A Slow Day

Outside my window it's snowing hard enough to wake the dead.  

Days like today have always made me question:  "Why is it humans don't hibernate?"  No one has ever been able to give me a satisfactory answer to this.  It may be that we ARE supposed to hibernate, but once things like mortgages and 401Ks became part of our daily existence, our CPAs advised us all to stay awake.    

Animals seem to get a lot of things humans don't.  Even my pets, Piper and Crickette - who aren't of the hibernating variety - know that days like today are made for lounging on their pet beds instead of scampering around the house getting into mischief.  

I've decided to take a lesson from their wisdom; hence the heavy cardigan and fluffy slippers I'm attired in, and the computer chair I have not vacated since 11:00 this morning - the exact moment when I finally got out of my pajamas.  

(I did brush my teeth, which is more than I can say for Piper...)

I am thankful for slow days.  And snow days.

Count Your Blessings!  They're right there.  And there.

And over there.

Sylva

Biff

Despite the fact that my house feels too small - especially in the winter months - there is room enough for Biff.

Biff is my treadmill.

Yes.  I name appliances, automobiles, and electronic gadgets.  For instance, my GPS is Tellulah.  My husband's, Buford...(he had something weird thing about taking directions from a woman's voice...hence the uber-manly name...)

Biff gets a lot of action during the week.  I log about 10 miles in a seven-day stretch.  And I usually rev him all the way up to  a 6!  Watch out, all you marathoners.

But today, I felt the need to mosey.

Meander.

Saunter in my street clothes rather than change into my work-out wear - which I normally never do.  (It being 18 degrees outside made an outside mosey quite unpalatable)

So I went to the basement and switched on my old friend.  The clapping of my Doc Martin wanna-bees and the swing of my shoulder-length earrings was an odd sensation whilst atop Biff.  The absence of iTunes, also a trifle unnerving.

But Biff understood that I just wanted to keep it simple today.  Still stinging from a house-hunting defeat, I couldn't find the energy to crank him up to a brisk jog.  Only a stroll.

Thanks for understanding, Biff.
Thanks for being there.
Thanks for not judging me in my street-clothes psychosis today.

What a guy.
-Sylva Leining      

Long Overdue

Yes, it's been a while since I've written.  It's not that I've had nothing to write about - just the opposite, really.  The fact that I have not written or updated for a while is solely due to there being too much to say.

With the focus of my blog being Count Your Blessings, this post will not go into great detail about the upset I just experienced, or the resulting discouragement I am currently drowning in.  I will say, however, that I am not fully over the disappointment yet, nor do I expect to be anytime soon.  (Even Pollyanna felt down in the dumps every now and then, right?  And this blow, I'm convinced would have brought even the Glad-Game-playing darling to her knees.)

But I am not going to focus on what's wrong...or the deal that fell through.  Though, goodness knows it's all I've been thinking about.  Instead, I will squint as hard as I can through my rose-colored glasses to find something good about the situation.

You see, my hubby and I have been looking at moving to a better neighborhood for a while now.  And we recently found the perfect house, situated perfectly along a quiet stream in the perfect neighborhood, and wonder of wonders! it was for sale!  We made an offer.  And so did three other people.  The bank ultimately chose the offer that was literally just chump-change ahead of ours, which means that my family is stuck in our too small house in our too old neighborhood for the foreseeable future.

This is not where I want to be.  Hence the discouragement, disappointment, and yes, even the depression that is currently weighing me down.  The most frequently asked question since our realtor dropped this news:  Why the other guys and not us?    

So, now the hard part - find a silver lining.

Is there one?

Well sure.  Moving is pain.  Packing up the stuff we've accumulated over the past seven plus years would be an enormous task.  A task I have been spared, it looks like.  So there's one positive spin - a bit prosaic maybe, but a definite plus.

Can I dig deeper?  Find a blessing that stings a little?  Maybe.  (*and I'm writing this with tears streaming down my face*)

Maybe that's not where we're supposed to be.  If it had been right, it would have worked out.  The hubs and I did everything right.  Our offer was solid, honest and strong - well above the asking price.  There are no regrets on that front, thankfully.  We did everything above the board, legally and as it should have been done.

But it didn't work out.  So, from that, I can only surmise that the perfectly situated house was not meant for us.  It stings.  Again, it begs the question; Why them and not us?  

Faith is meant to be stretched.  We are supposed to reach out, knowing that God is there ready to take our hand.  Regardless of how hard it is, our souls are built to stretch.

Spiritual therapy - that's what this last week has been for me.  I've gone from praying, "Please make them pick our offer," to sobbing, "Please tell me You haven't forgotten about me."  And, while painful, I know that someday I'll understand why them and not us.

For now, I'll look up and continually search for that silver lining.  Even through my tears.

Love to you,
Sylva          

My BFF

About 550 steps from my front door lives my best friend.

