My parents are soon to be eighty and seventy-nine years of age. Their home which they dearly love is becoming more than they can safely manage, and they have decided to sell it and move to more accommodating housing. Because of a life spent in active ministry, this is the first home they have owned in over fifty years. They have lived in this home longer than any other place they have lived together. They are resigned, and yet often sad.

My role in all of this, and the role of my siblings, is to get the layers of time, dust, and memory organized enough that strangers can walk through the house. It is very difficult, because neither of my folks really wants this to be happening, and neither is really ready to allow us to "pack away" things, or do any kind of truly efficient decluttering or staging.

All this hubbub takes a toll on all of us, my dearest mother most of all.

God grant her peace, give me "wonder woman" like energy, and help me use only words which heal and never words that hurt. Amen.

Too many of us spend today planting flowers and mowing lawns. We should be thinking of the sacrifices made by those who lie beneath waving grasses and granite stones, just so we could cook out and plant flowers today.

I spent most of my day yesterday with my mother and father trying to help them decide some things about selling their home. I looked at piles of books, sermons, fabric, family photos, all representing untold years of memories.

I tried to be gentle and helpful and cautious as I listened and tried to think of simple quiet things I could do to help my Mom. My Dad is less enthusiastic about moving, and far less able to be of any help in the organizing and planning of the many years of accumulation still to be sorted and pared.

As I drove home I was again reminded of all the reasons that I wish to make my family my priority and how little joy I feel at the prospect of returning to the world of work. Charlie and I keep praying that somehow we will find ways of making our finances work so that I can still be available to our family. Send prayers if you got them.

One of my new favorite things to do is reading "frugal" blogs. I pore over them with a fevered intensity hoping somehow to find new ways of keeping me at home and away from the big, bad world of work.

I do not have the creativity that many of these bloggers have, but I certainly am willing to try new things...which is really trying "old" things. When my husband and I were growing up, everyone had a garden. People spent many summer days and evenings outdoors, not for exercise or recreation, but for the very pragmatic reasons on needing more economical food to feed large families. My mom made most of our clothes, and getting something handed down, remade, or used was really no big deal. The truth is that much of the furniture in our house once belonged to someone else, but I rarely ever think about that, except to remember whose it was with fondness. We have an entire bedroom set that once belonged to on of my husband's maiden aunts. It's green...so who cares?

In our 1950's gardens we grew corn, tomatoes, green beans, and cucumbers. More ambitious gardeners grew melons and more exotic vegetables. We "canned' in glass jars with lots of boiling water and the eminent threat of explosion. My grandmother had a huge freezer and nothing could compare with the frozen peaches and strawberries we ate when there was snow piled outside the windows.

Regardless of the old versus new argument, we need to use our property for more than a place to grow an overpriced, over-treated lawn which is rarely played upon. We need to grow food for ourselves and for others who do not have the luxury of space that we have here on our little suburban homestead.

I'll keep reading blogs, and trying to find ways to make the most of what we have. Reduce, reuse, recycle will be my mantra. I really want to be a homemaker. I just need to find lots of creative ways of cutting costs so that we can live on what we make. God, please bless our efforts.

It seems the caprice of the financial environment of our country, but most especially our household, are forcing me back out into the work world.

It is certainly not unusual for any of us to face strains in making the means and the ends meet, but I have a dilemma. For the past three years I have taken a natural (cheap) approach with my hair. It is very, very long, and very, very gray. At first I got lots of complaints from my grand girls. I just did not look like the well dyed lady they knew and loved. As time has passed they have kindly accepted the change. Baby Charlie doesn't know the difference, he has only seen me gray.

The question is whether tis nobler to be my really gray self and just expect the world to see me as capable, or to cave in to the real possibility that no one will get past the gray. I hate reality, don't you?

Well folks, it's official, I really am allergic to Spring. I love Spring. I love the flowers, the grass, and the beautiful bud-filled trees. I love the color of spring grass, and the way it smells after the first mowing.

The problem is that Spring is a fickle friend. It simply does not love me back. Each year I think that this will be the year I beat the curse, weather the sniffles and march gleefully toward summer with no need for a prednisone shot, antibiotics and/or cartons of Benadryl. WRONG!

While fearing that I am some weak genetic mutation of my much stronger fore bearers, I still love Spring. Maybe next year?

My dear husband and I have been trying to make the means and the ends meet, with a pretty big gap in between. I have longed for the time when being a stay at home wife, mother, sister, daughter, and especially grandmother would be my profession...so I am not giving up the fight easily.

