Introducing Dorothy

We discovered Dorothy today sitting among a huge family of vehicles in a faraway city’s car lot.  She’s a 2007 Ford Edge devoid of all the technological bells and whistles, which is great since we prefer simplicity.  Dorothy has all-wheel drive, relatively low mileage, and a beautiful soft, Purdue-gold finish.  We plan to get a Purdue license plate for the front, just for old times sake.

And so, the car search is over.  The process was a bit like an involved adoption, lasting for months, and then in a matter of hours she was ours.  I can hardly believe it.  Welcome to the family, Dorothy!

Flashes of Light

Peripheral lightning started flashing in my right eye yesterday in the late morning. 

We have a busy weekend planned, traveling to the old hometown to conduct business at the bank and then on to visit our daughter and her family and drive a potential new car.  However, this morning I knew I needed to see an optometrist before leaving town.

The worst case scenerio?  A torn retina.  I consulted a powerful prayer written by the Optima Elders:  “…Grant unto me grace to surrender myself completely to Your holy will.  Instruct and prepare me in all things for every hour of this day.  Whatsoever tidings I may receive during the day, teach me to accept them calmly…When things unforeseen occur, let me not forget that all comes down from you…”

We do not yet have a local optometrist.  So I called several offices within a 40-minute radius.  One was closed.  Another couldn’t get me in until afternoon.  Bingo, the third was available!

I had a few minutes before it was time to leave, so sat down at the piano and picked out the tune to Kontakion 8 from the Akathist of Thanksgiving, and sang the following words:

How near You are in the days of illness;

You Yourself visit the sick.

You Yourself bend down to the bed of the sufferer

And the heart speaks to You.

In times of hardship and suffering,

You illuming the soul with peace;

You send unexpected help.

You are consoling, searching and saving love,

And to you we sing the song:

Alleluia.

At the time of this writing, I have had the appointment and am back home. I was immediately impressed by the optometrist, and grateful to have ended up in her office.  She ran extensive tests and assured me that my symptoms were associated with an aging issue and would most likely resolve without intervention, leaving a large floater in their wake (and would also repeat in the other eye).  She also talked with me about nutritional eye health, and let me know I have early cataracts forming.

I share this story mainly to emphasize (to myself, as well as my readership) that we truly know little from day to day.  Life requires us to go with the flow, to accept whatever realities confront us, and to trust God to be with us in the midst of them.

Watch Them Soar

The view outside is stark and desolate, but also strikingly beautiful despite the emptiness.  Snowy ice stretches across the lake, gripping the shoreline as if resolved to hold on at any cost.

It reminds me of myself sometimes, clutching what is familiar. However, one day a warm wind will insist the ice release its intense pressure so playful waves can slap the shore. I will also give way to change. The ebb of life is always in the process of becoming the flow, until the flow ultimately ebbs.  It is best to move with the tide rather than struggle against it.

Yesterday morning I had no idea that an atypical, exciting move was brewing for one of our children, one that seems a custom fit. This morning everything is different.  Gratitude and anticipation swell within my mother’s heart like countless drops of water filling a sponge.  But even as I celebrate, there is a pensive, thoughtful side to the news. 

Now two of our four children will be living “on the other side of the moon” from us - one 1,300 miles away, the other 2,300 miles away.  That’s a lot of miles when you’re an old woman, especially an old mother. Motherhood brings with it a sort of mucilage of the heart that refuses to let go.  I’ve learned it is a discipline, as well as an art, for a mother to learn how to love well with open arms that welcome and release adult children with equal eagerness.

The other two kids live within driving distance, 18 miles (almost our back yard) and 217 miles (which seems almost like next door compared to thousands).  I step back and look at all four with joy and thanksgiving for the people they are and the lives they’re living, and have no desire to control them or crimp their style.  I simply enjoy sharing life, and miss them when apart. 

