Need any tarragon or sage?
I have been harvesting already and drying bundles in the kitchen. They smell wonderful, and harvesting simply allows the plants to put out new leaves, new shoots and not to become too woody and spindley. That's my theory, at least. The thyme I planted remains very small, but it survived the winter, so that's good. If I leave it alone for a while, perhaps it will grow. If not, I'll have to plant some more plants.
I've already bottled a bundle of dried sage in one of the ancient spice bottles I received at my wedding shower from my mom. It was one of the neatest gifts ever. An entire shoebox filled with spices and herbs of all description. I even had a bottle of saffron at one time (gasp!).
Sometimes when I buy new spices, I pour out the old ones and refill those bottles. Now I will fill them from my own garden. I think I'll plant some dill seed and have some of that to harvest as well. I like to plant the herbs in among flowering plants for interest, but right now, one end of my planter bed, between the salvia and some vincas that keep coming back year after year, I have my herbs. I treat the lavendar as a flower and have that elsewhere, though when it comes time to harvest, it will be treated as another herb, to dry in bundles hanging all over my kitchen. I'm either going to have to add some hooks, or string a line across the kitchen to hang the bundles on.
In town friends, call me, and I'll bring you some tarragon or fresh sage. Tarragon is wonderful with chicken and rice. Absolutely wonderful flavor when used with white pepper. Sage is used for lots of things, most of which escape me at the present moment.
My imagination is filled with Tuscan villas lately, the colors, the smells, the simple and slow, luxurious way of life. Filled with olives growing on the terraced hillsides, grapes and blackberries draped over rock walls. Of lemon trees grown in large pots that are pulled inside for the winter. In my head I have designed a house with several sets of double doors across the front, windows between. The house is stone, with blue-gray stones forming the window and door framing. The floors are stone on the main level, and wide chestnut planks on the stairs and upper level.
The width of the house on the main level is open, with a few rooms off the back, large walk-in fireplaces for cooking and heating, a kitchen open to the dining area and to the living area. Three fireplaces are on the main level, one at either end and one slightly off center for the kitchen cooking. This fireplace provides the only screening of eating/cooking areas from the living area.
A wide staircase runs up the center to the assorted bedrooms and bathrooms located on the upper level. Ceilings are very high throughout the house, none less than 10 feet, and the structural beams are a thing of beauty, large, dark, oiled. Open shelves flank the fireplace in the living room, containing various books on travel, decor, gardening, etc.
Simple furnishings invite you to linger, sit, rest, eat, talk, read...whatever. The plaster walls which began as white, have over time taken on the golden yellow, peach, corals, blues and greens of the Tuscan countryside.
A modern heating system is completely hidden, but takes off the winter's chill. Fans circulate in high summer, but the house doesn't seem to welcome frigid air-conditioned breezes.
One of the rooms off the back of the main level is simply for storage. Here, in a darkened cupboard go bottles of extra virgin olive oil, pressed from homegrown olives, the house wines of several area vineyards, extra serving dishes, linens, large pots for entertaining crowds of friends, dishes, herbs harvested from the garden, multi-use baskets and winter blankets and throws, as well as bottles for the wine I hope to ferment from my own harvest someday. Bags to bring things home from the market, or from walks through the countryside, my walking stick and a couple of hats to keep the sun from my fair skin while working outside.
If you want to know why I'm dreaming of Tuscan villas, read Frances Mayes books. She has rekindled my love of Italy, and my longing for a way of life that seems more in tune with my internal pace. I live in a world that seems frantic, frenetic. I am not those things, but some of the anxiety that others have rubs off on me sometimes. I sometimes feel guilty that I am not spinning all the time. I simply can't. When I run at that pace, it never lasts for long, and then I am sick and forced to rest by my own body. I want to be a person at rest. I don't mean idle, but a person that exudes calm and helps others to relax simply by being there and being calm and peaceful. I have known some people like that. Their homes exude that same quality. Walk in and your shoulders drop, and suddenly, you have a neck--your ears aren't growing straight from your shoulders after all. You exhale and realize that you've been holding your breath. For how long, you don't know.
Close your eyes and see yourself, feet up on the coffee table, book in hand, listening to crickets singing in the world just beyond the open doors. It's okay. There's time here. you don't need to return any phone calls right now, tomorrow will be soon enough. Breath in, exhale slowly and thoroughly, dropping your shoulders and relaxing your neck muscles. You're in Tuscany. Later there will be food and wine and conversation, but for now, just relax.
