Ode to Hippies

the view from the back porch

Sometimes it takes a long time to really appreciate a friend.

When I was a teenager, life was difficult. 1) I was a teenager, and 2) The family unit I thought was the one and only way was quickly unravelling. Thankfully I didn't feel the need to seek comfort in material things or illegal things. I would have been in A LOT of trouble if I had. Mostly, I sought refuge in people who loved me. Sometimes that was a boyfriend, but more than not, that was a grown up....or two.....or three.

I had the most rare privilege of being surrounded by grown people who wanted nothing more than to love and help me. Even I, basically a child, knew that was a gift.

Today I'm remembering Gordon and Debi.

Those hippies...

gordon. handsome as ever.

From the time I was twelve to the time I "aged out" they hosted a weekly Bible study. That was a time when not only was I challenged to really think about the choices I made every day, but it was also a time of empowerment. When Gordon would ask a hard question and all would get quiet, he'd eventually look across the table and say, "What are you thinking, Sharla?" Do you have any idea what that does for a 15-year-old introvert? I felt like a giant...I felt valued. He looked at me and he knew my mind was always churning. In the present day my husband does the same thing. And every time he does I want to go grab his red head and kiss him square on the lips.

And Debi.

my wine buddy. sip and chat and listen to crickets.

I don't think I really appreciated Debi when I was growing up. Much like you don't appreciate your own mother until you're older, I didn't understand Debi's mother-heart until I had one of my own.

Five or six months into our Arkansas journey I finally reconnected with her. Being at her house is like a heaven-drug. It is open and breezy and always smells like fresh flowers. It's actually a lot like Debi herself. She designed it--literally--with an excellently understated warmth. Life flows in and out. Love flows the same. We camped our rambunctious family inside their home for most of our last months in Arkansas. We might have overstayed our welcome had the welcome actually had limitations. But it did not and I enjoyed the perpetual hug of her home until only Massachusetts could draw me away.

Obviously I left their company wanting to do just what they do. They are nearing retirement age, but they are far from retired. Their life is full, and they are happy.

Full.

Happy.

That is what I want. I want it now, and I especially want it in the autumn of life when it must be so easy to sink into loneliness. So, how have they done it? How have they managed to surround themselves with crazy grand-friends when they have no grandchildren or children of their own?

All I could figure out is that they Love. Every smile, every step, every decision seems to be governed by love.

They love each other. I don't think I've ever known a man to dote on his wife the way Gordon does. What he does, he does for Debi. He openly adores her, and after so many years together, he is still learning her. He is a student of What Makes Debi So Beautiful. I know this because he talks about it when she's around and when she's not. He enjoys sharing who his wife is.

They love others. Just try and keep Debi from helping you when she sees you have a need. Just try. It's not possible. They seek to serve. Instead of working to earn money she spends her days helping all the mamas and papas around raise their kids. Encouragement flows like a geyser from their mouths. If they aren't helping you out, they're telling you you're awesome. And if they're not doing that they're taking you somewhere to have fun.

They love their life. We spent most nights watching their screen saver cycle through all of Gordon's photos. These photos are some of the most beautiful I've ever seen, but they are especially beautiful for one reason. To me the greatest thing about them is they are pictures of their life. 90% of the photos are of things they've seen in nature and 10% are of friends and family members--usually in nature. They get out there and enjoy their life. There is nothing exceptionally exciting about where they live or what they do for work. But they seek out beauty. They seek out adventure and discovery. Their eyes are open and their feet are movin'.

And I love them.

Li'l Bit got Back

If you are a grandparent (of Li'l Bit's) and you follow Facebook, you might have noticed that she visited Children's Hospital in Boston yesterday. So, for your information--literally--I would like to give an explanation of what is going on. Meaning, there will be nothing in this post of interest or entertainment for the general public. Since, you know, all my posts absolutely gush with humor and enchantment. (sarcasm assumed.)

Since Li'l Bit was our one and only baby I've noticed her spine has an exaggerated curve. It's not a side-to-side curvature, but rather a front-to-back. So it's not scoliosis. It wasn't until 2010 that our pediatrician became concerned about it. So that year we saw our first orthopedist at Children's, and right after the start of 2011 she had her first MRI. She loved the MRI!! They gave her goggles and earphones so she could watch any movie she chose while having to lay completely still. I can't think of another child so perfectly suited for that exact situation. All of the above confirmed that her curvature is very slight and none of her internal workings are in danger. The plan was to watch her growth each year and keep an eye on how things are developing.

Yesterday was 2012's annual check up. We saw a different doctor, whom I really liked because he told me specifically how her spine malformed and pointed it all out on her last two x-rays and last year's MRI. I love it when a doctor gives actual, physical information. And it doesn't hurt that he's the chief of spinal surgery @ Boston Children's Hospital...on top of being Harvard educated and now Harvard educating. So yeah, she may not get to see her cousins every week, but she'll see the world's best doctors whenever needed. Not the same thing at all, but it's something.

