Turning the Corner and Heading for Home

It’s been years in the making, so I was surprised to find myself feeling emotional. Saturday marked the “official” last day that my in-laws would be living in their home in Ohio. They have been working towards moving to Arizona for a long time and it is now a reality. My mother-in-law shared that she and my father-in-law were feeling overwhelmed. Congregation members and dear friends of 43 years had thrown a farewell party for them earlier in the day. They were worn out from the beautiful witness of love that friendship and faith have been for them.

As I listened to the events of their impending departure, I had to steel myself against the desire to burst into tears. Why? I’m lucky. I have family. They are healthy and alive. For crying out loud, they are only moving. Get a grip.

Often, it’s the turns on this journey that get me. I've moved many times, so why was I desperately grieving what would never again be on Fontella Court? Why was I clinging to the memories that I treasured from a structure 486 miles away?

I turned the corner for the first time from Shadywood Drive onto Fontella Court with my stomach in a knot. Would they like me? Would I feel accepted? Would they resent me? I was older than their son, Catholic and of German descent. They were Jewish and from Israel. We had only been dating for a short time, but this was different – just like our backgrounds.  They were warm, inviting, loving and kind. The knot returned when in making small talk, I asked about the people in a panoramic sepia photo on the wall. I was told that it was not one image, but two photographs put together. My heart sank to learn that the faces staring back at me from the antique frame were members from both sides of the family that were lost in the Holocaust.

I remember turning the corner onto Fontella Court and wondering how I’d manage through the evening. Anxious and unsure, I was arriving alone to join my new friend and his family for Rosh Hashanna dinner. New Year? In September? Would I be able to make a connection between the experience and my own beliefs? It’s strange what we remember – odd things like my concern about how I might leave sweaty footprints on their beautiful ceramic tile after I removed my shoes and walked in my stockinged feet. It was a rush of an experience – foreign, yet exhilarating. Hebrew and English intertwined with unfamiliar fragrances of foods that I would come to love and strive to replicate - brisket, kasha vanishkas, tzimmes and honey cake.  In turning the corner with an open heart, I realized that this precious celebration and many others to follow, were intrinsically linked to my own faith.

I will forever treasure turning the corner the night that I knew he was the “one.”  We spent an unplanned afternoon helping a distressed friend in the midst of a domestic abuse crisis. He answered my call, rushed to the scene and I never looked back.

We turned the corner onto Fontella Court many times during the joys and stress of planning and celebrating an interfaith wedding - reassured by the calming presence of the cedar wood home on the hill.

What joy it was to turn the corner on that cold February day. We were giddy to bring our baby girl to Ohio, safe and healthy after her arrival six weeks premature. Laughter, love and once-new-to-me Yiddish words, such as "punim" and "tuchas” continued for years with the birth of our son and subsequent celebrations.

Holidays, summer visits with flowers in bloom, winter trips just because; like our hearts, the house expanded to encompass the memories. Turning the corner to discover, share, learn and find our way. Turning the corner in search of love, reassurance, hope and guidance.

After pondering the lump in my throat, I realized that the longing for home is innate. It’s how we’re wired. We desire to turn the corner and see that the Tom Bodetts in our lives have left the light on. I’m grateful for the lights along the way. Beacons of faith, family and friends shine to remind me that no matter the location or distance; the light will continue to shine, and I am home.

Fall, Without Looking Back

Turning, falling, landing, crumpled, touching, lifting, swirling, changed. 

Autumn, with its triumphant beauty, is one of my favorite seasons.  Yet on occasion, namely the gray and chilly days, I feel as if I’m falling with my mind swirling, heart crumpled and mood brittle – just like the leaves. I'm captivated by the brilliance, yet wistful. 

I know that I’m not alone.  I also see it in my husband.  Even with the joys of the current season of our lives with an active 15-year-old in marching band and an 11-year-old on the go, we’re melancholy.  We look longingly at families with little ones and lovingly remember outings to the pumpkin patch with hay rides and caramel apples too big for little mouths.  We recently found ourselves without kids at a fall festival.  With homework and potential embarrassment of being seen with parents, we did not have our favorite company in tow.  Just like the leaves, they change so quickly. I catch myself languishing in memories, as I try to hold on to my “little ones;” for in doing so, life feels easier.   