Wasn't that great?
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Expeditions
Come along with me to some of my favorite places:
1. The Comfortable Home in Kittredge, followed by antiqueing in Evergreen, or back to Golden to wander the streets and stop in at Woody's for pizza, or their famous cheese soup.
2. Off the Back Porch in Woodland Park, with a stop in the Mexican import shop along Hwy 24, and donuts or soup at the Donut Mill.
3. Downtown Colorado Springs. The Silent Woman, Mt. Tejon, Whickerbills, The Lark II, followed by a wonderful lunch at El Tesoro.
4. Decorating Den outside of Larkspur, followed by a trip to my favorite little gift shop in Larkspur (what is the name?) and lunch at the coffee shop or anywhere recommended by the proprietoress of the gift shop. Perhaps a spin through the art gallery/shop in Monument before heading back home.
5. Park Meadows Mall. Restoration Hardware, Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn (yes I know we have one in Colorado Springs, but it's SMALL), The Container Store and The Great Indoors. That may be two trips.
6. Antiqueing in Florence.
7. Pueblo Riverwalk. Walk the river, then antique down main street and stop for pizza at what looks like a hole in the wall. Just wait!
8. Thrift shopping in Aspen, Vail and/or Breckenridge! What fun!
9. Maybe you want to go to Jackalope for pots, wander around inside looking at dishes, furnishings, gifts, etc. before finding someplace to go for a sandwich and a latte.
10. The Hillside Gardens in Colorado Springs. Wander around picking up plants, garden sculpture, wind chimes, old gates or fence sections, wonderful pots, and more. Plan to stop in for a light lunch in their cafe.
11. South Broadway in Denver. I've heard it called The Antique Mile, though I've never gone through every shop to see how far you can go.
12. 16th Street Mall, Denver. I can't wait to find out what treasures are in store.
13. I didn't get to spend much time in Longmont and I'd like to wander around and find the antique stores, the thrift shops, the unique and special, the local watering holes. Just for fun.
Come with me. I'd love to show you my world. In my world, even Home Depot may reveal treasures. Come garage sale-ing with me, or thrift shopping. I haven't hit all the local thrift stores yet, have you? I'm not looking for junk, but for wonderful items to enhance my life and to decorate my home. Remember my $15.00 chandelier I mentioned in an earlier post? I just found a few pieces of great wall art--totally my style, $15 for the pair at a used furniture store. And while I was there I picked up a funky set of coffee mugs with a parisian print on them for next to nothing.
You just have to be ready for adventure and play tourist everywhere you go. You never know what wonders you may find if you decide to check out life outside of WalMart, Applebees and Chili's.
Anyone up for a trip to the thrift stores and antique shops of Simla and Limon? Broadmoor thrift/consignment store?
1. The Comfortable Home in Kittredge, followed by antiqueing in Evergreen, or back to Golden to wander the streets and stop in at Woody's for pizza, or their famous cheese soup.
2. Off the Back Porch in Woodland Park, with a stop in the Mexican import shop along Hwy 24, and donuts or soup at the Donut Mill.
3. Downtown Colorado Springs. The Silent Woman, Mt. Tejon, Whickerbills, The Lark II, followed by a wonderful lunch at El Tesoro.
4. Decorating Den outside of Larkspur, followed by a trip to my favorite little gift shop in Larkspur (what is the name?) and lunch at the coffee shop or anywhere recommended by the proprietoress of the gift shop. Perhaps a spin through the art gallery/shop in Monument before heading back home.
5. Park Meadows Mall. Restoration Hardware, Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn (yes I know we have one in Colorado Springs, but it's SMALL), The Container Store and The Great Indoors. That may be two trips.
6. Antiqueing in Florence.
7. Pueblo Riverwalk. Walk the river, then antique down main street and stop for pizza at what looks like a hole in the wall. Just wait!
8. Thrift shopping in Aspen, Vail and/or Breckenridge! What fun!
9. Maybe you want to go to Jackalope for pots, wander around inside looking at dishes, furnishings, gifts, etc. before finding someplace to go for a sandwich and a latte.