Basically, she has three spinal segments without the proper spaces and discs between them. And though they act as one as they should not, they will continue to grow and change. These segments are right above the small of her back, wherein lies the potential problem. The small of her back curves more than usual to make up for the locked vertebra. Her spine does the same above the locked vertebra--which is the most noticeable aspect of malformation. But that area is not quite as risky, if I understand correctly. A perfectly normal spine experiences strain and pain @ the small of the back, so a malformed one is vulnerable to possibly excessive pain. This year's doctor agreed that we are still in the wait-and-see stage, but he had a slightly different input than last year's. He said, basically, should our waiting-and-seeing eyes discover that her malformed segment might in the future cause far too much strain on the rest of her back, we should intervene sooner rather than later. I could tell you what he means by intervene, but I'm not quite ready to go there. 1) We may never have to, and 2) It's kind of a big deal.

We did an x-ray yesterday, but did not need to do an MRI. Thankfully she was not too crushed by that news. She was so looking forward to it! Seriously. That girl.

The x-rays from 2010 and 2011 showed only the slightest change in the problematic area. Yesterdays x-ray showed almost no change at all from 2011. So we're good for now. We'll get an x-ray every year, discuss the issues with the famed doctor, and keep our parental ears open for any signs of abnormal pain or discomfort.

So, that's the dealio, yo.

Blood on Your Hands

You might want to sit down for this one.

I am about to share my most prized recipe. I feel I should hide it under a bushel since apparently the best recipes are kept secret. But then you hear about women dying and taking their recipes with them, and their kids and grandkids can never again taste Mama's Fill-in-the-Blank.

Geez. That's bleak. Sorry.

When I entered into a life-long agreement with a certain red-headed man, far advanced in years, he insisted that Totino's and Hamburger Helper made the world go 'round and cake mixes were better than homemade any day of the week.

For better or worse, Shar, for better or worse.

Being not only a perfectionist but also highly competitive I took that as a challenge. A personal challenge. Problem was I didn't have a lick of kitchen knowledge when we got hitched; you can imagine how trying this has been at times. Nevertheless, I made it my life's goal to break that man. Well, not to break him, but to change his mind....and make sure that he cannot survive a single day without my home cooking.

He's a very stubborn man. And he doesn't have a dramatic bone in his body, so he'd never say, "Oh, Sharla, I simply cannot imagine living without your cookies!!"

Don't get me wrong. He LOVES my cooking and tells me daily that I'm the BEST COOK in the whole world. And I'm pretty sure he means it. But he still loves his Totino's.

As in all life's greatest struggles we have to accept a little bit of defeat along with the victories. And the following victory was hard won.

Red Velvet Cake.

Ah yes, the big, fat Ruby in the crown of the Southern cook's crown.

I have screamed expletives, thrown tantrums, and stained my hands blood-red. But I finally....finally heard those blessed words...

"You know, I think I like yours better."

VICTORY!! I WON!!

(I told you I'm competitive.)

Without further ado, here's the recipe. It started when I found an old school, old lady recipe. I've made some changes and made it my own.

Victory! Red Velvet Cake

*preheat oven to 350 degrees F, and grease 3, round, 8-inch cake pans

**put on an apron! that red food color stains like the dickens

Ingredients:

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. baking soda

3 heaping tsp. cocoa powder

2 cups sugar

2 cups canola oil

2 eggs

1 cup buttermilk

1 tsp. vanilla

2 oz. red food color

1~Mix dry ingredients in a medium bowl, set aside. Combine buttermilk and vanilla, set aside.

2~In large mixing bowl, cream oil and sugar. Add eggs and mix well. Alternately add dry mixture and wet mixture beginning and ending with the wet.

3~Carefully add the red food color--it likes to splash all over the kitchen.

4~Pour into 3 prepared pans. (Immediately put your dirty dishes in the sink to rinse.) Bake for 25-30 minutes. Depending on your ovens tendency, start checking with toothpick and take out as soon as you get a clean end. Allow to cool completely.

Hopefully you'll have pretty edges and you can frost it the traditional way--between layers only. (Especially since it can be such a headache to frost the sides.)

Cream Cheese Frosting

1-8 oz. package cream cheese

1/2 cup butter

2 tsp. vanilla

4 1/2-5 cups powdered sugar

1~Cream butter and cream cheese. Whip it!! Add vanilla. Add powdered sugar to spreading consistency. Frost the cake. (Save a little for tasting. Or a lot.)

2~Prepare to be adored.

What a difference a year makes...

We have had the mildest of winters! For a brand-spanking-new homeowner, this is a very welcome surprise. Our new (old) house has oil heat, and in this decade that is the most expensive form of energy. It is always changing between oil and gas. And maybe electric. Anyway.

I love cold, cold winters and snow, but I am all too thankful for this warm winter. This time last year we were buried! In the '10-'11 winter, New England experienced RECORD snow fall. Like OF. ALL. TIME!!!! B.daddy could probably tell you exact measurements. He is full of amazing knowledge I never know he has. Especially in sports.

