How trite is it to say, "I love room service"?
As I sit on the eleventh floor of the Grove Hotel after a full day at an intense writing conference, I am thankful above all else for room service.
A dinner of portabello mushroom fries, shrimp cobb salad, and pumpkin cheesecake has brought me back from the brink of starvation.
And the fact that it came right to my door by a smiling valet...well, that is well worth every penny of the added cost tacked on to my room price.
I wonder why I've never taken advantage of room service before. Never once in my life.
I now can say, however, that it is the best invention since the non-stop flight from Salt Lake to Paris--and that blessing has literally changed my life.
But then, so has room service.
The guilt I may or may not feel at leaving the hubs and kids for the weekend was quickly swallowed up in the creamy, smooth cheesecake with raspberry compote.
Nah, there is no guilt. I'm right where I want to be.
Blessings are everywhere, people!
-S
Friday, November 9, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
A State of Mind
I'm not going to start this post by saying, "Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I've blogged." This opening sentence--or a variation of it--is how most of my journal entries have been started over the last 20 years. Aside from being overused, the sentence isn't really that interesting and doesn't garner a lot of reader confidence, so I will open with something more catchy.
How about: "I'm back, and still counting my blessings?"
No, this feels a bit too goody-two-shoes. And it might, too, conjure up horror movie images in which the creepy villain pops out at inopportune times with lines like, "I'm back...." Pollyanna and the Poltergeist? No thanks. I'm shooting for something catchy here, not disturbing.
What about: "So much has happened to me since last I wrote. I don't know where to start?"
No good. This missive not only turns off a reader, it makes a writer sigh heavily in near exhaustion at the thought of having to go back nine months and recount all the events she has failed to blog about--whether or not they would be of interest to her one follower.
What I will say then is this: "Spring is busting out all over."
While it may not be original, it is truly apt--and I'm not only talking about crocuses.
I have experienced a rebirth. A renewal. Even a rejuvenation within my soul ever as welcome as the first whiff of April lilacs.
I am happy. I am content. I am filled with faith and joy.
My heart is brimming with gratitude for a good husband, great kids, faithful friends, new carpet, a kitchen redo, opportunities to serve, and healthy risks that yank me out of my comfort zone.
And just as the tiny pink blossoms on my apple trees will one day produce tangible, heavy fruit, so too will the gratitude I feel alter the course of my future. Gratitude is not stagnant, it is a starting-point emotion. To be grateful is to do something about your blessed abundance.
I will therefore cut away the winter-kill in both my Hostas and my heart.
Let the sunshine of Spring heal my Sorrel and my soul.
And may the light and life of a rebirth be just as powerful a propeller in November as it is in May.
Spring is, after all, a state of mind.
Sylva
How about: "I'm back, and still counting my blessings?"
No, this feels a bit too goody-two-shoes. And it might, too, conjure up horror movie images in which the creepy villain pops out at inopportune times with lines like, "I'm back...." Pollyanna and the Poltergeist? No thanks. I'm shooting for something catchy here, not disturbing.
What about: "So much has happened to me since last I wrote. I don't know where to start?"
No good. This missive not only turns off a reader, it makes a writer sigh heavily in near exhaustion at the thought of having to go back nine months and recount all the events she has failed to blog about--whether or not they would be of interest to her one follower.
What I will say then is this: "Spring is busting out all over."
While it may not be original, it is truly apt--and I'm not only talking about crocuses.
I have experienced a rebirth. A renewal. Even a rejuvenation within my soul ever as welcome as the first whiff of April lilacs.
I am happy. I am content. I am filled with faith and joy.
My heart is brimming with gratitude for a good husband, great kids, faithful friends, new carpet, a kitchen redo, opportunities to serve, and healthy risks that yank me out of my comfort zone.
And just as the tiny pink blossoms on my apple trees will one day produce tangible, heavy fruit, so too will the gratitude I feel alter the course of my future. Gratitude is not stagnant, it is a starting-point emotion. To be grateful is to do something about your blessed abundance.
I will therefore cut away the winter-kill in both my Hostas and my heart.
Let the sunshine of Spring heal my Sorrel and my soul.
And may the light and life of a rebirth be just as powerful a propeller in November as it is in May.
Spring is, after all, a state of mind.
Sylva
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Contentment breeds contentment....
...and contentment is what I'm after.
Blessed is he who is content with his situation.
Contentment is an attractive color on anyone.
He who is content is fortunate above all else.
Contentment begets contentment.
It's not that I don't want a lot;
or hope for more;
or dream of more.
But giving thanks for what I've got
makes me so much happier than keeping score.
Instead of wishing for a new house, a chance to move, a fresh start, I am focusing on only one thing these days: Contentment.
With the housing market the way it is, with the federal budget on the verge of collapse, the Leining family will stay put for now. And we will be happy about it.
