emptying my engine

assuming they are fairly healthy, i think we assume people are going to be there day after day. i especially mean the people closest to us, those whom we see or talk to or think about often. the ones who reside in our hearts. and so i think we go about our lives with focus on at least some things that, in hindsight, may not be nearly important enough to warrant so much of our attention. those day to day trivialities can keep us from saying and doing the things that we might wish we had said and done if our people (or we) are not there one day. i know it makes sense to live that way rather than living a life of trepidation and of looking over our shoulders, waiting for bad news. it'd be too stressful, too exhausting, too consuming to live our lives the other way.

i've been two degrees of separation from several people whose lives have ended abruptly over the past year or so. i have been reminded of the sheer finality of death, and felt and witnessed the sense of longing we have for just one more day, a few more words, with a loved one who has departed. i've known the hopelessness of trying to comfort those in grief - a parent losing a child, a spouse losing their mate, siblings separated by an untimely departure, a child losing their parent - when no words come because there are no words. and through all of it, the stark reminder that any day it could be any of us.

i'm trying to face that truth with courage. i'm trying to use it as motivation to reset my internal tape recorder, to pick my head up and focus outward, and to take opportunities to make my interactions with others overwhelmingly positive even if just in some small way. of course when that dipshit is tailgating me, my efforts momentarily wane because i am, after all, human. and he is, after all, a dipshit.

maybe it's the fact that i've, at best, reached the half way point in

my journey here (and way more likely i've been on the downward slide for a while now) that brings all of this introspection and contemplation to the fore front. i seem to be spending a lot of time in this place and space lately. maybe this is what they mean by midlife crisis. it doesn't feel so much a crisis per se' but there's a lot weighing on my mind and in my heart these days - i want to make sure that what i leave behind is positive, i want to make sure i empty my engine of all of the good stuff - because i won't be needing it once my time comes, and i won't have the opportunity once the time comes for someone i love. i want to make sure that i've said and done as much as i can for others so that when we are inevitably separated, whoever remains has something to hold on to.

when i make my final exit, i believe that anything left in my heart goes with me. the good intention and energy of a loving touch, kind word, or generous gesture that goes undelivered is forever lost. by the same token, the pain or scar of an ugly thought or selfish expression goes with me as well. none of it will do me any good once i am gone - that energy, positive or negative, just dissipates. and i don't mind taking the negative stuff with me - good riddance to it - but if i share the good stuff while i am still here, that positive energy lives on for at least a little longer in the hearts or minds of anyone i may have touched.

i recently read someone's autobiographical obituary. i did not know this man, but know that he had a terminal disease and knew his time in this life was limited. so he wrote his own obit. it was beautiful and funny and touching and clearly must have been a tremendous gift to those he left behind - not only because it was an opportunity for them to hear his words once more, but also because i think that writing an obit would be a burden on someone who is already grieving - so why not help them out? after all, who knows your life better than you do? i actually thought of going one step further. imagine writing our own eulogies. it would be quite an exercise in introspection and contemplation - with a real, valuable, tangible outcome. a parting gift, of sorts - a final chance to leave something on the table for our loved ones. empty our hearts of all of the good stuff - give the positive energy a chance to live a little longer in the hearts of others. and let the negative stuff go with us. i'm intrigued.

what would we want our final words to be, what would we want to leave behind? this is an exercise i want to explore in 2013. of course, in the unlikely event that i get hit by an asteroid tomorrow, then this very post will have to suffice.

furry friends

sitting out here on the zen porch with scout at my feet. beautiful day, it probably hit 80 today. you know how some days are just perfect days weatherwise for wherever you happen to live? few places have all perfect days - and austin in the summer speaks loudly and clearly for its climactic shortcomings. but today was just a great austin day. thanks for that, mother nature.

so i am sitting out here and the usual NYE fireworks are going off every once in a while in the distance. and while scout is not one of those dogs that freaks out about fireworks (that was barley's job, r.i.p.), they do make her slightly uncomfortable and nervous.

