The Time of Your Life

I came upon a photo today that I had taken of Dale in Italy. He was leaning back in a bistro chair sitting at an outdoor bistro table in front of a trattoria in a charmingly rustic neighborhood in Lucca. His face is relaxed and looking heavenward as he absorbs the early spring sunshine. He is happy to be there, happy to be with me, happy with life. I want to kiss the photo! I want to hold it up against my heart. It makes me happy!

My mind journeys to that moment and how it came to be.  I remember a journal entry I had made while sitting at a table on the terrace of our Florence apartment. Suddenly feeling the need to remember every detail, I look it up...I called it.... 

Midlife Chrysalis

 How peculiar…a mere whisper of a thought, quiet and uninvited, and yet it transformed my life forever.

♣♣♣

Peeking around the green leaves of a blue hydrangea, a young and healthy caterpillar heads out into the wide and marvelous world to explore. Her eyes are filled with wonder envisioning the endless possibilities of things to see and do. Eventually though, being both intelligent and practical, she settles into the important things in life and gets to work, munching and toiling her way towards building her dream home.  Ever aware of the dangers of swooping adversaries, she employs her wit and intuition, and begins spinning and weaving silken strands of thread into a cozy, cradling home.  She works with joy and dedication, until, she takes one last look at the outside world, spins the last thread around her head and closes her eyes to rest.  It is warm and peaceful and she is tired and happy. Contented, she sighs; “That will do.”

And then, a voice, sweet and so soft as to be nearly silent, whispers, “But there’s more”.

♣♣♣

I sit at my kitchen table and scan the elements that make up my earthly kingdom. Polished and gleaming, the fully stocked kitchen makes an attempt to beckon me to try a new recipe. But I ignore that and instead, tilt my head to spy around the large Italian-style fruit arrangement on the table to check the blaze in the family room fireplace.  I approve of its crackling flames assured now that it is sending gray tendrils of lazy smoke up the chimney and out into the mountain air.  The view from the window nearby displays the mountain peaks draped in frocks of glittering snow.  I’ve worked hard to build this dream life.  My husband of thirty-three years is in far off Canada on business, but will be home tomorrow.  He swept me off my feet when I was eighteen years old and the ride has been an exhilarating one.  Kindred spirits from the start we had the same dreams and looked at the wide, wide world with even wider-eyed wonder.  But first, we must eat.  So work, work, work. And then enter the children.  Oh the children!  Two boys.  Two little people, who each, at the moment of their own births, make their way into our hearts and teach us that love actually multiplies to the second power. Through the years we find better jobs, build bigger houses, cheer from the grandstands at baseball games and wave goodbye to little scouts heading out for day camp. We see them go to the university and watch them fall in love with their dream girls.  I cry happy tears at their beautiful weddings and then, just today, my very own, perfect in every way, grandson looked into my eyes with his own crystal blue ones and said, “I love you Gwama”.  I pull the turtle-neck of my cozy cashmere sweater up to my chin and with contentment, I sigh, “That will do!”

And then, a voice, sweet and soft as to be nearly silent, whispers, “But there’s more.”

 Unexpectedly, uninvited tears stream down my cheeks.  The blue satin bow on the tiny white box tagged, “My Childhood Dreams” that has been tucked away in the confines of my heart for all these years is tugged loose and the lid opens. Childhood dreams pour out as if from a Pandora’s Box.  “Me: the artist, the photographer, the writer, the world traveler, the speaker of foreign languages”.  The unrealized titles spin around my head like rare and unattainable butterflies.  And I cry.  I’m too old now, 52, what I have . . . will have to do.

My cell phone rings and then rings again before it jolts me back to reality. I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hands and click it on. 

“Hello?” I say in forced cheerfulness.

“You’re crying!” my husband knows me far to well!

“No, just day-dreaming, what’s up?”

“Pack your bags!” he says.

“Oh, Dale, it’s a bit cold in Toronto right now isn’t it?” I moan.

“No, not to Canada!  You’re going to Florence Italy.”

I’m shocked into silence.  A rarity it seems as he is compelled to ask, “Hey are you still there?”

