Sweet September

Ah, September!  Even as you signal the end of summer fun, I welcome you. As evenings grow shorter and cooler, children are nowhere to be seen or heard; the beginning of the school year enforces early baths and bedtime. I miss seeing them on bicycles, in pools, in their own back yards squealing as they pretend to dodge cool water from a sprinkler. Yes, I miss the kids... yet I welcome you.

Flower gardens wane; vegetable gardens flaunt their bounty; it’s harvest time. The sun is lower in the sky; days that were oppressive only a couple of weeks ago are suddenly bearable, though still sunny and warm, with nearly cloudless blue skies. Temperatures are dropping from fifteen to twenty degrees at night changing the air from warm to uncomfortably cool. The hum of crickets grows louder and fireflies have disappeared.

Ah, September, you are the doorway to the season that awakens my soul... and I welcome you enthusiastically! I invite you to stay a while, but I must confess that I love you only because you are a prelude to my beloved October.

~~~

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It's Not Over Yet

Okay, I admit it. I was trying to rush the season last week. The temps went down ten degrees for a few days and nights and I started writing about fall. With glee, I might add. But alas! Today, it’s back in the nineties. Woe is me!

What can I say? It can’t be long. There are other signs that fall is breathing down our necks besides the changing temperatures and the missing fireflies. For one thing, the position of the sun has changed. Even my cat notices the difference. The big splashes of sun on the kitchen floor that she used to stretch out in for mid-morning naps are no longer there!

But Liza Jane, like me, isn't quick to accept things she doesn’t want to be true. So she stares longingly at those used-to-be havens that once kept her warm and cozy for hours. It’s as if she expects them to reappear if she stares long enough. 

I noticed this afternoon that she’d moved to the family room where I have thrown down a soft afghan for her lounging pleasure – assuming she’s in the mood. Today she was.

But sometimes, she prefers a pillow.

Past vs. Present

I once read that you know you're getting old when you talk more about the past than you do the present. By that definition, I'm there! It seems that everything I see, everything I hear, and everything that happens brings to mind a story from the past. It doesn't bother me. Remembering is therapeutic. But I don't want to bore others with my continuous stories.

My grandson and I were playing a game the other evening when I started to recall something from my past. He said, "We could stop playing so I can listen to your life stories." He's fifteen years old and I suspected that was a sarcastic comment, but didn't pursue it. Why ask for a blow to my ego?

It's not a want as much as a need, this reliving the past. I'm sure that my stories are not very important to others, but for me, it's as if I must hurry as fast as I can and record them for anyone who cares enough to listen or read them. While I haven't found a cure for cancer or written a best selling novel (tho' it's not too late), I have lived! And it's been a good life. I will leave behind several children and grandchildren. Perhaps one of them will do something great. And if they don't, it's okay. I encourage them to be the very best they can be, but most of all to live one day at a time, gathering as much joy as possible from each one! 

I wonder... do all aging people feel this way? Or am I unique?

A Cabin in the Woods

The cooler weather we’ve had the past few days brought back memories of a trip we took a few years ago. My husband and I, along with one of our daughters and her two kids joined another daughter and her family at a cabin in the North Carolina mountains for a wonderful weekend. When my daughter first suggested it, I wasn’t sure about roughing it at a cabin in the woods, especially since my husband is a TV addict and I wasn’t certain he’d be able to watch his shows there. But we were pleasantly surprised.

This cabin in the woods had everything! It was fantastic! The word "cabin" makes me think of rustic – logs in the fireplace, perhaps no indoor plumbing – ha! 

Not this cabin. It was absolutely beautiful, with all the comforts of home. The young people were generous enough to let my husband and me have the master bedroom suite upstairs. So we had our own private bath and were away from the noise if we wanted to sleep a little later. There was a game room downstairs where the kids played most of the time... when they weren't in the hot tub.

On Saturday, we visited a quaint little town with a carnival-like atmosphere just for fun. There was one main street lined with specialty shops and places to eat and drink all along the way. We stopped at an ice cream shop and indulged ourselves with large cups of ice cream and went to a little park right in the center of town and ate it while sitting on a bench in the sun watching the kids play. It was nice. Later, my daughters and I got hot spiced cider to warm us up. About six o'clock, we finally ordered pizza and took it back to the cabin. It was a most enjoyable day!

The only thing that would have made it better was if we could have stayed a couple more days. Like most good things, it just didn’t last long enough!  

Add this to my list of beautiful memories.

The First is Better

Have you ever noticed that the first of everything is better? The first few moments after you awaken in the morning, your first sip of coffee, the first crocus of springtime, the first rose of summer, the first frosty morning in autumn, the first snowfall, your first kiss.

Remember how you felt the first time you looked upon the face of your newborn baby and the first time you heard him/her cry – his first words, his first steps, and his first day of school.

Perhaps that’s why children are always happy and full of energy and excitement: Their lives are a series of new and “first” experiences; they are always feeling the joy of discovery. Most of us were children when we took our first ride on a roller coaster. What an unforgettable thrill that was!

The list is endless. How about the first time you saw the ocean? A young writer I know was so taken with its magnificence that she penned this vivid description of a sunrise and sunset: “Very early in the morning, the sun rises right up out of the water and is such a bright yellow that it hurts your eyes to look at it; in the evening – just like magic – it disappears back into the water again. It is soon replaced by a luminous moon whose bright light shimmers across the water leaving me just as awed by its incredible beauty as did the sunrise." Then she said, “I wonder how God does that.” 

