Mountain Girl

"He was born in the summer of his twenty-seventh year,

coming home to a place he'd never been before."

If you are a John Denver fan you will recognize those words as the opening lyrics to Rocky Mountain High. I often find myself singing them, but I remember the day they became real for me.

It was September of 1976. I was 27 years old. My husband, 5-month old daughter and I had driven to Denver, Colorado to visit my college roommate and her husband. Jake and Denny took us up into the mountains for a hike and at one point we came out on a ridge where the snow covered peaks soared above us. The white mountain tops against the clear blue sky filled my heart and my head. And suddenly I was singing those very words. And just as suddenly, I knew they were speaking to me. I was coming home to a place I'd never been before.

I had that same sense of peace in 1985 when Larry and I had the wonderful opportunity to travel to central Europe. We spent a week traveling through the Alpine regions of Germany, Austria, Liechtenstein and ending in Switzerland. It had been a wonderful, stress-free week and as we sat at dinner on our last night I thought, "I'm not ready to go home. Just leave me on a mountain and come back in a week and pick me up."

Growing up, my family spent summers in western Connecticut. We had a cabin in the woods on my uncle's property. Uncle Ralph owned most of a mountain. The mountains there are old mountains, worn and rounded, not like the rugged peaks of the Rockies, but the wooded hillsides, and rural roads were hilly enough for me. We were in the mountains. After we sold the property, every time we would go back to visit family I would sigh and feel like I had once again returned home.

Last year we moved to the North Georgia mountains. It was the first move we made that was not dictated solely by a job. This time we were moving because we wanted to. And suddenly I was worried. What if we made a bad choice? What if we didn't like it as much as we thought we would? This time I couldn't blame any dissatisfaction on anything other than my choice.

It is February. It is my husband's busiest travel month. I've been alone a lot, but not as much as usual. If you go back and check my blog posts in previous Februarys there is a lot of talk about Sunshine, Florida, Snow, OJ and Vodka. This February is different. For one thing, I haven't had to shovel any snow yet! That's a real nice plus!! The sun shines more here, than it did in Pittsburgh. That helps a lot. It's going to be bitter cold this week (we're talking below 0) but by the weekend it will be back in the 50's. All of those things help my mood for sure.

The mountains in this area are reminiscent of my Connecticut mountains, worn and rounded. But what always catches me off guard is that several times a week as I drive these mountain roads, and look off at the ridges reaching up into the sky I find myself with a song in my heart, one I've sung before.

I'm not 27 anymore, But once again, I feel like I've come home to a place I've never been before. I am a mountain girl at heart.

NOTE: I never post the day I write a blog. I always let it sit and check it later to edit it. It is now several days later. We have had 4 days of snow and ice. That's not much for most areas, but here, where everyone has steep mountain driveways, or roads to travel when ice is involved, everything shuts down. For 4 days, every activity I am normally involved in, including the local workout place, has been closed or cancelled. (My social life has skidded to a halt.) Today, I left the house for the first time in 4 days. Out of desperation. I am happy to report, I still haven't hit the OJ and Vodka, so this February is ahead of most. However, the shower pipe was frozen this morning and I decided it was time to go somewhere. So I hit the Huddle House where it was warm and people were gathered and talking and laughing. I ordered a breakfast full of comfort food. I think, somehow, that's better than OJ and Vodka. Don't you?

Will We Be Ready When the Kids Arrive?

Two steps forward, and one step back. That about summarizes each day. Last week I got all the odds and ends off the kitchen island. It felt great to finally have that space exactly as I wanted it. Then, we got a couch, and rearranged the living room. Odds and ends that had been placed on a table that was no longer in the living room, suddenly found themselves on the kitchen island. And so it goes. Each day, I focus on one room and get stuff just the way I want it. But another room is holding the leftovers. When I work on that room, where do the odds and ends go? On the island. It seems like a never ending process.

By Noon Each Day

We are hitting the final stretch.

Truthfully, I can't complain about how it is going. We are making progress. In fact, I think we are almost there! But then I look at the kitchen island and I think, "two steps forward and one step back!"

In the beginning, unpacking is rather daunting, but moves fairly smoothly. 200+ boxes are stacked throughout the house, waiting, intimidating me, challenging me to pick one! I start in the kitchen. Most of the stuff I unpack finds a home. A few things are relegated to "the pile". "The Pile" holds stuff I'm not sure of. Will it find a home, or will it be set aside for a yard sale?

