The Table

All great change in America begins at the dinner table.  -Ronald Reagan

I am a person with guilt.  Often over little things, like the time I threw a fit because my mom bought be the wrong clippie stuffed animal.  I believe I was 4 at the time.  I still have guilt over that.

I’m also a person with regret.  I don’t generally dwell on things, but there are a few that I can’t let go of, and my grandparents’ table is one of them.  Or rather, the table they used to have.  They are both gone now, making that long-lost table seem all the more precious.

Many years ago they moved from their lifelong home and auctioned off many of their possessions.  I knew at the time that I wanted that table, but I was a college student with a small apartment and no space for a second table.  Like an idiot I kept mine (from Value City Furniture – good call Heather) and let theirs go, and to this day I feel sick to my stomach when I think of it.  It’s no antique; in fact, it was a cheap table in mediocre condition with absolutely no monetary value.  But if I had any way of knowing where that table was now, I’d pay top dollar to have it back.

I’m thinking of it tonight because I found a paper I wrote in college.  The assignment was to write one page about a perfectly ordinary, inanimate object and make the reader care.  And to this day, I care very deeply about that table.

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The Table

There is a table at my grandparents’ house.  This plain, brown, worn-out old table is a treasure to the two beautiful people who own it.  No one in the world means more to me than them, and no thing in the world means more to them than that table.

The furniture itself is not the treasure; the table is a symbol of love and family.  The backs of the chairs are worn and faded from years of heavy use.  On hot summer days their finish softens, and shirts cling to the moist varnish.  The arms of the chairs are worn down from years of rough treatment and not-so-gentle hands pushing them back under the table.  The table’s legs are nicked and scratched, and it is by no means considered beautiful.   Appearances aren’t everything, though.  Few material possessions could hold more beauty than does the table in Grama’s kitchen.

Pap doesn’t fully understand why she won’t let it go.  The table, or half of the other furniture that Grama loves so dearly.  To this day I can hear them bickering over the old ironing board, so well-worn that it must be propped up on the counter to be used.  My father’s clothes were ironed on that same board forty-odd years ago.  Pap says that they should buy a new one, but Grama refuses.  “For memory’s sake,” I can hear her explaining over and over again, but Pap just shakes his head.  No one really understands like Grama.

For every aging piece of furniture that she clings to there is a story.  There is a story that makes the ironing board worth putting up with, and the ugly table worth holding on to.  I can remember when Grama decided to put a new cover on the stool in the kitchen – the one that sits in front of the paper plate drawer.  It always sits in front of the paper plate drawer, most inconveniently, and for no reason other than that’s where it’s always been.  For years, every time their decor changed, the stool cover changed, one layer on top of another.  Not so long ago the covers all came off.  Everyone laughed at the dozen or so different layers of material, but not Grama.  No one else quite understands.  A new cover went on, and the stool is now at home in a new corner of the kitchen.  It’s just not the same.

The table is the most talked about, though.  Everyone laughs, and they say they can appreciate her sentiment, but no one really does.  No one knows like Grama.

Twenty years ago, two beautiful little girls crawled underneath that table and decorated.  There are still pencil scratchings bearing the names of Amy and Beth, joined years later by the artwork of their little sister.  The family laughs at the mischief and moves on.  No one understands.

Two other little girls have joined the family since then, and I wonder where their names are.  Some may call it destruction, but to Grama it’s making memories.  Maybe we should show them where to write.

Maybe no one understands, but there is no denying the love in my Grama’s treasures.  What some look at as just ordinary furniture are some of her most prized possessions.

And to tell the truth, I think Pap does understand.  Sure, he’s not as vocal, not as teary-eyed or sentimental as Grama, but he also overestimates his ability to hide his emotions.  For all of his harassment, I know that Pap must understand or new things would have moved in long ago.

But still…no one understands like Grama.

We all appreciate that someone cares for us so deeply.  We love the comfortable, homey feeling of Grama’s house.  But no one really understands like she does.

I want to.  I want desperately to understand, to have the same memories and the same sentiments that my Grama does.  My parents told me once that I inherited her heart, and there is no bigger compliment that they could pay me.

Just thinking about Saturday mornings with Pap and Grama, Coco Wheats and bacon, riding through Seven Creeks in the back of Pap’s pickup, playing Trouble, sneaking into Pap’s Twinkies, and falling asleep on their shaggy brown carpet can make me cry.  I know nothing better in the world.

There are a million moments with my grandparents that I treasure, a million memories and a million hugs that I could never forget.  But nothing feels as good as going ‘home’ to their house, and no thing will ever be as precious as that old kitchen table.

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I ache with longing to see them again.  To sit at that long-gone table and share one more meal, play one more game.  I would give almost anything to have that table today.  But I don’t, and I can’t change that.