There's no need to feel sorry for us - this was mutually agreed upon by all members involved. Our dreams of moving on are merely hibernating for the time being. They are still alive and breathing, only for now they are breathing the warm, cozy air of contentment.
Plus, our friends here are more valuable than the net proceeds we may or may not pocket from the sale of our house.
Some things are just more important. And I, for one am choosing to see them today. While maybe not full-on rose colored, the view from the land of contentment is at least tinged with pink.
May you see blessings all around you this day is my wish,
Sylva Leining
Blessed is he who is content with his situation.
Contentment is an attractive color on anyone.
He who is content is fortunate above all else.
Contentment begets contentment.
It's not that I don't want a lot;
or hope for more;
or dream of more.
But giving thanks for what I've got
makes me so much happier than keeping score.
Instead of wishing for a new house, a chance to move, a fresh start, I am focusing on only one thing these days: Contentment.
With the housing market the way it is, with the federal budget on the verge of collapse, the Leining family will stay put for now. And we will be happy about it.
There's no need to feel sorry for us - this was mutually agreed upon by all members involved. Our dreams of moving on are merely hibernating for the time being. They are still alive and breathing, only for now they are breathing the warm, cozy air of contentment.
Plus, our friends here are more valuable than the net proceeds we may or may not pocket from the sale of our house.
Some things are just more important. And I, for one am choosing to see them today. While maybe not full-on rose colored, the view from the land of contentment is at least tinged with pink.
May you see blessings all around you this day is my wish,
Sylva Leining
Monday, April 25, 2011
Eighteen!
I just celebrated my eighteenth anniversary. The hubs and I have been together for as long as we were with our own parents and siblings. I never thought this day would come, simply because I never thought I would be this old. And truthfully, the world being what it is, how many marriages last half this long?
But we have! And what's better, I can honestly say that I love him more today than I did on our wedding day eighteen years ago.
The roller-coaster of daily life will do that to you. As we plummet, dip, bank, or climb, it's nice to have a companion to cling to. And when that companion is rock-solid, and can endure my screams with patience and understanding, of course my love for him will deepen.
We have a lot of fun together. He lives to travel. (I actually meant to type 'He loves to travel, but he lives to travel too.)
We have had some of the greatest adventures together! I love that he gets restless every now and then. So restless in fact, that after spending the week of Spring Break in Mexico and arriving back home at 10:00 at night after a full day of traveling, he immediately got on the computer to see how many frequent flyer miles he had and where we could go next. I dig this about him - my husband of eighteen years.
Here's to eighteen + more years together!
Here's to more adventures.
And dare I say, more roller-coaster rides!
The man is a blessing! I don't know how I got so lucky!
-Sylva Leining
But we have! And what's better, I can honestly say that I love him more today than I did on our wedding day eighteen years ago.
The roller-coaster of daily life will do that to you. As we plummet, dip, bank, or climb, it's nice to have a companion to cling to. And when that companion is rock-solid, and can endure my screams with patience and understanding, of course my love for him will deepen.
We have a lot of fun together. He lives to travel. (I actually meant to type 'He loves to travel, but he lives to travel too.)
We have had some of the greatest adventures together! I love that he gets restless every now and then. So restless in fact, that after spending the week of Spring Break in Mexico and arriving back home at 10:00 at night after a full day of traveling, he immediately got on the computer to see how many frequent flyer miles he had and where we could go next. I dig this about him - my husband of eighteen years.
Here's to eighteen + more years together!
Here's to more adventures.
And dare I say, more roller-coaster rides!
The man is a blessing! I don't know how I got so lucky!
-Sylva Leining
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Good Kids part II
My son has a loud personality. It's like thunder-loud. And this is unique because he is deaf. Most people think that people who live in a world of silence are also quiet. This is a misconception of the greatest kind.
My son is loud.
And he was recently gone for a week. He took a trip back to Washington DC to compete in the Academic Bowl National Championship held at Gallaudet University.
While he was away, my home was quiet.
My daughter, who can hear, lives with earbuds firmly planted into her skull, and with Beatles tunes playing on an endless loop.
But, being weirded out by the quiet, I decided to remove her from the 1960s, took out said earbuds and request her company in the 21st century. She came willingly, bless her soul.
Mom and daughter spent many glorious days eating ice cream, making jewelry, singing Beatles songs (since she can't stand to be away from the Fab Four for too long), and giggling about the boy she likes who texts her until midnight most nights.
Her personality is not quite as loud as her brother's, but she is equally funny, witty, intelligent, clever, and silly.
She is a delight. An honest-to-goodness Angel who came to a family with a high-needs brother, and who learned sign language so well, that she, too, had to go to speech therapy.
She is a tender-hearted gift from above. I am honored to be her mother.
And I have to wonder, How did I get so lucky?
Sylva
My son is loud.
