Pieces of Home

I'm not sure when it happened.

Those of you who have read this blog more than a few times are aware that my relationship with my family isn't the closest, for several reasons. I love them, and they are family, but we've just never been that close.

My mother's mom, Grandma M, lived just down the street from us growing up (and by "just down the street", I mean within 20 minutes. You've gotta realize it was rural life!). Because she and my mother, her only child, had an unhealthily close bond, I never really bonded with her OR my mom. Yet I do remember special times at Grandma's house, the love that was apparent, and the fact that she always cut out the "Family Circus" comics for me to read every week. She'd make them into little booklets for me.

She started having "episodes" when I was in elementary school, and eventually when I was in high school she moved to a nursing home in town.

And when I was a senior in college she died.

I have lived my life in a way that I can say I have no regrets--but if there's one regret I have it's not saying goodbye to her. I wrote a raw poem about it soon after she died. Maybe I'll share it here someday...I was in college and she was in the hospital over Christmas vacation. I had spent most of my time back "home" during my 4 years of college in the hospital waiting rooms, had spent much of high school there too. Jasper Memorial--I could give you a tour. Anyway, I didn't think this time was any different and I had to rush back to school for student teaching that semester...she died a few days after I was back on campus. I remember Dad telling me NOT to come to her funeral, but I did anyway. Really, how could I NOT?

That regret was the desire that spurred me to drive hundreds of miles to see my Grandma B the following spring after Dad called me to tell me the doctors had given her hours to live. I'm thankful I was at her bedside at least.

Anyway, back to Grandma M...I literally drove into town for the funeral and then sped back down to try to make up the time in student teaching. A few months later, during Spring Break, Mom had me go through her old stuff and see what I would like to keep. I'd already been using pots and pans from her house in our college apartment, but now that they were selling the house it was ALL fair game.

I went through and selected a few things and honestly forgot all about it. Moved to an apartment in Hendersonville, bought this house a year later in '04...I brought some of her furniture that I had laid claim to -- a few end table type things, an antique vanity, small antique rocker, and a couple of chairs -- but I didn't give the other stuff a second thought.

It wasn't until this past Christmas that Mom said "You know, you have boxes of stuff downstairs that you might want to look through."

And treasure was found. Old dishes, cups, saucers, a small oil lamp, figurines...

I remember eating out of some of them when I was a little girl.

And sometimes these days, when I need some comfort, I reach for a "Grandma" dish.

There's something about eating cereal out of one of these bowls that feels right.

Something about putting my pop tabs in this old teacup that makes me smile.

Spooning sugar into my morning coffee is so familiar.

And I love serving veggies or appetizers on this platter.

I'm not sure why. I've never had that strong a connection, never wanted that strong a connection.
But as much as I've tried to deny it...it's there.

A little piece of me is in every piece of furniture, every dish, every painstakingly put together booklet of comics.

There are plenty of moments in my childhood that I want to forget.
And these are memories that make me smile.

Monday Memory

*note: all posts this week (Sunday - Thursday) are scheduled posts. I am WAY out of cell phone and wireless network range. I love your comments and will look forward to reading them when I return on Friday!

My first camping experience with the youth group at Woodmont was...interesting. I had no desire to actually volunteer with the youth group-- I worked with middle schoolers every day! So when I was invited to go to camp I hesitated. But truth be told, I got bored in the summers and then they dangled the prospect of going whitewater rafting in front of me and I jumped at it.

(Incidentally, Anthony tells me he noticed me at camp that year. He was interning, and since they're busier than anyone else on the grounds we never really talked. But he says he thought I was "cute". Heehee)

Anyway, I rode up with my friend Vera, and when we got there we had a small orientation in the retreat center. Keep in mind that I knew NONE of these students.

Doug reads off my name, along with another adults name and says "oh, but Lora...Angie will be here tomorrow afternoon. You're on your own tonight"

Great.

And then he reads off the name of 15 7th and 8th grade girls and says "Follow Lora to the Eagles Nest"

Well...I had no idea WHERE that was, so thankfully a camp staff member joined us on the hike.

It had been raining...no, POURING. And the Eagles Nest just happens to be a part of Indian Village, the group of cabins on the very tip-top of the campgrounds.

We had a looooooooooonnnnnng walk.

And true to form the middle school girls were quite vocal about it. It was muddy, they were tired, their bags were getting dirt, how much further.

