Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away some women, barely women, girls really, met to cut fabric up into tiny pieces and proceed to sew it all back together again in different configurations. This was our art and we called it ‘quilting’ and we called ourselves ‘the material girls’. We met every Wednesday at one our homes and slepped our sewing machines, buckets of fabric, cutting mats and blades in an attempt to make time to engage in this antique craft of sewing and sisterhood.
Because we were all interested and devoted to this bonding craft (pun intended) we tended to have the same taste in food, décor and clothing. We were all a little bit country and ranchy so we were quite comfortable in our surroundings wherever we were meeting that week. We were home.
Some of us were more creative than others and some of us were more experienced sewers than others, some of us had a better eye for fabric but we all had expertise in some area and we gleaned from each other. We found our common ground in this wholesome practice. We were young enough to have littles that we often dragged along. The hostess would always make something delectable to eat. We were a group of bakers and cooks that loved to feed the 5000. We devoured fresh cinnamon buns, chocolatey brownies, decadent soups and stews, picnic sandwiches, flakey scones with strawberries and cream, quiche, hot chocolate, coffee, tea, hot apple cider. Wednesday was my favorite day of the week. That was another era, another life. A life and a practice that I miss greatly but feel privileged to have been a part of.
By noon, all of our fabrics, scissors, irons and ironing boards, cutting mats, thread, quilting magazines and patterns were strewn across the hostesses’ home. We spread ourselves throughout the kitchen, living room, bedrooms, basement. Wherever we could to find a niche for the day and focus on whatever project we were working on. We oohed and awed over everyone’s glorious new fabrics and patterns. We debated whether to use cotton thread or polyester threads, whether to use cotton batting or fiberfill, whether to use flannel or not (we were definitely a flannel loving group). Our love of flannel surpassed only by our love of plaid. We were stitching love into every quilt that we poured over for months in anticipation of gifting one of our children or siblings or parents. There is just something about making a covering for a loved one. We like to equate ourselves with the Proverbs 31 woman – She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands…. She sets about her work vigorously;… When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet…. She makes coverings for her bed;… We felt dignified and purposeful as we planned projects for the future and engaged in them in the present.
Sitting around the living room stitching or chain piecing we talked about all the problems of the world and our own circle of lives. We encouraged each other, prayed with each other, laughed with each other, we often gave and received sage advice (a couple of our mother’s belonged to the group so they were much like the Titus women of the group). We learned much more than how to sew cute little squares of fabric together to form an artistic design. At about 3:30pm we would all rush off to pick our kids up from school and get home to make dinner for the hubs.
Approximately once a year, we would plan a retreat, a weekend away at someone’s cottage or mountain condo or often,  a quaint little bed and breakfast and we would slepp all of our tools of the trade to this destination and we would quilt from sunrise until the wee hours of the morning. At the end of the weekend we would display our quilts and take pictures of them for posterity. These were wonderful times of sisterhood. Truly. We would usually go for a walk in the middle of the day just to get the blood in our legs flowing again. When we met at someone’s cottage we would all chip in and be responsible for one meal. The food we ate was so delicious and healing – it was definitely a part of the experience. When we met at the bed and breakfast our food was made for us and it was such a decadent treat to have someone else provide us with down home fresh farm cooking and baking.
I remember one such weekend, travelling through a blizzard in subzero temperatures to get to our retreat. We knew what was waiting for us at the other end. Lovely beds made of willow, covered with flannel quilts and garlands of mini lights illuminating the windows so we could lay in bed and watch the falling snow. A large farm table laden with homemade bread, soup and stew and lovely fruit pie for dessert. A heated concrete floor in the workshop area. Ducks to greet us on the path each morning. I happened to be driving my van that particularly stormy weekend and it was no small relief when we finally pulled up in front of the Inn. (I would never make that drive in those conditions now). The next morning none of our cars would start. Not that we needed to go anywhere but we thought we would start them due to the bitter cold. The owner of the Inn got each car going, an added blessing for no extra charge.

