Last Day at the Beach

Tomorrow ends our month-long escape to the beach. We haven’t actually stayed here the entire month; I have been back at home twelve of the 28 days; Burt has been back twenty! However, we both have done exactly what we wanted to do. His trips home have involved checking on things at the farm (once a farmer, always a farmer), and our trips home together centered around the grandchildren. (I’m not complaining!)

 My time here alone has helped me refresh, refocus, and recalibrate. I’m going home with a sense of new direction. I’m resolved to finish my book for our daughters-in-law, and for any other young mothers who wish to read it. I’m also going to write a book for our sons...a bit more personal to them. It’s amazing how, in reading my journals over the years, I see how much I’ve forgotten. And yet...how much I remember. I came across something I wrote several years ago when our boys were growing up, and just because I enjoyed it, I’m printing it. So here goes:

       It’s a perfect morning for sleeping. The bedroom is cool and I’ve found the warm cozy spot as I snuggle under the covers. There is just enough weight at my left side to give me something to nestle against. The smell of coffee comes wafting by me and the sound of a bird’s cheep, cheep is somewhere in the nether land of my dreams. It’s a late Fall morning…I hear the sound of a pick-up truck cranking. I stretch.
      As I force my arm over my head I realize how cold the room actually is and I gradually start to recognize that I what I don’t hear is the usual heat pump noise. I also am becoming aware that I can’t roll over because the weight pressing next to me is a very wet- diapered three-year-old who is trying to get warm. Reality overtakes me as I see that the insistent cheeping is coming from the alarm that is set for 4:45 a.m. and the one responsible for that is driving off in his truck, heading to his deer stand. Furthermore, the reason for the chill is because the heat is not working.
       I’m almost coherent as I struggle against the weight of the covers and the sleeping bundle resting against me. I brace myself for the draft of cold air that is going to hit me as I rise to slap the alarm into silence. It is at that moment that I almost stumble and fall over the two sleeping children who have managed to sneak into our bedroom sometime in the night and set up camp on the floor beside our bed. The six-year-old and the four-year-old are almost indistinguishable from the mound of stuffed animals that are piled around their heads as they slumber in contentment. 
      The rest of the morning rolls over me like a tsunami. Bowls and glasses are everywhere, a pile of hunting gear is in the corner; binoculars, flashlights, caps, and gloves are covering the kitchen counter, and to my disbelief, it is lunchtime and everybody is hungry again! Thankfully, I have done something ahead of time, and I pull out from the refrigerator the pot of chili that was made the day before. By the time this meal is finished, there is not a single clean bowl left. There are saltine cracker crumbs covering the table, but the guys don’t notice because the next order of events is to get to the dove field for a bird shoot.
      I stand at the window and watch them, dressed in camouflage from head to toe, pile in the back of their dad’s pick-up truck, laughing and joking with each other. By this time, there are a few other dads and sons who have congregated in our front yard, and they leave together. The younger boys have elected to stay at home and play, content to have the basketball goal and the yard to themselves without the interference of the older ones. I return to the kitchen to address the disaster left in the wake of their invasion. 
     With the clean-up complete, I’m finally able to collapse in front of the fire and enjoy a few moments without interruption. As I sit, I can hear the sound of happy, healthy children along with the thump of the basketball and the grinding of riding toys’ sandy tires on the concrete driveway, and the pounding of feet as children chase each other around the outside of the house. 
      I know it won’t always be like this: a blend of mud-caked boots at the front door, footballs scattered on the lawn, strewn towels left from half-washed hands, shotgun shells scattered on the floor, shotgun pellets in the carpet, sometimes runny noses and wet beds, but always spontaneous hugs and aura of contentment.
     I’ll miss this one day...

MY FAVORITE PLACE

Today finds me at my second favorite place in the world (the first being the little piece of Paradise we call home): the BEACH. For years I’ve fantasized about spending a month at the beach during the winter. This year, when I found the perfect spot with great off-season rates, my sweet husband (who literally lives to make me happy...and yes, I do know how blessed I am) agreed to come. Many times I’ve had the urge to run away, to get free from exhausting circumstances, or just the challenges of the day’s demands, but this time it was different. This time I felt the unrelenting desire to come away to be alone with the Lord. If I were not married to a godly man who understands, it never could have happened.