I finally turned around and said something on the order of "Keep that up and your cabin's nickname will be the Whiners."

They shut up.

(although I felt awfully bad that that was their first impression of me)

We got to the cabin, made introductions, and because few of them wanted to sleep on a top bunk I got the honor.

We turned the lights out about midnight, just as the storm started.

A few minutes later I heard frantic whispering. I turned around and saw 3 of the girls huddled in the center of the room. "What's wrong?" I ask, and they respond "Nothing, nothing. Go back to sleep."

So I did.
Yeah RIGHT.
I rolled back over, waited for about 3 minutes until the frantic whispers continued growing and turned over to say "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"We're scared of the storm."

So I drag myself out of bed, walk onto the front porch with them and assure them it's just a thuder and lightening show, nothing severe.

They don't buy it.
(and we WERE isolated in a dinky little cabin at the top of a hill. I can't really blame them for a bit of freakout)

I finally said the only thing else I could think of (I'd tried praying, hugging, reassuring...nothing worked.)

"Well, why don't we all pull our mattresses off the bed and sleep on the floor together."

And somehow that was the magic statement. 4 matresses magically fit in the space that about 2 and a half should have, and all the girls were asleep within moments.

I should have left my matress down there. It was the best night's sleep I got all week. Silly metal creaky bed frames.

(Lots more happened that week that I'll share in time. But suffice it to say at the end of the week I told Doug "I think I'd like to start working with the teens.". He was estatic. :0))

Waiting

*disclaimer: all photos in this post were taken in my poor college/no digi camera days, so please pardon the awful quality!*

When I look back at it, a lot of my life seems to have been spent in line.

Take today for example. I had to wait to leave the house because an ambulance was blocking my car as they checked on the ill son of my next door neighbor (not that I was complaining. I read some of your blogs as I waited for them to be done. And he's ok. I think.). Once I was out on the road, I waited in line at Starbucks, the emissions testing center, and finally the county clerk branch so that my car will be legally driven. I don't normally wait until the last possible moment, but with money so tight this year I did. The lines weren't nearly as bad as I had imagined they would be! And I had the foresight to bring my laptop so that I could get a little offline work done as I waited in the car.

It did get me to thinking though. Which is always dangerous, right?

The longest line I have ever been in was this one:

We were told by our tour guide that we were lucky we were there on a weekday. Weekend traffic was even more. Oh, and that line? Stretched out to nearly double that on the other side of the wall. I don't remember how many hours we actually spent in the line. But I'll never forget the treasures at the end of it.

La Pieta

The Last JudgementCreation

Singing @ St Peter's Square
(I'm nearly smack in the middle with a huge black bag draped in front of me)

Vatican City was amazing. I wasn't even as interested in Catholicism then as I am now, and still part of my heart resonated with every step through this historical and reverant place. I remember stopping at the gift shop because I wanted to buy a rosary. My Nazarene buddies on the trip thought I was a little nuts (what else is new!) but I chose a beautiful one made of crushed rose petals. 7 years later I can still smell the faint hint of rose when I pick it up and run my fingers over it.

Knowing what I know now, I'd love to someday go back, but as many things are it's on my "waiting" list.

There are a lot of things there.

My career path, marriage, children, travel, new homes, a hybrid vehicle, being able to volunteer, etc. And there are times I get impatient and wonder what in the world I'm doing still waiting. It's at those times I'm reminded of simple truths that God's timing is everything and He really does know what He's doing.

If I hadn't waited on his timing I would have never moved to Nashville
If I hadn't been fired I would have never realized His provision
If I hadn't completely put my love life in His hands I would have never dated again

So I wait...and I've learned to be content even though every part of my impatient self screams to hurry up...I wait.

And it's here I've found Him, more so than any other time.

Dotty

Emi thinks Anthony belongs to her, much because of this!

high school friends reunite--from left: Melissa and her fiancee Steven, Angie and her boyfriend Brian, and A and me

Last weekend Anthony and I went to my hometown to (gulp) stay with mom and dad overnight. The real purpose of this was to go to my 10 year high school reunion. Which was odd, fun, weird, and great all rolled up into one.

we stole a kiss when we visited my old high school

on mom and dad's front porch after church

Now, my parents aren't the most warm fuzzy people on the planet. Quite the opposite actually. So, bless Anthony, he was a real trooper through the uncomfortable silences and backhanded insults delivered at the hand of dad.

Sunday afternoon we escaped.

