Life in the slow lane . . .

People are always saying, "I've got to slow down," "I've got to take time for . . . ," "I need to do less."  I know.  I've been one of those people for years.  Just look at the inactivity of this blog, for example.  My goal was to post every Sunday afternoon/evening, but I usually find myself so exhausted after my "full and active" week that I have nothing, nada, zip, zero left in the tank for creative endeavors such as this.  But what do they say about Karma?

A little over two weeks ago, on Thanksgiving Day, I broke my ankle.  I was having so much fun running in the Turkey Trot (a 5K fundraiser for West End Fire Department's community youth programs) and I stepped in a pothole (it actually DID go to China, I think!) that took me right to the pavement.  Broken tooth and ankle followed.  It could have been more traumatic, I admit.  There were plenty of EMT's around (hey, it was a run for the fire department after all . . .) and the Minidoka Hospital's emergency room was SO amazing; I was X-rayed, booted, and home in plenty of time for dinner at my Aunt Kathy's.  Yes, the only real trauma was the number of people (many of whom knew my name, darn it!) that witnessed my apparent clumsiness.  That is, that's the only trauma I believed I had experienced.  I didn't know the real trauma was to follow . . .

Seven days of total inactivity.  Seven days of ankle-elevated-above-your-heart.  Seven days of sitting and icing.  Then began the REAL trauma.  Ten days of crutches, seven of them no-weight-on-your-ankle-at-all days.  I was able to go back to school after the first seven days, but to be at school with crutches was pretty brutal.  (I teach upstairs, and there's no elevator.) However, I survived.  I planned cold lunches to eat in my room.  I planned bathroom breaks for empty hallway times.  I taught from a seated position most of the time.  Things turned out just fine, but I was forced to slow down at this, one of the busiest times of year.  I was forced to let the small stuff go, and I really did begin to realize, compared to hobbling around on crutches, everything really was small stuff.  Instead of cleaning the kitchen stove, I posted last week's blog.  Instead of cleaning the bathroom, I completed 4 scrapbook pages for Anna's book.  Instead of cooking supper and cleaning the kitchen each night, I played word games and read while icing my foot.  Come to think of it, it hasn't been all that bad.  (But am I just saying that because I'm off crutches, walking on the boot, and finally have a clean bathroom?)

Where have all the flowers gone?

December 4th.  Wow.  I have known I needed to post something, anything, but it has seemed an overwhelming task.  My last post was the end of June, almost 6 months ago.  Brook helped me out with a new design and added some photos, but even that didn't help me get started.  See, this is what I'm talking about--I'm not too dedicated to journaling of any kind, but here I am again, hoping to make a new start and a new committment . . .

Summer came and went.  Fall has been beautiful at the casa.  I have a new compost bin; the apples were picked and some are processed and in the freezer; the plums were dried; the new garden spot, now in the place I've always wanted it to be, has been fertilized and plowed.  We had snow the night before last, and the cold seems here to stay.  No more days in the 40's and 50's.  Let's hunker down for the long winter.

When we farmed I loved winter.  Spring, summer, and fall were times of an unbelievable amount of work.  We always felt behind in the farm, yard, and garden work.  When winter came it was a great relief--even if we were still behind it didn't matter; there was nothing we could do about it, so it was time to enjoy the enforced rest.  Winter didn't seem as long then either.  We had from Thanksgiving until Valentine's day, but then we were in the process of gearing up again for the work time.  Yeah, I used to love winter, but now I see it as a never-ending round of cold wind and grey days.  Does that mean I'm not working hard enough through the other seasons?

Living! Not Posting!

Such a busy summer, with some great family moments.  Here are a few to get you started from a family BBQ this past summer:

Tylynn holding baby Anna.

John, Mary, Stephanie, Tylynn, and Anna.

Corey holding Anna.

Melody holding a very giggly and happy Mary.

Summertime at the casa.

"Focus Up!"

Yesterday was a great day making cards with my daughter, Brook, and my sister, Stephanie.  We spent the afternoon "being creative" as we laughingly teased each other and "militantly" (Brook's word, not mine . . .) crafted thank-you and birthday cards.  At one point in the chatting, Brook mentioned that her dogs had learned the "focus up" command.  When she wants them to pay attention, she tells this command to the jumping, wagging, tongue-lolling hounds, and surprisingly, they've learned to settle and focus.  (I think it's her no-nonsense voice that gets their attention, but that's somebody else's blog about dog training!)  That comment made me think of how focused I am this week; I even have a "master plan!"