Change is certain and like the seasons, I must acquiesce and let life take its course. Yet it is hard. The changes are not just related to Friday nights waiting to resume the carpool at an hour in which, not so long ago, my kids would have been sound asleep.  It’s also in the tweaks and adjustments we’re still making with a relatively recent move and in all of the little transitions of every day. The leaves are not looking back at the trees wishing they were green again.  Why was I?  In pushing back on the changes, I realized that the crux of my problem was that I was raging against the unknown. I feel like a fraud.  Although I claim to have faith, I’ve been faking it more often than I care. I have my moments of trust, but had not battled against tomorrow the way I have today.  It’s the unknown of the big and little: my next career opportunity - yet to manifest, friends fighting cancer, aging parents, the ramifications of a government shutdown, overwhelming injustices, grief, the happiness and health of my family, and of course, what to have for dinner.   

I look down at the computer, bills in the mail, my sleeping son who now looks like a man, the phone as it rings with news on the other end, praying hands, and a sink filled with dirty dishes.  Head down in work and arched looking back. I distract, so as not to face the upheaval inside.

Recently a friend and I took a bike ride on a spectacular fall day.  It was to be on a paved bike path, but our access point was beyond a steep incline. Head down, I focused on the pavement; for when I looked at the street ahead, it seemed too difficult.  I fought feelings of inadequacy and the desire to quit.  Head down, I struggled. 

With my friend looking back, I knew my pride wouldn’t let me fail. I labored, and at the summit, tried to resume a normal breathing pattern, grateful for my friend.  If she wouldn’t have been there, I would have given up.  I realized that when I looked up and saw her, I had the strength to continue and when I looked back, it hindered my progress and left me discouraged.  We rode along the path for many miles with me lagging behind, deep in thought, but enjoying the journey.  It was during a water break that I had an epiphany.  I stopped and looked up.  The trees were breathtakingly beautiful, but beyond that, the sun was dazzling. It cut through the leaves with a brilliant beam and I felt the same reassuring strength I had experienced earlier on the ascent with my bike. The knowing beam reminded me that I was not alone in my struggles; in fact, I was being led. By embracing the sun, the leaves had changed from green to brilliant hues, maybe the same could be true for me.

Perhaps momentary shakiness in faith, just like the cascading leaves seeking terra firma, is to be expected.  If I pause from all of my distraction, my bent head would come up and notice that the path before me is illuminated.  In doing so, the guiding light would again be visible and I could find strength for this journey that although steeped in change, is rich in blessings.  The brittleness associated with trying to see the unknown would melt away and I'd be grateful for the bounty of the season around me.  With head tilted upward, I could fall gently into the arms of trust, knowing that all will be well, and I'd never need to look back.

Matrimonial Master Plan

Often we compare ourselves and our marriages to those around us.  We tend to examine the bumps, tangles and defects in our own lives and therefore, miss the obvious beauty.  Years ago a dear friend sent a card with a poem that was titled “The Plan of the Master Weaver”.  The poem used the analogy of a tapestry on a weaving loom to depict our lives.  It spoke of how we only see the underside of the artwork, which appears disheveled and often includes colors that we would not have chosen.  We are unable to see the work in progress from the vantage point of the weaver and often don’t understand that the colors and knots are necessary for a creation of beauty.  

I had forgotten about the card and this analogy for years, until now.  

My parents recently celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary.  They are a beautiful and faithful couple who have raised eight children.  I have witnessed great love throughout their marriage, but also know that they have had their share of “knots” and “tangles”.  We celebrated their anniversary with a trip to Florida with six of my seven brothers, sisters-in-law and nieces and nephews.  It was a much anticipated trip, two years in the making; not just for the 30 of us who would attend, but for my immediate family of four, as well.  My husband, our two children and I had not been on a family vacation in two years. In that span of time we experienced many changes, including a move and needed time to recharge. Within a few weeks of departure, we found out that my husband was not going to be able to join us.  Work was just too busy and the timing couldn’t have been worse for him to be away.  We’re used to being apart and although not tragic, this was devastating news.  With my husband’s new job and subsequent travel schedule and stress, we desperately wanted to be together for this celebratory event.  As a family, we’d vacationed in the same location since the kids were little. It wouldn’t be the same creating treasured memories without him. Although the kids and I were happy to be reunited with extended family, there was a hole in my heart for my husband back home and with that, the first five days of the trip were bittersweet.  After working long hours and rearranging his schedule, he surprised us and flew down for the last three days of the vacation. Absence does make the heart grow fonder.  