10. The Hillside Gardens in Colorado Springs. Wander around picking up plants, garden sculpture, wind chimes, old gates or fence sections, wonderful pots, and more. Plan to stop in for a light lunch in their cafe.
11. South Broadway in Denver. I've heard it called The Antique Mile, though I've never gone through every shop to see how far you can go.
12. 16th Street Mall, Denver. I can't wait to find out what treasures are in store.
13. I didn't get to spend much time in Longmont and I'd like to wander around and find the antique stores, the thrift shops, the unique and special, the local watering holes. Just for fun.
Come with me. I'd love to show you my world. In my world, even Home Depot may reveal treasures. Come garage sale-ing with me, or thrift shopping. I haven't hit all the local thrift stores yet, have you? I'm not looking for junk, but for wonderful items to enhance my life and to decorate my home. Remember my $15.00 chandelier I mentioned in an earlier post? I just found a few pieces of great wall art--totally my style, $15 for the pair at a used furniture store. And while I was there I picked up a funky set of coffee mugs with a parisian print on them for next to nothing.
You just have to be ready for adventure and play tourist everywhere you go. You never know what wonders you may find if you decide to check out life outside of WalMart, Applebees and Chili's.
Anyone up for a trip to the thrift stores and antique shops of Simla and Limon? Broadmoor thrift/consignment store?
Saturday, May 13, 2006
Gardening and Road Trips.
I had fully intended to have pictures to show some of my weekend activities, but I was gone for all the hours of full sun today, when pictures would have turned out best. Another time.
Picked up some more plants. I think it must be an instinctive thing that happenes as the earth dips lower and lower, and the days get longer and longer. I simply itch to get flowers planted and a garden growing. I find it nearly impossible to resist. I bought nine packs of vincas (I think) and sweet william, as well as a twenty-four pack of another perennial flower. This may also be vincas, but I don't remember. I also transplanted lavender, daisies (which I don't think will survive the transplant), columbines, an unidentified plant sending out a head of tiny white flowers, and yarrow, which will likely recover eventually. I think I also transplanted a straggly mint. I planted my wild blue flax, although it isn't where I wanted to plant it, but the herbicide sprayed throughout the yard to kill off the abundance of weeds in preparation for tilling, new soil and sod, hasn't taken effect, so I didn't want to plant it in the spot I had selected only to have them respray and kill it.
I bought a couple of overpriced small box planters stuffed with a variety of annuals, thinking that one of the boxes would make a lovely housewarming gift for our latest closing. I also bought oregano and tomato plants and 5 bags of compost to dig into the planter beds, and a huge bag of Miracle Grow potting soil for the pots I want to plant the tomatoes in.
Therein lies the problem. At Lowes there were several pots that looked good but weren't real pottery. I know, I know, that sounds snobbish or something, but I don't want Fiberglas pots or plastic pots. I want big substantial ceramic or clay pots, heavy, breakable and real.
So, with Alex in tow (he went along to do the heavy lifting), I decided to head out for one of the two shops I know carry big, ceramic pots of all descriptions and just hope I could afford something really great. I have visions of the wonderful pots in gardens along the Amalfi Coast, in their formal settings, surrounded by boxwoods or privet hedges and lovely manicured lawns. I can't manage a formal garden with it's strong forms, need for serious maintenance and hedge clipping, but I want to have the feel of outdoor rooms to walk, wisteria arbors, bougenvilia hanging over tall garden walls...
Well, in Colorado, many of those items will have to be altered, but back to the road trip.
I was close to the entrance to Hwy83, so I decided to take that road toward a neat shop I had seen many times on my way to Parker, rather than take Hwy 24 up Ute Pass to the other shop I had visited previously. (Camino Real?) Well, we drove and drove (it's been a while since I took Hwy 83), but finally got to Jackalope, where there were rows and rows of wonderful pots in all shapes, sizes and colors. Immediately I headed for the 50% off row, since I wanted to buy fairly large pots. I found two large pots with an espresso glaze (about knee height) and bought both of them for a total of $40. Yea!