As I finish up my major yard projects, I'm starting to get a little lackadaisical about my days.  I believe that after 2 weeks of solid, back-straining, physical labor, I should just let down, you know, kick back.  Saturday afternoon found me in just such a state, and I realized there's no kicking back just yet; there are "miles to go before I sleep."  That's OK with me; I'm not one to laze about for long periods of time.  I always have this sense that time is passing, and I'm not using it to its fullest intent.  Oh, I'm not the gung-ho, hit-it-every-minute-you're-awake sort (I have watched a season of Fringe, countless movies, and read 2 books this summer so far . . .), but getting to the end of the week without accomplishing anything is sure to create crazy in me. So Sunday while Corey was at his morning meeting I created a master plan for the week.  It included finishing the last 2 projects, weeding regularly, making cards, and sewing.  Oh!  And the reason for the picture shown:  GET BACK ON THE MAT!  Since school got out for the summer, I have only sporadically done Yoga, and my inability to sleep comfortably, to move without effort, and to focus/control my brain (thoughts) show it.

Yoga has become my one enduring activity.  It creates focus and balance in all areas of my life:  physical, mental, and spiritual.  As I slowly moved through my totally-abbreviated-because-I-was-forcing-every-pose routine, I realized I had become too judgmental of my practice.  Because I was stiff and out of sync with myself, I focused on the discomfort and lack of desire to be on the mat.  Only when I repeated the mantra "Do not judge.  Accept."  did I allow myself to focus on the breath and flow of the routine.  The last half of the practice went much more smoothly as a result, giving me the rejuvenation I've come to crave from my practice.  I didn't do any balance poses; I know I've been out of balance for almost 6 weeks.  Balance poses require strength, for sure, but they also require a quiet place in the soul to allow the strength to flow to all areas equally.  I KNEW that wasn't going to happen.  I've been possessed by the need to study for and pass the Praxis test, to define and build the new flower bed area, to weed, move, and divide old flower beds.  In short, I have been what Corey calls, "In frenzy mode." I haven't spent much time (Hah!  OK, NO time) meditating, reading scriptures, or even doing Yoga for restoration.  As I did my practice again today, the aversion was overcome a little sooner in the practice.  I still didn't do any balance poses, but I know I'm on my way back from the edge.  My master plan includes fun things as well as projects, and Yoga is back in the plan to keep me honest with myself about what I should focus on to create balance in my life.

I love it when a plan comes together . . .

"Hillside" view to the west

Four summers ago I decided to remove the grass from the "hillside"we had created six summers ago.  I caught a lot of flack from the husband who leveled the area and created the hillside so I could plant it into grass.  (It had previously been a parking area . . .) I caught a lot of flack from the son (not to name names, but his initials are Steven Lyle Smith!) who had to help remove the sod and prepare the ground for planting (really, how hard is it to run a sod-cutter?) I had a good number of well-meaning family members questioning whether or not I needed "to go to all this effort?"  As you can see from the photo, the effort paid off--it's a beautiful addition to our yard.  However, you might also notice the wheelbarrow full of debris; it is a maintenance issue every spring, yet what part of landscaping isn't?  (OK, we're not talking about rocks and concrete . . .)  Anyway, each year I divide ground cover and perennials, moving them to other parts of the landscape, adjusting the beds accordingly.  Last summer I added "hillside" to the west end of the yard (there's just not enough space or time to cover the discussion the purchase of the load of dirt caused . . . )

View of "hillside" to the east before work began

This summer's addition dealt with "shoring up" and defining the edge of the hillside.  I added landscape timbers (garnered from years of buying load levelers for the truck business) to the south of the hillside.  It looked so great I decided to carry on the idea to the east.  I marked out new planting beds using a hose and spray paint.  Steven volunteered (yes, he really did!) to remove the sod and haul it off, bringing back loads of dirt to take its place.  Again, there was some nay-saying going on; people mentioned more than once the amount of work it would be, how long it would take, it's fine as it is, etc, but I was not to be dissuaded from my vision!  It took just 2 1/2 days to remove the sod, bring in timbers and "plant" them, haul dirt, and water liberally to prepare the ground for planting.  Yes, the rose bush that has yielded only weeds, not roses, for 2 years still needs to be removed, but I am very pleased with the end hardscape product.  And no, I really don't think it will ever be a "done deal" project.  These things are always a work in progress; I've learned that from the hillside to the west, but hey, these are the kinds of things I find great joy in doing each and every summer!

Here are some pics of the project (I was too focused on the work to take very many . . .)

A hose and spray paint mark the lines

"El nino" hammer--the great leveler!

The "almost finished" project

Ahhhh . . . farm life!

The title of this post could be a misnomer.  While we do live on a farm, we don't really "farm."  I mean, the only crops we raise are weeds around the place (our renter does the crop growing.)  The only animals we have are 2 cats (+3 new kittens) and 1 dog.  Maybe "Ahhh . . . country life!" might be more appropriate.  Nevertheless, I couldn't help but think of John Denver's "Well life on the farm is kinda laid back Ain't nothing an ole' country boy like me can't hack"  as we went out to rid ourselves of a raccoon that's been plaguing us for some time.


