it's funny here

Lately my life has felt like it's set to the tune of many a country-western song.
Like when I look out the window,

I hear Tim McGraw singing, "I'm gonna live where the green grass grows, watch my corn pop up in rows..."
Or,

Joe Diffie sing, "In John Deere green, on a hot summer night, he wrote Billy-Bob loves Charlene in letters 3 foot high, and the whole town said he should have used red but it looked good to Charlene..."

Sometimes I feel like I've left the country and arrived in this new and unusual place. A most unexpected place.
We burn our garbage in a barrel out back.
{Not all of it. Not the recyclables or the hazardous stuff. Or some other stuff too.}
You can laugh.
It's super weird. I'm still trying to figure all of this out. 

And then tonight, Patrick asked if we got any mail today. I stopped for a minute and then realized I don't even check anymore. The mailbox is across the street and I honestly just forget.

I still haven't gotten into a habit of checking since we moved here. Then it hit me. I asked, "does the mail man drive a funny little car?" Patrick laughed and said yes. I remembered a beat up old car pausing for a moment in front of the house this afternoon and I remember pausing myself and wondering why. It wasn't until Patrick asked that I realized that this is our mailman. According to Patrick, his name is Darrell and he's been the mailman here for years. He drives his own beat up little car and wears regular civilian clothes.

People out here are always asking me how I like life "out here in the country". I think it's so funny. I wonder when this will feel like normal to me. Sometimes, on good days, I feel like a vacationer. Like someone totally out of my element, but so much so that it's enjoyable.


We're adjusting. I hope you'll come and visit. I hope I haven't scared you so much that you won't. I know that garbage thing is totally weird.

thankful indeed

This week I've had lots of ups and downs. Maybe it comes with the territory. Moving, change, leaving a beloved house. There have just been lots of moments that I've been straight up crabby. The wind, the crazy country wind. That smell, that awful mysterious smell. The flies, the gigantic flies in huge abundance. The kitchen, the teeny-tiny kitchen with pretty much zilch counter space. There have been a bunch of things every day that make me feel down right mad.

But I know this to be true, whether I'm mad or crabby or not, I'm here. I'm going to be here. I live here. And here's the deal, I know I'm blessed. Maybe not with counter space or sweet smells, but I'm blessed. There are a million things every day I can be thankful for. In fact as I looked back over my week, here's what I found:

A happy evening, lit by warm sunshine and filled with lounging on the trampoline eating big juicy strawberries in between bounces.

Colors, flowers, lettuce. Things are growing here.

A picture of the landscape here taken by accident while holding my camera away from me, trying to adjust the settings.

Baby birds that hatched from their bright blue eggs. 

Our front porch adorned with ferns that the boys gave me for Mother's Day. To me, ferns are in summer what peonies are in spring.

William finally let me talk him out of his ripped, holey, smelly shoes and into these new ones. Yay!

And even though I grumble about the wind, I sure do love the way it blows through those blonde locks of his. 

The directions say it takes "48 hours" to build. It's not there yet, but it's getting there. Henry loves having a platform to stand on.

Sing this one:
These shoes are made for running, and that's just what they'll do,
tomorrow these shoes are gonna
run 13.2 (oops) 13.1 (forget the corny attempt at rhyme).
The Rockford 1/2 Marathon is tomorrow. I've been spending lots of time in my shoes trying to baby my shins.
It has been a very good week after all. I'm thankful for all of the things I have to be thankful for.

friends since third grade

Today is May 13, 2010
It's Katie's 30th birthday.


When I moved to Maine, I was 7 years old. It was the summer before I started third grade. I didn't know anyone there and I was afraid to start school because I didn't have any friends. I also didn't know that I was living just down the street from someone who was about to become my very best friend. Katie and I both lived on Main Street. We were both in Mrs.Snyder's third grade class. We became fast friends. It's almost as if I can remember no moment that we were strangers. We met and we were friends.

We were best friends that played Barbies, rode bikes, listened to the New Kids On The Block, rollerbladed, played hide-and-seek with the neighborhood kids and used pennies to buy taffy at Helen's candy store. In fourth grade we both decided to play the saxophone and we marched in the band together. There were bake sales in front of my house and a million sleepovers on my screened porch. We lived less than two blocks apart so it was easy to walk  to each other's houses. Not wanting to make the other walk too far alone though, we'd always make plans to walk halfway and meet at the corner in between Katie's house and mine. "Meeting at the corner" was something we'd do probably hundreds of times over the next several years. We forged a well worn path to that corner in between her house and mine.