And he was recently gone for a week. He took a trip back to Washington DC to compete in the Academic Bowl National Championship held at Gallaudet University.
While he was away, my home was quiet.
My daughter, who can hear, lives with earbuds firmly planted into her skull, and with Beatles tunes playing on an endless loop.
But, being weirded out by the quiet, I decided to remove her from the 1960s, took out said earbuds and request her company in the 21st century. She came willingly, bless her soul.
Mom and daughter spent many glorious days eating ice cream, making jewelry, singing Beatles songs (since she can't stand to be away from the Fab Four for too long), and giggling about the boy she likes who texts her until midnight most nights.
Her personality is not quite as loud as her brother's, but she is equally funny, witty, intelligent, clever, and silly.
She is a delight. An honest-to-goodness Angel who came to a family with a high-needs brother, and who learned sign language so well, that she, too, had to go to speech therapy.
She is a tender-hearted gift from above. I am honored to be her mother.
And I have to wonder, How did I get so lucky?
Sylva
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Seriously??
A little free-verse to get us started this morning:
200 gallons of water in my basement.
A waterfall from my ceiling vent.
In my room with all the books.
Floating carpet.
Pad soaking up water like a sponge.
Water climbing up the door jams.
28 high-powered fans.
Water extraction vacuums.
10 days of drying time.
Closet contents scattered.
Furniture stacked against walls.
Books buried 12 feet under.
Can't get to the TV.
DVR recordings piling up.
Sub-contractors taking their sweet time.
Although I've never seen myself as a poet, the above verses really evoke emotions, don't they? Or maybe it's just me that gets a twisting in my gut when I read this.
There is a silver lining. My daughter and I found my two old guitars in the pile of rubble/rubbish formerly stuffed at the back of a closet. Whilst sitting atop tipped-over bookshelves, and surrounded by Halloween costumes, we broke into an impromptu duet. "Here Comes the Sun."
From our lips to God's ears.
Little darling,
the smiles returning to their faces.
Little darling,
it seems like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun
Do-n-do do
Here comes the sun...
And I say, it's alright...
Amen to that!
-Sylva
200 gallons of water in my basement.
A waterfall from my ceiling vent.
In my room with all the books.
Floating carpet.
Pad soaking up water like a sponge.
Water climbing up the door jams.
28 high-powered fans.
Water extraction vacuums.
10 days of drying time.
Closet contents scattered.
Furniture stacked against walls.
Books buried 12 feet under.
Can't get to the TV.
DVR recordings piling up.
Sub-contractors taking their sweet time.
Although I've never seen myself as a poet, the above verses really evoke emotions, don't they? Or maybe it's just me that gets a twisting in my gut when I read this.
There is a silver lining. My daughter and I found my two old guitars in the pile of rubble/rubbish formerly stuffed at the back of a closet. Whilst sitting atop tipped-over bookshelves, and surrounded by Halloween costumes, we broke into an impromptu duet. "Here Comes the Sun."
From our lips to God's ears.
Little darling,
the smiles returning to their faces.
Little darling,
it seems like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun
Do-n-do do
Here comes the sun...
And I say, it's alright...
Amen to that!
-Sylva
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Science of Good Works
I've been in a funk lately. But until today, I've not known why. Prior to this morning I was making lists of all the things I was doing right. I guess I was trying to prove to myself that I had no reason to be in a funk. My list of 'rightness' was huge. For self-gratification purposes, I am including said list:
I read my scriptures daily
I say morning and evening prayers regularly
Every night there is a hot, home-cooked meal on the table for my family
I call my parents and siblings just to say 'Hi'
I recently forgave a sister who had hurt me deeply and our relationship is better than ever
I pay a tithe to my church
I am faithful to my husband
The words I say, and the thoughts I think are clean and hopefully above reproof
I try to keep my home clean and free of stressful clutter
Every morning I exercise - running, weights, yoga - my physical body is healthy and fit
I am taking time to enjoy nature, even in the bleak mid-winter
I tell my kids I love them every day
I hug my kids every day
My pets are happy, well-fed, and also get hugs every day
Every Sunday, you can find me on the front pew at church
I read my church-generated periodical from cover to cover every month
The books I read and the shows I watch are clean and uplifting
I feel that I have recently overcome a rather detrimental habit
I look for things to be grateful for
My attitude about life is generally positive and upbeat - it's hard to keep me down
I have good friends that I do things with regularly
I try to be kind
What it all boils down to is that I am trying to be the best person I can be. Living cleanly and with gratitude in my heart is, at this point in my life, still a goal I strive daily to reach. Eventually it will become second nature to me, and then an 'Attitude of Gratitude' and a clean life will become my defining characteristics.