Although it seems like forever since we've been dealing with the 'coon, it's really only been a few weeks.  First we noticed that our "Mother Cat" didn't have her kittens in the pump house; she had them behind boxes and tools piled in the garage.  Since the dog also sleeps in the garage, we wondered why she chose what seemed to be such a precarious location.  A few days later Steven went out to feed the animals (remember the loose use of the term . . .) and noticed the large tubs full of food had been turned over and the lids pried off.  It was then we realized some animal was getting into the pump house.  We took greater steps to tie up the tubs with bungie cords and removed the cat feeders from the pump house at night.  One night when the barking dog barked longer than usual, Steven went outside to see a large raccoon running from the pump house.  The mystery was solved!  A 'coon was now scavenging from our house. For a week we locked up all the food and feeders for the night, hoping the 'coon would be discouraged a try elsewhere.  No luck; as soon as the feed was back in the pump house, the 'coon was back.  The cats have gotten so they won't go in the pump house until we come out and open the big door.  After last night, we can see why.

The closed off entry . . . 

When the dog started barking just before midnight, Steven went out to investigate.  He opened the pump house to see a very large raccoon prying open the lids of the tubs.  He quickly grabbed what was handy and locked in the raccoon.  He triumphantly announced through our partially-opened bedroom window that he had trapped the raccoon, and, by the way, what did we want him to do with it?  Too sleepy to think straight after being abruptly awakened by someone calling in my window I said, "Leave it until morning and we'll make a plan then."  (He must have been somewhat deflated by my less-than-enthusiastic response, but hey, what could a person expect?)  


This morning I waited until 8 o'clock to call the Fish and Game office.  I had thought of a great plan . . . I would ask them to come and "relocate" the raccoon to a happier place.  (I have been trying to practice the yogic attitude of "Do no harm," so I didn't want to just kill it.)  The response I received was quite a bit less than what I'd hoped; "We don't relocate raccoons . . . uh, they're not endangered, or anything . . . if it makes you feel any better about killing it, there are plenty of them around . . . no, not a shortage of them, in fact, they're mainly pests, and if it's discovered your place as an easy source of food, there's no way to get rid of it.  Yes, killing it is probably your only option if it's destroying your property and bothering your pets.  Good luck with that.  

A fairly easy escape route . . . .

So I got off the phone and woke up Steven.  I told him about the phone conversation and ended with the statement, "We'd better use the .22 so it's cleaner.  He was worried it would go right through, doing little to stop the pest.  I said, "We'll just play it by ear."  As we both approached the pump house (with some trepidation on my part--I have no trouble saying we need to kill the thing to get rid of it, but following through is really a whole 'nother thing!) I noticed the back.  We have a board that's broken and I just shove it back in, kinda tucking it up underneath the other part of the board to hold it in place.  It didn't look good.  With consternation mixed with relief, I told Steven I didn't think the raccoon was still in the pump house.  I showed him what I thought had been the escape route.  He agreed and slowly opened the door.  No raccoon in sight.  The cats were milling around, hopeful they would get there morning food.  We fed the pets and tried to plan our next move.  Now we know we can trap it, we're planning how best to do that.  Unfortunately, I think that might require more middle-of-the-night forays.  Oh well, "ain't nothing an ole' country BOY can't hack"  Steven, are you ready?

"Fatigue makes cowards of us all"

These are what I need to get planted . . .

The title of this post is a favorite quote of mine.  It's attributed to Vince Lombardi, and I always think of it when I feel exhausted and still have much to do.  I think of it when I'm feeling depressed about looming events.  I think of it when . . . well, just about whenever.   Lately I've felt exhaustion at every turn, and I've wondered where I used to get all of the energy I once displayed (like in my 20's and 30's)  My mom keeps telling me I do too much.  Really?  That can't be it; I mean, I used to have 5 kids at home (enough said!)  I exercise regularly, try to eat healthily, and go to bed at a good time each night.  I think I might just blame it on my occupation . . .

Being a teacher of English in a middle school is not a carnival ride (except maybe if you think of it in terms of the horrors in the "fun house!")  The last month of the school year is likened to holding on to a team of runaway horses.  However, this year was no different than other years; in fact, I enjoyed my students more the last two weeks of school than I have most of the year.    No, I don't think it's just my occupation.  I think I might just blame it on the weather . . .

