Never Too Careful

You can never

be too careful.

Even Satan quotes scripture.

Never Too Old

Nope.

Never too old to learn 

something new.

Like how to fuss around

with an IPhone

and it's amazing

photo and video capabilities.

Keep in mind

if you will

while I have hair of the

mouse variety

notsomuch grey

notsomuch blonde

just something

painfully

in between.

I'm old.

I'm just not quite

THIS old....

although

I find the outfit

in this Ansel Adams

to be 

slightly mysterious

and altogether

fetching.

Nope.

My first camera looked like this

with film

that looked like this

and you had to be 

really really careful

when rolling it

onto the spool

that you didn't pull it out too far

or you'd

expose it to the light

and ruin your

first couple

of pictures.

So.

For one

such a this gal

who fell in love

with photography

at the ripe old age

of seven-ish

in all it's

black and white glory

the marvelous glories

of her

complicated

exasperating

mystery 

of an IPhone

bespeaks 

of miracles, wonders

and prompts

awe

of the very highest order.

I'm still learning.

The video

is CH OP PI ER

than I had hoped

a little

frenetic

for my vision

and

somehow 

the clips got a wee

widdy-of-a-bit

out of order.

But whatever.

Ron Howard 

had to start somewhere too.

Slow down, Opie

I'm right behind ya, man.....

It's Never Too Late

Children come in all sizes.

Some of them very cleverly disguised

as adults.

Sometimes it's because they have

stuff

to work out

leftover from their

childhood.

Other times

it's because

the excuse

of their sorry childhood

becomes a

habit

and pity

becomes 

a warm blanket

and really

isn't it just easier

to act like a kid

and blame it on someone

or something else

than looking it straight in the eye

and leaving it all behind

and sitting down

finally

at long, long last

at the

grown-up table.

Regardless of pain

or experience

or heartache

or unresolved

indignities

inflicted upon us

when we were young

the truth is

our inner children

have earned the right

and need to be tucked in to rest.

Our little

inner kid

needs the grown-up

to step up

and take over.

These little spirits of our deepest heart

have suffered

long enough.

We need to put our arms around them

assure them

we're grown-up now

and we're going to be okay

on our own

and let them

finally

finally

at very long last

lay down their weary little heads

and be cared for

instead of

forcing them to be

our caretakers.

Growing up is hard.

Especially

if you wait decades

to do it.

Growing up is hard.

But scripture tells us

it's what we are supposed to do.

Growing up is hard.

But no right thing God instructs us to do

is impossible.

We can continue to lie

to get what we want

play with toys that belong to other people

and sneak around

doing naughty things

as if Dad won't notice.

Or we can finally decide

we're ready to put our Cinderella nightie

in a drawer

and close it

for good. 

March of the Moving

The march continues.
My garage-size storage unit
is nearly full.

Some of my stuff is still to arrive
but the mound
is daunting.

The first time I
threw open the door
I just stood there
and despaired
of ever
ever
EVER
having the energy
or the strength
to empty it.

I have to rally.
It isn't going to empty itself.

So I reflect
back on my childhood lessons.

Lest we forget....

....a robin feathering it's nest

has very little time to rest!

And.....

we ALL know.....

 ...just a spoonful of sugar
helps the medicine go down!!!

So.
I shut the garage door.
Went out.
And I got some ice cream.

A practice I highly recommend.
And while we're losing our mind
to a dairy-high
we find renewed strength
to ponder the tasks ahead.

All the appropriate motivational phrases

come to mind.

Said by a fellow of great influence

and literary note

but I'm not sure he ever

had to empty his own

storage unit.

Just saying.

This, of course is a given.

I'm sleeping on a mattress on the floor

with blankets as sheets

rolled up towels

as pillows

and flashlights

to keep me from tripping

as I walk through rooms.

Clearly

the today I locate my sheets

and pillows

and lamps

will improve my tomorrows

in a big, big way.

Oh Lord.

Honest?

That little

I think I can, I think I can

train

is rolling along the tracks of my

weary mind

but I'm really

not sure I can, not sure I can, not sure I can.