we have this on going battle of the wills, scout and i. from my side of things, i am just not a dogs-on-the-furniture kind of person. to each their own, and i love a good dog snuggle, but we happen to have a couple of canines who feel the need for a new coat every DAY so they are ridiculously prolific shedders. that makes me draw the line and so i am a not a dogs-on-the-furniture kind of person. as for scout, other than the fact that she is really a cat dressed in a dog costume, she also has delusions about her royal status and feels entitled, heck compelled, to sneak up (and i do mean sneak, with crafty eyes, a sideways glance, and quick like a fox) on to the furniture every so often when my back is turned. i know she does this way more often than i have ever caught her, as is evidenced by the well defined, circular, hair-filled impression we find on the beds and couches now and again.

this game has gone on for so long - 10 years now - she sneaks up, and if i catch her i tell her to get down. i have never waivered, she has never argued. it's our routine. in fact it has become so familiar for both of us that when i catch her, we only need to exchange a brief (sideways) glance - no words or gestures required.

so back to the zen porch where i am sitting enjoying the gorgeous evening, and a slightly skittish scout (remember the fireworks) is at my feet, and she so wants to come up here on the couch and cuddle up with me. it's like she knows she isn't allowed but she's giving me the sideways glance anyway. i swear she is wondering if i would mind, if i would let her just this once, seeing as how there are fireworks and all. out of my peripheral vision, i can see that she's actually raising one paw and putting it on the couch, all the while giving me the sideways glance. but if i turn and make eye contact with her, the paw goes down and she looks away. it's pretty funny. "who? me? what?"

i can't believe i am even considering it.

happy new year everyone. i hope the new year brings you all these things in spades: the warmth of a perfect weather day (even if your perfect day is a chilly one), the warmth of a furry friend at your feet, and the warmth of knowing that you're experiencing a life well lived.

lessons and carols

This one’s been banging around inside my head for a few weeks. Time to get it out.

It’s Christmas 2011, our first Christmas in our new home. We were able to move in back in February, barely missing Christmas 2010 by >this much<. But Christmas 2010 was spent in the rental house, where we were a bit out of sorts and not really sure what to do with ourselves. Last year Aly came home for her Christmas break from Northeastern and was sorely disappointed because we all seemed to be missing a key ingredient – Christmas spirit. But this Christmas is different – we were ready for it, with eager anticipation, joyful hearts, and about 1000 LED Christmas lights.

Last night we followed our something old/something new Christmas Eve tradition. As of 2010, the new part of our tradition is visiting the local fire station to say thank you and to bring them a holiday card and some homemade goodies. There were about 5 firefighters there when we visited, one of whom had been on the second shift at our fire. He immediately recalled the address and the time as I was explaining who we were. From the bottom of our hearts, we thanked them again and wished them a very boring and quiet Christmas Eve.

Parts two and three of our Christmas Eve tradition were the old standbys: Christmas Eve service at Bethany – the once a year when I get to drag my family to church and no one is allowed to gripe about it (well, they are allowed to gripe - first amendment and all - but they still have to go). Bunch o’ Chreasters. I do love the familiar carols and the fellowship. The service was followed by our usual Christmas Eve dinner at Kobe steakhouse where we inevitably run into people we know and enjoy the handiwork of the sushi chefs (and wine stewards) there. Last night was no exception.

This morning came with a chill and some rain, but it was nice waking up in the new house. Jack and I both commented that we had awakened around 4am but were able to fall back to sleep fairly easily. Not a creature was stirring – and silence never sounded so good. Late morning Jack and I went for our four mile walk/jog around town lake while the kids still slept - and then we came home to a few presents and a blissfully lazy day. Cozy and comfortable, in a beautiful new house.

There’s really not a day that goes by that I’m not cognizant of what it has taken to get us here – and of how many people chipped in to make it possible. I don’t think I will ever get used to it – at least I hope I don’t. To be humbled in this way is really the ultimate gift – and I know I am changed forever. It continues to be just shy of too much to bear, which is a good place to be. And though I am getting used to feeling this way, there is still something new to see and feel at every turn. There are still lessons to be learned.