This spring has been the coldest one I can remember.  If it wasn't raining, drizzling, grey weather, it was so windy you couldn't open the doors of the car without them being yanked from your hands!  Sometimes it was both.  I don't do well with constantly icky weather.  What else is there to do but eat chocolate and watch T.V?  (Neither of which does much to renew or energize me . . .)  But spring is often like this.  I've lived here long enough to know that, so I don't think it's just the weather.  I think I might just blame it on all of the traveling/gad-abouting we did in May . . .

We took two trips to Utah to see family and I went once to Boise for medical reasons.  I drove my mother to Twin a few afternoons after school.  I was pretty tired after each of these events, but none of them were negative trips; all of them were enjoyable events that turned out to be wonderful moments in my life, so I don't think it's just the traveling around.  I know!  I've had the Praxis test on my mind all month!  I think I might just blame it on the stress of getting ready for the test . . .

In Idaho I'm certified to teach any and all subjects, K-8.  According to No Child Left Behind, I'm only "highly qualified" to teach Reading and English.  That's because since I began teaching I have only taught other subjects for two years;  I have so many years of experience and so many extra classes in the Language Arts field that I'm considered "highly qualified."  In order to be able to teach any other subject I must take A LOT of classes in the subject or pass a national Praxis Test.  I've had to pay a lot of money to take this test, and feeling a great need to pass it, coupled with a fear of not doing so, has created a stressful situation for me.  I've been studying often; I've learned so much more than I did taking the classes the first time in college, and I feel like I'm going to be ready, so I don't think it's just the stress of studying.  It's probably knowing I'm studying and not weeding, planting, fixing-up my yard.  I might just blame it on that . . .

What I've done so far . . .

I have a good-sized yard.  I'm aware of that.  I'm also aware of the fact that because I live in the country I'll always have dandelion seed blowing from alfalfa fields and kocia seed blowing from ditch banks.  I'm also aware of the fact that each year I set my sights on improvement projects that will take most, if not all, summer.  I look out my window and see the beauty of the flower beds and try to imagine them in order, without grass or weeds, and plan the days to water and soften the ground to pull those things.  I recognize the seemingly never-ending round of fertilize, spray, water, weed, mow, etc.  But there is something infinitely satisfying to step back from just such a schedule and sit in a chair in the shade, feeling the total sensory experience of the landscape.  No, it is not the yard work that makes me tired.  In fact, it re-creates my spirit.

Oh no!  As I finish this blog (recognizing the comment from Corey as to its length) I'm realize that maybe, just maybe my mother might have something.  I don't think I'm doing any less than I did when I had 5 kids at home.  (But no, Mom, I don't think I'm doing any more, either!)  And looking back, I don't think I had the boundless energy I like to think I had.  In fact, I think I can remember making many comments to my husband about being "so tired."  Different time, different place, different life-style; same enthusiasm to take on new things that, yes, creates that fatigue that at the end of the day has me wondering what on earth I'm doing with my life that I'm so tired.  Then I think of all things and realize tiredness is NOT fatigue of spirit.  It's just being tired.  I don't mind being tired if I get to experience all of things I do each day.

Mothers' Day . . .

My mother once pointed out to me that once I had children, I would be a mother for the rest of my life.  Sure they would grow up, have their own families, even their own grandchildren, but I would always be their mother.  Motherhood isn't such a bad deal; you always have something to feel a part of.  When they're young, you are part of their very existence--food, clothing, shelter, emotional support, encouragement, teaching, directing, and sometimes, punishing.  As they get older, they want your input less, but need it more.  That's when motherhood becomes a thankless job, but there are still moments when you feel a true part of their lives--the award at school, the drive home after the winning goal scored, the quiet times in the car when you share a discussion of a frustrating event/day/friend.  Leaving home, their reliance on you seems to be severed, but you get the occasional call for your biscuit or bread recipe, a question about health insurance, or a longer discussion about career/college choices.  They marry and add new children to your family, and eventually, grandchildren.  As I sit here remembering the Mothers' Days of the past, I remember the homemade cards, breakfasts in bed, "It's Mothers' Day, let Mom choose the . . . " I'm so thankful I've been able to be a mother, to have the opportunity of being a part of something so wonderful as my children's lives.

Ain't no sunshine when there's testing . . .

Daffodils trying hard to bloom in the cold . . .