Two weeks later, my reality is different. "The Pile" would like to have a room all to itself. It is no longer a few boxes, but many boxes. Half of it is definite yard sale stuff. The other half is hoping I will find a home for it. An old friend called my stuff "chotzkes". Larry calls it.... no, we won't go there. But even I admit most of my stuff is trinkets connected with memories.

I am not in this alone, though! Oh no. Larry has his share of stuff. He just has an oversized two-car garage to pack it into, while I have a loft the size of a postage stamp with a small closet.

Then there is OUR closet. That's a whole other story. We've gone from two walk-in closets to one. It's a bit bigger than the ones we each had, but it's not as big as our two. And it is full. One thing we have in common is our collection of shirts. We both collect shirts.

Larry's collection is shirts he can wear to work. He has enough starched shirts hanging in clear, plastic laundry bags, to last him a month. I'm not exaggerating. It was not unusual for him to have two weeks worth of shirts at the cleaners and another two weeks worth packed in a suitcase as he traveled. And his closet was never empty!

On the other hand, I was an elementary school teacher. My collection is T-shirts. I have shirts from all 4 schools I worked at, in several colors, and many with my name on them. Then there are all the 'event' shirts I would want for school activities: Every season, holiday, Patriotic, even theme shirts for social studies units like Native Americans. Don't forget the shirts I need for the Corvette Club, or Nascar Race. And of course my Buccaneer and Steeler shirts. I can't possibly give up my Mike Alstott or Ronde Barber jersey!

Yes, we are both guilty.

And then there are the photos.

Ah yes. The photos. First of all, my dad was an amateur photographer who developed all of his own pictures. While I never learned how to do that from him, I did learn to take a lot of pictures. When he passed on, my sisters and I divided up all of his photo albums, which of course I still have, along with all of my own photos.

Most of all, I learned to love photographs in my house. There are boxes of framed photographs all waiting for a new place to perch. It's not going to happen. And so the hard process begins.

Organizing specialists say the first task is to separate trash from treasure. Granted, in these boxes of photos from over 70 years ago, there is plenty of trash. But there are a lot of treasures in there too. Do I hear Snapfish calling?

Some organizers recommend taking a picture of the object that holds the memory and then giving the object away. As I look at the boxes and bins of pictures I have stacked against the wall, that sounds like it's own type of oxymoron. And I think I'd be a moron to do it!

All of this is just a way of saying that when my kids show up this week (YIKES!) they will find one side of our wrap around porch lined with boxes of stuff for them to grab before it goes the way of all things once desired but no longer needed. And that will be one giant step forward for this person who believes that while history lives in the object, not just in the photo of the memory, sometimes history has to take its natural place in the world. That is, it is history! So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye!

And the never ending process? I think we ended it! We are UNPACKED!!! In just 23 days!

(Hmm, I wonder if that is a record? It is for me. If Guinness had been here they could have either documented it or at least handed me a cold Guinness as a reward. I think we'll go get a couple and toast ourselves! We did it!)

A Slow Moving Process

It's no secret life has been a bit crazy lately. So much is going on I haven't had time to think. We've moved. That part is over! Now we are unpacking. And unpacking. And unpacking.... oh, did I mention? We are unpacking. Does it ever end??

Tonight, I sit here in my new house. It's a cabin, really. Very rustic. About 1/2 the size of the home we moved from. I'm trying to collect my thoughts. I've heard it said that Geniuses work well under chaotic conditions. They have so much going on in their heads that to work in an organized environment is very hard for them. Once again, I have proof that I am not a genius! I can't think when my environment is too far out of sync.

During the move, and over the last week lots of comparisons, thoughts, reminiscences have crossed my mind, but I was unable to stop what I was doing to write a post. It turns out, when there is a lot to be done, writing takes a back seat. At night, I collapse and look at my computer like a zombie. Even if I can think, I'm afraid to start writing for fear I will be up for the next 2 hours when I really need to go to bed.

So hear is the update. The good news is that most of the boxes have been unpacked. The better news is that my kitchen, which is about 1/3 the size of my last one, has been set up and is working very well! On the other hand, the yard sale pile is growing. We knew we had more to get rid of, but it was hard to do until we actually got here.

I've stated before, that I hate to move. I have to admit, I'm not sure exactly why I hate it. Truthfully, moving is an adventure. There are new people to meet, new places to see, an opportunity to reboot my life, or join new groups and participate in new activities. On the other hand, moving means saying goodbye to all those things I came to enjoy about my current home. And it is a total disruption to my life. The most obvious is moving away from friends and a home I love. Listing a house and having to keep it in pristine condition while working or raising kids isn't fun. Then there is the packing. That is a huge job, but over the years, we have had movers do the lion share of the packing for us. At the other end of moving is the unpacking. Right now, it is the part I hate most.