For two years now we have lived with the desire and determination to repay the tidal wave of kindness and generosity that washed over our family. We daydream about winning the lottery and repaying everyone who sent a dime our way, we look for opportunities to make a difference in the lives of the myriad of people who came to our aid. We look for chances to give back.

But we recently faced the realization that an opportunity to truly repay someone would likely come at a high cost. It's been something of an epiphany for me. I have been so focused on trying to find ways to pay back that I just hadn't realized what those opportunities would really mean for the people I was paying back.

One of the families who came to our rescue – Jim and Sharon and their three girls (friends we used to work with who we really only saw once or twice a year after we no longer worked together) – suffered a tragedy when Jim was unexpectedly and tragically lost in an accident just after Thanksgiving. Despite not seeing them all that often, we knew that we would help. Sharon and Jim showed us that this is the way – whether you see your friends once a day or once in a blue moon, you find a way to help. They had shown up with generous gift cards to both Target and Home Depot that had been donated through their church after they shared our story. Both gift cards were incredibly helpful in putting the finishing touches on the new house, and once again we were humbled by the kindness of strangers and what friends were willing to do for us. Of course we gladly will do whatever we can to now help Sharon and the girls. But in my heart I wish more than anything that this opportunity didn’t exist. I understand now that the opportunity to pay someone back means that they will have to suffer a loss, and for Sharon and their girls – and all of Jim’s family and friends - this loss is heartbreaking. Reminders again that life is precious and fleeting and that everything can change in an instant.

And so it’s with this realization that I now move forward, fervently hoping and wishing that I never ever ever get the opportunity to pay any of you back. I really mean it. Of course if you ever need me, I will be right there to help in whatever way I can. But If I never get the chance to pay you back, I’m ok with that.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

the shoe fits

I love sitting out in my zen space. It has good joojoo. Immediately after the fire, before we could dare to dream, Kimberly (KK) had to lead us there by the hand and heart by asking the questions that would propel us forward: What would you have changed about the old house? How are we going to get more light in here? Why *can’t* cabinets be painted?

It was hard at first to even remember things about the old house that were anything but utterly and inarguably perfect. We missed it a lot (we still do). I think I’ve talked before about the longing for that space, almost more than the things that occupied it. It was our space, and once it was lost we instantly and conveniently forgot about its warts and blemishes. It had been perfect…hadn’t it? We were fortunate enough to be able to build on the same slab, which saved us a lot of money – and so I think we assumed that we’d build the same house on that same slab. We were unable to imagine anything else, but KK egged us on.

In the old house, all four bedrooms were down a single hallway. This was ideal for most of the time we’d lived there - the kids were small and we liked the comfort of being close. They are teenagers now – living in that crazy place between dependence and independence, child and adult, here and there. And I want no part of that.

I kid, I kid.

The truth is that they are absolutely funny, self sufficient, and unique mostly-adult people (coming from a completely biased mom) who we like hanging out with. But as they grew to adult-size, we found ourselves kind of on top of each other space-wise. So KK led us to the vision of a new master bedroom – clear on the other side of the house. Wait…what? But......there is/was a kitchen on that other side of the house after all! KK’s responses went something like: “So we’ll move it” and “Anything is possible when you start from scratch”. That’s when it clicked for me that the new house didn’t have to be a poor imitation of the old house. The new house could wear the same shoe size as the old house (same footprint) but maybe it’s a brand new shoe.

Once we had planned to move the master to where the kitchen was, we dared to go further. Where, then, would the kitchen go? KK suggested putting it at the back-center of the house, with big bold windows looking out into the backyard. “Anything is possible when you start from scratch.” Indeed.

