CHANGE

[We've just finished one third of the season of Autumn, and already I sense the big shift in temperatures, hours of daylight, amount of rain or sun. This time of year always finds me unsettled--not because of the weather, exactly, but because I know Autumn is progressing and will come to an end, and we'll be engulfed in Winter. I don't mean to hurry the seasons along--they seem to do quite well by themselves. If I could, I'd slow them down, so I could savor the sunny days and the few warm breezes that come my way. Yet, change is inevitable--time passes, life goes on, and everything changes. Everything.]

You can always tell when the season is shifting, because I blog about transitions and change. Here’s the latest batch—they’re all visuals because I don’t have anything new to say about change.

 C. S. Lewis, known to many as the creator of The Chronicles of Narnia, became a Christian late in life and wrote many books about faith.

Maya Angelou is known for I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, as well as for many volumes of poetry.

Rumi was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic.

My  story--my life--is in my hands. Staggering thought, isn't it?

One early morning gratitude--mumbled while your eyes are trying to open, before the morning jolt of caffeine, before your feet hit the floor--just one expression of thankfulness can make a difference in how your day starts, continues, and ends.

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Change is taking place in my neighborhood. In the past year, three houses have sold, two at auction, a third in a private sale. This is remarkable because the whole street--one block long--has only 13 houses. 

Of the current occupants, only three were here when I moved in 36 years ago. We don't change quickly, but when we do--wow! Look out, world!

I expect to be here several more years--probably not 36, given the age I've attained. And I've made changes to my house; more coming shortly when the guys arrive to install new faucets inside and gutters with leaf guards outside.

Since change is inevitable, you--and I--might as well try to embrace it.

Have a wonderful week!

 ARE YOU GETTING READY?

I have to say it: If you have to ask "what" you're supposed to be getting ready for, you ought to go back to bed and get up later when your brain is awake as well as your body.

Ready for what? WINTER, of course; change of season; cold weather; longer nights, shorter days (light-wise, that is). 

In case you haven't noticed, stores are carrying products to ease you into the next season--heavier clothing, including sweaters, jackets and coats, hats/gloves/mittens/scarves, padded vests. 

They're also offering the fruits of the season, namely anything that has to be cooked/baked or mixed with other foods for a filling something-or-other, like stew or chili or a big dish of mixed-up stuff like Shepherd's Pie--anything that'll stick to your ribs.

If you've noticed all that stuff, how about the home improvement aisles? Something to shut out the drafts, warm the floors, heat up a room without installing a fireplace or making you wear seven layers of clothing from the skin out just so you can sit for a while to read, knit, or watch your favorite team tear each other to shreds on the playing field. 

Then consider your vehicle--that wondrous invention that got you to the store in the first place. Are its tires good? Are they safe for another season? How about oil--need a change? Are there any leaks? Defroster working? (I told you this was about winter. Pay attention.)

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Okay! The closet is full, the pantry bulging, house is warm and snug, and the vehicle is ready to hit the road (safely).

What else is there?

Well, I hate to bring this up, but there is the matter of our attitude . . . you know, how we're going to handle the days of freezing rain, frost (or ice) buildup on the windshield of the vehicle that sits outside the garage, piled-up white stuff (called snow, remember?) that has to be shifted by a shovel attached to your gloved hands before you can back the vehicle out, because the snow plow shifted it from the street to your curbside and across the end of your driveway . . . 

[Aside--times like these, when I contemplate all the events in the previous paragraph, I envy our family and friends who either migrate to warmer climes or actually reside there. And I know envy is a sin, but dang! winter up north is a sin itself, sometimes.]

As a retiree, I have a permanent dispensation for Winter Woes--if the weather's too bad for me to be out, I cancel whatever appointment I had for that day. (Fortunately, I have very few appointments so I'm not getting a reputation as a no-show.) I've learned to give myself some space to "not do" tasks that formerly were absolutely necessary (somebody must've said they were). I've cultivated the current ways to stay in touch with family and friends so I'm never lonely or feel I'm missing out by staying home.