I cannot imagine what our oil bill would be to heat this house if we had 22 inches of snow insulating us. Ouch.

This was our neighbor's front yard last year. {Oh, Walter. He's a sweet man.} And, yeah, that's a four foot fence. Our entire, albeit small, yards did not come near to containing the mass of snow. I felt exceeding guilty knowing I would soon escape the Five Month Thaw by moving to Arkansas temporarily.

The kids were enjoying one last sledding trip before we left in Feb. 2011. Oh, what a difference a year makes. I was actually vehemently angry when B.daddy asked me to take this picture. I was inside either packing or doing dishes and laundry, and he was outside having fun with the kids. (Which, in the snow, is something I would not have been doing.) So, it's not like he wasn't sacrificing for me and the kids. But he had the gall to interrupt my ever important cycle of whatever to record a precious, last moment at our old place. The same, old place where all three of our children were conceived, carried, and brought home. The same, old place where we truly began our life together. And I was ticked to have to stop whatever to take this picture. That's the difference this year has made.

I lived for 8 months in other women's homes. I could care less about the fuzz on the toilet or the dishes in the sink. It wasn't my failure I was seeing. And it wasn't theirs. It was just housework. Not self-worth or aptitude or discipline. It was just housework. Who cares if it's perfect? Not. Me. My stress level...my anxiety: plummeted! And I decided: I want to live like this. No, not always in my in-law's basement. ;) But with the same flexibility, that relaxed Devil May Care view. With the same sense of, I Can't Do Everything. Because I can't.

It has not been easy to hang on to that feeling since we've been back. But I must say it is far improved from this time last year. I may be concerned about the gunk in our bathroom, but I'm not as concerned. Life's a journey, not a destination. Right?

So, yeah, I'm still a bit uptight, but not as crazy-uptight. Just ask B.daddy. He knows. All too well.

This pic was taken right after we returned to New England. We were staying with friends in New Hampshire while closing on our house. These kids are rascals. We went to Walmart today. Li'l Bit was laying--LAYING--in the cart reading James Herriot, Ladybug was sitting up front hugging me every three minutes, and Gizmo was perched on the front of the cart being my gargoyle. Literally-->he leans out giving gargoyle faces to all who pass our way. 'Argh!!!' So I'm pushing a cart full of groceries and the weight of three skinny but healthy kids. And this is why we went to Walmart instead of Market Basket. At Market Basket Gizmo would have gotten his nose clipped by some sturdy old gal, while I'm questioned about having school-aged children out before 3 o'clock. Yeah, Walmart has my vote if I have kids in tow.

And this is a picture of Ladybug because I'm always amazed at how beautiful she is. I guess after Li'l Bit I thought it'd be downhill. Shameful, but real. But who'd have known we could see two girls of such exquisite beauty.

Gray Matter

"I must confess, the view from where I sit has been rather grey..."

That's one of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies. It simply resonates.

I've been working very hard over the last few years to learn how to be happy. Rather, I've been learning to allow happiness to take up residence. The journey is slow but productive, and I have a new challenge. When the gray returns suddenly, cyclically...I fear. I'm anxious. I self-batter. I hide. My most destructive conviction is that I am the only mother of all I know who struggles like this. None of my friends are so (fill in the blank) that they allow the wave of gray to wash over them. So I hull up, and all hell breaks loose in my mind. I'm so angry at myself, that I'm angry in general which does not make for graceful mothering. And that is the exponential factor. Miserable to the infinite power.

Of course when I'm not in the midst of the gray, I can look back on that woman from a week ago and cut her a lot more slack. So my challenge is two-fold: to determine if what I see as gray is really just normal, and I'm not perfect; and to stop beating my heart to a bloody pulp every time I'm not walking on sunshine.

I was talking to a dear friend recently, and she was saying to me the things I was angrily confessing to my husband just last week. I was so fed up with myself that I kept calling him day after day telling him that I'm not doing a lick of good here, and these children do not need to be around me all day everyday. But when my friend was sharing her feelings? It didn't phase me a bit. I felt compassion for her inner struggle and peace in the knowledge that she loves her children and is doing the best she can. And then it dawned on me that 1) I was relieved to not be alone in imperfection and self-doubt, and 2) I could treat myself with the same compassion I readily give my friends.

This morning I was reading the new year's Spurgeon book. He was discussing the newness of life Christ provides to the weary Christian. He told a story of a man approaching him confessing the dullness he felt in his faith. "'But as for you, whenever I hear you, you seem to be alive and full of fresh energy.' 'My dear brother,' (Spurgeon) said, 'that is because you do not know much about me.'" He goes on to discuss the newness we should enjoy everyday because of salvation, so I may be taking this way out of context. But can I take this to mean that even Charles Spurgeon had gray moments?! Maybe I'm not such a loser after all.

Maybe I should just ride the wave, and keep learning along the way. Who knows, but I might find some very useful purpose for the gray. Maybe it's not all defeat and destruction. Maybe it's refinement and remodeling of all the various quadrants of my brain.