The only thing left to do is create a table of my own, one memory at a time.  And today, that is exactly what we did.

Following My Bliss

I’ve been really bummed about not being able to go to Blissdom. I’ve actually never gone to a blogging conference (Although after hearing about BlogHer last summer, I wasn’t so disappointed that I missed out on all that drama).  Besides all of the learning opportunities (Getting Published workshop, I’m looking at you), Harry Connick, Jr. will be there.  Harry!  Y’all know how much I adore Harry.  And my dear friend Darcie will be there.  Since we live on opposite sides of the country, our chances to meet up are few and far between (Namely, WDW every October).  And on top of all of those good reasons to go, the conference is right in my backyard!  It’s in Nashville, city that I love, and oh-so-conveniently located for me.  So close, and yet so far. 

Alas, because of some unexpected bumps in the road of life, our disposable income is, um, less-than-plentiful these days.  We’re more in trip cancellation mode than trip planning mode.  I’m not bitter about it, but I am disappointed.  So when I heard that Mom in the City was giving away a Blissdom pass, I decided to give the dream of Blissdom one more shot.  As such, this is my entry in her giveaway – wish me luck!

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The theme of Blissdom 2010 is “Follow Your Bliss.”

2009 was a year full of challenges for me.  Unfortunately the year began with my beloved grandmother’s death.  We were very close – she was like a second mother to me – so this was an emotionally devastating event.  I am very fortunate to know that she was a Christian, and that she is in heaven with my grandfather right now, so my profound grief is also mingled with joy.  After her death I blogged about her, and about choosing happiness.  Because I do believe that happiness is a choice.  You don’t always feel it; sometimes you have to deliberately choose to be happy.  Over and over again. 

I spent a lot of last year choosing to be happy, in spite of my sense of loss.  In spite of the Grama shaped hole in my heart.  And then last fall, another devastating blow came in the form of a medical prognosis for my husband.  A very overwhelming diagnosis, and a future that is very uncertain. 

I will be happy, I will be happy. 

Fake it ’till you feel it.

I wish I could say that I’m feeling it.  That I’m not still faking.  But I’d be lying.

I’m an optimist by nature.  When I have a few pounds to lose, I appreciate living in a country where food is so plentiful.  When the kids are sick, I’m thankful that it’s pneumonia and not cancer.  As the medical bills pile up, I’m grateful that we are alive and here to worry about them. 

And worry isn’t the right word, really.  I’m not a worrier.  One of my favorites quotes is, “You can tell the size of your God by the length of your worry list.  The longer your list, the smaller your God.” 

I serve a big God.

And I know that God’s hand is in our situation, just as it always is.  I know that God is watching over us and providing for us, in good times and bad.  I know that others have it far worse than we do.

I am trying to be faithful.  But it’s hard not to be fearful.  It’s hard not to think about what the future might hold. This is a constant struggle.

2009 was largely spent choosing to be happy.  Choosing to find Bliss, even when it was lurking in the shadows.  Choosing to accept the flicker of candlelight, when a spotlight on my path would have been easier.  Choosing to believe that true Bliss will come again one day, and faking Bliss until it does.

I do not know what 2010 will hold.  I wish I could say that something has changed, but it hasn’t.  My husband’s medical condition remains the same.  I write this on the 1-year anniversary of my Grama’s passing.  Maybe that’s significant.  Maybe this is a day that, down the road, I will look back on as a turning point.  I hope so. 

For now, the future is uncertain.  I am grateful to know that whatever it holds, I have a Savior who will carry me through it all. 

And that’s enough. 

That’s where my Bliss lies.  Today and forever, in Him.

Jesus, bring the rain.

I choose Joy – no matter what

As many of you know, my Grama died last week.

Part of me is devestated. She was like a second mother to me. An amazing woman that I just adored, admired, loved more than words can convey. And seeing her with my daughters was such a blessing. She was so patient, so kind, so FUN. Just as I remember her from my own childhood. So yes, part of me is mourning the loss of her presence in our lives.

But most of me is celebrating for her. She is without a doubt in heaven right now. She is with her Savior, and nothing is better than that. She is reunited with my grandfather, which is what she longed for every day for the past 5 years. She is in paradise, and I am happy for her.

I believe that happiness is a choice, and I choose to be happy. Some days you have to choose it more than others. Some days I have to remind myself over and over (and over) again. But regardless – I choose happiness.

So I have joy in my heart today, even as I miss my Grama. Praise God for allowing us to know there is a bright side to everything, even in mourning. Praise God.

Although it was not easy, I chose to speak at my Grama’s funeral to try to capture and honor the amazing woman that she was. I’d like to share that with you, again to try to share this great woman. Our family was so blessed to have her. She made our world a better place…

Thank you all so much for coming here today. It is a difficult time for our
family, and we truly appreciate the outpouring of love and support we have been
shown over the past few weeks.