The material girls will never let me forget the weekend we drove out to a cottage at Sylvan Lake and I was responsible for breakfast so I brought my bread machine along so we could have fresh cinnamon buns but when it came down to piecing I realized I had left my sewing machine at home. Everyone howled. Luckily there are many aspects to quilting that don’t involve a sewing machine.
The girls like to tease me about my propensity for making quilt tops. That’s as far as I would get. My joy was in choosing the fabrics and getting the design together and the rest of process was just tedious. They suggested I open a store called Toppers for those that don’t feel adequate to make tops but can do the rest of the process. I still have quilt tops buried in Rubbermaids in the basement. To be fair, I taught myself to stipple (a process where you use the sewing machine to meander your quilt together) so I did manage to bring quite a few quilts to fruition.
As life evolved I ended up working in a charming little quilt shop for 6 years. I was in my element. My task was to choose fabrics for Block of the Month quilts. These were quilts that usually had 12 blocks to complete and quilters would order these BOM quilts from all over the globe and I would choose the fabrics and cut out the pieces the size that they would need for that block. Then they would be packaged up and mailed out. The buyer would receive one block each month and at the end of the year she’d have a quilt.  Very often I was the only staff member at the shop on a Monday morning and I would let myself in and wander the shop before customers would arrive and marvel at the racks of gorgeous cotton fabrics and dream about my next project. I wanted to make everything in sight. This phase of my life was such a blessing. I am so glad that it was my experience. Those were simpler days when we weren’t so caught up in social media and the demise of our world.
Another running joke was when one of us was making a quilt as a wedding gift. Inevitably it would be the day of the wedding and the quilt was not finished. So we would give a card explaining that these things take time and its coming. We found a singer who wrote all her songs about quilting. One of her songs was about the imfamous ‘wedding quilt’. It was called ‘It Aint Finished Yet’. Even now, I have a wedding quilt sitting in my studio that I put together for a wedding 10 years ago and it still isn’t finished. I could easily have hand quilted it by now.

I long for those leisurely days of engaging in a craft that was healing and fulfilling. I still have buckets of quilt fabric stashed in my basement. When we last moved, I was wondering if I should get rid of it now that I was immersed in the corporate world but I felt a voice in my spirit telling me to keep the fabric because I would be making good use of it in the future. So I kept it and it’s been calling my name lately.
Those were the days my friend, I wished they’d never end. Since then our kids have grown and dispersed and we have taken on new responsibilities and the days of playing Little House on the Prairie are over as we have entered a season of busyness, stress and exhaustion and we long for a simpler, more wholesome era. I’ve got my memories…. and my quilts.

Well here it is again. Thursday. I do not work on Friday’s (ever). My company’s way of cutting back on expenses. I’m fine with it. In fact, I’ll probably never want to work Friday’s ever again. I have realized there is no point in getting bummed out on Sunday night because tomorrow is Monday because in the blink of an eye it will be Thursday again. My life seems to be passing before my very eyes. Am I dying? Well of course I am but you get the picture.  If there is any good habit you need to implement for 21 days or 6 weeks or 12 weeks or whatever, get doing it right now, today, because that time period is going to pass you by faster than you could get run over by a train and you’ll be on the other end wondering why you didn’t get started sooner? You could have hit your goal by now. Preaching to myself.

This week was especially wonderful because I did not have any obligations in the evenings. I’ve had a full week of just doing anything I want. That rarely happens. I needed it. I didn’t get much done but I did enjoy it. I came home and changed into my lulu’s for comfort (not because I was going to workout) and my uggs for warmth and flopped myself down by the fire with a book and my iPad and then proceeded to doze until Mike came home from work and beyond. It was lovely. No one needing me. No one calling me. No one wanting me to be somewhere.

I was starting to feel guilty for this behavior but I know that everyone needs some self-care and its time I just took care of myself. Not that I’m Florence Nightingale or Mother Theresa by any stretch but I tend to do what’s urgent and expedient. I like to fix situations and rescue people and if anything falls to the bottom of the list – it’s usually whatever only benefits moi.

For whatever reason, I am tired. I am, more often than not, exhausted these days. My soul is weary and it spills over into the physical realm. I noticed it the other night when I literally dragged my wheelie gym suitcase up the stairs to my bedroom at the end of the work day. I could barely get it up the stairs and I had been OK lifting weights at 5:30 in the morning at the company gym but by this time of day it was a mammoth task just to hoist that thing up the stairs, down the hall, through the bedroom and to its final resting place in the middle of the closet floor (where I will inevitably trip on it in the middle of the night as I am walking around working out leg cramps). I was done.

