Don't You Dare Laugh!

 

After less than five hours sleep, I dragged myself out of bed this morning to get ready for church. Absolute determination and a large cup of coffee got me started. I didn’t feel like going, but I did and was happy about it. I always feel better when I go to church.

I think that’s the way it’s supposed to work.

Later, back at home, the caffeine wore off and I was very tired. It was all I could do to stay awake. Finally, with dinner almost ready, I put it on hold and flopped on my bed with my pillow, a thin blanket and Liza, my cat.

I rarely nap. But today, I did. And it felt good! I’m always sleep deprived. Only thing was, it didn't last long enough. Only 30 minutes. It made me feel worse. But I summoned the determination once more and off to the kitchen I went to finish dinner for Mr. H. and me.

Mr. H. is so helpful. He came in to set the table and then sat down to keep me company while I finished.

I’m always a little clumsy in the kitchen but it seemed worse than usual today. I kept spilling and dropping things.

But I kept my “cool” until I reached into the bottom cabinet for a can of something or other and dropped it. When it tumbled to the floor hitting Liza’s water bowl on the way down and splashed water all over me and the kitchen floor; I’m pretty sure the temper fit I pitched wiped out all the good that going to church had done for me.

When things like this happen, something stupid always escapes my mouth. Never fails!

“Cans shouldn’t be placed on top of each other like that," I shrieked. “It’s too easy for them to topple out of the cabinet and hit the dog’s water bowl!”

Wiping up the water on the floor, I glanced at Mr. H. and saw that his lips were curling up at the corners. I realized my mistake.

“And don’t you dare laugh!” I said angrily. “I meant to say dog’s bowl.”

After a few seconds of stilted silence, we both broke into laughter. I suddenly felt much better and we sat down to eat dinner.

I really should get more sleep. I'll start tomorrow.

 

Bad Karma? Part II

Daughter and family arrived a little past four. Dinner was ready but nobody was ready to eat, so we visited a while, snacking on veggies and dip, sipping coffee.

Dinner and clean-up ran smoothly, considering the unexpected problems. After visiting a while, I went to the kitchen to make pies for our Easter meal the next day – cream pies that couldn’t be frozen ahead.

The rest of the family were enjoying time together when my youngest daughter went to the kitchen sink. She turned on the water, shrieked, and said, “Mother, you have another problem!”

Turning my attention from the pie filling I was stirring, I looked at her while she demonstrated how she’d turned on the water and it spewed out from under the base of the faucet on both sides – to the right and to the left. It ran all over the counter top, under the toaster, the can opener and the coffee pot and she was attempting to clean it up before it got worse.

Mr. H. heard the commotion and came in to see what was going on. It needed no explaining. One could see that when the water was turned on, it shot straight out to each side like a horizontal geyser.

I’m sure he was getting tired of all the problems, as I was, but he calmly turned the water off, left for a few minutes and returned with tools. In no time, he had the faucet apart.

Our granddaughter was amazed! She said, “If this happened at our house, the plumber would have already been called.” Her mother and dad nodded in agreement.

When I said, “We may have to do that,” the idea was shot down.

Eldest daughter said, “I have faith in Kemper. He’ll get it fixed.” (Yes, our children call their father by his first name. It started as a joke, by this very daughter, when they were in their teens. Somehow, he let it pass and it stuck!)

Her faith in her dad was justified.

She and her siblings watched him repair things their whole lives. Everything around the house, cars, and most important, the broken toys they took to him with tears in their eyes, hoping Daddy could fix them, and he always did. They grew up convinced there was nothing their Dad couldn’t mend.

Faucet fixed, water cleaned up, and pies done, it wasn’t long before everyone was off to bed.

I prayed tomorrow would go well and we’d have no more problems.

But lying there in darkness, I remembered something my mother used to say when things went wrong: “The coward prays for release from pressure. The courageous pray for strength to overcome.”