Wow, April is the month of testing.  Literally and figuratively.  The weather has been miserable.  That's all I'm gonna say 'bout that.  It tests my patience and my sanity.  I NEED to be OUTSIDE after a long, drawn-out winter.  Daffodils are poking through the ground, trees a showing signs of budding, and the grass is even greening up (really green in Spot's favorite places . . .)  I've been outside an hour here and there, raking leaves from the flower beds, raking twigs and branches from the lawn, and even planting trees . . . but what's been lacking from the picture is warmed-by-the-sun-sitting-in-a-lawn-chair-after-working-in-the-yard time.  I wear a sweatshirt and a jacket and work outside because it's getting seriously necessary, not because the weather beckons me to the yard.  Big difference.  Yesterday Steven and I worked on cleaning the border between our yard and the neighbors'.  The poplar trees have shed branches, twigs, leaves, and bark from the winds all winter and spring.  Our neighbors are older, and neither has health that would allow them to clean up the mess that fell from our trees.  We hauled off 5 wheelbarrow loads of stuff!  I was happy to be working outside, and I was even able to remove my jacket and work in just a sweatshirt, but afterwards, the breeze was too chilly to allow enjoyment of being outside unless a person was "working up a sweat."  Don't get me wrong; I'm pretty dang grateful for whatever time I get outside.  OK, I guess I'm not grateful enough, because I still want more!

Forsythia knows the calendar says spring,

even if the weather doesn't!

This morning I woke up to sunshine!  The weather report said it felt warmer than it really was!  Woo-hoo!  Time to get outside and enjoy the day.  But wait . . .oh no, I forgot . . .I'm inside studying for a test.  I signed up to take the Middle School Social Studies Praxis test.  If I pass, it'll allow me to be on the list of "highly qualified social studies teachers" and I'll be legally able to teach social studies in my middle school.  It's not that I'm tired of teaching English/Reading/Language Arts (but I kinda am) it's that I need to have some options.  Our district is feeling the strain of cutting teaching positions and not having enough "highly qualified" people to fill them.  I really do love history and social studies and would love to teach them, so I've signed up to take the test next weekend, and I'm feverishly working to be ready.  (OK, except when I'm writing this blog . . .)  So I'll sit at my computer and gaze outside at the signs of spring and know that soon, very soon, testing will be done and spring will really be here!  Really!

"Cancer Sucks"

That's a sign on the MSTI radiology receptionist's desk.  It does.  Even the "prognosis is good" "not an aggressive type" "we caught it early" kind of cancer sucks.  It's the "C" word, after all.  And it's my mother, after all.  Today I rode with her and my aunt Joan to Mom's first radiology appointment.  I mean, isn't the whole shoot-someone-with-radiation-to-stop-cancer thing kinda counter-intuitive?  Wasn't it radiation that gave everyone who experienced "the bomb" cancer? I guess it's a "good kind" of radiation.  I'm not going to try to explain or figure any of it out; I'm just going to trust that years of treating breast cancer has led to the best ways to do it.  It has taken literally months (~2) to get to the actual treatment, so we're all kinda relieved that we've finally begun.  Now we just go through the daily trips to Twin Falls, 5 days a week, for 33 days and wait to see what happens.  Mom showed no signs of reaction in the 2 hours I spent with her after the initial treatment (the doctor said most people only experience fatigue, and then only after 2-3 weeks into it) but I wondered if her palor and tired eyes were a result.  I think that's the worrisome thing:  Is she just tired because worry over today kept her from sleeping well, or is it the treatments?  For the rest of her life we'll always be wondering, "Is this from the cancer?  Is this normal, or cancer-related?"  Even after it's all done.  Even after she finishes the treatments and they give the "all clear" sign (which we totally expect to get because, after all, "the prognosis is good.")  Everyone is there for support and love and whatever they can do.  The people at MSTI are all so supportive, positive, and enjoyable to be around.  The people at her work are behind her all the way, hoping for some way they can be of help.  The women's center in Twin Falls has offered all kinds of materials and support groups and hotlines.  These things have seemed a blessing as well as a curse.  When you have so many people saying, "Let us help you through this" you wonder if it's worse than you thought.  It IS cancer, after all.  But when I think these scary thoughts, I remember "The Fam."

Mom and her sisters at a cousins' wedding in July.

My mother has the best support system in the world:  her family.  Her sisters and their daughters are always there for each other.  It doesn't matter what, when, or where something's needed, they show up.  When Mom was sent in an ambulance to Boise for heart surgery, some of them beat her to the hospital!  Yes, a call is all it takes.  The rides for the treatment are covered.  The support system is in place.  Bring it on!  We've got an army at the ready!

Ahhh . . . granddaughters

Mary loves painting with her new paints.

 I spent my spring break in the perfect grandma-dream; I was with my two granddaughters (Oh!  My son and daughter-in-law were there, too . . .) Baby Anna arrived a little early, a little scarily, but safe-and-sound, none-the-less.  I went to help with things while mommy and daddy tried to get their lives settled after the great event.  To say it was a wonderful week would be a gross understatement.  If I wasn't holding the baby, I was playing with Mary, the "big sister."  I soon realized why we're blessed with children while we're young:  the amount of energy required for a toddler and a new-born is exponentially multiplied with each child added to the equation. I watched my two sleep-deprived adult children deal patiently with their two time-demanding daughters, and I marveled at the joy they shared about and with their little ones.  Obviously exhausted (think about a baby waking every 2-3 hours at night and a 3-year-old who's feeling unsure about things, so she climbs into bed with Mommy and Daddy no matter how many times she's put back in her own bed . . .) they still found time to share the happy, family moments with each other, spilling love and unity onto the sweet little girls.