Unpacking is a mix of adventure, discovery, frustration and wonder....that moment when you just say "Huh?"

There is the satisfaction of unpacking a box and finding places for everything. There is the frustration of not being able to find something I know must be here, but which box? Then there is that AHA moment when it is finally found. This move it was the DVD player and all the remotes. We discovered them nicely tucked into the bedding from the master bedroom. We would have found it sooner, if we were using that room. Instead it was the VERY LAST box unpacked.

There is the wonder at unpacking something I can't imagine ever having kept, like an empty jar.

So far my favorite find is a tall, narrow 1 quart empty jar. I can see keeping a wide mouthed jar, but I have no idea why I ever held onto this jar!

Best of all, there is the surprise at unpacking something I forgot I had, like an old momento that had been tucked away. Unwrapping that suddenly brings back warm memories of an event long forgotten. Like this little photo album my dad kept of all of us as children, as well as his grandchildren.

That's me at ages 5 and 4

The best part of this move is that after nine times, Larry is by my side, working just as hard as I am. That is a first. Every other time we have moved, he would go to work and I would unpack the boxes, one at a time, one day at a time. This time it is a team effort. And I think we are winning.

One day at a time...one box at a time.

Feeling Moody, Not Thankful

In January, when I chose to keep as my daily mantra, the Bible verse from 1Thessalonians, 5:18, I knew there would be times this year when it would be hard to live up to. "In all things give thanks" instructs Paul. Paul knew what he was saying. He knew there would be days when you just wouldn't want to, wouldn't feel it, would hardly be up to it. But he knew it was the way to keep in touch with God and the way to keep things in perspective.

Yesterday, as Larry and I climbed into the car to do an afternoon of running around, I wasn't feeling the joy. The sky was gray, the air chilly, and I was tired of everything. I wanted to be home. I wanted to be alone. I wanted this move to be OVER! I've said it before, and I will repeat myself here. I hate moving. When it is all over I will be fine, but right now my home is in Pittsburgh. That's where my stuff is. That's where my friends are. That's where my life is, or at least, has been. I hate the transition. I want the unpacking to be done. I want to know where all my stuff will go. I want to be finished weeding out the stuff we will discover we don't really need. I want it to be six months from now, when I walk in my house and feel completely settled. I don't want to be living out of a suitcase, in a house that has one table, one bed and 2 chairs.

In all things give thanks....?

Let's see... since April 4, I have been a girl without a home, (sort of). I spent 5 weeks and 1 day (Larry was counting) taking care of Zachary, sleeping on a mattress on Jen's living room floor, grabbing a shower while they ate breakfast and before they left for work, and living out of a suitcase that was on their bedroom floor. Each morning we dragged my mattress back into their bedroom and propped it against the wall, and brought it out each night. I have to say, right here, it worked GREAT. We had no problems. In spite of the lack of alone time or privacy for all involved, there were no issues. And I loved spending time with Zachary and seeing Nicholas each day.

Then I spent 2 and 1/2 days with my sister. I had my own bed there! Luxury! It was a short visit, but she will be heading north about the same time we move south, so we grabbed the time we could.

Now I'm back at our cabin in Georgia. But my stuff is in the house in Pittsburgh. Home is where the heart is? Sounds nice but truthfully, for me, right now, home is where my stuff is. And that is Pittsburgh. It's been 6 weeks since things have felt normal.

Yesterday, as we did our errands, that (stupid) verse ran through my mind. Hmmph. I wasn't feeling it. I tried to come up with an attitude adjustment. As the day wore on the errands took over and I allowed myself to settle into the moment. The moodiness diminished, but I can't say I ever got that 'thankful' feeling.

Today, the sun came out, and I took the car by myself, to do MY errands, at my speed. I wanted to scope out plants that grow in the Georgia mountains and get an idea for what I might want to plant here once we finally stay here long enough to plant and water them. I stopped for a caramel macchiato and a donut and I sat alone in the sun and soaked up its energy. I looked at flowers and absorbed the energy from their simple beauty. I picked up groceries and planned dinner. Whoa! That's the first dinner I've planned and cooked since early April! In short, I started to feel normal. And the tension slowly melted away. By the time I came home I felt like a different person.

Was I giving thanks? Not really. But I realized sometimes it's not an act of joy, but more an attitude of acceptance for whatever was bugging me.

