Robin Promises

The robins are here! Here in the midwest the arrival of the robins is a well-known promise of spring. While this winter has been a piece of cake compared to last year's monstrous snowfall and incredibly low temperatures, we have still spent 5 months in coats, gloves and boots - and I am very ready to shed all the extra clothing and feel the breeze on my skin.

So, when I saw a flock of robins arrive outside my office window last week I felt my hope begin to soar.

The robins like some trees better than others, and I'm told that the flowering crabapples we have planted around the church grounds are some of their favorites.  I think this must be true because there are literally dozens of the funny, fat, red-breasted visitors visible from every window.  The tree outside my office has had as many as 20 birds perched in its branches at times.

Last winter (I may have already shared) I was told that when the robins have walked on fresh snow three times, we could expect spring weather to stay. I paid strict attention, and the prediction held. Yesterday we were visited by the first snow since the arrival of the robins, and I watched them with great interest to see what they would do.

As the snow fell, the birds took refuge in the courtyard, under the eaves. They were close enough to watch with great enjoyment. Any movement from my side of the window would spark a great flurry of activity but soon they would settle back under the eaves and resume their poking and picking in the mulch (where, incidentally, you can see the promise of tulips poking through.) I tried, but never got a shot or video of them good enough to share.

Still, I did record proof that spring is on its way. The robins have left their footprints in the snow so two more snows and we will find our way to spring!

(I should add that I am probably the most impatient person in Blooming Prairie. Most people here are happy to have temperatures in the 40's and to see the snow disappear. I am greedy. I want the mud gone too, and temps that require no jacket.

I miss having everything bursting into bloom as Easter approaches. The irony that I live in Blooming Prairie, home of the Awesome Blossoms, and have no hint of anything getting ready to bloom is not lost on me.)

Perhaps I should see the approach of Easter as I see the robins - as a promise of better things to come.

My Lenten weeks have gone by quickly - filled with soup suppers prepared by my National Youth Gathering group, preparing my little Angel Chorus to sing on Palm Sunday,  rounding up commitments for the Easter breakfast, and leading Communion Instruction for 18 fourth and fifth graders who will celebrate their first communion during Holy Week.

The road to Easter is pretty much the same no matter what is happening outdoors but this photo, posted by my friend Karen in Austin on Facebook last week, reminds me why I am feeling such longing for spring.

The plows have gone by so even though the school is starting two hours late, I should probably leave a few footprints of my own and head to the office.

I'll let you know when spring arrives here, 1100 Miles North!

Revisiting Childhood Pleasures

Today I felt incredibly old and wonderfully young all at the same time. And it wasn't dementia setting in; I went ice-skating. Well, actually, it was more like ice-shuffling. It was a beautiful day - temperatures in the 30s and a blue sky without a cloud to be seen.

In my imagination skating was going to be like riding a bike, something you never forget how to do. In reality though, skates have changed, my center of gravity has changed, and my courage has been subsumed by common sense.

There were kids there with a folding chair and one of them let me use it. Otherwise I'm pretty sure I would have clung to the fence the whole time. As it was, I took a full 30 minutes to lace up, inch my way out onto the rink, and scoot my way around the perimeter with the help of a folding chair. My ankles were wobbly and I felt muscles I'd kind of forgotten I had.

Speaking of fogotten muscles - I recently realized that here on the prairie I have lost my stair and hill climbing muscles. After a couple of visits to places that required climbing stairs I realized that I now have a very lazy backside. Neither my home nor my work requires going up or down stairs with any regularity. Another good reason to try to regain my ability to skate.

But back to the rink. . . maybe the best part was that I saw lots and lots of "my" kids and their friends. They were all very sweet and friendly and encouraging and helpful. I think if when I fall I will have help getting up!

Another happy thing about this adventure was learning that the rink is a joint project of the city and the state. It has a warming house and skates in good condition which can be borrowed for free. It employs two teens at a time whenever it's open (starting at 4pm every day when school gets out, and at 8am on Saturday and Sunday.) My tax dollars are working on things that really impact the community: exercise, employment, safety, and intergenerational interaction. 

I'm going back! I wish I had a training tool like this one:

I guess I learned without one before so I probably can again, albeit at a much slower pace. I suppose I could even toss my own folding chair in the trunk of the car.