I found strength in her imagination. I even asked about having a little patio teeny-tiny – just enough for two chairs – leading out from the master bedroom. That was how my “zen space” was born. I secretly suspect that Kurt embraced the idea of the zen space as a personal project because my little “teeny-tiny space” ended up being about 12x12, with a beautiful stone floor, and an amazing hand crafted wooden frame and ceiling. It’s entirely screened in, and has a doggy door too. All of which makes it pretty perfect.

Our zen space is slowly getting outfitted with everything a decent zen space needs, like a twirly marbly hanging thing from my friend Kim, a bamboo plant from Kenzie and Doug, comfy furniture, whisper quiet ceiling fan, and of course the little happy Buddha and the miniature zen garden that Emmett gave to me for mother’s day. It’s really such a nice space, and I am so grateful for it.


And I swear it takes its job seriously. It is peaceful out there, and always welcoming. I get to sit out in this space with a cool drink and a warm dog or two, sharing time with my hubby, talking about the good things our kids are off doing, figuring out how to do this empty nest thing - and there’s just a calm that settles in. It is a deeply joyful place.

So today was one of “those days” - my hard drive died, work was crazy hectic, and the local news was not good – another 1000 acres on fire in Bastrop – on top of what those poor people have already endured. These terrible fires make us cry and ache for the families who are losing their homes. We know all too well the treacherous and exhausting paths down which they are just beginning. We know that they have no way of knowing that it will easily be a two year recovery as it has been for us. We hadn’t known either – how could we have? We could not know, we would not know, until we walked in those shoes. I came home, poured a little wine, and went out to sit with Buddha and unwind. And as I sat there, I was reminded once again how incredibly, humbly fortunate we are. It is still overwhelming, how so many people did so much for us, gave and gave and gave so that we could recover and find ourselves in this beautiful space.

My fervent wish for the many Bastrop and Austin area families who are just beginning down a path we know all too well is that they have someone who dares them to dream, that they have a tidal wave of support and love that washes over them, and that in the end they find themselves with new shoes that are even more perfect than the ones these fires are taking from them.

i nailed it

It has been so long since I wrote anything here. So long. That's a sign, right? Because as we get farther from Christmas 2009, get settled in a new home, send Emmett off to Texas State, and Aly to Dublin for the fall semester, we get more entrenched in our new normal. We're busy - life goes on, as it should.

There are these moments every once in a while, and they get farther and farther apart. I had one tonight when I put the first nail in a wall. We have been here since February and we have never hung one thing on a wall (well, Aly and Emmett have made their rooms their own, but Jack and I have not started yet). It's hard to make that first nail hole.

Jacko's out of town for a week and the kids are both working so when I saw a box in the closet labeled "Framed pictures", I got motivated. And what was the first thing I hung up? You want to know, don't you? Well, the first *picture* I hung up is the autographed photo from Tedy Bruschi (see "full tilt, full time" from July 2010). Prior to that I actually had hung up one of those Greek charms that ward off the evil eye. It seemed appropriate to break the ice with that one - but Tedy's was the first of three pictures that I hung tonight.


Of course it takes me half an hour to decide where to hang each thing so it's exhausting. This makes me take frequent breaks. Which prolongs the process. But regardless. On one of my breaks, I walked out in the backyard to check on all of the lovely things we have planted (well, *Mike* has planted, but whatever :-) and was happy to see that the storm we got last night really livened things up out there (we've been in this exceptional drought for quite a while). And while I was checking things out I saw that little patches of purple queen wandering jew (go ahead, make a joke) that used to grow in the far back corner of the backyard pre-fire, were popping up all over. After being completely neglected for over a year, and in a drought, after being bulldozed and backhoed, darn if that little succulent son of a gun wasn't coming back. What resilience.

And *that* made me thing about resilience. I think resilience is something I can say, with a fair amount of confidence, that I have - and that feels good. BECAUSE whenever I read one of those stories in the news about a guy jumping on subway tracks to save a fellow human in distress, or similar acts of profound bravery, I can't help but wonder if I would have the chops to do something like that if I were in that situation. I have to admit I am not 100% sure I would, and for those brief few moments when I am reading or thinking about that story, I am plagued by the fact that I don't know. I find it reassuring to know absolutes about myself, one less thing to worry about - and I can't say with certainty that I am brave. Since it is a trait I greatly admire, I am wistful. Since I'm not 100% sure, I am hopeful. I may never know.