In The Hiding Place, Betsie Ten Boom told her sister, Corrie, they had to give thanks for the fleas in their barracks in the concentration camp. It was a hard lesson, and I don't believe for a minute, they ever felt joy at the fleas. But they did accept them. Later they discovered the real blessing in those fleas. But even if they never had, they still carried an attitude of thankfulness.

The good news for me is that this transition period is just that. Someday, it will all be over and I will feel connected with my life again. Until then, sometimes it's really not about the joy. It's just learning not to fight what can't be fought.

And that, I can do.

Resolution 2014--In All Things Give Thanks

Resolutions! To make or not to make; THAT is the question. Recently I've heard a few sides to this issue that make sense. Some people prefer not to make them because they feel anytime is the right time to make a resolution, to affect personal change, to set goals. I agree.

There is the other camp that likes the idea of taking one day to really contemplate the past year, and the coming one and try to identify how 'the man in the mirror' (headnod to Michael Jackson) might make a difference. I agree with that idea, too.

And I tend to follow that model in my own life.

Last year, I apparently was dissatisfied with the way I made use of my time and approached each day because as 2013 began my resolution was to change that. My overall goal was to live each day purposefully. I always have a to-do list, but sometimes I still felt as if I was spinning my wheels. It was time to take control of mindless time on the computer, unmotivated days when nothing seemed to get accomplished, planning that didn't come to fruition. How did I do? Pretty well. However, what really changed was how I greeted each day. I found a song that spoke to me about beginning and ending each day knowing I had 10,000 reasons to celebrate that God had a plan for me, even if things weren't going the way I wanted them to. And as the year came to a close, I could see that the attitude from the previous year was gone. I'm not sure I accomplished a whole lot more, but I felt much better about myself! Mission Accomplished.

Recently I saw a suggestion to choose one Bible verse as the goal for the next year and to find ways each day to put it into action. I like that idea. I may find that one verse for the year is overkill and perhaps I will change it every few months. On the other hand, now that I've chosen my verse, I will probably find frequent opportunities to use it. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 For In Everything Give Thanks....

I'm generally a thankful person, but in the next several months there will be some big changes in my life. We will be moving to a new home, in a new community. Larry will be retiring. We will be starting over, but this time we will do it without the benefit of many of the devices we've had at hand for getting connected. Children helped introduce us to many people our age. Getting them settled and into things was a conduit for finding out where stuff was. Walking the dog was a great ice breaker in meeting neighbors. Employment introduced us to co-workers who became friends, and told us the best doctors, and hair dressers and lots of other important stuff.

I don't embrace change. I much prefer stability and routine. This year, I will have many chances to grumble, feel disconnected, miss my old neighborhood and friends. Larry and I will be learning to live side by side 24/7. ...(In all things give thanks.)... He's actually more nervous about this than I am. During Thanksgiving week we stayed in the same house, without a TV, and little furniture, while it rained outside for days, and we painted rooms inside for days, and we never got into a hissy fit about something so I figure we were doing pretty well! But that was one week. After years of having him on the road literally 1/3 to 1/2 of the time, having him home 24/7/52 will be a challenge for both of us.

We are moving to a smaller house. Sorting through belongings that were collected over years of marriage and raising a family, and deciding what goes to the new house and what goes to a yard sale will be a challenge. Then there is the packing. ...(In all things give thanks?....Ugh, packing.)... And the actual move. I HATE moving. Larry and I both remember the depth of feeling when one exhausted night after our last move I looked at him and said, with steely calm and resolve, NEVER AGAIN! Well, here we go again!... (Yes, Connie....In ALL things give thanks...well, I'm working on it).

This move is voluntary. We chose this community. We like this house. We have already met several neighbors and they are friendly and social, and our age. We have found a church that we like and have met people that go there. All in all this should be an easy move. But I still know there will be moments when I grumble. When I'm exasperated. When I'm lonely. When I....need to remember that in every situation, there is blessing. And that most of the best growth comes through challenge. And that whether I see it or feel it at the time, and even when I don't understand, I still need to thank God for the blessing, both seen and unseen. Because in every move we've made, even the bad ones, there were things I learned, people we met, stuff we did, that was good.

Last year apparently was a building block for this year, even though I didn't know it. The song I sang at the beginning of each day will carry me through this year as well. My favorite line:

 "It's time to sing your song again. Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me, let me be singing when the evening comes." (10,000 Reasons/Bless the Lord written by Jonas Myrin and Matt Redman, Arranged and Orchestrated by Cliff Duren)

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11 NIV

And for that I can truly give thanks! Happy 2014, everyone.