In the end I left smiling. It had been a pleasant break in my day. My cheeks glowed from the longest stretch of time outdoors that I've had all winter. I will go back. And next time I'll stay long enough to justify drinking hot chocolate afterward. 

Still revisiting my childhood pleasures. . . 1100 Miles North.

A Christmas Card. . . sort of?

I hope this finds you fully engaged in Christmas week. It seems like it will never come and then BOOM it's here and ZOOM it's gone. A delightful  number of cards have found their way to my mailbox over the last couple of weeks and I want to thank all of you who made the time to send cards. It is a joy to see your family pictures and read about your year just ending. Please know that I cherish each of you, even if you didn't receive a card this year. It is lack of time and organization that caused that - there is no lack of love! It takes effort to keep relationships alive - I am so thankful for the many friends and lovely family with whom God has blessed me. 

It's been a big year for me - a full year 1100 Miles North after thirty years in the Heart of Texas. This is my second Christmas here and I am basking in the settled-ness of my life compared to last year. It's been a year of learning, making mistakes, special celebrations, trying new things, and intriguing brushes with the past.

This second Christmas season affirms some key things I have long believed:

• He came down that we might have LOVE!
• You will find people of good-will everywhere.
• If it's going to be cold, there should be snow!
• Minnesota Public Radio leaves all other radio in the dust.
• The more children one has in her life, the better life is.
• You won't die from homesickness. And you'll never become immune to it either.
• I-35 runs north more than south (thanks Mom and everyone else who has traveled in this direction.)

Looking ahead to the new year, I am energized by many plans and possibilities. I am looking forward to deepening relationships here, having another year enjoying geographically closer family, and relishing time with old friends. I'll be traveling east to Rochester, Madison, South Bend, Detroit and Providence, west to South Dakota, and south to Arkansas and Texas to various events with friends and family. In between I hope to spend more time with a pen in my hand, riding my new bike, welcoming visitors, and stamping again. I've joined a new group forming in my synod and that should prove to be very rewarding!

I wish each of you a Blessed Christmas and Joy-filled 2015 and hope with all my heart that our paths will cross and there will be time for a cup of coffee and a long chat when they do!

Blessed are the uncomfortable. . .

It's been a bumpy kind of ride lately - lots of things bumping into each other - ideas and events bouncing off each other like logs traveling downstream to the mill,

Shortly after I wrote my last post, a member of one of my on-line professional groups posted a rant to our network Facebook page. I can't find the original post but what stuck out to me was along the lines of "I am so sick and tired of people referring to their STUFF as blessings; as if God gave us more STUFF because we are so special. Jesus said blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. . ."  It hit me right between the eyes, just as Thanksgiving approached and I was counting my blessings at the same time I bemoaned my inadequate holiday savings .

Then the Grand Jury delcined to indict the policeman in Ferguson and protests quickly escalated into riots. I didn't, and still don't know what to think or say or do about the huge and overwhelming issue of racism in my country, but I felt as if I should say SOMETHING. Dr. King's words haunt me: "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy." And equally disturbing are these words from Edmund Burke: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." I am not in any way condemning the decision made; I am just deeply troubled that racial divides remain so deep 50 years after the passage of the Civil Rights Act.

Then, fortuitously, I bumped into this blessing of unknown origin but attributed to St. Francis:

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain to joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world. so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

And the blessing of God, who creates, Redeems, and Sanctifies, be upon you and all you love and pray for this day, and for evermore. Amen.

So, as Thanksgiving weekend ends, and I bid my happy and contented holiday feelings farewell and find myself tempted by the drama of self-pity as the family scatters again, I will instead give thanks for my discomfort, anger, sadness and foolish dreams. These are true blessings, and eventually I will know how to channel them. Onward through the fog - as they say 1100 Miles South!

Mulleygrubs (aka Mulligrubs)

I decided a while back to try to take this whole writing thing a little more seriously and learn how to do it a little bit better. So I pinned a lot of articles to a Pinterest board for eventual reading, and joined a couple of on-line writers' groups to help improve my writing. I'm pretty sure that all this reading hasn't improved my writing one bit, but it has brought me immense pleasure reading other people's thoughts, and in turn stimulated some new thoughts of my own. All of which is a context for what is about to follow - a post written in response to an irresistable prompt. . .

