my own bed

I’m home! Home from the mountains I love. Home from the lake I adore. Home from the smell of pine and rain clouds and fishy grand-kids, and campfire and burnt marshmallows. Home from camping for another year.

I miss it already.

I showered as soon as I walked in the door, but I still smell the campfire in my hair this morning.

And then I weighed. 149 last night, 148 this morning.

Every single day — all 12 of them — I

• breathed in the mountain air
• prayed morning and night
• consciously took in all the beauty around me
• read Women, Food and God
• read Clean Hands, Pure Heart
• read Eats, Shoots and Leaves
• did 5 sudoku puzzles, medium difficulty
• walked between 30-40 minutes
• drank water that was snow the day before
• swam in the river (most days)
• loved my family more than I ever have

Glorious!

But last night it was wonderful to sleep in my own bed. I climbed between the crisp sheets and hunkered down for a great sleep. While we were camping I slept in my Kelty tent on my Coleman air mattress, and in my Cabela’s sub-zero bag with two Levi quilts on top, wearing my polypropylene under-armour .

There had been a ‘bear-scare’ the week before in campsite #34, just two away from ours. I didn’t sleep well. I dreamed of grizzlies all night long. One night I actually prayed to clarify if God was telling me to go get my razor out of the car to enable me to quickly cut myself out of the back part of my tent in case a grizzly came in the front.

Then I thought, do grizzlies actually come in the front door of the tent?

Most nights I woke up to sounds that momentarily frightened me. I wondered if Scott would be able to hear my screams from his tent across our camp if I needed him to run through the dark with his .44 Magnum in tow.

I’ve turned into a sissy!

The last night, after Scott and Andie had left, I slept in my car. It was rough! I still had on my polies, still slept in the bag with the two quilts, but it was a tight squeeze and the reclining front seat wasn’t a good fit.

My own bed felt wonderful!

cruise

Just to prove I can post about things other than the continual ups and downs of my weight, I decided to put into words something that has been going around in my head for a couple of days. I’ve been thinking about how interesting and surprising life is. I was telling my friend about the fact that my boys just returned home yesterday from a cruise. She said, “Scott and Stephen.” I said, “Scott, Stephen and Cameron!” She couldn’t believe it. I can’t believe it!

You have to know the background to realize how amazing it is that these three guys — men, now — spent a week together in the Caribbean. Cam moved away after his Freshman year. His father and I divorced and Cameron needed to be with his dad. He left one day while I was away from home and never came back. I thought he was going for one year, but he had something else in mind and has stayed for — 15 years? Something like that.

He came back for a few days when Blythe and Andie were born. He came another time. It may have been three times all together. But here is the amazing part. When my mother died last year, he came for her funeral. He stayed the better part of a week. Then six months later he came back to go camping with us for a week at Green River Lakes. Several weeks ago he went to Las Vegas with Scott, and then this past week he went on a cruise with Scott and Stephen. And now the awkwardness is gone.

My stoney, frozen, damaged heart healed. In a matter of a few months. It’s all stitched up. It’s back in one piece.

I’m not sure who to thank for this miracle.

I had passed the point where I thought we would never see each other again. I had passed the point where I believed we would never heal from the hurt. I had passed the point where I hoped my heart would ever have room for this son who left me.

But now, it’s like it never happened. He’s all grown up. I had remembered him all those years as the boy he was when he left. He’s very different than I had imagined. And yet he’s exactly the same.

And I’m so thrilled, so happy, so pleased, so relieved that a small measure of peace and comfort have filled my heart and blessed my life.

I am so blessed.

Eileen

Happy belated birthday to my little sister, Eileen! I’ve written about her before and just want to say again how blessed my life has been by having her for a sister. I remember a few years ago she was in charge of the brother/sister family reunion. She went all out cooking like a crazy woman and reserved the Bar H near their home for our extravaganza. It was decorated cute and was welcoming and homey. We had milk can dinners — meaning, I guess, that they cooked the whole meal in milk cans. I never heard of such a thing. We slept on her lawn in tents and played games til the cows came home.

Eileen is a lot like my mother. She cooks, sews, serves, works alongside her husband, Mel, has many children who have all grown up into wonderful, responsible, talented adults. Eileen looks like mom, as well. She’s a happy person with a smile that never ends. She tells long stories and laughs at herself. She is a good sport and works overtime to make things just right for everyone else. They often have a huge group going to Green River Lakes in the summertime. I remember one time their group was way over the limit in the campground but instead of moving to two different sites, they were willing to pay for the two sites if they could just all stay together. That says a lot for their family!

Happy day to you! Happy year. Happiness, and Blessings

give it up mom

I am half way through the day and hopefully got that out of my system. With some encouragement from my eldest, I’m going to move on and try to not dwell on it so much. He said “I like it when you focus on positive lists, your grandchildren, Green River Lakes, Sunday school lessons, memories of Grandma, realizations about life, lessons learned, etc.” [I like that better, too.] “Give it up mom. Do your best and that’s it. You are active and you exercise when you can. You eat good most days. Maybe only weigh one a week. This day-to-day thing dominates your life and is making you very unhappy. Have a good day. I would love to read tomorrow about your ten favorite memories of your kids and grand kids.”