A friend who shares a kindred spirit seems to intuitively know how I tick.  She emailed me this afternoon about the two living far away, and her words gave me much comfort. “You have given them wings to fly and land in parts of the world you yourself have not touched, but they are touching them through and because of you.”  Thank you, dear friend.  Every mother needs to be reminded that she was gifted with precious children so that she can watch them soar.

The Man Without a Donut

Even though fresh snow began falling in big clumps after my husband’s first two-hour cardiac rehab session today, we decided to accomplish miscellaneous errands on the icy roads before returning home.  By the time 5:00 p.m. rolled around, we’d both grown weary and were ready for a dinner of soup and salad and a quiet evening. 

However, I suggested we make one last stop at the grocery for broccoli, a current essential at our house.  Upon entering the store, I zoomed toward the produce section while my husband clomped off in his moon boots (usually for ice fishing) in the opposite direction to search for something more appealing – namely goat cheese, the only dairy-type food he is currently allowed on his rigorous heart-healthy elimination diet.

With my nutrient-dense, green florets in hand, I trekked to the other side of the store to search for him. I’d barely turned the corner to head down the appropriate aisle, and…there he was, hunched over and dejected-looking, still as a stone, staring straight ahead.  Pining after donuts.  Not just any donuts, but his favorite cake donuts with maple glaze.  I stopped and snapped a picture with my iPhone, feeling like a bit of a roving reporter who had just stumbled upon a story of deprivation and sacrifice for a greater cause. 

He’d posed in this way just for me, of course.  We both broke out laughing, almost to the point of tearful hilarity.  It was funny, the way he stood in front of the case like a little boy aching for a treat well beyond the realm of possibility.  The more we laughed, the sillier it seemed. A few shoppers stared at us, probably wondering what could possibly be so funny about the donut case? Why were we acting so juvenile?  But we didn’t care.  It was a great ending to the day. 

So, no donuts.  Tomorrow morning this poor, needy guy will have to settle for my gluten-free cinnamon-apple coffeecake made with almond flour, fresh from the oven.  Yummmmmm.

Naming the Car

Car #3 turned out to be a friendly, classy lady (see yesterday’s blog if you need more information).  She's my kind of gal: playful but powerful, sporty and yet gracious.

Notice I said she.  Not he, or it.  Why do we allude to cars with a feminine pronoun?  This, dear friends, is a deep question for shallow minds.

The fact is, cars aren’t alone in this matter.  Boats, countries, machines, institutions, and even abstract ideas are also referred to as she.  Some believe this practice originated in male-dominant geographical areas where men 1.) depend on the object for their lives or 2.) find the object hard to understand or control.  If males superstitiously label such an object as feminine, flattery could increase their chances of being seen in a favorable light.  Ah, yes.  Sweet talk.

Others claim she is used to refer to things that can contain or hold people, either tangible (as a car, boat, or spaceship) or geographically (as a country).  This seems feasible since women possess wombs that nurture human life.

Boats are often namesakes for an owner’s mother or other significant woman.  We don't know why, although early Greek ships were dedicated to mythological goddesses; the habit of a female pronoun may have continued as a matter of habit.  Male captains and sailors worldwide have chosen female names and figureheads for their vessels throughout history, although actual women have traditionally been considered bad luck at sea. 

On a more practical note, English nouns have lost their original ties to Indo-European gender differences.  A car in French is une voiture, with une denoting femininity as opposed to the masculine un.  Interestingly, the boat in French is le bateau, with le being masculine as opposed to the feminine la.   It is possible that English folk traditions have tried to hang on to male-female differentiations that continue to exist in other languages, although imperfectly.

But back to Car #3.  We’re not buying this exact car, but rather her currently unidentified sister with 4-wheel drive.  The dealer is putting out a search, so we’ll see what he turns up.  Meanwhile, I’m thinking about a name, obviously female. Genevieve, Madeline, Juliet, Beatrice, and Victoria are in the running. I also like Isabella, or Bella for short.  But my favorite at this point is Dorothy.  After all, a car takes you everywhere you want or need to go, but in the end “There’s no place like home.”