And with that thought in mind, I fell asleep. I suppose God gave me that memory because He knows our trials aren’t over yet.

~~~

Everyone was up early and it looked as if it would be a great day. Although we were having our Easter dinner on Saturday because daughter and family had to return home on Sunday due to work and school schedules, it was no less a happy occasion – having our family together for a day.

When the twelve of us sat down to dinner, it was as if nothing bad had ever happened. Over good food, we talked about old times and laughed about everything.

It was an exceptionally enjoyable Easter celebration for my family.

But as I watched our loved ones leave the next day, sadness descended upon me before their car was out of sight. I never get used to goodbyes.

~~~

Mr. H. was chomping at the bit to start on the refrigerator. Out came the tools, gauges and refrigerant. Pulling the huge appliance out from the wall far enough so he could squeeze past the cabinet and into the space behind it; he took the back off and gassed it up.

But when he finished and tried to push it back where it belonged, it resisted. So he gave a really hard shove and it fell into the little holes in the floor where it had been resting for years. Suddenly, a noise! Loud. Scary. Like a jackhammer.

“What is it?” I said.

“Must be the water hose,” he said.

Under the sink he went, turning off the water to the icemaker, but the noise didn’t stop. He finally turned off the fridge and it stopped. But when he started to turn the water back on, he found the valve leaking and water running into the cabinet under the sink again! He had to go to the basement, turn off the water, pull everything out of the cabinet, clean up the water and find a new valve for the water to the icemaker and install it.

When his head bounced off a water pipe with a resounding thud, it struck me funny and I laughed. Actually, I couldn’t stop laughing. Guess I was getting a little punch-drunk.

A little later, we got the news that, on their way home, daughter and family got stuck in the middle of the backed-up traffic from the horrendous 95 car pileup on the Virginia - NC border. Thank God, they were not actually in the wreck, but were rerouted and it took them over six hours to get home when it usually takes three and a half.

And so… that’s where we are. Our bad luck started in January and has extended into April. We’re wondering if it will ever be over. It seems to be just one thing after another. I'm almost afraid to get up in the morning or answer the phone.

I’m praying for strength to overcome, but one thing bothers me:

According to the law of karma, all suffering is deserved.

If this is true, I can’t help but wonder what we’ve done to deserve all this.  

 

Bad Karma?

On March 3, I wrote about all the things that had gone wrong in January and February – and that I couldn't wait for 2013 to be over because I feared it was bad luck. At least, for me.

A friend read the blog post and reprimanded me for being superstitious. When I saw that her message started with: “Peggy, Peggy, Peggy!” I knew I was in trouble. It made me feel the way I felt when I was a little girl and heard my father shout, “Peggy Lou!” in his gruffest voice.

I wrote back to my friend explaining, “Sometimes one says things in a blog post just to make a point; I’m not really superstitious."

However, March was rather bad for me, too, and I’m beginning to wonder. Perhaps 2013 truly is a bad year for me!

Here’s what's happening:

My daughter, who lives in North Carolina, informed me in mid-February that she and her family would be coming home for Easter. Wonderful! We hadn’t seen them since Christmas and looked forward to the visit.

I began making preparations. We have a large family. For our special holiday dinners, I usually cook for at least twelve people. More if unexpected guests show up – and they often do. So I find it easier to cook ahead and freeze what I can. This lets me spend more time with my family and I don’t get as worn out.

But, right off the bat, I began to encounter problems. The first was a defective toilet in the guest bathroom. Now, Mr. H. is a first-rate handyman who can repair most anything, but his first attempts to fix this necessary porcelain fixture were futile. He didn’t give up, however, but persisted until he’d bought almost every possible new part that one can replace in a toilet and finally, only a day before our daughter and her family arrived, it was working properly.

There’s more. Earlier in the week, while Mr. H. was still focused on the toilet, I noticed that the food in the refrigerator wasn't as cold as usual. When I told Mr. H., he looked it over, got out the vacuum, took the grill off the bottom of the fridge, plopped down in the floor and vacuumed underneath it. I said, “What do you think?” He answered, “I think there was an awful lot of cat hair under there!”

