Normal

            I have spent much of my life wondering what normal is. 

            Patsy Clairmont, Christian humorist, claims that normal is simply a setting on the dryer.  I am inclined to agree with her.

            After decades on the quest for normal, only now do I think to check its definition:  “usual, typical, or expected.”  I could have saved myself many questions.

            At least I am assured that my present life is not normal.  (Somehow “not normal” sounds more reassuring than “abnormal.”)  But I knew that before checking any dictionary.  Consider these facts:

• ·        On a daily basis, I open the gate to the perimeter fence and provide walking entertainment to John’s youngest cougar, Talina.  She loves it when I carry things.  I love to tap her fence and have her leap up at me.  She really got into me swinging an empty laundry basket today.

• ·        To do our laundry, I must walk partway down the driveway to the shop where the washer and dryer are located.

          Someday, I hope to normalize my life by getting a washer and dryer here in the house.

But then there wouldn’t be any reason to swing empty laundry baskets for Talina to attack.  I guess my normal setting will have to stay on the shop dryer.

                       

Thanksgiving 2010

            I woke up to green this morning.  The snow melted overnight, a sure sign we are back to more normal weather for the Northwest.

            Our gluten-free Thanksgiving went without a hitch.  John prepared a scrumptious ham.  Our friend Debra came over, and I assisted her in the kitchen.  Mom found a tablecloth, and John and I set the table with Mom’s cherished assortment of dishes from her parents.

            What a feast!  Ham, garlic mashed potatoes, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, spinach salad with dried cranberries and slivered almonds topped with a homemade olive-oil based dressing, and gluten-free cornbread.  And later, as we watched a movie over on John’s big screen TV, a gluten-free chocolate cake with a whole pound of melted chocolate in it.  It was so rich that between the four of us we managed to eat only one-quarter of the eight-inch single layer cake.

            Before the movie and cake, while Debra and I were cleaning up in the kitchen, Mom was reminiscing with John about the dishes we had used, which she says were a wedding gift to her parents, married on July 17, 1917.  Her voice rang clearly through to the kitchen:  “Is it July already?”

            Our four days of winter wonderland are merely a memory now for me.  For Mom, yesterday is washed out.  What remains for her is the distant past and the immediate present, a present John and I try to make as pleasant as possible.

Rhymed Verse, Unrehearsed and barely revised

Remembering my sister:

In Heaven

Anne:

Restored, released, reframed

In joy.

God’s grace revealed

In her new life.

Heaven-sung mercy

Fully rendered.

Her broken self healed

And wholeness sprung

Into exuberant eternity,

In Christ.

Last Days

With my presence I ushered Anne

Out from suffering and into joy,

Where I hope she will someday usher me

In.

She will say, “Jan!”

I will say, “Anne!”

As she takes my hand

Across the living water.

My heart this Thanksgiving:

Lately I Have Thought

Lately I have thought my best

Dreams will be

Rendered in eternity,

Perhaps that cottage by the sea.

God, Please Open

God, please open up

Your plan.  Let me live

Creatively, joyfully, fully in You.

I don’t know how to move forward

Except by being right now with You.

This Tender Joy

This tender joy

I fear to share

Lest I be hurt

And my soul laid bare.

This tender joy

I long to toss

To those I love

With no fear of loss.

This tender joy

From God alone

I offer to

His holy throne.

This tender joy

An ecstasy of grace

I cannot express

In physical space.

This tender joy

The Spirit’s shift

To new life

The Son’s pure gift.

Winter Wonderland

            This Michigan/Iowa/Ohio/Missouri/Kansas woman has forgotten some things about snow.  A simple 1,200 step walk* to and from our mailbox reminded me of them:

1.  Remember to tuck your jeans into the top of your boots before you step outside.  I didn’t think of it until I had waded out a way.        
2. Wear an extra pair of socks.  Fortunately, I thought of this one before I headed out the door, donning the cozy bed socks Dana gave me for Christmas. 
3.  Don’t bother to wear your glasses.  Yes, my Transition lenses protect my eyes from the glare, but they also completely fogged up when I snuggled my nose underneath my coat collar.  I finally had to take them off to see. 
4.    Winter coat liner, gloves, hat, and hood are all important.  I remembered those and stayed warm.
5. Carry a plastic bag to put the mail in.  Though I hugged the bills, magazines, and catalogues close to me, they still ended up a little soggy.  (No way was I going to unzip my snazzy ski jacket to let the mail and snow in!)
6.  Pick up a handful of snow to see if it packs well.  It didn’t, so I bet the skiers are happy.  (Wearing a ski jacket is as close as I get to any winter sports.)
7. Enjoy the satisfying crunch of snow underfoot, not to mention the joy of being the first one to make tracks.   

     And here’s something I hadn’t forgotten and, in fact, had never seen before:  dangling spider webs frosted with snow.

*I did not count my steps today: I’d done that last summer.  And I didn’t even think to look for slugs.

After Church Poems

Joy Wash

Joy wash,

Watercolor cascade,

Holy Spirit’s translucent brilliance,

Rainbow’s promise:

God brims with love

That spills over, filling my soul.

In Ordinary Time

Let my soul swing

To God’s time.

Let my toes tap

To Trinity’s rhythm.

Let my voice ring

With Spirit’s tune.

Let my words sing

With  Jesus’ praise.