We've lived in close proximity to each other for seven years, and have been best friends for five.  She is a joy.  An honest-to-goodness blessing in my life that just keeps blessing me.  And right when I think things can't get any sweeter, they always do.

Her name is Dorraine.  She was named after the song Dorraine of Ponchartrain, by Johnny Cash.  My Dorraine, much like Johnny's, is a spit-fire who always lets you know right where you stand.  My Dorraine never minces words; diplomacy is a waste of her God-given time on this planet, and this is a huge reason why I love her so.  It's just so refreshing to see a grown woman roll her eyes at her children, or threaten her neighbor with a back-side beating using her polenta paddle.  This woman is gold, I tell you.  A true one-of-a-kind.

To beat the winter doldrums, the two of us decided to go to our local Nordic Center and snowshoe around their trails.

From the time we entered the facility, we had the staff in stitches.  (Partly because we were geeking out about the trail names, which came straight from the J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.  Like any red-blooded American women, we decided we would not return until we'd located Legolas on the Rivendell leg.)

But, alas, we did not find the luscious Legolas out in the snow, and therefore, did not get a chance to save him from hypothermia - which would have been a bonus.

But we did split the silent air with our laughter; cackling at the top of our lungs as we rounded Middle Earth.

At the end of our trek, we were sweating, panting, and jubilant.  The day was a God-send.  The scenery was perfection on a platter.  The company, divine.

Thank you, God, for my BFF.  My life has been so blessed by the gift of Dorraine.

Love to you all,
Sylva



 

Other People's Creativity

Since 2005 I have kept a record of every book I've read.  I don't know why this list started, or what I was trying to achieve by keeping it, but the list sits proudly on my desk in a spiral-bound notebook.  Titles of every book I've read over the last five years take up twenty-one pages of college-rule paper.  So let's figure this out.  I apologize for the math.


        31 titles / page

X 21 pages

                                       

 651 books!

I have read 651 books over the last five years!  That's a book every 2.8 days!

Holy mackerel, is someone insatiable or what!

I'll admit it, I have a love affair with the written word.    

On my list, books that I have particularly loved have little stars by them, indicating that I would read them again.  Of the 651 books I've digested, only 56 wear a coveted star.

I guess the reason I'm writing this post - aside the fact that at the close of 2010 my spiral notebook was all filled up and I am now wondering if I should continue the list or not - is to honor the writers of these 651 books that I have enjoyed.

Here's to you authors!  You have created worlds that have abducted me to far off, fanciful times and places.  You have crafted romances that have left me weeping for joy.  You have weaved adventures that left me breathless, mysteries that kept me up at night, and classics that - no matter how many times I read them - will never get old.

I applaud your creativity!  I bask in the glory of your written words!  I am in awe.  I count you as blessings.
Your books too are blessings in my life.  A pleasure I could not live without, or sleep without.  You see, a requisite hour of reading is required before I can even think about closing my eyes at night.  Your books have helped me unwind.  They let me escape.  Even the smell of them produced a kind of high for me.
Thank you for your genius!  Thank you for your time.

But most of all, thank you for your words.

Ah, the blessings keep pouring over me!
May they pour over you, too!

-Sylva Leining

Thumbs

Prepare yourself, this is going to be cheesy.

Today for the first time ever - in all my 38 years living with them - I realized that my thumbs are a blessing!  Like most things we take for granted, it is only after they are gone that we truly recognize them as being huge parts of our lives, deserving of honors, accolades, and even a hero-parade or two.

No, my thumbs are not missing, but my left thumb is sprained.  Sprained so much that I can barely type.  It happened yesterday while hefting an enormous load of laundry.  "That must have been some load," you chuckle.  And yes, it was.

Not wanting to do laundry the week of Christmas, since it is a chore I hate, I put it off until it could be put off no longer.  The mountain of soiled clothing was, well...mountainous and it was threatening to topple.  If that had happened, we'd all have been buried in an avalanche of stinky underwear, and that is not how I plan to leave this life!  So I took one for the team and started what turned out to be a seven hour job.

Granted, I only do my own laundry (and my husband's), my kids are on their own.

Too many times I saw college friends ruin dry-clean only clothes by tossing them in the washer.  I vowed that my own kids would know the difference between detergent and fabric softener, and comfortably know their way around the dials on the Kenmore manifold.  (But 'children doing their own laundry' is a topic for another post.)

Back to my thumb...

It kills, and I blame the pain on laundry - the one housecleaning chore I would hire out if I could.

Meanwhile, as I blunder around thumbless, wincing as I try to hang up a coat, crying out in pain as I wash my hair, I am also feeling immense gratitude for the opposable digits that have never once registered on my gratitude meter.  Until today.

Here's to thumbs!  They are more important than we know.  And they deserve more than the occasional war with your neighbor during a particularly boring meeting.          

Count your blessings...they're right under your nose (or thumb, in this case)

Love to you,

Sylva Leining