I’m experiencing the magnificence of God’s presence as I sit on the small balcony of our condo, covered by the most beautiful blue sky. The strong winds of the past two days are gone, leaving only an occasional laconic wave in the fans of the palm trees.

I couldn’t sleep soundly last night, so I got out of bed at 4:30a.m., put on my headset and listened to worship music. I was so blessed. I felt like the voice of the Savior was whispering in my ear. This morning, He showed me what He wanted me to see.

On the road in front of the condo is a bike path, well used by all ages. I recognize a couple of joggers from earlier in the week. The cyclists are reveling in the beautiful weather and the soft breeze. All styles of bikes go by: narrow tire touring bkes, old-style cruisers, hybrids, even 3-wheelers.

Then I saw it: a tandem bike. In front was a little girl, probably about 10 years old.Wearing a bright pink wind breaker, blond hair waving beneath the bike helmet, she pedaled confidently. Behind her rode her father. His towering body loomed over hers, their strides in perfect sync. The little girl couldn’t see her dad behind her, but he was the force propelling the bike forward. In a flash, I saw what the Spirit was showing me. I was like the child on the bike, working my legs and enjoying my ride. Jesus was the Man behind me, providing the momentum and doing the work. For several hours I’ve comtemplated that picture. Riding my bike in tandem with Jesus.

I’m at the stage of life that causes me to look at the abilities of youth I’ve taken for granted: physical capabilities, years ahead to accomplish everything desired, assurance of bring equipped to handle all challenges. Now I was beginning to wonder if those things are slipping away from my grasp. There exist in their place some pains and discomfortants, some doubts about handing new challenges in life. The tandem bike is my sermon and my promise. Regardless of the situation, Jesus is promising me He’ll be the force behind me. I won’t see Him, but when the hill before me seems too steep to climb, I’ll make it, because His power will be the reason.

Permission to Retire

This morning I’m reflecting on an event I attended last night: my 50th high school class reunion. Gathered together were 60 sixty-somethings. (Some of us tried to change “sixty” to “sexy,” but it was hard to pull it off!) Instead we repeated “you look so good!” without adding the implied “...for your age.” Truthfully, it was good to see everybody at approximately the same point in the race. We all know how old we are;why pretend? I was amused at the responsibility we assumed for granting one another permission to enjoy this stage of life. Several times I overheard, or participated in, one of these conversations: “I’m ready to do some traveling...see the world.” “Well, you should!” Or... “I’m done with travel. Seen everything I want to see. Ready to watch it on the Travel Chanel.” “I don’t blame you! Stay home and rest!” Or... “I want to do something funky with my dining room. Like make a light fixture out of old mattress springs!” “Why don’t you?” Or... “I have a house full of furniture I’ve saved for my children, and none of them want it. I’m ready to dump it all and simplify my life!” “And you should! Why hang on to things?” Or... “Where are the antique stores? I love collecting memorabilia.” “Yes, we need to cherish the familiar.” You get the idea. It’s like we need to give each other permission to do whatever our heart is telling us. At one time I felt challenged to do what others my age did: exercise, travel, paint a picture, take up ballroom dancing, garden, etc. Now it’s okay if some of those things simply aren’t “my thing.” It’s okay if I want to linger in bed on Saturday morning, even when the plants need watering and the suitcase from my last weekend trip needs unpacking. When I get up and go with my husband to clean spider webs from the dock, it’s okay to come back and sit for a bit and do nothing. When I sat to put these thoughts down on paper—that is, computer— the cat wanted to settle in my lap for a long nap. I shooed him away because he made me lazy with his warm, furry body curled into my belly and his sonorous purring lowering my blood pressure. Suddenly, I realized something. It’s easier to give someone else permission to do what they want than it is to do it to ourselves. I’ve lived sixty-something years doing what needed to be done, meeting deadlines and others’ expectations. So now, if I want to lie on the couch for a while, blaming the cat because I haven’t checked off everything on my list, so be it. And I’ll bet if I share this notion with one of my classmates at tonight’s function, somebody will give me permission!

