Stewing

My friend C.and I were chatting on Facebook the other evening, and she literally had me ROFL (rolling on the floor laughing, for those of you uninitiated in chat-speak as I was until C. educated me).  C.  has a knack for rather sarcastic humor – her self-imposed nickname is Little Miss Snarky, and it fits sometimes.  Occasionally she apologizes for this trait, and I’m quick to assure her that I don’t mind a little snarkiness.  Actually, sometimes C. says out loud the very things I’m thinking, but am too Little Miss Goody Good to say.

Last night our chat turned a bit more serious after C. apologized (again!) for what she feared had turned into a gripefest.  “After all,” she typed, “I was stewed in a very negative pot.”

Of course, I knew exactly what she was referring to.  After all, I live with a man who was stewed in one of the most perniciously negative pots I’ve ever encountered.  If a kind word was ever spoken in this house during my husband’s formative years,  he certainly doesn’t recall hearing it.  When I repeated  C.’s description of her upbringing to Jim, he sniffed disdainfully. 

“Well, if  her pot was any more negative than mine, I’d like to see it,” he said.  “On second thought, I probably would not want to see it,” he amended hastily.  “Can you imagine any two people being more negative than my parents? Can you, really?”

Anyway, I thought her phrase was particularly apt, and it got me thinking about the whole “stewing” process, the atmosphere we create in our homes.  It  becomes the broth we cook in, and whether it’s sweet and savory or bitter and lean, it flavors our personalities for life.   My husband (and my friend C.) were steeped in brine, and sometimes I marvel that they’ve managed to dispel that bitterness from their personalities as successfully as they have.  Jim has never been anything but loving, kind, supportive, and patient with me and with our son.  Not long after meeting his parents, I asked him outright how he came to be so different.  How did those two fractious people produce a young man who was gentle and sweet?

“I made up my mind a long time ago that I wouldn’t be like them,”  he said, this young man all of 20 years old who had obviously been thinking about this for quite a few years.  “I really have to work at it sometimes, too.”

He’s been working pretty hard at it these days, as he looks for jobs and tries to figure out a new path in life.  I can see that determination coming into play, as he gets up each morning, goes to his computer and starts sending emails, making follow up phone calls, doing research on jobs, organizing his new desk.   One of  the traits he inherited from his parents does occasionally come in handy – their stubborn streak was legendary, and it’s that same dogged determination (put to a more positive use) that helps him get through the kind of crisis we’re in right now.

Now I was cooked in a very thick broth, the kind where the ingredients are smothered in gravy and slow cooked until they’re so tender they fall off the bone.  Lots of love- perhaps too much, if there is such a thing – lots of attention paid to making sure life was sweet and easy for me.   So sometimes in a crisis, I start to feel smothered, and then panic as I struggle to get out as fast as possible. 

The two of use were definitely stewed in very different kinds of pots.  I think we’ve combined the flavors pretty well over the years.  Right now, our lives are a bit like a new recipe that’s left simmering on the stove.  We’re just waiting for it to be done cooking, but not really sure what it’s going to taste like.

I hope it’s good.

How about you?  What kind of pot were you stewed in?  And how has it affected your life today?

Here It Comes

It’s been chilly and dark all day today, and I put a long sleeved denim shirt over my tee when I walked the dogs just now.   I counted three maples with scarlet tipped leaves, and noticed all the hostas were completely bloomed out and turning brown around the edges.

If feels like fall and I’m not sure I’m ready.

Ordinarily, I love fall, and would consider it my favorite season.  Mostly, it’s the fallish trappings that appeal to me…school supplies, sweaters, tangy apple cider, bonfires, new tv shows, mutlicolored foliage, crisp cool breezes…things that inspires you to nestle into your favorite chair with a thick novel, a soft blanket, and a dog or two for company.

But somehow, I’m reluctant to see it come this year.  Perhaps it’s because last winter was so brutal, and I’m just not anxious for a repeat performance.

Maybe it’s because I’m not all that excited about resuming rehearsal schedules and church activities.

Mostly, I think it’s because this summer has been so traumatic.  While you’d think that would be all the more reason to want it to end, I think I’m still hoping that some miracle will occur, time will reverse itself, and I’ll get the summer to do over without the sadness and loss that came with it.  It’s as  if with the arrival of fall, the terrible things that happened this summer will be irrevocably inmeshed in the season and therefore impossible to ignore.

But if there’s one thing I know after almost 54 years on the planet, it’s that time marches on and waits for no woman.  It’s only August 22, but within the blink of an eye it will be Halloween (in fact, the candy and costumes are already on display in Target).   Then Christmas will be here in a heartbeat, and another Long Winter will begin in earnest.

Oh, I’m not sure I’m ready.

 

Things You Learn While Doing Other Things

I’m sure you’ve seen this slogan on t-shirts, coffee mugs, and probably even big girl panties.  Essentially, it’s a pretty good philosophy for most of life’s trials and tribulations.  As a friend of mine said in an e-mail today, “I suppose you get to eat worms for a brief period, and then it’s time to channel your frustrations and anger into something constructive.”

We’ve been trying to do that, and our experience last week fixing up our rental property was certainly the most literally constructive we’ve ever had as a couple.  Neither one of us is particularly handy, nor do we enjoy DIY projects of any kind.  I’m sure our family was shaking their heads in amused disbelief at the thought of the two of us doing all the painting and cleaning necessary to get that house back in order. 