The Cure
Lying around all day
with some strange new deep blue
weekend funk, I'm not really asleep
when my sister calls
to say she's just hung up
from talking with Aunt Bertha
who is 89 and ill but managing
to take care of Uncle Frank
who is completely bed ridden.
Aunt Bert says
it's snowing there in Arkansas,
on Catfish Lane, and she hasn't been
able to walk out to their mailbox.
She's been suffering
from a bad case of the mulleygrubs.
The cure for the mulleygrubs,
she tells my sister,
is to get up and bake a cake.
If that doesn't do it, put on a red dress.

--Ginger Andrews (from Hurricane Sisters)

I have never heard of the mulleygrubs but a quick google search turns up three identical definitions for "mulligrubs" along with pictures of a band and a preschool that call themselves Mulligrubs. None of which was needed because I had already correctly inferred that the mulligrubs were "the blues."

I will confess that I have been a little blue with the early onset of ice, snow, and bone-chilling cold.  I am just not quite ready for winter, or the holidays, or the pressure I put on myself at the holidays.

I've only had my Fall wreath done for a few weeks! I want my seasons to come in neatly ordered three-month intervals, not the six-two-two-two of extreme north and south. While I'm whining and wishing, I would like my holidays spread out a little more: I need more than 30 days between Halloween and Thanksgiving and between Thanksgiving and Christmas. And since I'm rearranging the calendar, I would also like to move all the family birthdays to less populated months (except Mom's - she OWNS September!)

So to the prompt: What is my cure for the mulleygrubs? I do think that Aunt Bert is on the right track; when the mulligrubs arrive, bake a cake and if necessary, don a red dress. I have been baking (and eating) lots of banana bread. It's quick, easy, delicious and requires that I get off the couch at least three times in 90 minutes. Since wearing red tends to be a wardrobe staple for me, I have been sporting my gold and purple sequined Pashmina scarf under my purple car coat. It makes me feel exotic and warm.

I have also found a few other pursuits to keep the mulligrubs away:

• Reading: I finished reading The Aviator's Wife by Melanie Benjamin yesterday. Not always escapist, and in some places very sad, it was an engaging book that sent me searching for more information on the subjects (Ann and Charles Lindbergh) and gave me lots of room to consider the whole idea of a "fictionalized biography." 
• Silly TV: For the mulligrubs you need a special TV formula, one that's centered on the absurd.  My current absurd television watching is centered on Raising Hope. It's definitely low-brow: I love it. I love the characters, its goofy premise, the hilarious parental flashbacks, the happy daycare provider, and Cloris Leachman's unpredictable Maw-maw.
• Crafting: I'm playing with wreaths these days instead of stamping. My sewing machine seems to be humming a siren song from it's cabinet in the corner and I kind of want to try something new. 
• Lexulous/CandyCrush/Websudoku: and who am I kidding? Jungle Mahjong, various forms of Solitaire, BubbleSpin and Christmas Crunch as well. (Not sure this is good for the mulligrubs - it should actually probably be avoided when mulligrubbing.)
• Showtunes: It's difficult to stay down while singing along with Spoonful of Sugar, Hello Dolly, Matchmaker, Matchmaker or even Climb Every Mountain.
• Crockpot cooking: I have come to love my crockpot with a passion. And any day now I am going to break out the bread machine. I should probably set up a Pinterest board for the bread machine . . . then I could probably have company for dinner!

So, in a nutshell, I think the cure is to do something, anything, when the mulligrubs threaten. Doing something distracts me and helps me move past the can't-get-going burden of the mulligrubs. The list looks pretty much as it would have back in Texas, with one glaring ommision: swimming. Swimming in November is just not an option in November when one is 1100 Miles North.

Regret and Rejoice

As I shared my plans for the next few months with a group of new friends here in Blooming Prairie, one of them asked me if I ever regretted coming here. As I pondered the most diplomatic way to respond, the phrase "regret and rejoice" came to mind and I said "I regret and rejoice in that decision every single day." And I do! The scale seems perfectly balanced.