After getting them home, Alex lugged them up the back stairs to the deck, where I filled them and planted tomatoes and oregano. I don't know whether to add other herbs in the pot as well. I'm thinking it could be a great idea, but I'm wondering if the tomatoes, once they are full size, would block out the sun the herbs would need. Putting plants in the back of the truck, right next to the tailgate, then taking off at 65 mph probably wasn't the smartest thing I could have done. While the plants remained in their pots, they looked windblown, like I would after riding in a convertible with the top down. Perhaps the boxes will recover in time to make a nice gift for our home buyers. I can't wait to harvest my own tomatoes and make bruschetta or pico de gallo fresh from the garden. Maybe I'll find a spot for some more tomatoes.
This morning I went to a women's function "Frugal Flirts", a group of ladies who get together once a month for food and conversation. This month the theme was European Vacation. Everyone was to bring a brunch dish from a country in Europe, and to dress for a European Vacation. I got up early and went to the store for vine-ripened tomatoes, fresh basil and some fresh italian bread to use for bruschetta. It cost about 7 bucks for 5 tomatoes. Yikes! I really need to plant more tomatoes! I wore the dress I had on when we walked along the Meditteranean at was it Gaeta or Formia?
I don't recall. I even did my hair as I wore it on that trip. I slept in big fat pincurls through much of the trip so I could avoid buying a new hair dryer or a conversion kit. Now, I would just wash it, comb it and pull it back in a barrette. Much easier.
A shift at the mall, and as I was finishing up, I talked to my friend Evelyn on the phone and was invited to come to join her and another friend, Beth W. at The Silent Woman, an absolutely wonderful boutique with furnishings, decor and gifts of a truly special variety. How could I resist a wonderful smelling Italian hand lotion. My hands have been really rough, dry and sore from gardening without my gloves on. I own them, I just forget to wear them. Oh well, even when I have them on, I often pull them off to feel the soil. You can't really garden without dirt under your fingernails, can you?
Now that I have this lovely bottle of lotion, I'll have to scrub the bathroom so that the bottle isn't lost amidst dirt and clutter.
Does spring make you feel like planting things? Like camping? Like hiking through Garden of the Gods? Like... I'd love to know.
Picked up some more plants. I think it must be an instinctive thing that happenes as the earth dips lower and lower, and the days get longer and longer. I simply itch to get flowers planted and a garden growing. I find it nearly impossible to resist. I bought nine packs of vincas (I think) and sweet william, as well as a twenty-four pack of another perennial flower. This may also be vincas, but I don't remember. I also transplanted lavender, daisies (which I don't think will survive the transplant), columbines, an unidentified plant sending out a head of tiny white flowers, and yarrow, which will likely recover eventually. I think I also transplanted a straggly mint. I planted my wild blue flax, although it isn't where I wanted to plant it, but the herbicide sprayed throughout the yard to kill off the abundance of weeds in preparation for tilling, new soil and sod, hasn't taken effect, so I didn't want to plant it in the spot I had selected only to have them respray and kill it.
I bought a couple of overpriced small box planters stuffed with a variety of annuals, thinking that one of the boxes would make a lovely housewarming gift for our latest closing. I also bought oregano and tomato plants and 5 bags of compost to dig into the planter beds, and a huge bag of Miracle Grow potting soil for the pots I want to plant the tomatoes in.
Therein lies the problem. At Lowes there were several pots that looked good but weren't real pottery. I know, I know, that sounds snobbish or something, but I don't want Fiberglas pots or plastic pots. I want big substantial ceramic or clay pots, heavy, breakable and real.
So, with Alex in tow (he went along to do the heavy lifting), I decided to head out for one of the two shops I know carry big, ceramic pots of all descriptions and just hope I could afford something really great. I have visions of the wonderful pots in gardens along the Amalfi Coast, in their formal settings, surrounded by boxwoods or privet hedges and lovely manicured lawns. I can't manage a formal garden with it's strong forms, need for serious maintenance and hedge clipping, but I want to have the feel of outdoor rooms to walk, wisteria arbors, bougenvilia hanging over tall garden walls...
Well, in Colorado, many of those items will have to be altered, but back to the road trip.
I was close to the entrance to Hwy83, so I decided to take that road toward a neat shop I had seen many times on my way to Parker, rather than take Hwy 24 up Ute Pass to the other shop I had visited previously. (Camino Real?) Well, we drove and drove (it's been a while since I took Hwy 83), but finally got to Jackalope, where there were rows and rows of wonderful pots in all shapes, sizes and colors. Immediately I headed for the 50% off row, since I wanted to buy fairly large pots. I found two large pots with an espresso glaze (about knee height) and bought both of them for a total of $40. Yea!