Baby Anna asleep in my lap.

In the few quiet moments we were able to experience, I couldn't help but think of the times Corey and I brought new babies into our home.  Each time we added a new member to the family we experienced it as completely new.  Each child brings his or her own personality, and each time we would come home it was the same excitement, same thrill of having another sweet spirit added to our lives, same adjustment for those already living in the home.  I think everyone pretty much experiences the chaos-that-eventually-turns-into-routine with a sense of "this seems like it'll never end, but this, too, will pass (we hope!)  It was a bitter-sweet time for me.  I missed my own small children and our adjustment times.  I feel blessed beyond measure that I got to experience bringing each of my children home as newborns and then raising them to the amazing people they are now.   I empathized with the struggles of my son and daughter-in-law. I remember all to clearly the exhaustion mixed with amazement and joy.  Yes, I missed those feelings, too.  But through all the wishing for the past,  I absolutely loved the time with my granddaughters.  I realize that these will be the memories I will miss when these granddaughters bring home their own little ones.

Life in the doldrums . . .

The hardest part about keeping a blog is the pressure I feel to write at least weekly.  That is the reason I decided to keep a blog--the pressure would require me to actually write something once a week, and that would relieve the guilt from not keeping a journal, thus the pressure would cancel out the guilt and I would end up feeling just fine (and no, I won't fix that run-on sentence because that's the way my mind is working, so I'm leaving it to prove a point)  So, having discussed the pressure/guilt canceling aspect, let's deal with the real challenge of the blog:  coming up with a theme for each blog entry.  You can see from the farther and farther apart postings that I'm not doing so well on that front.  But as I sit writing this morning I realize it isn't a lack of events to write about (my life is full enough, thank you very much) but the grey state of the weather that's got me in "the slows."  "The slows" is a Smith family term referring to an inability to get moving at a normal pace.  They can occur as a result of too much junk food, too little sleep, or being too tired-and-sore from yard work.  I think the slows I'm experiencing are a direct result of grey and windy days.  Winter has seemed extra long for me this year.  I have no explanation for this; we've had a relatively mild winter, yet I continue to look longingly out at my still-brown flower beds, hoping for just a hint of yellow on the forsythia bushes.  We are just 2 1/2 weeks from spring break, and there is no sign of spring on the horizon.  This morning I realized I'm in a place where I might need an intervention . . .

This photo of the driveway should say it all . . .

I'm being honest with myself about this weather thing.  I'm obsessed.  I realized this as I looked at Accuweather for the 2nd time this morning.  No, the weather outside the window hadn't changed, yet I was hoping the forecast had.  I look out 15 days and what do I see?  Rainy, grey, breezy days.  Oh, the temperature should stay in the 40's during the days, but where's the sun?  Where's the bright, spring-like days that are now sufficiently long enough for me to be outside after I get home each day?  I know we can use the moisture, but the drizzly, muddy, pond-like atmosphere around the casa is really a challenge for my psyche!




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I love my casa, but sometimes . . .

The casa on a good day

OK, so this blog might seem a little lovey-hatey about the casa.  Sometimes there's a good (no, great) deal of stress in living in a 70 (80?) year old house.  I mean, you learn to put up with the fact that any remodeling will have to adjust to non-squared corners, various building supplies found along the way by the original builders, and crumbling lathe and plaster walls.  That is known from the outset, so you just sigh and deal with it all.  What tends to wear on a person are the little things you deal with when not in remodel mode.  The plumbing, for instance, has had various upgrades along the way.  I remember staying here one summer as a child while my dad and his brother remodeled grandma's bathroom (a small room of the kitchen that originally was a pantry when facilities were used outside the house.)  I remember very vividly the fight they had to get the new, steel tub through the half-sized doorway.  Then the consternation they expressed when the tub was about 3 inches too short for the space.  (They left it like that, by-the-way, and when we moved in Corey built a little wooden spacer to cover that icky, everything-fell-behind-the-tub-and-grew-feelers space.)  I could mention many other stories, but let's just leave it with this:  whenever something goes wrong at the casa (electrical, plumbing, etc) we always assume the worst.  It's not because we're pessimistic.  It's because, through experience, we've learned that this old house needs more maintenance than most.