This morning I was gazing out the window of our sunroom in a languid Saturday-morning mood when something caught my attention-- the reflection of a doe at the edge of the water at the pond. As I focused on her, a little fawn came scampering out of the woods and ran up and down the bank, cavorting around. It reminded me of a scene last night when Burt and I met our son and his family at Bass Pro. Our 3-year-old granddaughter doesn't know how to walk; she only knows how to run! (At least that's the way it appears!) I took her to use the restroom and on the way had to apologize to four people she almost collided with. She delighted in having wide aisles with shiny floors to barrel through. My grandmother instincts kicked in and I thought how dangerous it would be if she chose to run across the parking lot when we left. "What's wrong with holding my hand?" I wondered. Thankfully the parking lot wasn't an issue because her parents trained her to wait at the curb, but seeing the little deer this morning gave me a fresh picture of youth and the exuberance of being high on life! The mother deer was placidly sipping water from the pond, yet alert to any suspicious movement or sounds. Her baby reveled in the freedom to cut loose and play. Isn't that what God wants us to do? If we truly lived in Psalm 91 mentality, wouldn't we be enjoying His peace, knowing His presence and awareness of us is covering us continuously? My prayer this morning is that I learn how to embrace the Presence we have with us at all times. Thanks for being my outlet this morning. I just had to get this written and for some reason, I wanted to share it with you...whoever and wherever you are!

Is this retirement?

"So, Miss Careen, what do retired people do?"

The question struck me as odd, because the one asking it was the person who has helped me in our home for the past ten years, since I "retired." I started thinking...was she asking because she apparently doesn't see me doing anything, or is it because we stay so busy she doesn't realize I've retired from something?

I'm trying to find the answer to the question. Let's see, the past ten days, here's what I've done:

A week ago this past Thursday, Pops and I drove to Macon and babysat our three grandchildren so Clint and Helen could have a night out. It was their first "date" since the new baby, Hartley, had been born. We entertained Harrison and Hannah (more accurately, they entertained us), fed them supper, and rocked little Hartley until the parents returned, then we drove home around midnight.

Friday was a rest day! Then on Saturday, I visited with our youngest son Josh, his wife Jenny and their new baby, Molly (two weeks old), who live across the highway. I helped Jenny entertain an out-of-town guest who had come to see the new baby. Pops spent the morning on the tractor spraying food plots for the deer, and the afternoon playing 18 holes of golf with our middle son Jed, who was down from Atlanta. His expressed purpose in coming was to take me on a date! We hadn't had any fun time together lately, so he wanted to do it. We went to dinner at The Trellis restaurant in Americus, the nicest place in town. I enjoyed every minute of the time we spent in conversation. Sunday, it was church and lunch at Josh and Jenny's. The remainder of the week was filled with three workouts at the gym, two Bible studies, sharing meals with the new parents, counseling a young woman Burt met in Cracker Barrel one morning, who came and spent the night in our guest house.

On Friday of last week, I had an unexpected call from Lila, our almost-four granddaughter, who was at the beach with her family. She wanted to know if I wanted to come to the beach and "sleep with her in the big bed." I wasn't too keen on sharing the bed with Lila, but joining them at Watercolor, I could do! So Pops and I left the next day and came down, and here we are! We'll go home tomorrow and get geared up for the expected influx of guest that will come during hunting season.

So what is all this saying? If our time was spent looking for entertainment for ourselves, I can't imagine how bored we'd be. The fact is, we never know what surprises God has for us every morning. We get calls about serious prayer requests, unexpected guests staying overnight in the guest house or the carriage house, and repeated opportunities to share with people daily, the goodness of God that has graced our lives.