“Could that cause the problem,” I asked. “Yes, it could,” Mr. H. said. “Let’s watch it and see what happens.”

What happened was, every day the food and drinks got a little warmer. When I got up one morning, poured a glass of orange juice, which does for me what coffee does for most people, and it was almost room temperature, I said, “That’s it! You’ve got to do something about the refrigerator!”

Like the toilet, his attempts to get the darn thing to do its job got him nowhere for days. Every morning, we got up convinced it would be cold, but it wasn’t. The freezer seemed to be working fine but the fridge was just not cold enough!

Luckily, we have a smaller fridge in a downstairs area off the family room. So we transferred the most important items to that one. We figured we could barely limp along this way until after our company left.

And so… on the final day, with everything done, dinner cooking and me in the bathroom getting ready for the arrival of our guests, it looked as if everything would be okay.

But it was not to be.

Mr. H. doesn’t get stressed. About anything. But I’d swear he was about to blow when he came into the bedroom and said, “Catastrophe in the kitchen!”

“What now?” I squealed.

“Water in the cabinet under the sink. Looks like a hole in the disposer.”

He had put a bucket under it to catch the water, but as long as we didn’t use that sink, there would be no more water.

It took the two of us 15 to 20 minutes to take everything out of the cabinet, clean up the mess and put everything back.

Okay. I now had to serve dinner to eight people today and twelve tomorrow with a “cool” refrigerator, only one side of my sink available and no disposer. “I can do that.” I said, trying to make the best of a bad situation.
 

Check back tomorrow for Part 2 of this tale of woe... 

 

The World Seems Brighter

Typical March day, this.

When I got up this morning, it looked and felt like mid-January. Snow was coming down in huge, lacy flakes and the ground and rooftops were white. I loved it! But no longer than five minutes later, I did a double-take when I looked out and saw bright sunshine already melting the snow.

March is known to be the most unpredictable of all the months of the year.

Many changes take place in March. Animals end their hibernation and many plants come to life. The sap flows in the trees again, buds begin to show up, and soon, the first robin will herald the beginning of spring.

Suddenly, the world seems brighter.

Winter officially ends with March. Spring in the northern half of the world begins with the vernal equinox, which occurs on March 20 or 21 depending on the year. The equinox occurs twice a year when the sun is directly above the equator. At this point, the hours of darkness and daylight are equal in length.

By the first of April, we’ll probably see a wealth of yellow dandelions, purple violets and redbud trees. A little later, there will be bright yellow blooms on the forsythia bushes and trees will start to flower; then will come dogwood, cherry blossoms and lilacs. Ah, lilacs – my very favorite! I can think of no sweeter fragrance in springtime!

I suppose all seasons, like all people, have some good in them. If you’ve been reading this blog very long, you know that I truly love fall and winter, but when spring arrives with its sunny days and budding flowers and trees, it’s difficult not to love it, too. The seasons sometimes remind me of my children; I love each of them differently—for their various qualities.

Welcome Sweet Springtime!

 

Is It Spring Yet?

Typical March day, this.

When I got up this morning, it looked and felt like mid-January. Snow was coming down in huge, lacy flakes and the ground and rooftops were white. I loved it! But no longer than five minutes later, I did a double-take when I looked out and saw bright sunshine already melting the snow.

Everyone I know is rooting for winter’s end and spring’s beginning, while I’m hoping – just as intensely – for a little more winter weather.

I know I’m “different.”

I don’t understand it myself. I was born in April, a beautiful spring month. There's nothing quite like soft April showers and that wonderful scent they emit. And I adore the flowers that blossom in my birth month, especially lilacs. I can smell them in my memory long before they appear. Lilacs and I go way back!

When I was a child, we had a huge lilac bush in our yard. My mother always cut the delicate flowers as soon as they bloomed, put them into pretty vases filled with water and placed them in every room of the house. Our home was soon filled with a lovely aroma that lasted for weeks.

But even with great memories like that one – and many more – I continue to prefer fall and winter over spring and summer. Who knows why? It would take a psychiatrist to figure it out.