I've spoken some about my eating disorder history, but I don't think I've ever mentioned here that my school nurse in high school was much more than your average school nurse. She literally became my therapist, doctor, nutritionist...and friend.

My first real interaction with Dotty was when she called me into her office as a high school freshman and said "I noticed by your weight chart that you've lost xx pounds since this time last year."

I was in denial. I was sullen. I informed her there was nothing wrong. She informed me that there was, and that she would be weighing me weekly from then on out.

I was pissed.

HATED it. Didn't much care for her either. I was not very nice for the 3 months or so this went on. And then on one of my visits she said words I did NOT want to hear...but desperately needed:

"If you lose even one pound between now and next week I'm calling your parents."

I lost 3.

She called them. Long story short, nothing happened. They were also in denial, not wanting to think that their "perfect" daughter would ever have something so foul as an eating disorder. My father at one point over the next 24 hours said to me "you should probably eat more."

That was it.

And a huge part of me was relieved, but my spirit was crushed. To this day I don't feel like I can trust my parents, and to this day they do not know how deep my struggle was in high school and how it resurfaced and I ended up much worse off than I was *during* high school.

I continued losing weight until I was at a truly alarming and dangerous point. And something within me became terrified. I didn't know how to fix it, but I knew I had to. Slowly but surely I read articles on nutrition and tried to introduce more calories into my diet. And I prayed. A lot. By the time I entered my sophomore year I was at least up to triple digits again.

I still remember dropping a note by Dotty's office on my way in to school one spring morning asking if I could come to talk to her. Nearly a year after the awful scene when she told me "I won't weigh you anymore but I'm calling home today" I was called to her office, this time at my initiation. She closed the door and just looked at me, and it all came spilling out. That I was so sorry I'd been awful to her last year, that I really had been sick, that I had gotten scared and with God's help I was trying to beat it. I'll never forget the look on her face when she asked me how it had gone after she had called and spoken to dad and I told her nothing had happened. Before I left her office that day she wrapped her arms around me and for one of the first times I felt like I had an ally in all of this.

She retired that year. We kept in touch somewhat, but it was hard. My parents did NOT like our newfound relationship, and they certainly didn't understand *why* I wanted to talk to her...and I know they were threatened. She came to my graduation party when I left high school (at a healthy weight!) and we kept in touch all throughout college. And I still call her every month or two, write letters, etc. She was one of the only people I told when everything resurfaced. I was cleaning out my office right before Anthony and I left for Indiana and saw a card she had written to me right after she found out I was struggling again. And I immediately picked up the phone and called her...and asked if I could bring Anthony by to meet her while we were in town. She said absolutely.

So Sunday afternoon I took Anthony to my first house growing up (which is just a shell since it burned down a few years after we had moved), my grandmother's old house (which has been trashed by the new occupants :() and to the cemetary to visit Grandma too. And then we made a drive down a country road to see Dotty and Luther at their farm.

We literally sat with them for an hour and a half just talking and enjoying their company. They did all the things that "parents" should do when meeting the boyfriend--they were interested in A, asked him questions and were genuine in their response. Being with them for the two hours we spent at their place was SO therapeutic and healing for me. It had been years since I had actually been able to visit with Dotty, so this was an amazing gift...and to be able to share Anthony was just gravy :)

That's right...I said 2 hours. Because once we stepped outside to get back into the car we found out that 2 of their cats had kittens. And we played and enjoyed them for another 30 minutes. I fell in love with this one (and she followed me around until I picked her up and cuddled her) and am still toying with the idea of going back and getting her. Dotty said she would have sent her with me right then, but she was way too tiny for that.



After I finally put the kitten down, Dotty wrapped her arms around me, and as I do every time she hugs me, I felt secure and loved. Her whispered "I love you" didn't even need to be spoken for me to know it in my heart, and I'm sure that my echoed response was unnecessary as well.

I called Dotty yesterday just to thank her for letting us crash their Sunday afternoon. Her response was "We loved it! We're still talking about it." And then she went on about how much they adored Anthony and what a good man he is...and how they are looking forward to our next visit.

And honestly? So am I.

Geez...

...cue the music...

I'm busy, busy, dreadfully busy
You've no idea what I've got to do!
Busy, busy, dreadfully busy
Much, much too busy for you!
(dear blog)

But not too busy for my bloggy friends. I promise I'm reading. I promise I'll go back to commenting. I've had a sick and pregnant friend at my house most of the week, I just landed a great new contract gig (whew! and yes, I promise more about that sooner rather than later), I'm working my other part-time job, and somewhere in this I've got a big boat party to go to on Saturday as well as my (GULP) 10 year class reunion in my hometown next weekend!

