point. For this "flashback Friday", inspired by Clew, I came across a couple of pictures from that year. My friend Terri and I spent a great deal of time together back in "the day". During a rare, grumpy moment in choir, she was trying to coax me out of my mood. But the norm was laughter and fun and being plainly, simply who we were...

An absence

It's been awhile since I've written, not because of lack for things to say, but due more to time constraints and simply not being able to articulate some of what I'm thinking and feeling.

Hopefully as the weekend unfolds I'll be able to settle my thoughts into something worth reading. In the meantime, I'm reposting one of my first writings from last summer. Though it's been a mild winter thus far, I always look forward to the green of spring and the blooming of the flowers. This post reminds me that the light of spring is coming....and that good things indeed come, to those who wait.

Sharing the morning

I went outside to water this morning, my son accompanied me. He helped me with the hose as we took it out to the new trees we planted this spring: a Weeping Willow for him...a Red and Silver Maple, Bradford Pear and Locust. I showed him how to take the new shoots off, allowing the tree to grow in height. We talked about the names of all our flowers: the Black-eyed Susan, Purple Sage, Petunias and Vinca, Marigolds, Salvia, Snapdragons, Rose of Sharon, Verbena, Butterfly Bush, Boxwood, Daylily, Mums, Dianthus.... and it struck me as so special. Here I am as a mother walking with my child talking flowers, just as I did as a little girl behind the heels of my own lovely mother.

My grandmother grew iris. They were her specialty. Inside a box of beautiful assortments I have medals and ribbons from the 1960's that bear her name. "Slater's Posy Patch"....a sign above her garden where she sold and shared and experimented with her flowers. I think about my grandmother, seen most often in a stooped position above her garden, still wearing a dress, her hair... perfection. She passed that love on to my mother who sowed seeds with love all during my growing years. Our home was an arboretum of beauty and solace and I really took it for granted until I began my own floral journey. Many precious thoughts of those years go through my mind on this morning as my son and I go out into the garden...

Loved

"Would Grandma and Grandpa like me?" my daughter asked this evening as we were driving home from school.

"Of course they would," I replied, glancing over at her delicate profile in the seat next to me. "They would love you, especially Grandma. She would absolutely adore you and want to spend so much time together; you were the only little girl she ever had. And Grandpa...he would tease you and give you spending money and make you laugh."

My children's paternal grandparents passed away within a few years of each other, both succumbing to the awful disease called cancer. My daughter and son were 6 and 3 at the time........and the memories of their grandparents are beginning to fade.

After we lost Idolia, everything changed. My marriage broke, along with my heart, and our family unraveled into two separate households. My relationship with my father-in-law was never the same, and I mourned that loss long before he died. But when I look back, the memories of the days when the glass was half full far outweigh those when it was half empty.

They loved me, and they loved our children. Idolia was especially enchanted by their sweetness, charm and creativity. I would often look over and catch her watching them, delighting in their antics and with a smile that reached her eyes. Yes, they were loved. And if life had been different, that love would have grown into a complete absorption of the beautiful people they have both become.

My daughter questions their love because she no longer remembers. But I do. And through pictures and stories and reassurances of what-would've-been, I will do my best to make sure that she never forgets.

Choosing to love

Once upon a time, I dreamed of marrying a handsome prince who would whisk me away to a mythical castle and make all my dreams come true.

And then I grew up.

For most of us, that prince (or princess) doesn't exist. At least not in the way that we once imagined. Instead of Camelot we come face to face with a world that is not always so enchanting; a blemished Utopia. Marriage is not for the weak-willed, the noncommitted, the intolerant, disloyal or selfish. It is a work in progress, always changing, always challenging, always asking for intervention and action. It tests your heart, it shakes your roots, it blows against your sails, sometimes taking you into uncharted and unfamiliar waters. It asks for patience, consideration, faithfulness and dedication. And once given, they are sometimes stretched to the limit in a journey that tests them all.

Inside a photo booth this man (now my husband) and I sat, waiting for a flash to capture the mood. We should have displayed somberness, stress, worry and fear. I was awaiting medical tests and an uncertain future. But instead we seized the moment, grabbing joy and fun and living life as it is intended. And though sometimes it indeed, kicks you in the pants, you can counter the bruises with laughter, light-heartedness and the will to forge ahead, turbulence and all.

Perhaps our castle will never be built, and maybe our dreams haven't come true. But the prince who sticks by me through both the black and white and technicolor moments of life makes the wishing more fun and the magic, more real.

A Trip back to "Home"

Tonight my children and I are headed back "home". We will return to a place where our heads once rested; a place where we were lovingly embraced by dear friends; where part of our heart still remains. We will share stories and laughter, coming together once again as family in a community where we spent a large part of our lives.

It is bittersweet going back. Seeing familiar faces and places brings back wonderful memories of joy and friendship. And though as the years go by it seems more natural to come back to our "new" home here in the country, there is always a touch of nostalgia sitting on our shoulders as we pull away from what we once held close.