Best I can come up with

would be the $180 bucks 

I'm going to save

every month

when that storage unit

is empty.

That's a harvest.

And yet.

I get tired.

My car is only so big.

My legs are only so long.

And I am an old lady.

Confucius got old.

I think he probably

would have said

"Debbie, it's ok to stop.

And rest.

And maybe have a Bailey's on ice.

Because you're worth it."

I really think he would.

Ohhhh SHUT. UP. Sam. 

And indeed, this is true.

I learned it when I was a mail carrier 

lots of years ago.

I would come in off the country route

where I delivered mail to 500

of my closest friends and neighbors

along a 75-mile

mostly gravel

path

and I would crawl into bed

and cry

because I knew 

I had to do it all over again the next day.

But!

What I learned

is that a great nights sleep

is awesome medicine

and I'd awaken before the birds

to hit the ground running

and do it all over

again.

Thus

I know

I can do this.

I can do this, I can do this I can do this.

And eventually
all these crates
will be empty
and there will be light from a lamp
and a bed that is made
with pillows even
and I'll
finally
just maybe
feel like
I have a home.

One step in front of the other, girl.

Parking Lot Mornings

My insatiable need

to get up in the

wee-smalls

of every morning

provide some of the most 

exquisite

parking lot moments.

When my spirit

is nudged from sleep

before 5 AM

I know there is a reason 

I'm supposed to be awake.

If 

perhaps

only to see a

perfectly lovely sunrise

and be thankful

I am alive.

I get up.

I get moving.

And I take

as many moments as feels right

to welcome

the beauty of another day.

Summer Dresses

My mom.

Hoarder of fabrics.

Collector of

buttons

and pins

and bobbins

and quilt magazines

all in hopes

of future beautiful things.

With the sidewalk as my runway

I was a school-girl model

for her hand-sewn creations.

And honestly

secretly envious

of the girls with store-bought clothes.

Simplicity was a common a word in our home.

Pattern packets were old friends

my mom pulled from the cabinet

and used 

over and over again.

Ordinary things

for sewing hands

cluttered the counters

and covered 

the dining room table.

Except at Thanksgiving

when the table was cleared

of the sewing hardware

and threads

and zippers

and replaced

with

fine china

and

five fat roasted

Cornish Hens.

Because my step-dad

didn't like turkey.

Yawwwwwn.

Stretch.

Burp.

And the table

turns back into

Sewing Central.

All these years later

after closet cleaning

drawer emptying

and box sorting

some of

the rolled scraps

and leftovers

landed

with me.

An artist of another sort.

I'm finding peace

and lots of smiles

in the woven memories

as I bring them to new life

on my canvases.

Although I should probably call this one

Camp Shirt-Summer Dress-Fifth Grade Nightgown

in commemoration

of all the life passages

and moments

I see in these

patches of fabric-store memories

I probably will just

call it

Torn Summer Bouquet

and smile

because no one really really knows

but me.

Making a Small Life

I moved.

Relocated. Changed my address.

Packed up all my stuff 

and hit the road.

Not by choice.

Nevertheless.

I moved

and

continued the process

of making my life

smaller and smaller

and smaller still.

Because smaller feels safe

and it feels happy,

and smaller 

just feels like a place

where I can spend the winter

tending to the frayed edges

of my weary soul.

God led me

to just the right place.

I call it The Elf House.

When I first walked in through the front door

I expected to be greeted

by a small herd of

welcoming gnomes.

It's full of tiny-this

and tiny that.

Tiny handles

on tiny cupboards 

and

tiny bathroom

with tiny window.

Most of my friends

have closets

bigger than the 

square footage of my 

combined 

living room and kitchen.

But I'm ok with it.

More than ok, really.

I don't feel much like an elf

myself

but it seems an elf house

is just what I need right now.

Hardwood floors creak in my elf house

just like they did

in the house

where I grew up.

The place has a smell.

It's a combination of

time-worn

lived-in

and perhaps

the collective life experiences 

of the people who came before me.