So, a major concern has been the fact that our water pressure has been steadily dwindling since last fall.  We originally thought it was the pressure tank not being set correctly, so Corey spent one Saturday with a rented air compressor and some tools trying to calibrate the on/off switch.  No change.  When we woke up one morning before Christmas to a lake in our driveway (see previous post), we thought we'd found the culprit--a leak in the line.  Not so.  The plumber that arrived said that wouldn't do it (it was on the neighbor's coming into the line side) and also, the pressure tank was running just fine.  So for the past 2-3 months we just watched and waited as the water  pressure got lower and lower.  We'd start filling the tub 15 minutes before we needed it; I'd plan a load of laundry for an hour and a half of washing; there was no way we could wash our hands or the dishes if either of those other two uses were happening.  We were holding out for warmer weather and the hopes we'd be able to afford a new pressure tank, complete with the $75 an hour plumber to install it.  Then something truly amazing occurred . . .

I was getting ready for work yesterday morning and the thought came to me, "I wonder if something could be wrong with the water softener?"  (I'd just watched an "Ask This Old House" episode on DIY where they fixed a water softener.) Somewhere, in the back of the earliest memories of living at the casa, I'd witnessed something . . . but I couldn't quite place the memory.  I mentioned it to Corey (my "Do it Now" boy) who went immediately to close the bypass valve.  While there, he removed the little banjo filter for the water going into the softener.  Eureka!  The amount of water pressure we then had was astounding to us.  We literally turned on all the taps and stood back watching in amazement.  Oh my gosh!  It took a while to process the information.  You mean it was a small, 1 1/2 x 3 inch cylindrical filter full of rust and other hard water minerals that caused all the concern?  You mean we were able to replace it for around $10 and a trip to AgWest?  How relieved we were . . . how blessed we are . . . how vindicated am I for watching DIY?

Being a mom . . .

Last Saturday we had a baby shower for my daughter-in-law.  She's having her second baby girl, but we didn't get to have a shower for her first one, so it was fun and exciting to have one this time.  I'm so glad she felt up to the trip from Utah; she's just 6 weeks away from delivery.  We had an enjoyable luncheon and a fun time comparing baby notes and oooo-ing and aaahhhh-ing overt the pretty pink baby things.  As I looked around the room full of women, I was struck by the realization that we are all bound together in this life-giving-circle of love.  I also was remembering that many of these wonderful women were at a baby shower for me just a glance-back ago.  I was as big as a house, uncertain about the whole parenthood thing, and realized with every gift I opened that this step was more and more inevitable.  No turning back.  I was going to be a mother.  One of the sayings we had for decoration at the shower was:

"The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.  She never existed before.  The woman existed, but the mother, never.  A mother is something absolutely new."  --Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh


When I read that statement, I realized how true that was.  That baby forever changed my identity.  I became a mother.  My mom once told me, "Once you're a mother, you're always a mother.  Even after they grow up and become parents, you're still their mother."  Yep, there's no escaping it . . . but oh, how I have loved being a mother of five amazing children.  Each one different, yet each one the same.  Each one bringing a different joy, and each one bringing a special relationship for me.

Now I'm not only a mother (and grandmother), but a mother-in-law, and I'm finding that those dear, sweet daughters-in-law have found a place in my heart as well.  The more I'm around those wonderful women, the more I am grateful my sons found them.  As the crowd left and they visited in the kitchen together and then later with me as well, they were truly part of my family.  I am now the mother of seven.

Of bare walls and echoes . . .

About three (or four?) years ago I removed all the "foo-foo" from the living room walls.  No more silk flowers and grape vines.  No more out-dated tole painted items (because I hadn't painted anything new since 1999 . . .)  No more things to collect cobwebs and dust.  Just clean lines, a few live plants here and there, and photos of the family on book shelves.  I loved my simple, minimalistic style.  I still do.  So what if your voice reverberates back to you when you sit in certain areas?

Don't get me wrong--I enjoy walking into a beautifully-decorated home, complete with vinyl lettering, candles, photos, etc.  I just never seem to be able to achieve those lovely effects.  I think I have a style in mind, and before I know it, I've filled the walls with clutter that doesn't make the artsy statement I'd wanted it to. I get so frustrated when it comes to interior decorating.  I love hammering nails, painting, and repairing.  I just feel so out of my element when I have to do the decorating thing. Nevertheless,  after all of these years, I've gotten up the courage to try again.  This time, however, I'm starting with something that is a definite winner--pictures of my family.  I have a great family, and everyone of them (YES GUYS, EVERYONE!) is pretty photogenic.  I've found a couple of frames, enlisted the help of my photo shop savvy daughter, and determined to add some interest to my bare walls.  I was even in one of those crafty home decorating stores yesterday getting ideas for additions to the photos and frames. It was a dangerous move, I admit.  However, as I walked through the store I kept thinking to myself, "OK, so I don't know for sure what I want, but I know this isn't it."  Really?  I'm wondering if I really know what I want, and also, will I really know what it is when I see it?  Can I really deal with all this added stress in my life?  I mean, those echoes are kind of comforting after all . . .