But back to my list. There are 22 reasons I should not be in a funk listed up there. 22 things that I am doing right. And they are pretty major things, even if I do say so myself. Yet here I am, feeling stagnant, stuck, and in a bit of a stupor. Until this morning when a scripture came to mind:
1 Corinthians 13
1: Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.
2: And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.
3: And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.
4: Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
5: Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
6: Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
7: Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
8: Charity never faileth...
13: And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
This morning I recognized a noticeable gap in the make up of my daily life, a hole in the fabric of my so-called righteousness.
A decided lack of charity.
Until now.
I am about to test Paul's words to the Corinthians.
Blessings sometimes come like a cuff upside the head.
Thank you, Dear Father, for the wake up call.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to go follow the Master Teacher, and whip up a batch of bread for my neighbors.
-Sylva
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
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
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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
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
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
Thursday, January 6, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
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
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
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
Sunday, January 2, 2011
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
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
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Good Kids
I am watching my 15 year old vacuum right now. He came directly home from school...(a little something we worked out last night when he waltzed in an hour and a half after curfew..) and has been compliant, cooperative and even eager to help ever since. This is unusual. Perhaps the proximity to Christmas might have something to do with his astonishingly positive attitude - probably more so than my parenting skills - but hey, I'll take anything I can get.
He is a good kid, though. Beneath all the skulls, video games, tough talk, eye rolling, and even at times belligerence, he is, deep down, the kind of kid ever parent wishes for. He is my blessing spotlight for today, and here's why:
My Ben is driven. He has goals and he achieves them, even when they are hard. Landing a crazy snowboard jump was one of his recent goals. Not even a broken wrist could keep him from trying again and again until he landed it. I have the hair-raising video to prove it.
Ben is brave. Backing down is rarely an option for him. Retreating into the shadows would, a lot of times, be easier than facing the world. Such giving up is something I've seen many teens do - even some of his friends. But not Ben. He is out to live life. To the fullest.
Ben is funny. He makes me laugh everyday. Honestly, though, teenage boy humor often crosses a line. At the end of a joke a mom can often find herself struggling for air in a surprisingly nasty, green-tinged land where she could either gag or laugh. Barf humor is an example of this. It's never really been that funny to me. Ever. But Ben's barf jokes have had me wiping away real laugh-tears on many occasions. I'll spare you the splattering details. (You're welcome)
Ben is tender-hearted. As much as he protests and even tries to hide this aspect of his character, he has always been, and hopefully always will be, a softie. The first manifestation of his mushy, sweet center was when, at the age of two, Ben watched The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. When Tigger sulked away after everyone in the Hundred Acre Woods tells him to stop bouncing, Ben openly wept. "Come back, Tigger," he cried to the TV screen. "I want you to bounce!" A champion for the downtrodden, my Ben is. A true hero.
He is my blessing. The reason I was put on the planet. My treasure. Though sometimes I have to look hard for the positive when it comes to him - he is, after all, 15. But the positive is there. In abundance! It's not even buried that deeply.
In fact, I hope you'll excuse me. I need to stop blogging for today. There is a certain hulking teenage hero that needs a hug right now.
Love to you all,
Sylva Leining
He is a good kid, though. Beneath all the skulls, video games, tough talk, eye rolling, and even at times belligerence, he is, deep down, the kind of kid ever parent wishes for. He is my blessing spotlight for today, and here's why:
My Ben is driven. He has goals and he achieves them, even when they are hard. Landing a crazy snowboard jump was one of his recent goals. Not even a broken wrist could keep him from trying again and again until he landed it. I have the hair-raising video to prove it.
Ben is brave. Backing down is rarely an option for him. Retreating into the shadows would, a lot of times, be easier than facing the world. Such giving up is something I've seen many teens do - even some of his friends. But not Ben. He is out to live life. To the fullest.
Ben is funny. He makes me laugh everyday. Honestly, though, teenage boy humor often crosses a line. At the end of a joke a mom can often find herself struggling for air in a surprisingly nasty, green-tinged land where she could either gag or laugh. Barf humor is an example of this. It's never really been that funny to me. Ever. But Ben's barf jokes have had me wiping away real laugh-tears on many occasions. I'll spare you the splattering details. (You're welcome)
Ben is tender-hearted. As much as he protests and even tries to hide this aspect of his character, he has always been, and hopefully always will be, a softie. The first manifestation of his mushy, sweet center was when, at the age of two, Ben watched The Many Adventures of Winnie the Pooh. When Tigger sulked away after everyone in the Hundred Acre Woods tells him to stop bouncing, Ben openly wept. "Come back, Tigger," he cried to the TV screen. "I want you to bounce!" A champion for the downtrodden, my Ben is. A true hero.
He is my blessing. The reason I was put on the planet. My treasure. Though sometimes I have to look hard for the positive when it comes to him - he is, after all, 15. But the positive is there. In abundance! It's not even buried that deeply.