Perhaps soon we'll return to our regularly scheduled blog programming. Until then...love to you all!

Thursday's Ten -- Time For a Little Laughter!

First of all, those of you who have commented sweetly on my last couple of posts have encouraged me greatly. I promise I wasn't trying to be a downer...just sharing my heart and part of my journey!

But I think a little lightheartedness is due on this blog!

So...

Ten Things that Make Me Laugh

1. Kids. They always say the funniest things.
(one of my favorite nannying moments was when the 2 year old told the restaurant hostess: "Lora needs some wine")
2. The $3.99 lazer pointer I bought for the cat to play with. Hi-larious.
3. Family Guy. Yeah, Anthony has me addicted.
4. Old episodes of Friends. When I'm feeling down, all I have to do is pop in one a dvd of Friends and life seems good again.
5. Girlfriends.
6. The woman I'm acting as caretaker for. I had to help her pick out a bra the other day (she found out I used to work at VS). She's always telling me things that make me giggle. Sometimes out loud...sometimes inside.
7. Teaching stories. My own, others. You can't make this stuff up!
8. My "skills" at certain video games. I LOVE playing, but I'm not necessarily "good". A indulges me. I'm determined to get to a level where I don't feel dumb playing with him all the time!
9. Myself. Soooo many crazy things happen to me on a semi-regular basis. I'm going to post a story I shared with my email friends a few years ago at the end of this.
10. blogs. There are some blogs that I go to regularly just for the humor within. And often leave with some pretty powerful thoughts too--some of you have such a gift for writing with humor and making us see beyond the surface.

**************************************************************************************************

Blast from the past:

I'm all about being an independent single woman.

And bugs? Bugs don't freak me out. Not really.

After all, I'm the one who made the rule at camp that if it's not bigger than your fist you're not allowed to scream. Bugs surprise me sometimes, and I'm not necessarily thrilled with them (especially the spiders who crawl up my drainpipe to die in my shower), but I'm not *scared* of them, and I'll take the necessary steps to eliminate them even if that's flushing them or spraying them with windex repeatedly.

BUT.

As I was grinding my coffee beans last night, as is my routine, Emi came into the kitchen and meowed while looking longingly at her food corner. This normally means she's out of something, and sure enough I noticed her water dish was low. I filled up a glass and when I bent down to fill the dish my eyes traveled to her food dish.

Now, I've been working in the garden a LOT lately, and mistakenly have left the door open to the patio a lot. The patio is off the kitchen.

Nestled in the corner of her food dish was a slimy looking gray...something.

I freaked.

Seriously.

And then figured out by careful (and faraway) inspection that it was a slug.

Now...my dad would have poured salt on it and thoroughly enjoyed it. I employed the help of a broom to first knock it off Emi's food dish. Then I shuddered and said "ew, ew, ew, ew, ew" I grabbed my garden shovel, but realized I didn't want to get close enough to scoop it up to throw it outside, and then if I DID throw it outside wouldn't I run into it again? So I shuddered again and said "ew, ew, ew, ew, ew". (which sounded more like "euhhhhhh" since I was thoroughly disgusted!) Finally I employed the cup trick. I grabbed a disposable cup from my "party" stash,{note: this was Lora's "pre-green phase"} and very carefully placed it over the top of the nasty little creature. My hope was that it would die under there (admittedly, cruel) before I slipped a piece of paper under it to scoop it up.
So tonight, after I got home from yoga I did just that--using a Geico advertisement. The last I saw of the slug it was in a trash bag which has been put in the outside garbage. I didn't take a long enough look to see if it was still alive...

So...THIS is why I need to get married.

But in the meantime, I'm taking applications for the immediate vacancy of "Gross Creatures Eliminator" at my house. Any takers?

and to make it better, this was one of the responses:

Lora,

Sorry about your near death experience but not at all disappointed to hear about the death of your slug. Just as a point of reference, when we lived in Washington you never went outside at night barefooted. Why, you may ask? Because out there they grow slugs the size of small bananas. I guess that’s why they are called banana slugs. Guess you’ll keep your doors shut tight from now on.

Love,

Kathryne

Sooo...what makes you laugh these days? Share please!