After getting them home, Alex lugged them up the back stairs to the deck, where I filled them and planted tomatoes and oregano. I don't know whether to add other herbs in the pot as well. I'm thinking it could be a great idea, but I'm wondering if the tomatoes, once they are full size, would block out the sun the herbs would need. Putting plants in the back of the truck, right next to the tailgate, then taking off at 65 mph probably wasn't the smartest thing I could have done. While the plants remained in their pots, they looked windblown, like I would after riding in a convertible with the top down. Perhaps the boxes will recover in time to make a nice gift for our home buyers. I can't wait to harvest my own tomatoes and make bruschetta or pico de gallo fresh from the garden. Maybe I'll find a spot for some more tomatoes.
This morning I went to a women's function "Frugal Flirts", a group of ladies who get together once a month for food and conversation. This month the theme was European Vacation. Everyone was to bring a brunch dish from a country in Europe, and to dress for a European Vacation. I got up early and went to the store for vine-ripened tomatoes, fresh basil and some fresh italian bread to use for bruschetta. It cost about 7 bucks for 5 tomatoes. Yikes! I really need to plant more tomatoes! I wore the dress I had on when we walked along the Meditteranean at was it Gaeta or Formia?
I don't recall. I even did my hair as I wore it on that trip. I slept in big fat pincurls through much of the trip so I could avoid buying a new hair dryer or a conversion kit. Now, I would just wash it, comb it and pull it back in a barrette. Much easier.A shift at the mall, and as I was finishing up, I talked to my friend Evelyn on the phone and was invited to come to join her and another friend, Beth W. at The Silent Woman, an absolutely wonderful boutique with furnishings, decor and gifts of a truly special variety. How could I resist a wonderful smelling Italian hand lotion. My hands have been really rough, dry and sore from gardening without my gloves on. I own them, I just forget to wear them. Oh well, even when I have them on, I often pull them off to feel the soil. You can't really garden without dirt under your fingernails, can you?
Now that I have this lovely bottle of lotion, I'll have to scrub the bathroom so that the bottle isn't lost amidst dirt and clutter.
Does spring make you feel like planting things? Like camping? Like hiking through Garden of the Gods? Like... I'd love to know.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Logos, Range Riders, and lost in the mountains, not necessarily in that order.
[This section has been deleted by author.]
I spent some time this week doing a mailing for guest night with the Pikes Peak Range Riders. In appreciation for my efforts, I'm invited as well. When I was a kid we used to go to the street breakfast in downtown Colorado Springs, eating pancakes and eggs on a plate balanced in your lap while sitting on hay bales in the middle of streets that have been closed to traffic for the event. It was always a lot of fun. Toward the end of the street breakfast, the Range Riders would mount up and ride off, several dozen of them riding off into the mountains for a week long range ride. I always wanted to go. Probably the only time in my life when I was seriously upset that God had made me female was when I found out that I could never be a Range Rider since I'm not a man.
Since then, I've always thought of the Range Ride with longing. Now that I'm older, I will admit that part of the appeal is guys in hats on horses. There is something decidedly old world about it. Virile. Male. Natural. Reminiscent of the old west. I think the guys feel it too, because they are courteous, gentlemanly, and solicitious in all the best ways. Men who are men make women glad of it. Plus, a man can look like the backside of a bus, can be old, bald, wrinkled, pot-bellied, you name it--but put him in a hat, boots, Wranglers and set him on a horse, and he becomes attractive. Maybe that's how what's-his-name got Anna Nicole Smith.
I drove to Golden today to pick up Alex's motorcycle as he is coming home from college for the summer. On the way back I decided to take a side trip through Kittridge, Evergreen and Morrison, checking out roadside shops along the way. I never did find any antique stores that were open, no thrift stores hawking their wares, but I did find a great store in Kittridge just right for wandering through if you're interested in home decor items as I am. Neat furniture, great dishes, wall art, linens and I picked up another book by Frances Meyers about her life and home in Tuscany.
Coming out of Evergreen, I didn't see a sign telling me which direction to go to get back to C-470. I should have turned left. After meandering for a while, I just had the feeling that the sun was in the wrong position. I had that feeling long before I found a sign mentioning Breckenridge, a great town, but many, many miles out of my way on this trip. Turning around, I found the right way back, but spent an extra hour or two in the hills. If you've driven the back roads of Colorado, you know that it wasn't a trial at all.