In fact, I hope you'll excuse me. I need to stop blogging for today. There is a certain hulking teenage hero that needs a hug right now.
Love to you all,
Sylva Leining
Monday, December 13, 2010
Late Night Chats
Last night my husband and I sat up talking. This chat session was prefaced with those four little words that no one wants to hear: "we need to talk..."
Even though I knew what we were going to discuss, and I knew our marriage was and is still rock-solid, I have to admit that my stomach dropped upon hearing that dreaded phrase. But I need to back up a bit.
My husband and I are looking to relocate. Not too far away from where we currently sit, but far enough for a fresh start, and in a neighborhood that suits us better. The desired neighborhood is one we've had our eye on since moving to this state seven years ago. But seven years ago, we couldn't afford a home in this exclusive area. Now, however, with housing prices what they are, we could easily situate ourselves comfortably in this hidden treasure of a community and stay there for the remainder of our days.
We've walked through countless houses for sale down in that neighborhood. Some that had wallpaper on every surface (I kid you not...EVERY surface!) and some that need to be gutted. Some that are only moderately worn, but are over-priced, and some that should be condemned and then leveled to the ground.
Last night the hubs and I sat up making a list of pros and cons comparing our two favorites. After we'd been deliberating for an hour, a surprising tidbit surfaced: We like the same things! It was such a comforting realization to me. We've been married for almost eighteen years and I just now figured it out.
We have the same goals. We share the same dreams. We are pulling in the same direction - like a well-matched team of horses. What a blessing it is to know that he is on my team! This strong - often to the point of being stubborn - man is working with me to make our similar dreams come true!
Thank you, God, for such a man in my life. What I've done to deserve him as my teammate/ co-creator, I may never know, but it is a blessing that he is by my side.
Here's to more late night chats where we learn more priceless gems about each other....
And here's hoping you have such a friend in your life too.
-Sylva Leining
Even though I knew what we were going to discuss, and I knew our marriage was and is still rock-solid, I have to admit that my stomach dropped upon hearing that dreaded phrase. But I need to back up a bit.
My husband and I are looking to relocate. Not too far away from where we currently sit, but far enough for a fresh start, and in a neighborhood that suits us better. The desired neighborhood is one we've had our eye on since moving to this state seven years ago. But seven years ago, we couldn't afford a home in this exclusive area. Now, however, with housing prices what they are, we could easily situate ourselves comfortably in this hidden treasure of a community and stay there for the remainder of our days.
We've walked through countless houses for sale down in that neighborhood. Some that had wallpaper on every surface (I kid you not...EVERY surface!) and some that need to be gutted. Some that are only moderately worn, but are over-priced, and some that should be condemned and then leveled to the ground.
Last night the hubs and I sat up making a list of pros and cons comparing our two favorites. After we'd been deliberating for an hour, a surprising tidbit surfaced: We like the same things! It was such a comforting realization to me. We've been married for almost eighteen years and I just now figured it out.
We have the same goals. We share the same dreams. We are pulling in the same direction - like a well-matched team of horses. What a blessing it is to know that he is on my team! This strong - often to the point of being stubborn - man is working with me to make our similar dreams come true!
Thank you, God, for such a man in my life. What I've done to deserve him as my teammate/ co-creator, I may never know, but it is a blessing that he is by my side.
Here's to more late night chats where we learn more priceless gems about each other....
And here's hoping you have such a friend in your life too.
-Sylva Leining
Friday, December 10, 2010
To Be Needed Is A Gift
You know, even though it is the Christmas season and I am running all over the state picking up obscure gifts, helping my sister get ready for her Christmas boutique, carting kids here and there, and barely making it into bed each night before my eyes close of their own will, I am grateful for my busy-ness. Most people complain about the holiday season being so crazy that they can't enjoy it. I feel the opposite way.
A reason to rise each morning is a blessing for sure.
And while I am so busy these days that I missed my scheduled blog two days ago, I have a feeling you all will forgive me once you know that instead of writing, I was scurrying to help my daughter finish her science fair project. (Who decided it was a good idea to have a science fair in December?) My daughter needed me and it was my pleasure to help her. It was a blessing to spread the cardboard tri-fold out on the sewing room floor and paste her hypothesis, research, tables, data charts and pictures all night long.
I have much more to say on the subject of being needed, and how being busy is a blessing, but you'll have to excuse me. You see, my sister is coming over to set up her homemade soap boutique in my dining room. The scents of Citrus Sage, Cinnamon Vanilla, and Hollyberry will soon permeate my entire home. Old and young will be braving the rain and walking into my sweet-smelling shop / abode. Can't put the pajamas on and sit in front of a movie with Chinese take-out just yet!
There is no rest for the grateful! - and I am grateful for it!
A reason to rise each morning is a blessing for sure.
To be needed is a gift.