Lately I have become fascinated with on-line blogs about simple living and frugality. I like reading about how other folks have opted to jump off the speeding train and work toward simplicity and serenity in their lives.

We have done the two career thing, and although I do miss the friendships and people, I do not miss the stress, the anxiety, and the never ending pressure. I am not excited about the idea of jumping back into the job world.

I am determined to make our choices work, and we have made changes (giving up our land line, no more newspaper, no on-line Weight Watchers) and are hoping to see results soon.

Now, just how am I going to make the income and the outgo balance? Stay tuned folks.

I just figured out that I have two blogs with the same name. How did that happen?
From now on I'll be posting in this one, so if you read my blog, look for me here.

It is difficult to explain to grand children as to why you will be serving jury duty. Unfortunately they associate courts, and the judicial system in general, more with the law breakers than the peers who volunteer to help with trials. This we can be sure is due to the over exposure of "courts" on television. In my limited experience, real court seems almost nothing like the courts we see on television.
Since I grew up when President Kennedy asked us what we were doing for our country, I really don't mind serving. In this century it seems like the idea of "doing something for your country" is passe. Performing your civic duties, such as voting and serving on a jury seem to have fallen into that category of "things to try to get out of doing." I have received several creative, and very funny "excuses" that I should offer up to keep me from having to serve.
The truth is that as the mother of a patrol officer, I may have an excuse already. What self respecting defense attorney wants a "law and order" gal like me hanging around tainting the process?
Despite the obvious inconvenience to a "burb" dweller, I am actually looking forward to serving. I look forward to the "people" watching. I pray diligently that I am not asked to serve on any case involving children or crimes against them. And no way will any "bad cop" stuff ever be under my consideration I'm sure.
This should be way better than Dr. Phil. I just hope to serve honorably. An early "sixties" notion, but as we know, I am as old fashioned as they come.

"Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I, but when the trees bow down their heads, the wind is passing by." One of the very few snippets of poetry that I can recall. I just wish the wind would stop "passing by" so loudly at this time of the morning.

There is no special purgatory to compare with waiting for repairmen to come to your home. You cannot under any circumstance leave, remember it has taken days of telephone desperation to get them coming at all.

You dare not start a project. It is realistically probable that your fingers will freeze to a sewing needle when they disconnect the natural gas line.

Let's face it, even going to the bathroom is risky...what if they think no one is home when you don't answer the door quickly enough?

In all the great trials and struggles of life this falls far short of important, noteworthy, or even memorable (at my age.) But just for today, I feel stuck, and thank God for the great vast emptiness of cyberspace where I can freely fling my angst.

My friend Susan always used to refer to items that had outlived their usefulness as looking like the "last rose of summer." This year I really know what that means. Steve and Analisa gave me a rose bush for Mother's Day last spring, and in spite of recent below freezing temperatures every morning, it stubbornly continues to bloom. The blossoms are small and the once bright pink color is faded to a pale imitation of its vibrant summer color.
Sometimes I feel like I am approaching that "last rose of summer" stage of life. My once dark hair is now a mix of silver and brown. I even think I have fewer eyelashes these days (how silly!) Jowls are definitely foreseeable.
This afternoon I sat at the emergency room bedside of my much loved mother-in-law. The simple truth is that she is beautiful, not exactly like a rose of summer, more like a creation whose real identity is only known in heaven. Roses, "smoses"...beauty lasts far beyond summer.

I am happy to say that I am not in charge of the Thanksgiving celebration for my family this year. Steve and Analisa are graciously hosting for my big extended family. I am unable to say how grateful I am for this generous offer. Since I have been struggling with my back injury, hosting this meal has bedcome overwhelming for me. I am excited to go and help and enjoy the day.

Yippee for Thanksgiving!

For some time now I have been learning to live mostly inside my head, with only my random thoughts whizzing through and the occasional good book to break the monotony.
After many years of being so highly "in demand" this is just such a new phase of life that I feel a bit lost at times. I am no longer a full time mother, since my children are both grown and have been out of our home for more than ten years. Since I am supposed to be "retired" I should be having loads of new adventures and doing all those things I never had time to do when I was working every day for the past twenty five years, but I still am waiting for those adventures to begin.
This has been a valuable time for me, in spite of the predictability of my days. I am learning how to accept quiet and am finding peace with my situation.