A prayerful approach to the melancholy days vacationing without my husband created a much-needed change in me.  After years of viewing my marriage from the proverbial underside of the loom, I experienced a glimpse from the view of the Master Weaver.  

For the most part, my husband and I are happy and continue to work on our marriage and the art of compromise, but after nearly 17 years, it’s not all wedded bliss. I wonder if other women sometimes experience a surge of love towards their husband one moment only to find in the next that they’re secretly planning a matrimonial escape when he innocently crunches chips in the way that unravels nerves, as well as years of commitment.  Do others pray for patience and ask for help, as I do?  I try to focus on the remarkable qualities of my loving husband (which are many), but recently questioned his intelligence when he asked where we keep the kitchen towels.   I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, as we are in a new house, well relatively – it’s been 10 months.  To be fair, I’m no box of chocolates.  His patience with me is tested time and time again and unfortunately he often acquiesces simply to keep harmony in the house.  

At times, I feel like we’re just too different and fall back into the comfortable old concerns of the past with regard to the ways in which we are not alike. He’s a planner.  I try, but often resort to “winging it”.  He’s punctual, if not early. I’m tardy, but continue my “training” as a punctual wannabe.  He’s Jewish, I’m Catholic.  He comes from a family of four, I come from a family of ten.  He’s Israeli and well-travelled.  I’m a mid-Westerner who grew up with family vacations that involved squeezing kids and most of the contents of the kitchen into a small car to spend a week at a state park cabin.

In looking back over the 50 years of my parents’ marriage and by missing my best friend during most of our biennial vacation, I realized that years of focusing on the underside of the tapestry of our marriage had skewed my perspective.  Although every marriage has its share of tangles, knots and unusual colors, I have a renewed appreciation for uniqueness and the beauty of our rich lives.  Because of our differences, I have a friend for all seasons, two beautiful children, wonderful family and friends, lovely stories, abundant blessings, a deeper appreciation for my Judeo-Christian faith, enjoyed close-in parking spaces due to early arrivals, and on some days, even know what we we’re having for dinner before 6 p.m.

More than anything, I’m reminded that as the weaving shuttle flies, the tapestry of my marriage and life story, imperfections and all, is unfolding.  With a renewed vision and appreciation, I see that it’s all part of the plan of the Master Weaver and is a beautiful work in progress from above. 

Engine Stalled, In Need of a Tow

It was a surprisingly glorious day, sunny and warm, with little humidity – a rarity in the typically stifling dog-days of summer on the East coast.  We were spending time with dear friends visiting for the weekend and exploring a beautiful coastal town.  With several touring options before us, we chose to take a short chartered cruise to learn more about the history of the War of 1812, oyster fishing, and the Chesapeake Bay.  Our group of seven boarded the antique boat along with others and started our journey as we listened to docents share stories of yesteryear.  The engaging crew invited children into the wheelhouse for an opportunity to help the captain steer the boat.  The mood was light and all was well until we found ourselves in silence as the engine suddenly died and a volunteer muttered, “This can’t be good”. 

With a naturally inquisitive spirit, a five year-old had mistakenly hit a button while assisting the captain and shut off the engine.  Unlike a newer boat, the engine on this quaint fishing vessel needed three hours to cool down before it would restart. 

There we sat, rocking on the water, as the strategy for rescue unfolded.  The crew announced that a boat had been summoned.  The plan was to jump start the failed engine and if unsuccessful, the nonworking boat would be towed.  In the meantime, the passengers enjoyed the scenery, discussed the rarity of the event and consoled the poor father as he apologized for his curious child.  After an hour, the rescue boat appeared, an engine restart was attempted, and the decision was made to tow.  I thought the boat would be towed in a manner similar to that of a car, in which the broken vehicle is hitched behind and pulled. Curiously, this wasn’t the case with the rescue boat.  We watched as the crews worked together to tether the boats side by side – in a fashion that visually reminded me of one putting an arm around the other.  Through partnership and ingenuity, the crews were able to use a 104-year-old crab dredger to help an antique oyster buy boat get passengers safely to dry land.  The crew was pleased that the crab dredger could be of such service, given its age and the challenge presented.  After a few laughs and pictures, I realized that not only did I have an adventure by which to always remember our visit with friends, I had an epiphany.