I’ll be honest, last year was a tough year for me. It had its high points but most of it was laborious. I was sick much more than I am used to. I was on meds and going to walkin clinics more than I like to. I gained more weight than I would have liked to. Yeah, I just wanted to gain a little bit….. I was overwhelmed with personal and family hardships that I saw no end to. Things I had been praying about for years, still not resolved. I reread my journals and realized that I was still dealing with the same issues that I had been writing about for seven years. I was dragging. In fact, I am pretty sure I was depressed. Even cleaning my house had lost its joy. Yes – my normal self likes to clean (mainly because I enjoy the results). But my bathrooms would surely be condemned if the city inspectors decided to visit. We’d have to move out so please do not call them.

Last week one of the guys I work for retired. I have never been so jealous of someone retiring. It was weird because I usually feel sorry for retirees because they are SO old and their coming the final chapter of their lives. I surprised myself with this realization. I’m not even close to retirement according to my bank account. Then I attended a retirement session yesterday put on my company’s benefits provider. As I drove home from work I found myself dreaming about the day when I wouldn’t have to get up at 4:30 to get to the gym by 5:30 and be at my desk by 7:30 – rain or shine. OK snap out of it Sleprock! Get a grip…you’re not even 60 yet. lts too soon to start winding down. In fact, I have noticed the Bible doesn’t even speak of retirement. People just worked until they died. They didn’t have these 20 or so years after they quit work to live the high life. These days 60 is the new 40 so I’d better suck it up.

I did make it my goal this year to get in the best health of my life – I wait until I am 59 to do this?? Better late than never. So I made appointments with a naturopath from my husband’s office and also with my regular MD and have been on a steady schedule of Dr. appointments, lab tests, food sensitivity testings, ultrasounds etc. all on my precious Friday’s off, in an attempt to find out exactly what I am dealing with and what my starting point is. My naturopath is healing my gut supposedly and my MD is trying to find out why my liver enzymes are wonky. I am teaching myself to cook and eat healthier – I’m off sugar at the moment (Ok I have cheated a bit) (OK a lot) but my withdrawal symptoms were not pleasant so I decided to slowly ween myself which is dicey business since sugar is more addictive than cocaine, so I’ve read and experienced. And you crave what you feed yourself so if I give into even a tiny smidgen of sugar I will want more. Vicious cycle. I’m attempting to workout 5x a week – I’ve only made it to 3 so far. A consistent 3 but even 5 seems daunting. Once I attain 5, what more can I do? And after I have done all this, the eating clean, the working out, the doctor appointments….I come home and crash for the weekend.

Because I have been feeling like life is just so onerous lately. Like every step is difficult as if I am walking through 3 feet of snow (the scene from War & Peace comes to mind – the one where all the people are trudging through the snow at gun point). Very often I feel like my butt is attached to a chair in the living room as I try to force myself to get up and cook, clean, do laundry, write, workout..whatever. I sigh a lot and Lexie also pointed out that I say “Oh dear” a lot. I mean a lot…’Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear’. That sounds like a defeated existence. I’m trying to change that expression to “All is well” but often I forget. The majority of times I verbalize those words it’s to myself but it’s important how we talk to ourselves and what we tell ourselves. Because, for whatever reason, we tend to believe ourselves. I mean, if we can’t believe ourselves, who can we believe? So we had better tell ourselves the truth.

To be fair, I have been doing a lot of reading and writing and cooking on the weekends. I have found a new author that I love and have bought all 5 of her books and have read them all once and a couple of them twice. She is me 20 years ago. She is my kindred spirit. Everything she says I could have written. All her thoughts – I’ve had them. All her fears and insecurities – yes I can relate. Her philosophy on food and celebration and hospitality – yes, yes, yes. So all of January and February I have been living someone else’s life. Now its time to get back to my own. It’s been fun but my bathrooms need cleaning.

I’ve even been getting lazy in choosing my clothes and decorating my house. I just don’t want the stress anymore. Why is it all of a sudden stressful? I have always loved doing these things. Not that being a fashion queen or a decorating diva is the be all and end all or even what I should be doing but I have always loved these things in the past and been energized by them and now….it just all seems like so much work. Just when I was feeling like I would like someone to take care of me for a change – Mike brings me home a  Starbucks on Saturday as I am sitting at home putzing and then the cleaning fairy showed up and cleaned my bathrooms last night.