“Yes, I mean I think so, I mean…huh?”  I attempt to make sense of his words as I try to speak.

He explains, “I just saw a documentary on TV about an art school in Florence Italy. It’s perfect for you!  And I’m sending you there!”

“Oh I couldn’t, I just couldn’t…could I?” I ramble on…more like myself now.

“You’ll have to send some photos of your work and apply.” He instructed.

“Oh there’s the glitch!” I sigh and feel my heart sink from the height it had just soared.

“No, take pictures of your drawings. You can do this.” He persisted. “You’ve spent all these years working in my business, raising the boys, putting everyone else first and now it’s your turn, I want you to do this”.

  

With his voice cheering me on through the cell phone, I made my way up the stairs to my studio/sewing room/craft room/computer room and gazed at the drawings pin-tacked to the wall.  Figure drawings I had done years ago.  “I’ll do it!” I said.  “I WILL DO IT!”  He gave me the web site address and hung up, first reminding me of his arrival time the next morning.

The next moments were more like a child trying to jump into a swimming pool for the first time instead of a middle-aged adult woman.  Step to the edge, back away, try to gain courage, realize you don’t have any.  You really want to…you don’t want to at all. Leave the security of the solid ground and jump into the unknown?  Am I crazy?  Yes!  I decide….Yes, I am!  And I grab my digital camera and take the plunge, I snap picture after picture of my work.  Several, 8x10 glossies later…I download the application from the internet, fill it out in a shaking hand and seal it all in a priority envelope.  Done.

At just what precise moment a caterpillar begins to realize that her chrysalis stage is nearly over and a metamorphosis is approaching, I don’t know.  But this moment was mine.  The silken cocoon, which I had woven around me with love and earnest, was starting to feel a bit tight for my emerging wings.  Wings I hadn’t allowed myself to believe I had!

 ♣♣♣

 And so began my metamorphism and my 8 month sojourn in Tuscany spent stretching and spreading my wings.  I sit at a table now on my canopied terrazzo overlooking the wonders of Florence and scan my adopted kingdom while nibbling on a arugula salad topped with pears, walnuts and pecorino cheese drizzled with golden honey.  Four months into my experience, Dale sold his company and flew to my side, where he has also taken up the art of leisurely lunches, strolls through museums and palaces dripping with the highest quality of inspirational artwork, cooking the Tuscan way, long train rides through valleys adorned with ancient vineyards of grapes and olives and with great contentment, absorbing “la dolce vita”. We'll stay here for at least 4 more months and then we'll spend a summer in the Loire Valley in France for the next adventure.

I thought we would live forever, I thought for sure that Dale would always be by my side. If I had known then that 10 years later he would be gone...would I have believed it?  I couldn't have imagined that I would climb back into that cocoon and have to...albeit reluctantly, force my way out of it and spread my wings once again.

Life is certainly a journey and I see more and more how important it is to value every step along the way. I'm reminded of a thoughtful moment in my mother's later years when she, in all her wisdom, sighed and told me, "You know...Time goes by without you realizing you're having the time of your life."

So for what it's worth, and it's worth a lot.  This, right now, right here... is the time of my life and I'm going to make sure that through the ups and downs, I enjoy it.

Hope Springs Eternal

The first thought that came to my mind as I drove away from home this morning and felt the warmth of the sunshine on my face was “Hope Springs Eternal!”  A proverbial phrase that I have used occasionally throughout my life but just now looked it up to discover it was coined by the poet Alexander Pope in 1732 as part of a poem intended to convey that it is human nature to always find fresh cause for optimism.

I like that. And the fact the word “spring” is used (even though with a different meaning) certainly applies to how I felt on this day, just a few days past the official first day of spring.  The sky was that hue of blue that calms and enlivens at the same time, the clouds were fluffy and white without a hint of snow in them. The grass was working hard to look green among the sprigs of winter brown still lurking in the lawns.

It was the kind of day that made me wish I was a poet.

C.S. Lewis taught; “Don’t say something is delightful, make us say delightful when we’ve read the description.” 