First thing each morning, I like to take a few moments of rest from all activities – and become still.  I do not talk or think about what I should be doing. The less I focus on myself and my surroundings, the more at peace I am. Maintaining awareness of the present moment, I refuse to give in to distractions. This is my time alone with God. I talk to Him.  Sometimes I hear the still small voice and know that He is talking to me. The peace I experience in the quiet of these few moments brings respite and renewal and I am ready to go on with my day.

You can put your own desires first or you can put God “first." But when you put Him first in everything you do, your life changes drastically for the better!

I wonder... How does God do that? 

Let The Music Last Forever

 

 Yesterday's blog brought back memories of how important music has always been in my life. In my first years of school, I was taking dancing lessons, gymnastics, and piano. When it became apparent to my mother that I was tired all the time and my school work was suffering, she put the skids on. As school was the most important, I could only have one outside activity for a while and see if it helped me feel better and make better grades. "You can choose whichever one you want, and drop the others. I don't care which one you keep," she said. It was no contest! I chose piano.

I loved music. Nobody ever had to make me practice, but I'm sure sometimes my parents wanted to pay me to stop! Right after dinner every evening, I'd sit at the piano for an hour or more practicing. By the time I was fourteen, I was playing for children to sing at Vacation Bible School. Once a year I was in a recital and, at sixteen, I was teaching beginners at my home after school and on Saturdays.

When I'd gone as far as I could go with local teachers, my mother was told that she should find a teacher with more education and allow me to continue taking lessons. She took the advice and went on a search for someone prepared to instruct me further. She finally found an elderly gentleman who, fortunately for us, had one opening. His lessons were expensive, but after my mother considered his credentials, she grabbed the opening.

I'm glad she did, because this man made a lasting impact on my life! He was a well-known teacher of German descent. For three years, I saw him every Saturday, rain or shine. Just spending time with this man was an education in itself. He related many stories about his childhood and the famous people with whom he had come in contact as a boy living in Germany. He was in his seventies and a colorful character to be sure.

When I was only fifteen, he invited me, at Christmastime, to go “on a date” to a concert at a local auditorium. I will always remember that night. I dressed up in a nice wine colored velvet dress, black patent shoes and a white faux fur coat. My mother fixed my hair in a special way, adorning it with a glittery bow. I felt very glamorous. And as I watched others drift into the auditorium in their evening finery, I was proud to be seen with this distinguished man, who was wearing a tuxedo.

The symphony orchestra was extraordinary, transporting me to a temporary fantasy world from which I was not eager to return. After the concert, Mr. Schultz took me to a restaurant for a light meal and I was, once again, spellbound by fascinating stories about his life experiences. It was truly an unforgettable evening!  Every young girl should be exposed to one just like it. 

 

I can't help but wonder... does everyone have someone in their past that made such an impact? Or am I just very lucky?

Stage Fright

A few months ago, I was asked to speak at a large church in our city. Just the thought of doing it made me so nervous that I asked the nice lady who called if I could have a little time to think about it, and she graciously granted my appeal. For the next few days, I discussed the possibility with my family and friends. Every one of them said I should do it... except one. My son, who is very plain spoken, simply said, "If you're not comfortable speaking, then don't do it. Just say no!"

Part of me said "Do it.. it would be good experience..." but the part that was scared to death said, "You can't do it. You'd just embarrass yourself."

I'll have to admit, it was an attractive offer. After all, as a writer, I'd certainly like to add to my resume for future use, and I'd been told that one speaking engagement would almost certainly lead to others.

It was one of those things that, down deep, you really want to do, but fear overcomes the desire. Yet one thing kept eating at me. I always tell my children and grandchildren that there is no such word as "can't" in this family's vocabulary. So I was faced with a big decision: to either make an acceptable excuse for not doing it, or grit my teeth and practice what I preach. As I pondered what topic I might be able to speak about, it came to me. Recalling one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, I wondered if I might use it to my advantage.

Many years ago, when I was in a piano recital - in this very church - my name was the last one listed on the program, signifying that it was my graduation recital. My parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends of the family were present. I had been in many recitals before and had never made a noticeable mistake, but this time was different. When I was three-quarters of the way through the piece that I had practiced for more than two months, my mind went blank and my hands would not do what they were supposed to! Everyone told me later it was only seconds, but it seemed to me that the silence lasted for an eternity! Looking off-stage where my teacher was standing, I saw him smiling sweetly and motioning for me to leave the stage. My stubborn streak kicked in and I vehemently shook my head NO. My hands went back to the keyboard, found the right notes and finished the piece with vigor! I got a standing ovation and my teacher appeared with a bouquet of red roses and a kiss on the cheek. That was a great lesson in persistence!

I had just about made up my mind to accept the speaking engagement, but just to be safe, I was praying that the lady would forget my telephone number; I mean I was praying hard!  Don't ever think that prayers aren't answered, because they are... not always in the way we want them to be, but always for the best.
 

When the lady finally called, she said that, due to some problem with church personnel, they'd like to reschedule me for a month later. I quickly agreed.

I haven't heard from her since!

I wonder... Did they decide they didn't want me to speak after all, or did she actually forget my number?