In those years we dreamed of our futures and made plans to someday marry Joey Mcintyre and Donnie Wahlberg. Katie came to Illinois to visit me in the summers and I joined her family on cruises and weekends away and family reunions. She was a part of my family, and I felt very much a part of hers. We dreamed our big dreams, dreams that reached far beyond the borders of our little hometown, excited to leave Winthrop and all of its tiny town-ness, never stopping to realize that our big plans might lead us to distant places, places far away from each other.

And then they did. We marched to pomp and circumstance in the spring of 1998. Later that summer we said goodbye to our tiny town and goodbye to each other. Katie moved to Boston to go to college and eventually meet her husband, Jean, and I came to Illinois where I'd eventually meet mine. Even though we haven't lived in the same place since, we've remained the closest of friends. Distance separates us, but our friendship, forged over thousands of footsteps to meet at the corner over a half dozen years will always connect us. We share our lives now in the form of emails and conversations over the phone and through the exchanging of pictures.

Katie has an amazing faith in God. She has a godly husband and two beautiful children. Her faith has been an inspiration to me in the past year and a half as she has trusted God unswervingly through some very hard times for her family.

Katie, I am so proud to call you friend. I'm grateful for twenty-two years of friendship with you and very much looking forward to the next 22. I love you! Happy Birthday!

There is happiness here

Yesterday was my last long run, the last one before the really long one. I've been warned about running out here in the country. Apparently there are dogs, loose dogs, that chase after people. I know this to be true of the two dogs up the street that live at the house that I drive past every day to get "into town" (that's what the country folk call going to Bloomington). We watch for those two dogs as we drive by. If they're out and about, they chase the car or run alongside, trying their best to keep up with it for as long as they can. It's an impressive show of speed and stamina really. They keep up for a bit and our car is usually going 50+ mph. I did a short run here last week, but went two miles in the only direction I was told was without dogs and turned around to run the two miles back. Not wanting to risk being chased, raced or bitten by a dog, I opted to drive to Bloomington for my last long run (only after considering carrying a can of Lysol to spray at chasing dogs).

Henry fast asleep on the couch on moving day after everyone left to go home. And William curled up next to him. These two have been so brave and they've done so well. They're sharing a room now and doing great.

The beginning of my run involved parking at the edge of my former neighborhood and running down Oakland Avenue, past Leland Street. As I approached the street I contemplated for those moments glancing over or not. Should I look or not? Yes or no? Then the moment was upon me and almost out of habit I glanced over and saw it. The house we sold. Our home. I half expected to see the boys in the driveway or Patrick mowing the lawn. I'd run that way so many times in the months before. I'd even run past sometimes and loop around the block and some of those times the boys would be in the front yard with Patrick, and we'd wave and I'd keep running. But not yesterday. I saw her car there. Parked in front of our house. Her house. It was too soon to look; I knew I shouldn't have glanced. As my feet continued to move forward a few tears fell as my feet struck the pavement. That was the very beginning of the run. I contemplated the move and the change and a new beginning, all in the context of God's grace, for the remainder of the miles. Just as I leaned on God in a physical way to help me through that run, I realized then that I must lean on Him in a spiritual way to help me through this move and this change.

Henry on an early morning tractor ride in his pj's.

I still miss our Leland home and our neighbors, my peonies, the porch swing, the garbage truck and organized recycling system. It has only been a week here. There are still boxes everywhere. Piles and boxes and laundry. It's not very organized and even smells funny at times. I know we'll dig out from under all of the moving chaos; everyone who moves always does. In the meantime, there is happiness here. There will be new memories made and things I grow to love about this home. Last Sunday was the first night we spent as a family here. I was feeling tired and crabby after a few long weeks and a long day of moving. Patrick called to me from outside. It was dark out there and cold and I didn't want to go out. But I did, because he called again. I got outside and he said, "look up". There was a sky full of stars. They twinkled and sparkled and shined in ways I had forgotten stars could. They rolled on and on and almost folded around in a big sky blanket covering over the dark night. I wanted to stay crabby (because that is just the awful mood I was in) but I couldn't. It was something of beauty and I felt happiness.

A Robin's nest, with the most beautiful blue eggs, we discovered on David's barn. The boys check it every day for babies. 

William driving Henry's gator to his grandma and grandpa's house.

From the front porch. 

Planting potatoes in our garden. 

William watching Henry drive the tractor with his grandpa.

William's pine cone collection.

This morning we looked out the front window and saw this. Grandpa Tractor came and took the boys on an early morning tractor ride to park his tractor in the shed that's down the street. They grabbed shoes and sweatshirts and off they scrambled just after 7:00 in their pj's. 

I found William touching the washer this morning. It's spin cycle is ridiculous. It's loud and super shaky. He was holding on and cracking up. 

 

William sweeping up flies. Or any black speck really will do. He calls them all flies and loves to help sweep them up. 

It's different here. Our house is different. But it's going to be ok.