Being busy keeps you young, despite what research into the frightening world of high blood-pressure and ulcers may show.
And while I am so busy these days that I missed my scheduled blog two days ago, I have a feeling you all will forgive me once you know that instead of writing, I was scurrying to help my daughter finish her science fair project. (Who decided it was a good idea to have a science fair in December?) My daughter needed me and it was my pleasure to help her. It was a blessing to spread the cardboard tri-fold out on the sewing room floor and paste her hypothesis, research, tables, data charts and pictures all night long.
Time well spent if you ask me.
I have much more to say on the subject of being needed, and how being busy is a blessing, but you'll have to excuse me. You see, my sister is coming over to set up her homemade soap boutique in my dining room. The scents of Citrus Sage, Cinnamon Vanilla, and Hollyberry will soon permeate my entire home. Old and young will be braving the rain and walking into my sweet-smelling shop / abode. Can't put the pajamas on and sit in front of a movie with Chinese take-out just yet!
There is no rest for the grateful! - and I am grateful for it!
-Sylva Leining
Monday, December 6, 2010
Water!
The biggest blessing in my life today has been running water!
Last week my kitchen faucet broke. Thank goodness for lifetime warranties (they are a blessing too, and deserve their own post...perhaps another time) and for companies who stand behind their products. One phone call later, and a brand new faucet - complete with sprayer and soap dispenser - was on its way.
It arrived today via UPS (whose praises will be sung in another post) and I called a neighbor friend who happened to be free to install it for me 15 minutes later.
This neighbor is a blessing too. He deserves a post all to himself, because while my husband is many things, handy is not one of them. This neighbor has bailed us out of many home improvement / repair issues over the years, is a blast to talk to, and takes payment in cookies and Sunday visits.
An hour and several stories later, I had water in my kitchen for the first time in seven days. My eyes flowed as freely as my new faucet.
How did we manage for seven days without water? Well, it was hard, I'll be honest. Not a fun week by any stretch of the imagination. We ate out a lot (which, now that I think about it was a blessing. Period. Panda Express and Cafe Rio need their own spot in the 'Tis A Blessing library of posts too).
Any water we actually used at the kitchen sink came from a two-liter Sprite bottle. And we used a lot of water, even on our water-restricted week. So much that we filled that Sprite bottle many times while doing dishes, lugging it back and forth from the laundry room sink. "Fetching water" is no fun. It felt like camping. I do not love to camp.
But now, at last, I can turn on my faucet and get hot or cold water at will. The sheer joy of it makes a girl cry.
Enjoy the little things,
Sylva Leining
Last week my kitchen faucet broke. Thank goodness for lifetime warranties (they are a blessing too, and deserve their own post...perhaps another time) and for companies who stand behind their products. One phone call later, and a brand new faucet - complete with sprayer and soap dispenser - was on its way.
It arrived today via UPS (whose praises will be sung in another post) and I called a neighbor friend who happened to be free to install it for me 15 minutes later.
This neighbor is a blessing too. He deserves a post all to himself, because while my husband is many things, handy is not one of them. This neighbor has bailed us out of many home improvement / repair issues over the years, is a blast to talk to, and takes payment in cookies and Sunday visits.
An hour and several stories later, I had water in my kitchen for the first time in seven days. My eyes flowed as freely as my new faucet.
How did we manage for seven days without water? Well, it was hard, I'll be honest. Not a fun week by any stretch of the imagination. We ate out a lot (which, now that I think about it was a blessing. Period. Panda Express and Cafe Rio need their own spot in the 'Tis A Blessing library of posts too).
Any water we actually used at the kitchen sink came from a two-liter Sprite bottle. And we used a lot of water, even on our water-restricted week. So much that we filled that Sprite bottle many times while doing dishes, lugging it back and forth from the laundry room sink. "Fetching water" is no fun. It felt like camping. I do not love to camp.
But now, at last, I can turn on my faucet and get hot or cold water at will. The sheer joy of it makes a girl cry.
Enjoy the little things,
Sylva Leining
Friday, December 3, 2010
An Unbelievable Shift
Anyone who knows me will fall out of their chairs when they read what blessing I am thankful for today. Either that or they'll think I'm smoking something good and am therefore not in possession of my right mind. But I don't care. I have to be honest...Wal-mart is a blessing!
This store - that I have avoided like a cancerous plague - really got it right today. This store - that you can't drive five minutes without running into another one of them, anywhere in the U.S. - was exactly what I needed and I'll tell you why:
It is beside the point to say that I needed office supplies, Christmas wrapping paper, and groceries but didn't have time to go to three different stores. This often happens, and when it does, I grudgingly step across Wal-mart's automated threshold, and steel myself for thirty minutes of torture. Crying children, frazzled mothers, employees who speak any language but English; these are just a few of the charms Wal-mart possesses, and to say I dread going in would be a gross understatement.