I just had to stop right now and ask myself where am I going with this, and of equal importance - when will I get there? I guess just that it's nice to know that I am resilient. I may have never known before but now that I have been bulldozed and backhoed, I know.

This is what goes on in my head. No wonder it takes me two hours to hang a picture.

a moment and a homecoming of sorts

we've been officially in the new house for a little over a month now. we finally moved out of the rental house in early february, 13 months after we had moved in with a 6 month lease. i'm sure it worked out well for the landlord since he got to raise the rent after the first 6 months - but at the time we didn't feel we could commit to anything farther away than 6 months, and even that seemed an eternity. in the end while we waited for the new house to become habitable, we kept bargaining for one more month, one more month - until he could offer us no more months because he had new tenants moving in.

move day was going to be tuesday. the weekend prior was really nice - the first 70 degree weekend we had since the fall. people were busting out the flip flops and wearing shorts. but there was something on the horizon, and that something hit on tuesday. a cold front brought the temps back down to freezing just two days after we'd been basking in the sunshine. there was no budging move day, so we bundled up and spent all day lugging our belongings across the street. our good friends again heard the call and came to help, and were so optimistic as to comment how moving with the freezing temps was better than moving in 100 degrees. crazy, wonderful, insane, shivering friends.

we continued paying our mortgage on the house that was no longer, and our great insurance company, Allstate, footed the tab for the rental. all those years of paying homeowner's insurance, one of life's necessary evils - or so we thought. but when we really needed them - they were more than on our side, better than a good neighbor, way less anoying that an aussie gecko...(and you know how i feel about gilbert gottfried so don't get me started on the duck).

anyway, we got everything moved on tuesday and overnight the snow came. it was impressive, by austin standards - emmett even got a snow day. the one little snag is that the main water line into the new house had been left uncovered pending final plumbing inspection which was needed to get the certificate of occupancy. that was monday, and the pipe was much less enthusiastic about the freeze than emmett and his buddies were. and so we ended up the first three days in the new house with no water. no burst pipes, but no flowing water either. so the yin to that yang was that the freeze delayed the new tenants and we still had keys - so it was kind of like camping where you'd bundle up and leave the comfort of your campfire to dart over to use the bathrooms and showers. three days later, through some combination of sheer vulcan willpower backed by a tented heating contraption, worthy of rube goldberg, aimed at the uncompromising pipe, kurt beat the freeze and the water flowed.

little by little we're settling in now. the house is about 95% done so each week we get a little closer. spring has sprung and as i write this i am sitting out on my as-yet-to-be-screened screen porch in shorts and a tank top. birds are chirping, the redbuds and salvia are blooming, and you can just smell spring everywhere. i love it because you can't help but think about growth and rebirth during this time of year. spring will largely be about the landscaping, which has taken a beating during the reconstruction. i'm really looking forward to making permanent homes for the few plants i saved who will comprise our "garden of what was".

i entertained for the first time last week. jack was out of town so i invited over a bunch of lady friends for a girls night in. about 15-20 came, and it felt good to be doing something for *them* for a change. the night before i decided to bake some cookies and needed saran wrap. we didn't have any so i called mo who said she'd meet me at the fence to lend me hers.