[There's plenty of good things I could write about them! Lot's of memories and favorite times. What Mom and Grandmom wouldn't be able to fill up a page with that kind of inspiration?]

I definitely love it when granddaughter Annes calls me. I can only understand a few words out of each sentence. If Tracy hadn’t told me her new nickname was Spider, I wouldn’t have known. I love walking through the halls at work while carpet sweeping and singing “The Teensy Weensy Spider” with this cute thing! I get lots of looks from the classrooms.

I remember when Stephen was born. It was a scary time because he stopped breathing twice. The cord was wrapped around his neck, not once, but twice. I remember thinking ohmygoodness this baby I’ve waited ten years for needs to breath! A few months later he nearly drown in the bathtub — but since those two early incidents he has been strong and huge [6'4"] and darling and handsome and he’s breathing well on his own now. I’m so glad to see him happier than he has been for a while. He’s learning how to build  homes and to work hard and to be on his own.

I remember one day when he was riding his dirt bike he was attempting a wheelie and somehow skidded on his knees for a while [until he could stop his bike] and took most of the skin off both of them. When he came in the house pouring blood and crying and was scared to death the first thing he said was, “Mom, I’m so sorry. I ruined my pants.” He apparently hadn’t seen his knees yet.

When Andie was a baby she was famous for being able to turn her bink upside down in a split nano second. Everyone [for miles around] would come by to see her do this. They’d all line up, purposfully put the binkie in upside down, and she’d twist it around with her little tongue and suck. We’d turn it again and again and again, and she’d turn it back. We’d all laugh until we cried. It was so stinking cute!

A favorite memory of my mother is that she used to let me get away with sleeping under the table on the pushed-in kitchen chairs. After lunch she sent us upstairs for naps but I would usually sneak back down and try to hide. She busied herself with lunch clean up and would talk as though no one were there and said, “Those good little children all asleep in their beds…” while she knew I was under the table as she swept. I always loved her for letting me do that while all the other kids were upstairs.

An odd memory at GRL was when we were paddling to the upper meadow while everyone else hiked up for a picnic. Mom and I [because she couldn't walk that far and I was preggers] were in the boat with Alice’s brothers and there were deer or elk swimming in the water right beside us.

OK, truly, I am feeling more balanced and not so focused on things that will never matter in a few days.

where am i living?

I’ve been wanting to post about this all week.

A friend of mine, Trish, recently told me about a seminar she attended where that question was asked. “Where are you living?” At first it caught me off guard until she explained a little further.

We all have a line. We all draw that line. We all live above the line or below it. We can never live on both sides of the line at one time. Our lives go well or poorly, depending on where we live.

ownership

freedom

power

choice

__________________________________

lay blame

justify

deny

quit

When we chose to live above the line, we take ownership. We don’t shift responsibility. We take pride. We meet our obligations. When we live above the line we enjoy freedom. We don’t sell our soul. We aren’t in bondage to anyone or anything. We prize independence and value justice. When we live above the line we have power. Personal power, individual power, collective power. We find strength. We develop endurance, permanence, effectiveness and intensity. And when we live above the line we have choice. Choice gives us alternatives. Choice provides opportunities and options. Choice gives us ownership, freedom and power. In fact when we live above the line, each of these characteristics gives to and builds each of the other characteristics.

Now.

When we live below the line our lives take a different direction. We don’t like ourselves. We don’t like many other people. We don’t like our situation. Heck! We don’t like the dog. At first we might think that life will be better below the line. We don’t have to grow up. We don’t have to make difficult decisions, pay our way, do the hard stuff. We don’t have to tell the truth, we don’t have to be responsible or accountable. We have an instant excuse for everything that goes wrong in our lives.

[We might think we have freedom, power and choice, but the very minute we don't take ownership, we immediately slide below the line.]

Sadly, when we live below the line, we never have anything that is above the line. We might think we do, for a very short time. But then it quickly disappears. [If we're honest with ourselves, which doesn't often happen below the line, we are forced to realize that we never really had it in the first place.] Many times we eventually give up and just quit.

The journey to b.e.t.t.e.r. is above the line. The journey is well-marked, well-traveled, well-versed and well-loved. The journey to b.e.t.t.e.r  has been around for centuries, millennia, eternities. It has many names, some of which are conscience, truth, religion, decency, integrity, morality, verity, honor.

Which reminds me of a conversation I had with my darling [about-4-at-the-time] granddaughter. We were talking about honor one day. She said something like “My dad has honor! In fact his name is Richard Honor Ward.”

His name is Richard Arnold Ward!

Too cute! [And she's right about him having honor!]