Today was no different. While wandering around putting rubber bands and orange juice in my cart, I couldn't block out the entitled children whining about how they needed Cheetos right now. And I'll admit, I felt disgust. Loathing. Even anxiety cropped up; and I found I couldn't get out fast enough.
So I wheeled my over-full cart up to the check-out lines. And this always happens to me; I get in a line that moves great until I step into it, then price checks are called for, or credit cards have been misplaced, and the once free-moving line grinds to a sickening halt. It's either that or I pick the line that no one is in, thinking I've caught a break for once, only to find that the checker is new and has to look up codes for everything.
This is what happened to me today. My checker was new. It might have even been her first day working the register solo. She moved slowly and had to look up produce codes on everything from asparagus to sweet potatoes. She commented on the things I was buying, too, and this usually bugs me.
But something different happened today. Instead of huffing and secretly rolling my eyes (mature, I know), I started chatting with her. We struck up a great conversation about Swiffer Sweeper cloths and husbands who attempt housework. We laughed about movies and games we loved, and by the end of my order, I felt like I had made a friend!
As I was walking away, she said to me, "It was fun to talk to you."
My eyes misted over. In Wal-mart, of all places!
I replied, "It was fun to talk to you, too," and meant it.
Wal-mart, you really got it right today and I thank you for my new friend.
I love it when a lump of coal becomes a diamond. There's nothing better in the world than when a tulip sprouts up healthy and proud from a pile of manure. A perception shift is always a blessing!
Love to you, and to my new Wal-mart friend,
Sylva
This store - that I have avoided like a cancerous plague - really got it right today. This store - that you can't drive five minutes without running into another one of them, anywhere in the U.S. - was exactly what I needed and I'll tell you why:
It is beside the point to say that I needed office supplies, Christmas wrapping paper, and groceries but didn't have time to go to three different stores. This often happens, and when it does, I grudgingly step across Wal-mart's automated threshold, and steel myself for thirty minutes of torture. Crying children, frazzled mothers, employees who speak any language but English; these are just a few of the charms Wal-mart possesses, and to say I dread going in would be a gross understatement.
Today was no different. While wandering around putting rubber bands and orange juice in my cart, I couldn't block out the entitled children whining about how they needed Cheetos right now. And I'll admit, I felt disgust. Loathing. Even anxiety cropped up; and I found I couldn't get out fast enough.
So I wheeled my over-full cart up to the check-out lines. And this always happens to me; I get in a line that moves great until I step into it, then price checks are called for, or credit cards have been misplaced, and the once free-moving line grinds to a sickening halt. It's either that or I pick the line that no one is in, thinking I've caught a break for once, only to find that the checker is new and has to look up codes for everything.
This is what happened to me today. My checker was new. It might have even been her first day working the register solo. She moved slowly and had to look up produce codes on everything from asparagus to sweet potatoes. She commented on the things I was buying, too, and this usually bugs me.
But something different happened today. Instead of huffing and secretly rolling my eyes (mature, I know), I started chatting with her. We struck up a great conversation about Swiffer Sweeper cloths and husbands who attempt housework. We laughed about movies and games we loved, and by the end of my order, I felt like I had made a friend!
As I was walking away, she said to me, "It was fun to talk to you."
My eyes misted over. In Wal-mart, of all places!
I replied, "It was fun to talk to you, too," and meant it.
Wal-mart, you really got it right today and I thank you for my new friend.
I love it when a lump of coal becomes a diamond. There's nothing better in the world than when a tulip sprouts up healthy and proud from a pile of manure. A perception shift is always a blessing!
Love to you, and to my new Wal-mart friend,
Sylva
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Duly Grateful
Welcome, Gentle Reader,
Although the song Grateful by John Bucchino is not technically a Christmas song, it is one of my favorites to listen to this time of year. The insightful and inspiring lyrics fully encompass what this blog has been set up to accomplish.
Allow me to share:
And the only thing I can add to that profound wisdom is my emphatic "AMEN!"
Count your blessings, and see what joys you didn't even know you had!
-Sylva Leining
Although the song Grateful by John Bucchino is not technically a Christmas song, it is one of my favorites to listen to this time of year. The insightful and inspiring lyrics fully encompass what this blog has been set up to accomplish.
Allow me to share:
I've got a roof over my head
I've got a warm place to sleep
Some nights I lie awake counting gifts
Instead of counting sheep
I've got a heart that can hold love
I've got a mind that can think
There may be times when I lose the light
And let my spirits sink
But I can't stay depressed
When I remeber how I'm blessed
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful
In a city of strangers
I've got a family of friends
No matter what rocks and brambles fill the way
I know that they will stay in the end
I feel a hand holding my hand
It's not a hand you can see
But on the road to the promised land
This hand will shepherd me
Through delight and despair
Holding tight and always there
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful
It's not that I don't want a lot
Or hope for more, or dream of more
But giving thanks for what I've got
Makes me so much happier than keeping score
In a world that can bring pain
I will still take each chance
For I believe that whatever the terrain
Our feet can learn to dance
Whatever stone life may sling
We can moan or we can sing
Grateful, grateful
Truly grateful I am
Grateful, grateful
Truly blessed
And duly grateful
And the only thing I can add to that profound wisdom is my emphatic "AMEN!"