I have laid the ground work in January and February to make good on my goals. I have seen the Docs. I have started a regular workout regime. I’ve hosted cooking club to learn new cleaner recipes and continue to experiment on my own. My husband reconfigured my kitchen island so it is one level and has much more prep space or entertaining space. I’ve started a blog – the outlet I will use to get my book written. I read the books for inspiration and I’ve been busy writing and training myself how to do my own stock photography. Now I just have to get back into a regular schedule of domestic engineering, which previously was my forte. Why is it so much more gratifying to read by the fire with a little jazz playing in the background? Or slip out to the local Chapters/Starbucks for a little fix? More Peach Tranquility tea and more reading material.

Now its Monday and it was massive struggle to get to work this morning because of my mind.

And now its Wednesday. Like I said, life flashing before my eyes. As I contemplate what has changed in my life to make me so exhausted and as I read for discovery, it occurs to me that maybe I am exhausted because I am carrying too much. Carrying more than I can bear. More than I was meant to drag through life. I know I have been stressed for sure because I am carrying these burdens that are too big for me – for too long. I hate to admit that because I have always been energetic and efficient. I have always been a person that gets things done. I am not a perfectionist…I’m more about getting it done. Let’s make this happen and let’s not get hung up on perfection. Perfectionism never gets anything done. As I mentioned, I have always been a fixer and a rescuer. Over time I guess that gets exhausting. It’s not even my place to fix everything or rescue everyone but for whatever reason I am compelled to give it my best shot.

As you can see I have been contemplating this in writing for a week now (and in my head for many more weeks previous to that). I am really searching for answers. An example of a situation that stresses me out and drains me is the whole issue of my girth.  I’m going to be very vulnerable here. I have always struggled with my … um… girth and probably will continue to do so. I just have one of those bodies that is not small and tends to like to retain its …er…fat. Fat loves me. What can I say? Lucky me. And my entire life, if I don’t keep on top of my weight EVERY SINGLE DAY OF EVERY SINGLE WEEK OF EVERY SINGLE MONTH any pounds I thought I had lost seem to seek me out again. They just don’t want to leave me. And as long as I am watching every morsel that goes in my mouth and getting up at ungodly hours to beat my body into submission and make it my slave (I’m not a very successful task master) and get my 8 hours of sleep at night which is hard to come by because I stay up late preparing the food that I am supposed to have at the ready so I don’t eat junk then, and only then, can I see any slow progress is shedding my clinically obese poundage. Just going to the grocery store to get this food on the weekend played me out. SO….What are you gonna do? And by you, I mean me.

For some reason, every time I take all this to the Lord in prayer and sit quietly waiting for His answer the verse “Let us not get TIRED of doing what is right” comes to mind. “Let us not get tired of doing what is right for after a while you shall reap a harvest of blessing if you don’t get discouraged and IF you DON’T GIVE UP”. I can still hear Danniebelle’s voice in my head….”Hold on, keep on holding on!” The Lord wants me to hold on and not give up. He also wants me to give everything to Him and quit dragging it around as if I have a better solution than He does. Every concern, every task, every fear, every insecurity, all my confusion, my exhaustion…all of it. He said “His yoke is easy and his burden is light” Why does it feel so hard and heavy? Maybe because I am carrying my own yoke and not HIS. My yoke IS heavy because it is filled with unrealistic expectations and selfishness and pride and greed. Shall I go on? Ahh….now its all starting to make sense.

I also know that the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His names sake. He restoreth my soul.” In the past I have found that when I find myself exhausted it’s usually because I am trying to do everything in my own strength instead of giving it all to God. So often when I have read the story of the Israelites and the Exodus I have thought to myself “How stupid can you people be? After all God has done for you and Moses turns his back for 5 minutes and you are whining and complaining and back to worshipping idols?” I hate to admit this but I see quite of bit of “Israelite” heritage in myself often. After all God has done for me, why am I now trying to live this live as if everything depended on me? Family and friends can attest to the fact that they have often heard me declare “I’m not paying somebody to do that, I can do it myself”, “I’m not asking them to do that for me, I can do it myself”, “I’m not waiting for that to transpire, I will make it happen myself”. This is not a very good character trait for a Christ follower to have. Because I can’t do it all myself nor do I need to. The idea that I can do everything myself stems from pride. Pride cometh before a fall. Any time I am puffed up because of something I think I have accomplished all on my own, a pride adjustment usually follows.

So maybe God is just trying to get my attention again. ‘I can do ALL things through Christ who gives me strength”. I CAN do ALL things if I do them with Christ’s strength. How often I forget that I have that power at my disposal. I usually trudge through life trying to get by on my own. Why would I do that?