Car Shopping

We’re in the midst of serious (as opposed to recreational) car shopping. The dependable but worn-out car we currently own is 15 years old.  Her Victorian plum paint is peeling, and her edges are crumbly with rust.  Poor dear, she’s just plain tired. 

However, I’ve always liked her style: the fact that her windows wind up and down with knobs (our oldest grandchild thinks this is a riot); the way she needs your help to do just about everything.  There’s nothing electronic on the dash, no bells and whistles.  She’s simple, honest, straightforward, and reliable.  A good best friend. 

She’s had her moments of glory, but now necessity beckons.  In the last two days we’ve driven three different models of 2013 Fords.  Following are a few experiences from the test drives.

Car #1:

We jointly try to adjust the steering wheel, our legs sticking out the front doors, while still in the dealer’s parking lot.  This should have required only a few seconds but takes us a good 5 minutes since we’re unfamiliar with the (rather simple) technology. 

I drive first and immediately like the car.  “This is nice! It’s small enough that I feel like I have good control.  It’s maneuverable.  Comfortable.”

He feels cramped when it is his turn.  “My foot is too big – it hits the accelerator and brake at the same time!  Sure, it’s nice, and I think it’s perfect for you, but (he tries to break it to me gently) it will never work for me.”  Then he says, “Do you think you can figure out how to turn down the heat? I’m getting really hot…”

“I guess it would take some studying to figure out how everything works,” I reply.

Car #2:

He drives first and immediately likes the car.  “Oh WOW.  This is a sweet car; I really like this one.  It’s big, powerful, and roomy. I like it.  A lot.”

A manly car, I think to myself.

We pull in to Panera for lunch, and he immediately runs into unexpected techno-trouble. “How do I get the crazy key out?  It came out earlier, but now…it’s stuck!”  We sit there for a few minutes while he wiggles the key without success. Finally I open the glove compartment and pull out the manual.  I read, “You have to put the car in neutral to remove the key.”

As I take my turn on the Interstate, I try to couch my words.  “It would take me a while to adjust, and I definitely could.  But I feel like I’m in a tank! I could do it though, I could get used to it.”  Then in a moment of exasperation: “The turn signal is so touchy!  How do I turn on the windshield wipers, anyway?”

Car #3:

He slips behind the wheel and within the first minute proclaims,  “YEAH!  I think we’ve found our compromise.  You’re going to like this.  You’re really going to like this….I think.”  Then he asks, “Can you mess around and see if you can get the radio to work?  No, that’s the CD…now you’re doing something with the fan, stop messing with the fan!  Try that row of buttons over there.”

He drives us from the dealer’s lot to an evening meeting in The City, and it is well past dark when we return to our own driveway, still with the loaned car.  Millions of little lights shine on the dash, the steering wheel, the doors, and the console.  “Geesh, you need all THIS to drive this car,” he says, gesturing toward the buttons. 

I’m still waiting for my turn behind the wheel of this cute but c-o-m-p-l-i-c-a-t-e-d vehicle  tomorrow morning.  I’m expecting to like it, buttons and all; I’ve been told I will.

Sky Messengers

I walked the road this evening

For the first time in a while,

Relishing dry pavement

And crisp air that carried

A vague but hopeful hint of spring.

To the east a three-quarter moon

Hung in space like a glazed eye,

Staring through white haze to

Expose some inner quality

I’d been unwilling to see.

I felt it study and scrutinize me

With a knowing almost-wink,

While to the west the heavens burned

Like a fierce forest fire turned inferno

That consumed the entire sky.

Between the two I continued on

Keenly aware of a Presence,

One ready to disclose and then consume

Habitual burdensome weights

That had crippled me for too long.

A sense of wonder fell on the road

And over me completely as well:

As I seek God with all my soul and strength

He reveals my deep heart

And burns the dross away.