But I had to get back to Monument to pick up our latest commission check and get it into the bank.
Anyway, I'm home. The bike is a little worse for the wear as I didn't strap it down properly and it shifted, damaging a reflector on the back. I'm grouchy and tired though as if I did a hard day's manual labor. Makes no sense at all.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
The Trumpet Sound...
Third grade. My dad played the trumpet beautifully. I've rarely heard anyone I thought came close, and only a few who were his equal or better. Anyway, we were attending Temple Baptist Church and they asked dad to accompany them on a special number. He was to come in midway through the song, but they didn't want him seen, so they had him play from the baptistry.
The moment the trumpet sounded, Dr. Barnard, an elderly widower, stood to his feet in horror that we all had not been raptured at the sound of the trump. He was so mindful of the second coming of Christ, that it was his first thought upon hearing the sound. (I Thess. 4:16-17) I'll never forget it. I wish I were as mindful. What small annoyances would we overlook if we were constantly thinking of and looking for the Lord's soon return.
He is risen. He is risen indeed. He is coming again. No man knows the time. Watch and wait.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
So I'm driving down the road...
...practicing my comedy routine out loud. At a light I look over and a guy is looking at me like I'm crazy. So I pull out my cell phone and hold it up so it looks like I'm on speaker phone.
Nobody seems to think it's crazy to talk out loud as long as it's on the phone.
Nobody seems to think it's crazy to talk out loud as long as it's on the phone.
Sunday, May 7, 2006. A really good day.
I am not a morning person. Never have been, and despite my best efforts, whether I arise early or not, I will never be one. When I have to be somewhere early I have trouble getting to sleep the night before. I don't know whether I'm afraid I'll oversleep, or what, but I just can't relax into that blessed state of slumber. So last night, despite attempting to get to sleep by 9, I finally fell asleep after one. My alarm was set for 5:00. I tried. Seriously I did. But, I wound up getting up at about 5:45, needing to leave by 6:10. I know myself well enough that I had planned my wardrobe and done my hair before going to bed. Bleary-eyed and grooming are not a good mix.
I woke with the songs from the worship set running through my mind. I woke singing "You were. You are. You will always be." What a great way to start the day. I began praying for the morning and the people who would be there on a difficult morning, when the sermon was on divorce.
Anyway, I arrived at church at the appointed hour--6:30am, mocha latte protein drink in hand. The morning went well. We had Sean and John step in from New Life School of Worship (?) on electric guitar and bass. They were amazing! With a shortened worship set of three numbers, Unchanged, You Said and Give Thanks to the Lord, it was a beautiful and wonderful message in music. The message leading into the sermon was that God is the same yesterday today and tomorrow, he has promised that he will answer when we call and that he is a God of healing, and that we can thank and praise him for that. A great way to lead into a message telling folks that no matter how difficult your marriage, barring physical abuse and serial adultery, you need to make whatever effort it takes to work out your marriage, because God hates divorce, he blessed faithfulness and keeping your vow, it is a legacy you leave to your children and builds character--in you.
When you are in pain, it is tough to hear "stick it out", and "work harder". It seems so much easier to walk away, to ease a weary and wounded heart. We tell ourselves that the kids will be fine, but studies show they bear lasting scars. And we do too. I've seen it over and over, women, men, children--devastated due to divorce. It rends the fabric of self apart.
I don't mean to sound self-righteous, because I certainly am not. I left Steve--twice. I didn't believe in divorce, but prayed for his death or mine to release me from this painful state. I can only tell you that God honored my feeble prayers, when I would add, don't do what I want, do what you want and help me to want the same thing. I used to pray, God help me to Want to want what you want.
The separations tore the kids up. I believe they have lasting scars, lasting insecurities. Oh how I wish I had found another way. I wish someone had come along side me with wisdom and discernement early on.
It wasn't until Alex was 4 or 5 that we were flooded out, taken in by our friends Craig and Kathi (we didn't even know them at the time), and they began to show me how a marriage could look, and I began to see what was wrong with ME, not Steve. They were gentle with me, because I was the walking wounded and could only hear so much.
It took many difficult years. I tell people that the first seventeen years were rough, but since then they've been pretty good. I occasionally get really irritated, and am occasionally really irritating, but we work it out. Some things will never change.