I think a time of quiet surrender is in order. Time for some spiritual yoga. A time for unloading and renewing submission. I want to lay down in those green pastures and I want those still waters to be in my line of sight. I want my soul restored because I am confident that my physical being will be restored as well. I still have a lot of life to live and I want to live in HIS strength.

“Let us not get tired of doing what is right, for after a while we shall reap a harvest of blessing, if we don’t get discouraged and if we don’t give up”. Galatians 6:9

I’ll keep you posted.

(Get it?  I’ll keep you POSTed.  Indeed I will.)

Every now and again I have this light bulb moment and it occurs to me that I am a full fledged adult.  Not just an adult but what I used to call ‘old’ when I was my kids ages.  I realize that I am one of these perpetual teenagers trapped in an adult body.  I mean what was it about the wedding, the two births, the mortgage, the life insurance, the business loan,  the bursitis …. that didn’t register with me???

Sometimes I still find myself wanting my own way and not understanding why I can’t have it (I’m of Israelite heritage).  I longingly desire to wear all the cute little outfits that the young women are wearing these days and imagine myself looking absolutely adorable and irresistible in them and then I get a side long glance of myself in a store window or mirror and think ….don’t be ridiculous, that shipped has sailed honey.  I’ve had to bring my heel height down a couple of inches this year do to corns and hammer toes.  Whenever I see women my age wearing mini skirts or short shorts with 6″ stillettos and white lumpy legs, a ruffly blouse with far too much cleavage exposed,bleeding lipstick and over processed hair….I want to scream at them….”Do you own a mirror?”  Thats one of the reasons I am grateful that my 22 year old daughter (hello) is living at home again.  I’ve asked her to never let me leave the house dressed inappropriately..several times, she has asked “Are you going out like that?” and I cleverly retort “Of course not, just checking the dryer to see if my real clothes are ready”.

I mean just this week I was talking to Doug (my hairdresser) about the most effective method to hide any grey hair that might want to shine through….news flash! My doctor recommended a 24 hour blood pressure monitor for me last month to determine if I had white coat syndrome or not (I do BTW).  In April I had a colonoscopy…hello?  They don’t give those to 25 years olds.  Drinking that collite poison was the worst part….I asked myself “Is this really necessary?”…but since there seemed to be a five year waiting list I thought maybe I should go through with it while I still had a colon to scope.  Then there was the life insurance fiasco…I mean renewal. How much?   Lets take the money and go on a Greek cruise instead…but no,  that wouldn’t be prudent.  When I was a kid I was going to eat Captain Crunch for breakfast every single day of my adult life…..that didn’t happen either.  Who knew Captain Crunch wasn’t good for you?  Who cared??

I went to buy tickets to a movie the other week and I told the girl “it’s the one with Barbra Striesand in it” and she gave me a blank stare. I said “You don’t have a clue who Barbra Streisand is do you?”…she shook her head.  Ok I said “I think it has Seth Rogan in it too”…Her eyes light up, now she knows what I am talking about. (Everyone in the theatre was about our age or older BTW).  We can always tell if we are going to like the movie when we look around and see what age people are in the theatre  (usually its too late by then we are drunk on popcorn and butter and don’t really care what the movie is about).

My daughter went to a wedding this weekend.  I find my kids always ask me  “Do I need to take a gift?”  I say “that is usually what is expected”.  The problem is that these days the younguns don’t want to invite Mom and Dad’s friends to the wedding….they don’t want a bunch of old biddies and people they don’t know there, but hello?  we are the ones with jobs and money….your peers don’t have money for wedding gifts (they are barely aware of the protocol of bringing one).  One of the reasons the parents invited all their friends in years gone by was so that you could be decked out with everything you would need to play house (which BTW, is what I feel like I am doing most of the time).

Well most of the parents have jobs….except me.  I had a perfectly good job but my boss decided to retire (he was only 9 years older than me) and I was out on the street.  Finding a job these days is a lot different than it was back when I was 25.  First of all most of the HR experts are 12 years olds and I’m pretty sure when I walk into the interview they are counting those glistening greys hairs peeking through and checking out the lumpy white legs and asking themselves “What is she thinking?”  She probably thinks Microsoft Suite is a new hotel in town.   Has she ever rebooted a computer?  She probably thinks Outlook is the weather forecast for the day. And what the hell is in that piece of luggage she is trying to pass off as a purse?  Hey kid, at least I have the strength to carry it all day long…..anything you need?  Just ask me….Im sure I’ll have it and it will save your life.  Possibly they are thinking,  you are actually going to work (hard and long and smart) aren’t you? and then you’ll just make the rest of us look bad….not going to let that happen.  Slam!