Retirement for us simply means we don't go to the same work place every day. It means we are free agents, ready to be used by the Lord to be blessings to others whenever the Holy Spirit taps us on the shoulder and puts us in the game. The days we have nothing to do are almost non-existent, but we figure we worked for forty years for this moment of availability.

Home Alone

Tonight finds Pops and me at home alone! ( Sound like we like it, doesn't it??) I'll admit...it is kinda' nice not to have anything to do or anybody to interact with. The Lord send so many people our way, and we absolutely LOVE it, but tonight, we needed a quiet night. It's the beginning of the Labor Day weekend, and we feel as if we're on vacation. I made dinner; we ate in the sunroom where my man was enjoying watching the Braves game on TV, and everything tasted so GOOD, I just have to share my recipes!

First, I cooked fresh salmon, purchased at Publix a few weeks ago (I froze it). Here is the recipe, which I got from wwww.allrecipes.com:

Ingredients

1/4 cup brown sugar

1/4 cup olive oil

1/4 cup soy sauce

2 teaspoons lemon pepper

1 teaspoon dried thyme

1 teaspoon dried basil

1 teaspoon dried parsley

1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

4 (6 ounce) salmon fillets

Directions

Whisk together the brown sugar, olive oil, soy sauce, lemon pepper, thyme, basil, parsley, and garlic powder in a bowl, and pour into a resealable plastic bag. Add the salmon fillets, coat with the marinade, squeeze out excess air, and seal the bag. Marinate in the refrigerator for at least 1 hour, turning occasionally.

Preheat an outdoor grill for medium heat, and lightly oil the grate. Remove the salmon from the marinade, and shake off excess. Discard the remaining marinade.

Grill the salmon on the preheated grill until browned and the fish flakes easily with a fork, about 5 minutes on each side.

Note: since I didn't want to fire the grill for a small piece of salmon, I used the oven. I set it a little hot, about 400 degrees, and the sugar on the fish caramelized around it—yummy. I also hardly ever measure, so there were probably more spices in the recipe than called for. Just go for it—you can't lose, if you like salmon!

Then I put together the best tasting salad! I must share it with you:

I mixed Baby Romaine lettuce (buy-one-get-one-free at Winn-Dixie) with some marinated goat cheese (also purchased at W-D), threw in some Kalamata olives, marinated artichoke hearts (in a jar), and the crowning touch...fresh grape tomatoes and cucumbers given to us by our new friends from Athens, GA, that we just met last weekend on a Lay Witness Mission at their church in Athens. I used my own olive oil-balsamic vinegar dressing, and it was YUM-IE!!!

There's not a lot of spiritual depth to this post. I guess the point is that, after 41 years of marriage, I enjoy serving my man and letting him relax more than I did years ago when I was in the throes of child-rearing, and needed his help to settle the guys for bedtime. Those years, I resented his relaxing at night because I couldn't. Things have changed. He now realizes how much his presence means to me, regardless of the task, and I've come to realize how much I need him. We both realize how much we enjoy taking care of each other!

We also enjoy the same menu...and a quiet weekend!

Happy Labor Day, Everybody!!!!

My Little Diva

I've learned some things about little girls lately. Especially about my little girls. Especially about Hannah, my little granddaughter. I've learned I can't trust them...out of sight, that is!

We thought the challenge at our house would be the big boy toys: the knives, guns, matches, and other trinkets that fascinate both little boys, as well as big (as in, grown-up) ones. I never stopped to think that my stuff was in jeopardy. Our sons never seemed interested in the things I kept in the bathroom, except the time that one of them came walking into my room filled with guests, carrying a handful of tampons. That temptation was easy to fix; I just put them away and simply explained that was something that for girls, not for boys. No problem; our boys didn't want "girl stuff."

So I hadn't considered the possibility of little girls being interested in my things. I actually thought I'd enjoy having granddaughters to share lotion and nail polish and jewelry with. Guess I didn't realize that Hannah, at age 2, was ready to share. So when she disappeared for a few minutes and found my make-up, and you see the results! She looks much better without make-up!