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While I'm awaiting the arrival of The Next Act (you know what I mean) I'll enjoy the place I'm in--some colorful trees (finally), some nice days (sun, no wind, low humidity), some moments to do abso-bloomin'-lutely nothin'. They won't last--Life does keep rolling along, you know--and then I'll be wading around in my seven layers of warmth trying to find that library book I know I didn't return yet so I can read while I drink a big, steamy, milky coffee.

And after I've had my book-and-coffee break, I can assess the tasks to be done. Maybe I'll find one that appeals to me and do that. Maybe I'll do the virtuous thing and pick the chores I like least, do those first. 

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Getting ready--the process has begun!

Blessings!

Thursday's Child

WHAT DAY IS THIS??

[A little FYI--The topic for today's post didn't come as a result of the pandemic--my sense of what day it is has long been a thorn in my side. From some comments I've heard lately, that appears to be true for other folks. If it's not your problem--good for you! You can laugh at our struggles. We won't mind.]

We had a Monday holiday this week. Not a worldwide holiday--not even a whole community holiday. In my area, the banks were closed and the Post Office was closed. That was it.

from 2015

For everybody else, it was business as usual. I took my vehicle to have its oil changed and get it winterized for the coming season. (I tried to talk the owner of my automotive center into doing something about winter itself, but he said he wasn't able to help with that.) When I told him I wouldn't need a ride home because my daughter, a Post Office employee, was off today since the PO was closed, he asked why? Since he's a history buff, I had to twit him a little about not recognizing Christopher Columbus who has a whole day to himself on our U.S. calendar.

Home Depot was also open for our convenience. We bought paint to update some outdoor stuff--mailbox, house numbers, light fixtures, plus samples to try out on interior walls for later decorating projects.

That was about it for retail therapy. My daughter started the outdoor painting projects (which she assures me are 80% prep and 20% execution). I managed a couple of small indoor tasks before lunch, which is always followed by napping.

So the day progressed. A leisurely day.

The next day was Tuesday. Felt like Monday. My daughter's colleagues at the PO kept asking each other what day it was. They agreed on "second Monday of the week."

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I write these posts on Wednesday, one of my quiet days, which means usually no appointments or other obligations. Focus is easier to maintain on a quiet day. If I have a topic in mind before Wednesday arrives, I can explore it in depth. If I have no topic in mind, my energy is put into the production of thoughts and images that might develop into a blog post. As you can imagine, having a topic ahead of time is ideal.

Sometimes thoughts and images emerge out of life in my neighborhood--new neighbors, renovation of an old house, new dog or a mama cat with her kits who hasn't been seen before. Other times my posts come from my connections to people outside my home life--medical personnel, store clerks, pharmacy staff, library folks and patrons. Or, I could be stimulated into writing about family life, arising from receiving letters from children.

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Keeping track of days--I don't find that completely baffling. A daily session with my journal helps--I start with the date, the day of the week, then the weather. By the time I'm through all that minutae, my brain has waked up and accepted this is, indeed, Wednesday. I'll probably remember that for hours. Wednesday...Wednesday...draft-a-blog-post day.

Where I get derailed is getting a few more days down the week--the one that has a second Monday, you remember--and realize the day doesn't feel like Thursday, or Friday, or . . . .

Apparently I'm not alone in this dilemma. Even normal weeks have people saying, "It doesn't feel like Thursday, I thought it was Friday all day." Uh-huh. 

If you're one of those people who never has such difficulties with the day of the week, the name of the day, what it feels like . . . you deserve some kind of award. 

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So, moving on from day of the week, I have to say I'm not thrilled with the current season of this year, 2021. I know it's autumn. My calendar assures me we're 'way past the autumnal equinox, and the beautiful photos on the October calendar pages illustrate a typical northern U.S. autumn. Around here? Nope. It's almost the middle of October, and leaf color in Northeast Indiana is spotty at best. Only one or two kinds of trees have color, and even those are stingy. 