But we screwed our courage up and dove in.  Jim, like any good engineer, had done his research about painting and patching.  He had a list of supplies already made, and knew exactly how to proceed.  As for myself, in my usual bury my head in the sand fashion, I grabbed up some cleaning supplies and hoped they’d do the trick.

So every morning we’d get up, drink some coffee, pack a lunch and a couple of bottles of beer, and drive over to the townhouse we purchased in 2005 as an investment (HA!) property.  Jim spent one entire 8 hour day filling and spackling holes and cracks, while I worked my way around all the baseboards, mini-blinds, entry doors and cupboards with Murphy’s Oil Soap™ and Magic Erasers™.   The next day, we moved on to painting, me continuing along the baseboard with paintbrush this time, while Jim tackled the upper walls and ceiling trim.  By the third day, we were meeting in the middle with our rollers.  On the fourth day, Jim replaced some electrical switches while I tackled the grout with bleach and a toothbrush.  In between, we arranged for the installation of  carpet, and spent the evenings with our son who was busy re-configuring and installing software on Jim’s new business computer.

At the end of each day, hot, sticky, and aching in places we didn’t know existed, we’d sit on the stairway of the townhouse and share a bottle of icy cold beer and even a few laughs.   I think we were both a bit surprised at how well we managed to work together.  Typically, we don’t make a very good team in these sorts of situations.  We don’t have the same work styles – Jim is a total perfectionist, and I’m more about the fastest and easiest way get it done.   But I’ve been attempting to be more thoughtful about my actions these past weeks – by that I mean, to think things through more carefully, move more slowly, and work more efficiently.  It helped that the entire week was dedicated to this one event, and there were no other demands on our time, either in Florida or here at home waiting for us.  So we worked well, and had the place looking almost brand new by the time we left on Friday night.

In light of that experience, I’m finding that our current situation reflects the truth of another old adage as well, one of which my mother is particularly fond.  “What doesn’t kill you just makes you stonger,” she’ll say. 

Well, we’re not dead yet, and we do feel stronger (especially our arms after all that scrubbing and painting!)

But so is our relationship, I think -stronger, I mean.  After being together for 35 years and weathering a certain amount of storms, it’s nice to learn that we can still pull together and work as a team, can count on our genuine care, concern and affection for one another, can appreciate each others strengths and weaknesses and work within the parameters of both to get a job done.  

Last week I learned a lot about painting and I learned that Magic Erasers  are truly magic.  More importantly, I discovered some new facets in an old relationship, and I learned love is kind of a Magic ingredient of its own.

Dilemma

Our Realtor in Florida called us this afternoon with two prospective tenants for the house we spent the last week working to fix up.   As a result of gargantuan efforts on our part (not to mention a boatload of money we don’t have) the house has been completely repainted and recarpeted, as well as thoroughly cleaned of acres of dirt and grime. 

The  good news is that there are interested parties already, on the first actual day of showing.   Both parties are single women with one child (one has a 13 year old son, the other an 11 year old daughter).   The bad news – neither one wants to pay our asking price, and both of them have dogs – Labs, as a matter of fact.  

You all know I love dogs.  But ask me how I feel about a 70 pound lab being left home alone all day on the new carpet we just installed? 

Naturally, the Realtor wants to seal the deal.  I’m inclined to wait a bit and see if a dog-less person comes along. 

What do you think?

Stress: Fountain of Youth?

There has definitely been an inordinate amount of stress in my life recently.  The past month has brought the sudden death of a family member,  my husband’s job loss, and culminated in last week’s marathon clean up to our rental property in Naples, after the tenants skipped out leaving the place in a shambles and owing us two month’s rent.  So imagine how comforted I was to read that stress can actually strengthen your body and help you live longer.

It’s true.  The process is called hormesis…when the body is under stress, healthy cells will crank up and produce extra compounds to fend off the harmful chemical effects of the stress reaction.  The body tends to overcompensate in favor of the healthy cells, so as long as the ratio of stress is lower than the amount of good cell  byproducts, the strong, healthy cells become more plentiful and stick around in the body, defending you against all kinds of other menacing evils that develop with age.  Much of the research in this field has been done with physical exercise, chemical toxins, and taxing intellectual work, all of which stimulate the body to create stronger cellular structure and neural connections.

Makes sense, doesn’t it?  The human body is quite a marvel of self-preservation.  Over the past few weeks, I’ve half expected to look in the mirror and find myself transformed into a withered and decrepit hag – but I usually look pretty much the same as I looked three months ago before all this happened.  Well, a few more gray hairs perhaps.  Last week before we left for Florida, I wouldn’t have bet a nickel that Jim and I could clean, repair, and paint that house ourselves.  But somehow we did, working six to eight hours every day, and falling on our faces as soon as we hit our bed at night before getting up the next day and starting all over.   As I write this,  the finishing touch (new carpet throughout) is being installed, and the house looks  brand new. 

There are plenty of adages about the human spirit being able to rise to the occasion, and finding strength in adversity.  While I know that our troubles are certainly small potatoes in comparision to many others in the modern world, it’s still not been an easy time for us, so I was rather gratified to know that my own heart (not to mention back and shoulders!) would come through when I needed them.  

And it’s a bonus to think that all the stress and all that physical labor last week might have set off a firestorm of cellular regeneration which will help me live longer and stronger.

Masks

 

In the land of a thousand dances,

I have at least that many masks.

~unknown

 

 

Even within our deepest connections, I believe we use masks to play a constant game of emotional peek-a-boo.

No wonder I thrive in solitude and flourish in aloneness.

It allows me moments to sit naked, stripped of all my masks, and be only the question instead of always worrying about being the answer.