Alas, I’m not a poet or I would be able to express how I felt when moments after driving away I spotted the first Snowdrop flowers of the year –as white as the snow that once covered them but attached to stems colored a true spring green.  There’s no other color as hopeful as spring green don’t you agree? And the blossom’s very smallness, purity, bell shape and  firmness is a perfect way to announce the beginning of spring and offer an inkling of hope!  But my words are not enough; I would so like to be a poet.

If I were a poet I would be able to tell you how I felt when I stopped at the park and saw the squirrels running about, leaping from branch to branch and up and down the trunks of the trees, not in desperate search for food but it seemed they were enjoying the sunshine and the freedom to MOVE.  Not unlike the children on the play equipment, still dressed in warm clothes but laughing and squealing at the pleasure of being outside while their mothers stood together talking and nodding to each other and expressing their joy with animated gestures.

If I were a poet I would be able to express how I felt watching a father and his young son rolling by on their matching skateboards on a dry sidewalk, no ice to dodge!

Or how beautiful the words of a poet would be if she captured how I felt when I heard the chirping of birds or noticed how the sun glimmered on the lake.

Or the moment of joy like an unexpected ray of sunshine I felt at the entrance of a bookstore when a young man opened a door for me and smiled like I mattered. What a hopeful feeling it is to know that chivalry is alive and well.

Oh how a poet would be able to make you enjoy the pleasantry I experienced when I stopped into a French Bakery and nibbled on a Palmier pastry that brought back memories of finding that same kind of gooey delight in the shape of a palm frond in my Easter basket as a child.

If I were a poet I would be able to describe my overwhelming desire to share this “here comes spring” day with Dale! Oh dear, there is that inevitable and involuntary twist of the heart and the heavy sigh.

Quoting C.S. Lewis again (as I often do) “Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.”  

You think you are fine and then…you realize you’re alone, not just alone but the much darker form of loneliness which murmurs "I'm without him."   I yearn to have the poetic words that follow that flow from inner turmoil to "hope springs eternal" or to even have the words that explain how that actually happens over and over and over again. 

Perhaps thinking again of the snowdrop and the children playing and the young man and the French pastry were like moments of wordless poetry that guided me gently from grief to hope. Hope that I can still live a purposeful life. Hope that I can be of service. Hope that I can still love each thing of beauty and each person I meet and make the rest of my life be one that Dale will want to hear all about. And then to hear him say …”That was delightful.” And maybe, just maybe it will be like poetry to his ears.

 I’m hopeful.

Settle Down

A few weeks after Dale died I received a very kind email from a business associate sending her most heartfelt and empathetic condolences. She understood because she had lost her husband 5 years before. I asked her how she survived it.  How did she pull through? She responded, “I simply read all I could find about strong women and used that as my guide”.

I took that to heart and started reading the stories of my ancestor grandmothers. Strong physically, mentally and spiritually, these were women who overcame trials and survived! They were successful in all areas of their lives and were heroes to those who followed.  As I researched, story after heroic story unfolded as if they were telling me, “Hold on, you can do this!”

One morning, not long after the funeral but after everyone had left and I was alone, I was overcome with the burden of getting that huge house and acreage ready to sell and to find a place, yet unknown, to start a new life! A daunting and frightening undertaking. With the weight of the world on my shoulders I walked into the kitchen and stood at the sink. No dishes to do because I had eaten a bite of a leftover sandwich standing in front of the open refrigerator an hour earlier, so opposite from the full-fledged breakfasts that Dale so loved and we prepared together creating mounds of dishes to load into the dishwasher.  But today, the sink was empty and all the dishes and pots and pans and napkins and pitchers and silverware and place-mats were in their places in the shelves waiting for a meal that wouldn’t be happening. The normal routine was not there and the heaviness of grief and worry seemed to have a deafening beat inside my head.  

And then, out of the corner of my eye I saw something moving across the tile floor, OH NO! A trail of ants coming in through the bottom of the door and across the kitchen right up to where I was standing.  That was it.  I’d had it, on top of everything else do I really have to deal with ANTS!! It was like they were suddenly the biggest problem in the universe - the one thing that made all of the rest too much to handle!