"meet me at the fence". how many times have we done that in the 10+ years we've been neighbors? lending this or that, tasting this or that, just chatting. probably a thousand times. when we re-did the fence we put privacy everywhere except on mo and ronnie's side. there we all agreed that a wrought iron, open fence was preferable - because we all liked the idea of meeting at the fence. mo commented when we met for the saran wrap exchange. she said "just like old times". and we agreed that it was a special, poignant moment. one step closer towards normalcy. we had gotten back one of the things we always loved, and we felt it on a big scale. so simple, passing a roll of saran wrap over the fence, but so special.


today the big truck rolled up from san antonio. we had called the

storage/restoration people who had emptied the house in the days following christmas and told them "we're ready". they had stored things for us all this time and honestly, we couldn't even remember what they had. we knew it was stuff from the garage, since that did not burn. and we knew they had my grandparents' bedroom dressers which jack and i have had since we got married and, due to the extreme cost of restoring damaged furniture, were the only things we chose to have them restore. three young guys showed up, introduced themselves and said "ma'am, we have your things". after i smacked them for calling me ma'am, they got around to unloading. the garage is now absolutely full with these potential treasures. and god knows what the heck is in there, but it's in about 75 boxes. i see our bicycles, and jacko's golf clubs, assorted tools, and 75 boxes. we'll be busy for a while.

i have to admit that seeing the guys unload my grandparents' dressers was an emotional moment for me. they had packed them so carefully - and once unloaded i watched as they gently disrobed them from their protective blankets. the last time we saw these, they were absolutely caked in soot. and while not perfect, they now look pretty amazing. i had the guys put them right into our new bedroom. i thanked the guys, and told them they were part of our story now - the final chapter.

the dressers are literally the first familiar things in the new house, and i was there to welcome them home.

a journey in a single day

he looked at me like i was completely nuts.

"you want to do what?"

"mow the backyard."

"WHAT backyard?"

it's true that while the house is 95% completed and we are 100% moved in and maybe 60% unpacked, the yard is 99% a construction war zone. landscaping is planned for the spring, but we've got to take a breather on the spending and have a little financial recovery time.

still, after the couple of weeks of freezing temps, today was absolutely stunning. sunny and warm, bright blue sky - the kind of day that lures you to do yard work, and you don't even mind. but there's a lot of trash out there, and remnants of the different stages the house has been through, and one of the things we *did* manage to save from "before" was our lawnmower. jacko didn't want me to kill it the first time i mowed at the new house (not to mention that there isn't actually much grass back there at this point).

so instead i went on my own little reconnaissance mission. the dogs have been hanging out in the backyard (when it hasn't been freezing) and fenway still has a lot of puppy tendencies (all 80 pounds of her) which leads her to think that chewing on rebar scraps is a good idea and that styrofoam is meant to be ingested. so i went out there to see if i could clean things up a bit (and with secret hope that i would do such a stellar job that jack would agree it was mowing time).

the stuff littering the backyard lead me back through our journey of the past 14 months, though not sequentially this time. i found scraps of things that had been on the deck during the fire, shattered and sooty, next to bits of roofing shingles. lots of broken glass was aside rebar and PVC tidbits. i found the fluorescent "warm zone" tape that the firefighters had wrapped around the exterior perimeter of the backyard tangled up with the temporary electrical pole that had been erected when we first brought power to the construction site. i found discards from literally every stage of our journey. it made me realize that i wish i had taken photos of all the many different crews who had worked on the house since, as i told them, they were part of our story now (usually in my broken spanglish). i wish i had been organized from the start and had written down every single donation and every single hug - who gave and said and did what. i wish i had kept a detailed record of the reconstruction - where everything came from, how much it cost, models and colors and styles. unfortunately, none of that happened. and i forgive myself. a lot of things are still strong in my memory but not always the things you'd think you'd remember. sort of like how you can remember things like the phone number you had as a kid (totally useless information at this point) but not necessarily where you just put down the car keys (very useful, and timely, information). memory is a funny thing that way.

the last thing i saw in the backyard before i called it a day was something that fenway actually brought to me. neither singed nor sooty, it was (most of) a tennis ball. clearly a tennis ball from "before" that had sat in the yard, neglected, and watched the whole story unfold for 14 months through beating sun and pouring rain, and yes, even snow. and now, since i was depriving fenway of perfectly good rebar to chew on, the tennis ball had found it's rightful purpose once again. it was very funky, filthy, and extremely weathered. just the way fenway likes them.