So my life has been filled with adult responsibility for years and I still didn’t clue in.  I mean where was I when I grew old(er)?  Why do I still feel 25 on the inside?  Why do I still want to do 25 years old things?  Why do I see a 25 year old when I look at myself in the mirror and then when I see an actual photo of myself….my heart stops beating?  Who is that woman?  I vaguely remember having an outfit like that and being at that venue….but I don’t have jowls!  Seriously,  who is that lady?

But….here I am, building, buying, decorating and living in a home and paying a mortgage.  Last year proudly attending the graduation of my son from University and sending care packages to my daughter living in London, England. Desperately trying to find a corporate job so I can contribute to our retirement fund…oh, wait,  we don’t have one.  Thus, the job.  Blindly giving wise and mature advise to my two adult children who didn’t ask for it….teehee.

Often we are invited to our other adult friends homes for an adult dinner party and as I sit around the table drinking wine, listening to jazz, eating gourmet cuisine, talking about our adult kids and our vacation plans, our homes, our cars, how to take care of our aging parents or deal with a difficult boss….its like I am having an out-of-body experience and the voices seemed muffled….its all very pleasant and I enjoy it…but I find myself wondering why these people can’t sense that I am an imposter in their midst.  Just a 25 year old pretending to be an adult.

From June 29, 2013

 

 

Margie and Louise Boss’s house…that is where it all started. In thinking about moving and all the preparations I have yet before me to relocate us to another house I ponder with bittersweet affections about “home”. Are we moving from a home into a house?? Are we leaving a house for a home (to call our own) or are we merely moving our “home” aka our love and fondest memories to a new address.

I remember living in Regina when I was about 9 years old. I believe I attended Grade 4, 5 and 6 at St. Pius X. I had very good friends there..Margie and Louise Boss and they lived in the most magnificent house I had ever seen. Well at least to my 9 year old perception…it was amazing and I loved going there. It was an older house with much character. Brick and/or stone on the outside as I recall and surrounded by plenty of old wonderful trees. The inside was full of nooks and crannys and it had wonderful vintage furniture…it was so homey and comfortable and there were usually homemade cookies when I was lucky enough to get invited over….I would think of any excuse to go to Margie and Louise’s house (I would pick them for project partners and join the same extracurricular activities as they…anything so our paths would cross often). I think it was the memory of this house indelibly etched in my brain that set the blueprints for the kind of house I would want to raise my children in sometime in the distant future. I didn’t even know this was formulating in my subconscious mind.

This year we are moving to a “new” house…new in every way. I believe I am going to have to secure therapy for my own kids to navigate the move with the least emotional damage. (These are adult children, 19 & 22). They are utterly devastated to be leaving their childhood home. They are dragging their heels on all fronts. I can’t get them to pack up their rooms or get excited about the move or talk about decorating ideas. Every suggestion is met with distain. In fact the weekend I told my daughter we were buying a new house…she didn’t speak to me all weekend. I took her to see the showhome, thinking that seeing the wonderfulness of the new home would change her course but it only made it worse. She hated everything about the house…and did not want to talk about it. In fact tomorrow she is hosting a tea party with her childhood chums and their moms in honor of all the many precious memories she has experienced in our current home, before I start to dismantle it on Monday. I do use the word “home” on purpose as this is why this move is a crisis in their minds. The day we moved in to our new home she took off for New Zealand for 3 months.

At first I was upset that they were upset and I thought they were being unreasonable but it has started to occur to me that what they feel for this “home”- the house we live in now is exactly what I wanted them to feel. This was my goal and it all started at Margie and Louise Boss’s house. I was never fond of the idea of moving and upgrading and uprooting every two years or so. (Because this is what we did all of my childhood…moved every couple of years…always having to make new friends and live in uncomfortable houses…just when it started to feel like home we were uprooted again). My idea of home was find a place you love and stay there forever, make memories and always have somewhere to come home to. Let the place grow and evolve with the family. God has allowed me the fulfillment of that dream. The fact that my kids love their home and don’t want to let go of it tells me that I was successful in providing the wonderful atmosphere for home that I always dreamt of.