People who made pancakes.

And grilled cheese sandwiches.

They got ready for work

in the tiny bathroom 

in the morning.

They fussed over

the tv antenna

with rabbit ears

and foil

and maybe

they would know

what I mean when I say

as annoying as it was

I would love to change channels 

with pliers again

just one more time.

I bet they did that here.

Many years ago.

Now there is a satellite dish

on the roof.

I won't use it

but it's there.

I bet the big trees towering over the place

wondered

what on earth

when they installed it.

And now

to set about

making a tiny little empty elf house

into a home

for a weary spirit

and her shrinking world.

Soft Paws and Cold Noses

I adopted my Chuck

when he was an old man.

I knew we wouldn't have very many years together.

As it turned out

it was just about 14 months.

We lost him this summer.

And of course

I miss him.

But I'd adopt him again

even though it hurt so much

when he left us.

The hours of brushing

and cruising gravel roads

and hanging out

in front of the fireplace

and laughing

over all the funny things

he did

were just too precious

to have missed.

Love ya, man.

Can't wait to see you come running to me

along with all my other best pals

when I get to heaven.

Meanwhile

my work at the pet groom shop

provide me with

lots of

furry company.

Opportunities to snuggle

and comfort

and play

and laugh.

With all kinds of creatures

both great and small.
 

I'm just too busy loving on furry dogs and cats

to be sad about Chuck. 

Remembering him makes me smile

as I fuss over every one of them.

I've got such awesome, fun memories.

They're just the sweetest.

And I'm making more.

God sends lots of new friends my way

for me to cuddle up and love. 

And I'm just grateful.

Debbie and Her I-Phone 5

Debbie gets her I-Phone 5.

Clearly Debbie is very happy!

It is her first big-deal phone

since she gave up her little flip-phone
which she has had
since she
finally
got rid of her
Princess phone.

The one with the twisty cord
and the pink handset.

Debbie is something of a

technological fossil. 

Still, she is happy!
Envision villagers dancing
peasants rejoicing
and small bluebirds
winging across the sky.

While she's notsomuch
into the disco-hippie
orange case
Debbie knows she will
get used to it.
She's pretty sure.

Then Debbie gets home and realizes she has

no clue how to use her new phone.

Debbie is

clearly

befuddled.

Debbie perseveres

discovering

her sweet little I-Phone 5's ability

to take photos

ROCKS!

She snaps photos

hither and yon

here and there

out and about

all around the town.

For about three days.

When all of sudden

there arose such a clatter....

well not really a clatter....

but she did spring up from her sofa

to figure out what was the matter.

There is a great disturbance in the I-Phone force.

Say it isn't true!!!!!!!!

Debbie can no longer take pictures!!??

Or dowload

anything.

Nope.

Nothing.

Because her phone says

it's storage is full.

Which is weird

because it's a new phone

and she barely knows how to use it...

...could she REALLY

have filled it?

Already??

She visits her Verizon store for answers.

Verizon guys say

Debbie

your storage isn't full

but we can't fix it.

Debbie turns to her online BFF

only to find disturbing news

about her I-Phone 5.

In .44 seconds Debbie finds

over three MILLION

places to visit on the subject of

"My I-Phone says the storage is almost full."

Only to find

a plethora

host

and virtual

stampeding herd

of I-Phone 5 users

are having the same problem.

And the only way to fix it

is to visit the Apple store.

And she'll end up doing this

more

than 

once.

Ohhhhhhh.....

Debbie is not so happy with her decision now.

She goes to sleep thinking

Debbie should have kept her flip phone

Debbie should have kept her flip phone

Debbie should have kept her flip phone

ZZZZZZZ

sniffle

ZZZZZZZZ

snifflev sniffle sniff

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

ZZZZZZZZZZZ

They All Lived to See Another Day

When my first son was small, he dropped his pacifier to the floor.

I quickly picked it up, washed it with soap and hot water and gave it back to him. When my second son was small, he dropped his pacifier. I picked it up, dipped it in my iced tea glass to give it a rinse and gave it back to him. When my daughter was born, she dropped her pacifier. I picked it up, stuck it in my mouth to clean it and gave it back to her.