Enjoy what you have. Enjoy who you have. Make memories, make moments, make magic. Then when the road turns and you chart a new course, your "homes" will be many...and your heart will be full.

Sometimes it's like that

My son's basketball team had a game tonight....and they lost. He is usually always "up", whether they win or lose, with his steadfast grin and goofy persona. But not tonight.

I thought perhaps he was sick, or had taken a blow that I didn't see as I could tell he wasn't himself. But I found out later he felt the loss was his fault as many of his shots missed their mark.

Sometimes life is like that. We miss opportunities, our shots fall short, we don't pass, we let go of the ball. But tomorrow is a new start, a new day, a new game. We hold up our heads, we gather our strength, we begin anew.

Though I knew he still felt badly, I did see the smile again before he went to bed. We forgive, we adjust, we redirect, we move on. The dawn awaits. Her arms are open to a new opportunity....and another shot at it all.

The photograph on the left is of my daughter when she was about 18 months old, the one on the right, of my son at that same age.

Though the physical resemblance was evident, they have grown and changed and turned into themselves; a young lady with long auburn hair and a tender heart, and a tall young man with a deep voice and perpetual grin.

If only time could stand still for a bit, so I can absorb it all....and savor every moment.

After the snow comes......

Slippery, sliding, ooey, gooey, slimy, grubby, icky, sticky, yucky stuck-on MUD. I don't know how this picture ever came out looking so good since my car is encased in it. The one argument I have against country life......

Snow Day

Tonight I watched as my son and his friends engaged in a good old-fashioned snowball fight after their basketball practice. One of the dads threw a couple himself before settling in his car, joining me in our own silent remembrance of a snow-filled youth.

Hands and cheeks turned red as laughter and snow filled the air, and the clouds from this morning dissipated into golden twilight. A friend of my son's came home with us to continue their play,
and our porch was filled with its wet aftermath. Soaked jeans and shoes
were traded for warmth and coziness as new games took place in the comfort of home.

There is something magical about snow. It's beauty and peacefulness captures me anew each time it encapsulates our world. Though the heavily coated branches had shed their snowy cloaks by late this evening, their wooded webs still seemed to frame and embrace its frozen land.

As dusk settled on my beloved prairie, and another day came to a gentle end, I looked across the vastness all around me and was thankful for a warm house, the laughter that fills my world each day and the place on this land - and in my heart - that I call home.

Someday

On a quiet, out-of-the-way corner sits a quaint little cafe. The sidewalks are dotted with small tables covered in lovely white linen, and a single red rose awaits a menu for two. Fragrant flowers spill from second-story window boxes and cascade in hues of gold and pumpkin over ceramic pots. It is a beautiful autumn evening and twilight beckons as lamp posts begin to flicker, stretching long shadows across the cobblestone streets. My bicycle leans against the doorframe, the perfect accent for this cozy evening respite. A fluffy white puppy peers out the window, awaiting his master's return with great love and anticipation. The smell of warm bread and delicious, heavenly pastries seeps into every nook, and soft music floats around the corner in utter enchantment.

Someone once called me a "Hopeful Romantic"...and I guess I am. This painting, a gift from my husband, hangs in our living room. But that moment, on a street-side cafe, hangs in my heart. I am where I am supposed to be at this point in my life, but somewhere on a quiet, out-of-the-way corner, my future awaits.

Firsts

"Where are you going, my little one, little one
Little dirndl's and petticoats, where have they gone?
Turn around and she's tiny,
Turn around and she's grown,
Turn around and she's a woman
Going out on her own."



I knew it was coming. I realized at some point that this day would get here. It just came faster than I wanted; slipping up on me quietly when I wasn't looking.

My daughter is out on her first date.

He's a nice boy and no stranger. They have liked each other - on and off - for three years, and going to a small school they share hallways, classes and activities.

But it's still hard.

Curfews, expectations and respect were discussed and as they are reliable, responsible kids, I shouldn't worry.

But I do.

I said a silent prayer as they headed out the door and watched as they pulled out into dusk. You can bet I'll be waiting up anxiously until I see her home safely again.

The clock ticks a little slower tonight.
I'm on the Mother Watch.

A few weeks ago we awoke to a beautiful display of winter. In the middle of the night, Jack Frost had summoned the best and painted the trees in dazzling white and silver. Steel gray hovered low on the horizon while brilliant cobalt exploded high in the sky. It was a unique and stunning phenomenon unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Those images, though not completely captured here, are firmly imprinted within me and kept among the other beautiful moments in my life.

Prismatic Exhalations

I've had precious little time to write this week and truth be told, have had kinda a rotten day.

So instead of words, I thought I'd share one of the last sunsets of 2005, viewed from my back door.

"I have seen a Kansas sunset
like a vision in a dream,
When a halo was about me
and a glory on the stream
When the birds had ceased their music and the summer day was done
And prismatic exhalations came a drifting from the sun."

--Albert Bigelow Paine