And then...I heard a soft feminine voice, a whisper like a soft feather against my ear as if it was coming from someone standing next to my shoulder and also looking at the moving trail, remarking in the most loving tone, “Well, at least they are not rattlesnakes!”

Amazingly, I was instantly calm. I knew it was a grandmother from ages ago telling me to calm down, see this for what it is and that I could do this.  I realized that she’d had it a lot worse in life and survived it all using her wits, courage and much prayer and that gave me strength. And it gave me power...and it gave me...the idea to get the broom and the dustpan and scoop up the ants and carry them out.  I had some good organic ant spray that I used around the base of the door.  Came back in, washed my hands in the sink and fixed a decent breakfast - taking time to thank that thoughtful lady from long ago for caring for me.

Since then I’ve found courage in times when I didn’t think I could. Strength when it isn’t logical that I should have strength.  Calm when I need it most. I continue to discover stories about my ancestors (both women and men) that overcame tremendous heart aches and hardships in their lives. Dale was one of those men. 

Yesterday though I was feeling overcome with the fear of a heavy burden that I was carrying and feeling at the breaking point I suddenly just flipped on the radio and immediately heard Phillip Phillips wailing…

Settle Down, it’ll all be clear

Don’t pay no mind to the demons

They fill you with fear

The trouble it might drag you down

It you get lost, you can always be found

Just know you’re not alone

Cause I’m gonna make this place your home.

And for the very first time in the million times I’ve heard that song, I felt Dale standing next to me, like that thoughtful great great grandmother had done before and he made me understand in an instant that he is in heaven making a home for me in that place!  Not any time soon… but when I’ve done all that I need to do here, he’ll be there ready for me.  That concept instantly calmed me down, I suddenly figured out what it was that I needed to do about that big frustration I had been stewing about (which didn’t seem so big any longer). And you know what? By settling down it became clear, everything isn't just about, nor does it end, here. There is such a wonderful place to work towards.

It’s a happy thought now to ponder that perhaps those strong women who continue to inspire me will come by to visit us in that heavenly home that Dale is busy preparing so I can thank them for their help.

Brave

It takes a certain amount of bravery when a handsome young man is standing in front of you with a diamond ring saying “Will you marry me?” to say..”Yes I will” knowing it changes the course of your life forever. It also takes a certain amount of bravery to stand at the hospital bedside of that same person many years later, hold his hand and whisper to him that it’s ok to “let go” even though it changes the course of your life again.

How did I get to be that brave? How do I bravely face each day now?

I am keenly aware that bravery is a solitary thing.  It’s something that is done on your own. Even if you are surrounded by other people.  Like that first day of kindergarten when you are standing half way between your mother and the door of school house. Safety is running back into the arms of a loving mother, it takes bravery to turn and walk in the door into the great unknown! To do that you have to look inside yourself and without realizing that bravery is not the absence of fear but pushing on anyway, you wave goodbye to Mom, clench your little fists, turn and walk through the door.

You alone make the final determination whether you ride that bike for the first time without training wheels, or jump into a swimming pool the very first time, or become a young woman, or change your hairstyle or wear your first pair of high heels! On your own you fall in love, even though that takes two…you have to be brave enough to let go of your heart and give it to someone else!

You have to be brave to move out of the childhood home where you were loved and cared for by devoted parents all of your life and start a home of your own.  Brave to have children, not only to give birth but to be responsible for teeny tiny human beings who rely on you for everything, every minute of every day. And then when you have loved them through all of their literal and metaphorical bumps and bruises with more love than you thought possible you have to be brave enough to let them go...to brave the world on their own.

On through the years when life gives you problems and challenges you find the courage to move on through them. As Mary Tyler Moore is quoted as saying, “You can’t be brave if you’ve only had wonderful things happen to you.” As part of our life's journey, along with the wonderful things come financial issues, disappointments, loss of grandparents and parents and the dreaded health problems requiring us to put on our brave.

Hillary Weeks in her song “Brave” ardently prompts us:

In the moments when the walls seem way to high,
trust your instincts, breath and start to climb,
Cause you have always been...

Brave, you are brave!
Let your brave come through and let it define you,
Cause you were meant to be brave…

When you think you can't,
Strong when you have fallen,
Bold enough to stand and be...