The kids remember all the cookies baked in this “one bum” kitchen (Lexie even has taken to baking cookies as a hobby), they remember the tea parties hosted, the wonderful Christmases, the umpteen birthday parties (all with a different theme), the backyard BBQ’s, the growth of the trees, the games played and movies watched (All the princess and Christmas movies), the sleepovers, the sewing classes I taught in the basement, our home group get togethers, the fun on the trampoline (laying on it at night and watching for falling stars – this was how we discovered Andrew needed glasses), our wonderful dog-Oliver (who passed away in that backyard in Andrew’s arms), the many rabbits and birds that have made our backyard their home, the snowmen built, walking around the reservoir (and picking Saskatoon berries and throwing Grandpa’s ashes in the reservoir), our long afternoons at Heritage Park riding the caterpillar (so close to home), Camping out in the backyard, their wonderful bedrooms, the seasonal decorating (that will continue), the Grow Op across the street, the hail that killed my plants and damaged our roof, the homework and projects done around the kitchen table, the stories read (finding a little nook and hiding out to read all afternoon or evening(Harry Potter) – I enjoyed doing that myself), the cousins and grandparents visiting and most recently for Andrew being able to come “home” from University where there is food in the fridge, laundry done, warm bed, surrounded by all your favorite things….sitting by the fireplace (which Lexie has been doing all week).

When I first laid eyes on our current home….I fell in love with it instantaneously. There were several obstacles that needed to be dissolved but one by one they disappeared and God allowed us to live in this wonderful house. I fell in love with the huge backyard (full of evergreen trees) before I even saw the inside of the house. I loved the double front doors. Once inside, I loved the stone fireplace and mantle and the wonderful flagstone patio and wall I could see through the dining room window, I loved the one bum kitchen with its entire wall of cupboards and little eating nook. I loved the main floor laundry and the little room off to the side that I imagined as a sewing room (we used it for that for many years and now it is a computer room), it even had a little milk door slot thingy in it-still does actually. For you millennial’s –   (In the olden days people used to get their milk delivered and the milk man would put it in this little cubby so he wouldn’t have to bother you at 4:00am and you would just leave the money in the cubby for him.  Life was so simple bafck then). I digress –  Then I went upstairs and saw these two wonderful rooms on either end of the hall with these quaint slanted ceilings and a window in the middle and I knew this was where I wanted to raise my kids. I gave one room to each of them. I had no idea we would live in this house for 16 ½ years….we literally raised our kids here. This house had SO much character and it became our home. We painted the walls red and green, we stenciled sayings and scriptures on the walls (as in the Word it says to write them on your doorposts and foreheads), we put up our own window coverings and light fixtures, Mike made little sitting areas here and there for us to hang out in, We took furniture out into the backyard to have an outdoor living room, we bought a swing which we swung on for hours and had many memorable talks on, we bought a gazebo to hang out in during the summer months, I semi finished off the basement as a sewing studio and classroom, we worked out in the basement and Mike installed a big screen and projector for watching our favorite movies. Lexie was always afraid to go to the basement alone because of the spiders. I love the fact that we had a computer on every level and would MSN each other to come for dinner or to talk….technology. So this house became our home in every way.

Of course the kids don’t see the same things Mike and I see. They don’t see the tree root problem in the backyard that sabotages our garburator. They don’t realize that it is just a matter of time before we have another sewer backup. They don’t see the daylight between the walls and the door frames or feel the cold air coming in through the antiquated windows. It doesn’t bother them that only one person can fit in the kitchen or that I don’t appreciate the bathroom aromatherapy that permeates the kitchen when the main floor bathroom is used (Not to mention the sounds…LOL). They don’t realize how much work that yard is to maintain. Up until they started to drive they didn’t understand the detached garage thing….not that just having a garage isn’t a luxury but now we will have an attached garage (bonus). They don’t hear the creaky staircase in the middle of the night because they are usually the ones making it creak as they sneak in when we are already asleep (not). I’m not sure they even are inconvenienced by the fact that there is only one shower facility in the house and no proper ventilation in that bathroom so Mike has repaired the peeling roof many times, plus it is freezing in there and there is not enough hot water for more than two showers and there are four of us. I think they have finally begun to understand that if anyone is having a shower, you can’t flush the toilet, use the washing machine or dishwasher or even fill the sink for dishes as the person in the shower screams bloody blue murder when they are scalded or shot with a blast of ice water.