I could move to Siberia. Or Alaska. But I'd surely get bored if every day were the same. Guess I'll just stick around and see what else March has in store for us.

Besides, as fast as time passes, it’ll be October again before we know it!

Do You Believe All That Stuff?

After missing church for several weeks, it was great to attend today and see all the familiar, smiling faces again and to be welcomed by the warmth and friendliness of these lovely people. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them.

 

Regretfully, the more Sundays I miss, the easier it becomes to keep missing. Normally, if I miss one Sunday, I feel guilty, two – and I feel twice as guilty and after missing three, I’m totally beating myself up; but after that, almost without realizing it, I find it suddenly becomes easier to find excuses not to go. I suppose that’s when Satan is pounding himself on the chest – cheering in triumph – because he’s won me and Mr. H. away from Sunday morning worship service.

Be that as it may, he doesn’t get to enjoy it very long. When one is brought up in the church, as I was, any victory Satan might manage to achieve in my life will be short-lived!

My parents took me to church as soon as I was born. My mother was a Sunday School teacher and my father was a deacon. When we visited my grandparents in another town, we went to church there, too. My grandfather was a deacon in his church and my aunt played the piano. No doubt about it! We were a church-going family. I must have been at least ten years old before I realized all families didn't go to church. Still, I was certain everyone believed in God.

But after I was grown, a friend once stunned me by asking, “Do you believe in God and Heaven and all that stuff?”

I said, “Yes I do. Don’t you?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered. “It seems so far-fetched.”

I hardly knew what to say, but finally managed to utter, “If I didn’t believe in God, I wouldn’t even bother getting up in the morning! There wouldn’t be anything to look forward to, would there?”

She shrugged and our conversation was interrupted by another friend. We never had a chance to finish it because, not long after that, she got a divorce and moved to another state and I lost track of her. But I've always wondered if she ever came to believe in “God and Heaven and all that stuff.”

My best instinct tells me she did.

 

  

Spring Has Sprung!

It seems that spring has finally sprung in our area and everyone I meet is happy about it. I spotted little velvety purple flowers in my flower bed this morning. I think they’re “early irises.” Not sure. But they’re pretty. Welcome, too, after seeing nothing but snow on that spot of ground for weeks.

I love the beauty of flowers although I don’t exactly have a green thumb. In fact, whatever I plant usually dies, or at least stays very puny throughout the growing season, despite my plying them with fertilizers and water.

I blame it on the fact that I have lots of trees - too much shade - but, if you know anything about flowers, you know there are a whole host of them that thrive in shade! I’ve tried them all. Ferns, my favorite, live wherever I plant them, but never grow a new frond or get any bigger. And they seem to look even worse when I fuss over them too much or complain about their poor performance. I’m pretty sure they can hear me and refuse to grow just to punish me.
My son, who loves gardening, has the most beautiful yard from early spring until frost. But then, every moment he isn’t at his job or asleep, he’s in his yard – watering, trimming, fertilizing and fawning over his lovely flowers. Just the opposite from me, everything he touches doubles in size very quickly. If I have a plant I’m particularly fond of and it starts looking peaked, I take it to him. You might say I put it in the “hospital." When he tells me it’s ready to be released from the hospital, I generally can’t bear to take it home and watch it decline again so I let him keep it.

He’s inherited a lot of plants that way.

Perhaps this is the underlying reason I like fall and winter better than spring and summer. In early fall, I can purchase a few pots of mums to brighten things up throughout October and November, but it’s normal for them to die when it gets too cold. So, I don’t have to feel inadequate because I can’t grow flowers during these two seasons.

 My Aunt Betty, who lives in Cincinnati, is like Lee. Her yard is a flower lover's delight! Whatever she plants, thrives. She and Lee love to converse about their lovely gardens, leaving me out of the conversation. Yawn! 

Winter doesn’t stop them either. They both enjoy indoor African Violet gardens, and often send each other pictures to compare progress.

Show-offs!