All three of them lived to see another day.

I once let my toddler daughter crawl into her bed with a face and jammie’s covered in peanut butter. 

She was tired. I was tired.

She lived to see another day.

My son dropped a dish on the kitchen floor when he was around 8 or 9 years old and it shattered.

 He looked at me with eyes wide, worried he was in trouble. There was a pile of dishes on the counter at the time and I just looked at him, swept my arms down the countertop and pushed every single one of them onto the floor ~ where most of them shattered into pieces, next to the dish he broke. And I just grinned at him and laughed. “Dishes don’t matter, we can always get new dishes. Accidents happen.” We never, ever ran out of dishes. But my son grew up and eventually, I ran out of time living at home with him as his mama.

We swept up the broken glass and laughed that day.

We lived to see another day.

I sent one of my sons to the first day of Kindergarten with his shoes on the wrong feet.

We didn’t notice it until years later when someone pointed it out in the “first day of school” picture we posted during his graduation party. 

He lived to see another day.

And nope, he doesn’t even walk funny.

I did lie to my kids about one thing when they were growing up.

When we drove by a summer pond full of cows cooling themselves in the water, I told them those cows had no legs and every morning a kind farmer brought a crane out and lowered them, one at a time into the water to float for the day. Of course, my kids figured out those cows had legs. 

We still called them floaters when we saw them.

And they all lived to see another day. 

When my three kids were really little, we once spent the entire day together in the bedroom, on the bed in our pajamas, watching TV and eating popcorn.

When it got dark, we just pulled up the blankets and went to sleep in a bed that was kind of full of kernels. I’m pretty sure a random cat or two were snoring in there, too.  It was the only room with air conditioning. It was hot out. We slept like rocks that night.

They all lived to see another day. 

She had a lunch box, but more than once I sent my daughter to school with lunch in a brown paper bag. The sandwich was shaped like a sandwich. The potato chips had salt on them.

The Oreos were double-stuffed.

She thrived and grew.

She lived to see another day.

My kids went to half-day Kindergarten and didn’t learn to read until long after Mrs. Ihde introduced them to The Letter People. They all read just fine now.

They all lived to see another day.

My children will tell you they got spit baths on the way into church many Sundays. I dispute this twisted reporting of family history but it’s three against one. 

One fact remains: 

They all lived to see another day.

When I was a busy mom, if I mopped the kitchen floor once a month, I was doing good. There were usually baskets of unfolded laundry sitting around. Our cats favorite place to sleep in the afternoon sun was on the kitchen table, right about where the main dish would sit a few hours later during supper. The toilet paper roll was usually empty.

No one except mom seemed to understand the mechanics of it. 

We cheered the big fish they caught even though Dad sprained his ankle running to help reel it in, camped out in woods during a thunderstorm even though our sleeping bags got ruined and stayed up late to watch Dr. Who with them even though we were really, really tired. 

They grew up wayyyy faster than we ever wished.

And they all lived to see another day.

Through the years, my kids came home with pockets full of rocks, random bugs, naked lady playing cards and baby bunnies. On bulk trash day they came home with cracked hamster habitats, old televisions, aquariums and cement lions from the neighbors curbs. Into our autumn front yard they dumped bags of leaves to make a big pile to hide in, after raking up all the neighbors yards.

"Weren’t they so nice to let us do that, mom?”

They played in mud puddles, caught earthworms on rainy nights and sold them from the back porch, kissed our dogs, dressed up our cats and ate the occasional sandwich smeared with full-on-fat mayonnaise that was a week past the expiration date.  

I should have checked expiration dates more often.

I could and probably should have used more Lysol.

I definitely could have spent more time sweeping.

I could’ve stayed up just a little later to sort all those socks, too..

I didn’t. I was pretty lazy.

Honestly, it was just more fun to hang out and not take life too seriously.

Guess what?

The coolest thing happened. 

They all lived to see another day.