Although I am blessed, I have been struggling recently with the many challenges associated with moving hundreds of miles away from family and friends.  The opportunity to set sail on a new adventure is exciting, but at times trying.  I’m stubborn and in my effort to be strong, I often pretend that my proverbial motor is running, when at best, it's sputtering or has even stalled.  It doesn’t take a relocation to stall a motor.  Often it’s just the daily grind of life that extinguishes the spark.  Both the big and small trials of life can leave us feeling alone and adrift.  I find that in my unanchored moments a “tow boat” always comes to my rescue.  Spirit intervenes and through a phone call, email, Facebook post, note in the mailbox, knock on the door, or even a smile from a stranger, the course is righted and my engine restarted.  Surprisingly, I find these “tow boats” often do not intervene to lead or pull, they come alongside and put a proverbial arm around me and together with renewed strength, we face the current. 

Like the adventure on the water that afternoon on the East coast, I see that the essence of this journey through life is that we are to be tow boats for one another. I hope that today, I may be as lucky as the old crab dredger and put my arm around another “boat” in need. 

Rites of Passage

There are many in our lives, but I had not emotionally planned for this one. Unlike traditional status changes, as in the birth of a child, Bar Mitzvah, graduation, or marriage, I was not prepared to send my son off on his first overnight Scout camp.

It wasn’t a surprise, mind you. We had to sign up months in advance, pay a deposit, attend meetings, pick merit badge activity preferences, shop for supplies, head out again for more provisions, and on the day before camp, run around again for, you guessed it, more supplies. 

My son has a tender heart, so there were tears and anxiety around the event.  Most of his angst was related to being far away (308 miles) from his family for seven nights.  On the day of the departure, he put on a brave face, as did I.  I vowed to remain strong and continued to remind him that it would be a blast.  As the car pulled away, I cried, but told myself he was fine and turned my focus to my teenage daughter.  With my husband leaving for a business trip, the week would present a long-awaited chance for overdue mother/daughter bonding time.  We had a wonderful week, volunteering together at vacation bible school, shopping like we hadn’t in a long time, eating take out from the containers in front of the TV and relishing control of the remote as we chose our “chick flicks.”

Our together time was treasured, but my heart periodically became preoccupied with my far away son.  Why couldn’t I trust that all was well and quiet the questions?  Was he okay?  Had homesickness overshadowed the opportunity for fun?  Was he making new friends?  Was my fair complected, red-head having a heat stroke in a week of 95 degree weather? Was he happy or sad?  With a recent family move to a new state and the subsequent adjustments, this was seemingly a “make or break” life event for him - probably not, but I’d built it up to be so in my mind.

The week seemed especially poignant, as I was assigned to the babysitting room at vacation bible school.  Being around young mothers and babies was a daily reminder of a treasured time that is now a memory for me.  I was warned that the days would be long, but the years would be short.  I used to wonder how someone could say such a thing as I tripped over Thomas the Tank Engine or Dora to deliver yet another sip of water at the end of a long day. Now I understand and am wistful for days filled with little hands holding sippy cups, shoes made for cute pudgy feet and a bathtub filled with toys and suds.

During this week of contemplation, I realized that perhaps there was a deeper question - one which would reveal a rite of passage for me. Was I ready to see my little girl become a woman and my baby boy grow into a man? Like my Scout, was I ready to advance in the merit badge of motherhood?  Was I willing to let go so that my children could grow and fly?

 

My older “baby,” who volunteered as a crew member at VBS will be 15 in a few months.  She used to be little, like the ones in the nursery.  This week, I saw her as a beautiful young woman - talking with adult crew leaders and interacting with children in a way that inspired.  My son arrived home from Scout camp with a renewed sense of pride and a broader perspective, both of which foreshadow manhood.

The chapters in this adventure of life are short.  As I moved through this melancholy week involving growth and change, I vowed to remain in the present.  I will be diligent in my efforts to embrace the challenges and joys of this stage of motherhood.  For too soon, the taxi service to activities, homework, sleepovers, heightened emotions, sibling rivalry, battle for independence, eye rolls, laundry and “experts” under my roof would also be treasured memories in the rear view mirror of my life.

In facing the tough question, I was reminded of my need to embrace the little and the big rites of passage before me in this gift of motherhood. With newfound appreciation, I will bless the noisy, messy, and glorious days of an ordinary life, for I realize now that is it just like Scout camp, a blast.