Happy Birthday to Me!

If I look at my birthday as a numerical value, it's pretty frightening.  I could easily have a panic attack--I mean, 54!  I could think of my birthday in terms of time passed versus time possibly left, and I would end up in the "pits of despair."  Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and wonder, "When did I get these sags and bags?"  "Where did this floppy-ness in my neck come from?"  Yep, if I looked at myself in terms of flesh-and-blood-years-aging-as-time-goes-by, I would definitely consider my birthday a time of mourning.  Instead, I've decided to think of myself as timeless (eternal spirit and all that . . .)  That view makes my birthday a time of celebration, not mourning.  I really do think of myself as the same, year after year, with the possible exception of the ridiculous (stupid?) choices and mistakes I made in younger years.  I really don't feel like I change much.

That said, I have to share what has become a tradition in our family--the cake, ice cream, and card party.  Years ago my mom and her sisters would get together to have pie and coffee at a local restaurant for each of their birthdays.  It expanded to dinner at a restaurant, and we daughters of the sisters were added to the mix.  I remember when my cousin's daughter Rikki joined us for the first time.  She was in a high chair at the table (she's now in college), and it was a wonderful moment for me to see the three generations of women together.  It became a real tradition at that point.  The tradition morphed into coffee, cake, ice cream and whatever seemed fun at someone's house.  We share crazy cards, the latest happenings, and memories while we laugh and eat.  This year my daughter made gluten-free "diet" cake for me, and the women once again brought crazy cards which I hesitated to open, knowing I was about to get slammed by jokes about my advancing age, and we laughed.  That's the best part of it all.

I have been so blessed by these wonderful women in my life.  They've supported and encouraged me my entire life.  I received a card today which was meant to make me think about how old I am as I read about simple things of years gone by, but it also said, "It means you were lucky to have such good times . . ."  I have been lucky to have experienced these wonderful times with such amazing women.  Thank you all.

The new year rushes in . . . and by?

Wow!  I knew it . . . no sooner would I be back a school than I would be writing the date in the double-digits. Tomorrow I'll be writing "January 10th, 2011" on the board at the front of the room.  Nine days gone by "just like that" (imagine fingers snapping)  I always have such great plans for the new year, but they always seem to be caught in the crossfire of the realities of life.  What's that John Lennon quote? Ah yes, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."  Getting caught up in the busy-ness of life seems to be the default of my life.  While I was making other plans to read more, rest more, exercise more and eat less, worry less, hurry less, life happened.  Each day is once again (still, actually) full to the brim.  I rise from my bed at 5:00 each morning and retire to it at 9:30 each night and wonder how the time got away from me yet again.  I've heard that in the last days time will "speed up."  I think there have been physics studies that discuss how that could actually, physically happen, but I think we are just so controlled by our busy, full-to-the-brim lives, that with no time to stop and think, time really does seem to speed  up as it flies past us.  Or maybe I'm just feeling the it's-back-to-work-tomorrow-morning blues . . .

You see, it's not that I mind my weeks, it's just that I really do enjoy my weekends.  This weekend I was able to go over to Brook's new home and help her do some more moving in.  We washed and dried dishes in preparation of putting them in the newly scrubbed cupboards.  We scoured the filthy stove (complete with mice tracks and nest debris) and sorted the boxes in the spare bedroom, sending a large pile to the car for the DI and another pile to the dumpster.  Tylynn dropped Greg off on her way to a bridal shower, and he helped do some carpentry work and the heavy lifting.  Corey and Steven joined us for lunch in Rupert, and then Corey came over to help fix the broken futon frame.  Tylynn came to pick up Greg and we all had great fun at Greg's expense as Tylynn explained her frustration that Greg wasn't very fun on their Christmas trip to Disneyland.  We left feeling like we'd had a great day, and we were happy with our progress at Brook's.  Today I taught my Relief Society lesson and Corey and I had fun visiting with Ty and Greg again as they stopped by to drop off some things for our garage and pick up some things they'd left here. 

Some would wonder why I would choose cleaning mouse dukey as an enjoyable weekend experience.  I assure you, it wasn't the cleaning, lifting, and de-mouse tracking.  It was the time spent with my family.  In this busy, run-everywhere-and-I'm-still-feeling-behind life, the one new year's plan I will not allow to get caught in the cross hairs is my determination to take every chance I am given to be with and do for my family.  This is my life that will happen as I'm busy making other plans.