Back to this morning. Practice, Run through and two services later, I believe there were people who were hit between the eyes. I only hope that they reach out for help through the tough times. The church wants to be there for them.
After church was the small group leaders meeting. Lunch, talking, a challenge, discussion and prayer. Then (after eating fried chicken and getting really sick) home to sleep for the next 4.5 - 5 hours. So now I am awake, having had a delightful video conference with my parents. What a time we live in.
Mom and Dad have been married for... is it 49 years? Steve and I just passed our 24th anniversary in December. Grandma and Grandpa Carlson must have been married for around 50 years. It is an accomplishment that two people from such disparate backgrounds, different personalities and hot spots can work through the tough times and stay married.
Having gone through the tough times together gives us a shared history that I would never have with another person. Plus, as I like to say, Steve remembers me skinny, and I remember him with hair. We could never have that with anyone else.
A really good day. Steve and I have gotten over our quarreling and ugliness earlier this week and I managed to keep down some beef and brocolli. It doesn't take much for me to be pleased.
I woke with the songs from the worship set running through my mind. I woke singing "You were. You are. You will always be." What a great way to start the day. I began praying for the morning and the people who would be there on a difficult morning, when the sermon was on divorce.
Anyway, I arrived at church at the appointed hour--6:30am, mocha latte protein drink in hand. The morning went well. We had Sean and John step in from New Life School of Worship (?) on electric guitar and bass. They were amazing! With a shortened worship set of three numbers, Unchanged, You Said and Give Thanks to the Lord, it was a beautiful and wonderful message in music. The message leading into the sermon was that God is the same yesterday today and tomorrow, he has promised that he will answer when we call and that he is a God of healing, and that we can thank and praise him for that. A great way to lead into a message telling folks that no matter how difficult your marriage, barring physical abuse and serial adultery, you need to make whatever effort it takes to work out your marriage, because God hates divorce, he blessed faithfulness and keeping your vow, it is a legacy you leave to your children and builds character--in you.
When you are in pain, it is tough to hear "stick it out", and "work harder". It seems so much easier to walk away, to ease a weary and wounded heart. We tell ourselves that the kids will be fine, but studies show they bear lasting scars. And we do too. I've seen it over and over, women, men, children--devastated due to divorce. It rends the fabric of self apart.
I don't mean to sound self-righteous, because I certainly am not. I left Steve--twice. I didn't believe in divorce, but prayed for his death or mine to release me from this painful state. I can only tell you that God honored my feeble prayers, when I would add, don't do what I want, do what you want and help me to want the same thing. I used to pray, God help me to Want to want what you want.
The separations tore the kids up. I believe they have lasting scars, lasting insecurities. Oh how I wish I had found another way. I wish someone had come along side me with wisdom and discernement early on.
It wasn't until Alex was 4 or 5 that we were flooded out, taken in by our friends Craig and Kathi (we didn't even know them at the time), and they began to show me how a marriage could look, and I began to see what was wrong with ME, not Steve. They were gentle with me, because I was the walking wounded and could only hear so much.
It took many difficult years. I tell people that the first seventeen years were rough, but since then they've been pretty good. I occasionally get really irritated, and am occasionally really irritating, but we work it out. Some things will never change.
Back to this morning. Practice, Run through and two services later, I believe there were people who were hit between the eyes. I only hope that they reach out for help through the tough times. The church wants to be there for them.
After church was the small group leaders meeting. Lunch, talking, a challenge, discussion and prayer. Then (after eating fried chicken and getting really sick) home to sleep for the next 4.5 - 5 hours. So now I am awake, having had a delightful video conference with my parents. What a time we live in.
Mom and Dad have been married for... is it 49 years? Steve and I just passed our 24th anniversary in December. Grandma and Grandpa Carlson must have been married for around 50 years. It is an accomplishment that two people from such disparate backgrounds, different personalities and hot spots can work through the tough times and stay married.
Having gone through the tough times together gives us a shared history that I would never have with another person. Plus, as I like to say, Steve remembers me skinny, and I remember him with hair. We could never have that with anyone else.
A really good day. Steve and I have gotten over our quarreling and ugliness earlier this week and I managed to keep down some beef and brocolli. It doesn't take much for me to be pleased.
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