Count your blessings, and see what joys you didn't even know you had!
-Sylva Leining
Monday, November 29, 2010
An absence
I took a week off my blog to go to California for my father-in-law's funeral. Without sounding too syrup-y, the trip was a blessing for sure. We were able to honor the man who changed my husband's life. Such a man as Bob deserves to be honored.
Bob was ninety years old. Bob was an inventor, a computer genius, a soft-hearted gentleman, an animal lover, and a patient, kind person with a chronically positive attitude. A man who took in three step-kids and raised them with all the attention and love he gave his own kids. A man who took time to teach his children, both step and blood, to be honest and do their best.
My husband was one of those lucky step-kids. As an eight year old boy who had been brushed aside by his blood father, Kirk looked at Bob with wary eyes; and I'm sure Bob looked back at this little boy with the same feeling. You see, Bob was sixty when the two families blended; well past the child-tolerating years. Possibly Bob, who had retired from a long, successful career, was hoping for a little respite at his advanced age. But with three new children in his house, significantly younger than his own children, the respite never happened.
However, the dreaded accusation, "You're not my real dad," happened. Such harsh words flew out and splattered all over Bob more than once as Kirk was growing up. But Bob, like I said, was a patient and loving man. Over time, trust was built and Kirk let himself be enveloped into Bob's life and love. Before long, Kirk was calling Bob 'Dad' and meaning it with all his heart.
The world needs more Bobs. This man blessed every life he touched. He wore himself out serving others. For years he helped his church congregation function by flying the flag, turning on the heat, calling in repairs for the chapel, typing up the member lists, and recording the Sunday services for members who were home-bound.
In fact, on the day of his funeral - which was held at his chapel - a carpet cleaning van showed up in the parking lot. "We're scheduled to clean this building today," they said. To which the bishop, who was to conduct Bob's funeral services replied with a dash of bitter-sweet humor, "Well, the man who would have called you to reschedule..."
That was Bob; a quiet man with the capacity to love as deep and as wide as the oceans. A desire to serve that never diminished. About Bob, his son said, "He needed us to need him." And need him we did. And still do. There is a noticeable absence in our family now. An absence that we will struggle to recover from. A hole that can never be filled.
Bob was a hero.
A giant.
A blessing.
Find the blessings in your life and squeeze them while you can!
With Love,
Sylva Leining
Bob was ninety years old. Bob was an inventor, a computer genius, a soft-hearted gentleman, an animal lover, and a patient, kind person with a chronically positive attitude. A man who took in three step-kids and raised them with all the attention and love he gave his own kids. A man who took time to teach his children, both step and blood, to be honest and do their best.
My husband was one of those lucky step-kids. As an eight year old boy who had been brushed aside by his blood father, Kirk looked at Bob with wary eyes; and I'm sure Bob looked back at this little boy with the same feeling. You see, Bob was sixty when the two families blended; well past the child-tolerating years. Possibly Bob, who had retired from a long, successful career, was hoping for a little respite at his advanced age. But with three new children in his house, significantly younger than his own children, the respite never happened.
However, the dreaded accusation, "You're not my real dad," happened. Such harsh words flew out and splattered all over Bob more than once as Kirk was growing up. But Bob, like I said, was a patient and loving man. Over time, trust was built and Kirk let himself be enveloped into Bob's life and love. Before long, Kirk was calling Bob 'Dad' and meaning it with all his heart.
The world needs more Bobs. This man blessed every life he touched. He wore himself out serving others. For years he helped his church congregation function by flying the flag, turning on the heat, calling in repairs for the chapel, typing up the member lists, and recording the Sunday services for members who were home-bound.
In fact, on the day of his funeral - which was held at his chapel - a carpet cleaning van showed up in the parking lot. "We're scheduled to clean this building today," they said. To which the bishop, who was to conduct Bob's funeral services replied with a dash of bitter-sweet humor, "Well, the man who would have called you to reschedule..."
That was Bob; a quiet man with the capacity to love as deep and as wide as the oceans. A desire to serve that never diminished. About Bob, his son said, "He needed us to need him." And need him we did. And still do. There is a noticeable absence in our family now. An absence that we will struggle to recover from. A hole that can never be filled.
Bob was a hero.
A giant.
A blessing.
Find the blessings in your life and squeeze them while you can!
With Love,
Sylva Leining
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