Most days there is some inconvenience that makes me wish I were back in Austin (or at least living in a city):

• The local grocery store is out of some kind of fresh produce
• I can never go anywhere without running into someone I know
• I want BRUNCH on a Sunday and the only local choices are Subway and Dairy Queen (which don't change their menus on Sundays)
• I haven't found Tex-Mex food that's up to my standards closer than the south suburbs of Minneapolis
• People are too modest to volunteer for stuff - they wait to be asked (and I don't always know who to ask)

Likewise, there isn't a day I don't rejoice in my new life because:

• People are so helpful! If my car gets stuck I will have all the help I need to push it out!
• There's a huge sense of community - when they cheer on the Blossoms they are cheering for kids they actually know.
• People work hard to preserve each other's dignity - they don't gossip, but they will privately share information that might contribute to my understanding (this one had a tough home life growing up, that one lost their job two years ago and is still trying to recover financially)
• The members of the community are entirely accountable - if they say they will do it, nothing will prevent it from getting done. They find their own subs, step up for each other, and just make it happen.
• I get to see my church kids in their context - riding their bikes past my house, playing at the park, waiting for the bus, and almost every one of them will wave when I go by!

The cost benefit analysis is endless and probably, in the end, pointless. I am here and there are things I treasure, and things that frustrate, which is exactly how I felt in Austin. And the people of both places always tip the balance to an overall good feeling.

And for those of you who read this for a taste of my small town life:

The Awesome Blossoms (coached by people from my church) are playing in the semi-finals for the state 1A Title in football tonight - against Minneapolis North. It is characteristic of this community that after seeing this video the kids formed the conclusion that even if they lose, this will have been a great game.

And, also characteristic of a small community, tonight's performance of South Pacific had to be cancelled because of tonight's game. Not because of audience drain, but because so many football players were part of the show, including the quarterback - who has an important role in the show.

After Tuesday's elections, our precinct was the last to report its results because there were 34 write-in votes in local races. I need to explore whether there's ever been a successful write-in campaign here - I'm guessing there has.

Anything is possible - I'm 1100 miles north!

Anniversary!

I have been trying to think of something profound to say as I celebrate the completion of a full year in Blooming Prairie. While I don't think I have anything profound to say, I am happy to spend a little time reflecting on the year past, and wondering a little bit about the future.

It has been quite a journey. Just for fun, here's the year in numbers:

1. One new home. I am still loving my little apartment here - it's funky and cozy and it just got a new coat of paint so it's looking kind of spiffy outside.
2. Two daughters much closer and sharing the same seasons.
3. Three visits from my mom! (Although I was only the main draw in one of those visits, I still got to see her, and since I have been to visit her twice, I have seen her five times in one year!)
4. Four different visiting individuals or groups from Texas - thank you so much! You can't imagine how much more it feels like home now that my friends have been here.
5. Five books with  my new book club. 
6. Six months of parking in the garage.
7. Seven visits with my sister (I think. . . including one lunch intersection on a road trip.)
8. Eight Sunday School classrooms prepped, staffed, and supported.
9. Nine new crock pot recipes worthy of repeating.
10. Ten kids who get get excited when they see me. . .

Some colorful ways to look at the year:

Fall - everything I'd hoped for - cool, leaves changing, apple crisp, pumpkins, small town Halloween, Reformation/Confirmation, soup, football with sweatshirts and hot chocolate. . .







Winter - everything I dreaded and more. Cold. Brutal. Harsh. Feet trapped in socks and shoes all day, every day. But also hushed, clean, sparkly, and beautiful. Baking and cooking, Christmas as it always is in my imagination. . .

Spring - filled with blossoming trees, crocus poking up through the snow, the days growing perceptibly longer. Shedding coats, jackets, sweaters and socks. And green, green grass, soft and begging for bare feet. . .

Summer - filled with festivals, food on a stick, parades, music, and picnics. The length of the days is incredible, sun rising before 6am and sunset not arriving until nearly 9pm. And sunshine nearly every day. . .

It's been a monumental change. Some days I have feared I was too old. Some days I have wondered what possessed me. But most days I have marveled at God's abiding presence, and the general goodness of people everywhere and been thankful to have landed so well. 

For those of you who have traveled through this year with me - I am grateful for your friendship and your prayers. To Janis who inspired me to look for things to love in my new place in the world - a million thanks. To my 36 new facebook friends from Blooming Prairie - I'm so glad we met!

So I'll close out this year with some words from Joni Mitchell:

And the seasons they go round and round,

And the painted ponies go up and down,

We're captive on a carousel of time. . .

We can't return, we can only look

Behind from where we came,

And go round and round and round 

In the circle game.

Heading into another trip around the circle - forward, always forward.