My solution to this problem--and we autumn-lovers know it's a real problem--is to find and display as many photos of the colorful autumn trees and scenes as I can find. They're from years past, when I couldn't possibly pass by a gorgeous tree just waiting for its photo op. 

I may not spend much time outside peeping at leaves, because there aren't many beauties to peep at. But I can immerse myself in autumn beauty with pics. Maybe that's why I spend so much time looking at calendars.

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Today is Wednesday. This is October. So far, so good!

from 2014

HAPPINESS IS . . .

One of my favorite gifts from last Christmas is the Peanuts calendar from my son and daughter-in-law. Each month shows a picture defining Happiness--Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, Woodstock, Sally--sometimes in a group, sometimes alone.

Here are some highlights:

--JANUARY: HAPPINESS IS a new adventure. Perfect for the first month of a new year.

--MARCH: HAPPINESS IS a good book. That one could be on every month of my personal calendar.

--MAY: HAPPINESS IS being with friends. Where would we be without our friends?

--AUGUST: HAPPINESS IS an afternoon nap. Yesss!

--SEPTEMBER: HAPPINESS IS expressing yourself. The picture shows Snoopy painting a portrait of Woodstock. I don't do portraits, but I love to paint. (We won't talk about quality here.)

--AND THE LAST ONE, LEADING INTO 2022: HAPPINESS IS staying cozy. Snoopy is nearly invisible under a huge padded jacket.

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As I mulled over the topic for today's post, I found myself remembering what it was like being a kid, what made me happy, what I looked forward to, what seemed to me to be the epitome of being happy.

At age 6--going to school. So much great stuff to do--books to read, workbooks to fill out, drawings to color, other kids to see and hear (a one-room school was a microcosm of life for me).

At age 9--discovering writing! Putting characters we'd heard about in the book read to us by Miss Kincaid into our own story! It was like walking through a secret portal into another universe, one in which my own words made the story.

At age 12--living in a big city. (Wichita, KS was about 300K population at that time; big city by my standards.) Finding out there were other kinds of people in the world--meeting my first African Americans as students in my school. Having male teachers. And discovering art--making puppets, fashioning clay images, painting with watercolors.

At age 15--getting a chance to write for the high school newspaper; acting in one-act plays; going to high school basketball games.

After high school, everything seemed to be going faster. Life was lived on an adult plane--college students were treated like serious contenders for honors and graduation diplomas.

Happiness came with studies--though I have to admit advanced math classes made me break out in a rash; my brain wasn't ready to deal with number logic--word logic, now, that was just my style.

Adult happiness--so much depends on the person--what they grew up with, what their expectations were about life, what resources they had, or didn't have, to make dreams become reality. Like many people, I learned to adjust my dreams and expectations to fit with the resources I had or could assemble.

In my late 20s, I could find joy in rearing children; going to church; eventually returning to college to finish my education. 

Beyond that time, life didn't offer many different kinds of experiences. I did eventually work at a full-time job, which brought its own kind of happiness. I returned to writing fiction and found a writer's group of like-minded women. A short-term accompaniment job at a church became nearly full-time employment as the organist (never expected that!).

After retirement, and a rather long adjustment period in which I had to decide what I could do, what I could afford to do, and what I'd much rather do, I settled into mostly activities that called me to be creative--quilting, knitting; playing church music; watercolor painting.

Happiness is still a good book or an afternoon nap--or both! But there's always a new adventure around somewhere, waiting to be discovered. 

May you be blessed with happiness in your life!

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P.S.--If you find snatches of the "Happiness Is" song from You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown running through your mind today, do a quick search--"two kinds of ice cream" will bring up several sites, and on YouTube you can hear it sung. Enjoy! Sing along!!