Brave. Brave. Brave, you are brave!
Let your brave come through and let it define you,
Cause you are meant to be...

Brave, you are brave!

I recently came across a love letter Dale had written to me many years ago when I was away from home visiting my family and he wrote, “…I’m thinking of the challenges we have faced in our marriage but so grateful that none of our problems were with each other”.  Definitely holding hands and linking our courage together was a stronger force than just one brave person alone. But nothing in all of these years of being brave, alone or united, fully prepared me for being without him. Mainly because it’s a constant and ongoing thing this bravely facing the world alone now. I wake up every morning, discern the need (yet again) to put on my brave and find a purpose in order to make it through another day. Because the truth is, as to quote (in part) Jason Mraz in his song I won’t give up…

I don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
I'm here to stay and make the difference that I can make

But glancing once again at the post-it note on the edge of my computer screen that spurs me on by proclaiming, “You Brave, Brave Warrior You!” I am well aware that even though I’ve used my personal free agency to bravely maneuver through these challenges that…well…it always starts with a prayer and then...

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains

You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas

I am strong, when I am on your shoulders

You raise me up, to more than I can be

And that’s really the true secret to being brave right? Every decision to be brave, from entering the kindergarten doors to now starts with a prayer.

The Soroptimist Club

When I was a very young girl living in a small town, my father belonged to the Soroptimist Club. (A business club a the time for all professionals, today mainly for women).  

He would attend the meetings and would come home..well…happy!  I had recently learned the word hippopotamus in school and wondered if Soroptimist was similar so I asked, he chuckled and explained that an Optimist is someone who sees the best in things.  He is able to look at the world as a positive place and the challenges as opportunities to make it better. And a Soroptimist is a super optimist.

 His club met to resolve the town’s problems in a positive way like designing the park so that it would be a fun and safe place for little children to play or making certain there were good books in the library for us to read. 

I liked the idea of being a Soroptimist and I decided that very day that I wanted to be one.

I have to admit though that finding joy and being an optimist, let alone a sorpotimist since Dale died has taken a lot of emotion and time and genuine effort.

I’ve done a pretty good job at patching my broken heart as I’ve journeyed the long road without him and a few days ago I finally felt strong enough to enter the garage and stand and look at the tall metal shelf filled with big plastic file boxes many of them labeled “Dale”. I sighed and hesitated just long enough to determine if I was strong enough and then whispered…”Ok, Dale tell me which one!” One seemed to stand out to me so I pulled and pulled and shifted things and pulled again and out it came.  I carried it to the house and plopped it onto the table. It was heavy. It was sealed with rainbow colored duct tape. I remember sealing it up as I packed things up after he died thinking…”Someday I’ll be able to do this”. Once again I hesitated, was this the “someday”?  I decided it was and quickly pulled off the tape before I could change my mind.

A dusty file smell permeated the room. Old papers, old treasures and then I saw a large file with dozens of cds. Cd’s he had hired to be made of all of our family and ancestor photographs. Thousands of photos! It was a hidden treasure.  Which one first! Everything was labeled by number, few by name so each will be a fun discovery…but wait…there is a silver one that isn’t labeled at all.  I decided to check that one out first so that I could label it or throw it away if it was blank or unnecessary. I opened the cd slot on my computer and popped it in. Whirring Whirring Whirring and then….a scratchy title…it was our wedding video from 1971!  It had been transferred to this dvd from old 8 mm video film!  For an hour I sat at my computer entranced and the amazing thing is that I didn’t cry, I didn’t feel the pain of his death, I didn’t hurt….I simply FELL IN LOVE WITH HIM ALL OVER AGAIN!.

This wasn’t just another Band-Aid on my heart it felt like…like…Healing!

L. Tom Perry is credited with saying “Enduring to the end is definitely not a Do-It-Yourself project”. With a great amount of gratitude and humility I have arrived at this point with steady and sustained progress with the help of my compassionate family and friends and in every lonely moment of every passing day as so beautifully written in Psalms (147:3): “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”

 I am blessed.  I am healing and I am definitely…still in love with my best friend.