My heart leaps for joy as it occurs to me that (with the Lord’s guidance) that I was able to make our house a “home”. A home is not about the 4 walls it is about what goes on inside those 4 walls. You’ve heard the expression “Home is where the heart is”…that is so profound because truly home IS where the heart is and right now Andrew and Lexie’s heart is with this “home” but what they have yet to unearth is the fact that home is about being with people you love and that love you…home is about safety and memories and they will still have all of this in the new house. We will be packing our memories and our love up with the rest of our earthy possessions and moving it all over to 230 Bridlerange Place. By wisdom a house is built, but by understanding it is established. It is wise to build a house and then fill it with the understanding that it is love and memories that make it a home.

If I could use this move as an analogy of what God has taught us…this world is not our home. We are moving on to something far better….so we are not to get too attached to it. We need to let go of something great for something far better. I believe it is the same with moving on earth….we need to let go and make room for something better. God’s best. We must be careful not to hold SO tightly to the past that we don’t make room for the future. Letting go is hard, to be sure. I have experienced this in the entire process of letting go of my kids (not to say I have achieved this yet-I’m working on it). We want to hang on so tightly…there is a certain safety in hanging on (for dear life) and yet not. I believe God has revealed to me that “Behold He IS doing a new thing…Can we not perceive it?”….I, for one, can perceive it. For Mike and I, it is time for a change. Those of you who have been married for 28 years and counting know that we need to let go of past pain and disappointment and stress….it is said that a change is as good as a rest and I am ready for a rest. I believe God has SO much in store for us in this new place. No it is not the Trump Tower, the Playboy Mansion, the Banff Springs hotel or even the Hansen’s ranch but it will be “home”. We will make new memories and move into a new phase in our lives. Mike and I have spent our entire lives doing things for the kids and I believe this new house is something we do for “us”…something God has blessed us with. A home is not about 4 walls (just as a church is not the building…it is the people). I am pretty sure if Mike reads this he will be thinking “I thought I was just buying 4 walls, a roof and a garage…who knew how deep all this was?” because, of course, Mike did not have the dream of Margie and Louise Boss’s house in mind when we started out (and he didn’t even know I did).

So I DO totally understand my kids “mourning” for what they are leaving behind. Go ahead and mourn kids. It is good for the soul. There is a time for everything and there is a season (In fact I have decided I am going to collect old European clocks for this new house as a memorial to that fact). There is a time for mourning. Yes they are leaving a wonderful blessed childhood behind and Praise God that is what it turned out to be for them. Luckily we can take our memories with us wherever we go…it is only the four walls that remain.

I will endeavor to turn our new house into a “home” for us all. It will also be a place to come home to. When you come to this home you will find love, safety, warmth, comfort and even a few new and improved luxuries. So often I have had friends and family come to our place and not want to leave because of the homey atmosphere and that is what I would like to create in our new home. The Lord has blessed me with a knack for creating this atmosphere and it will be a challenge to take those new, freshly built and painted cold lifeless walls and ceiling and turn them into “home”. I am excited….hopefully when the kids are done mourning the excitement will catch on. They are off to bigger and better places anyway….and they will leave Mike and I alone in our new “home” but it will always be there for them whenever they want to return (with significant others and grandchildren and friends and memories). We are their home!

January 8th, 2010  – Two months before moving into our new home.

I have been thinking about this all week…what a truly amazing life I have.  Yes…I DO have problems and trials (such as in common to mankind), Yes…I get frustrated and upset and sometimes even angry (shhh).  Everything doesn’t always work out the way I plan it, in fact more often than not it doesn’t.  Everybody doesn’t always behave the way I want them to  (not even me). Sometimes I stub my toes (pain level 10) and brake my nails (pain level 9) not to mention my nightly leg cramps (pain level 12)  and I start to feel ill when Im in the middle of a shopping excursion or my car runs out of gas or my boss decides to retire and closes up shop and a year later I am still looking for a job or I get anxious because of my adult children’s circumstances or my husband injures himself and limps for months. I put on a pair of pants and they are too tight (stupid dryer shrinks everything).  The news is deplorable most days and the reality of what goes on in the world is daunting to be sure.  Every day people die prematurely and heinous crimes are committed. Often I get tired, and fearful and anxious and frankly just want to crawl up in ball and cry my heart out…but all in all the good outweighs the bad.