And since you are here, you probably already know what an amazing woman my
grandmother was. The mold was certainly broken when God made her. I have been so honored, so blessed, so privileged to have her in my life. There could be no
better example of God’s love.

In thinking about what I wanted to say today, the words that would best sum
her up…what I came up with is ‘classy’. Mary Roberts was a real class act. She
looked the part, she acted the part – she lived the part.Pap used to laugh about
the time a girl in our church told him that he looked like an oil baron. And he
did always look very polished. On Sunday mornings especially, my grandparents
were as regal a couple as I’ve ever seen. But for those of us who really knew
him, we can attest that he looked that way only because my Grama was laying out
his clothes for him. She very carefully coordinated her dresses to his ties, and
always made sure he had a freshly pressed suit to wear. Grama took great pride
in their appearance and it showed. Which made it all the more amusing the time
she realized she accidentally wore two different shoes to church!

My grandmother-in-law first met Grama at my wedding shower, and they were
fast friends. Granny told me just a few days ago what a true lady my grandmother
was, and I have to agree. She was always a lady, no matter what. So when Pap and
Grama decided to cut tomato stakes, and Pap’s plan for cutting the rebar instead
sent Grama flying off the porch and onto her bottom in the driveway, despite the
pain my Grama’s immediate reaction was to say, “Oh, I hope none of the neighbors
saw that!” Our family admittedly has a sick sense of humor, and we all tend to
laugh when more sensitive people would probably not. Needless to say, that
anecdote has gotten a lot of mileage over the years. Even in pain, Grama was a
lady.

But she was not prim and proper by any means. Grama was never afraid to be
silly. I will never forget the time we went out to eat and Grama whispered her
order to the waitress. Everyone had their food and we were concerned about hers
taking so long…only to look up and see an enormous banana split coming her way!
My Grama knew how to let loose. We rode bikes, played frisbee, threw lawn darts
(which I’m pretty sure are now outlawed in all 50 states). Grama was fun.

As children my sisters and I spent nearly every Friday night at their
house, for just that reason. Mom and Dad weren’t going out (as you may know,
there’s not a whole lot to do in Rices Landing) We went to their house only
because we wanted to be there, to be with them. And who wouldn’t, really?
Breakfast in bed, all the coco wheats and bacon a girl could want. Even a drawer
full of twinkies. It was paradise up there. We had trips to feed the ducks and
get ice cream, and Grama played games like Trouble and Sorry. And of course we
watched the Price Is Right. Even my daughters love to watch The Price Is Right
now, thanks their GG.

My Grama never had a bad word to say about anyone. Ever. Even when they
deserved it, even when it was understandable. Her ability to hold her tongue was
enviable, and a trait that I unfortunately did not inherit. Chris can attest to
this. But I do aspire. If I could be even half the woman my grandmother was, I
would be lucky. Never have I known anyone as disciplined as her. When Grama had
back surgery, the doctors gave her a list of exercises to do, and she did them
faithfully, first thing every morning. Every morning. When she was told to avoid
red meat, she didn’t touch it for years. Her willpower was amazing to me.
Thankfully the doctors never told her to avoid chocolate, or we may have seen a
great woman stumble.

It’s hard to squeeze in everything that I want to say about Grama. She was
so amazing, and I don’t know how to edit that. She loved to sing. She taught me
silly songs at home (Jonathon, Joseph, Jeremiah) and belted out hymns on Sunday
mornings. She never complained. She liked to go out to eat, and to go for a
ride. Grama knew every road in the county, and many beyond. She had perfect
posture. She loved to dance, and taught me to waltz for an elementary school
play. She was a great audience. Always patient, always kind, always encouraging.
She went to great lengths to ensure that her Christmas gift-giving was exactly
equal for everyone. She loved to brush hair. I remember her sitting in her
rocking chair, brushing our hair when we were little girls. Years later she sat
in that same chair and brushed her great-granddaughters’ hair as well. She knelt
beside her bed to say her prayers. The image of my Grama, on her knees and
praying, is one I will carry with me forever. I was with her the night that Pap
died, and just as she did every night, she knelt and thanked God for His
blessings. Her faith is an inspiration to me.

My Grama blessed hearts. A conversation with her always included at least
one, ‘Bless his little heart,’ especially when talking about her
great-grandchildren.

Grama rarely missed Jeopardy, and she never ever missed a Steelers game. I
spoke with my sister a few days ago, and she asked me to be sure that Grama was
buried with her terrible towel. I’d never have expected Grama to leave us right
before a big game. I wonder if she and Pap will be bickering over the plays in
Heaven, just as they did here.

Almost exactly five years ago I stood in this same place, paying tribute to
my grandfather. It was a very difficult thing to do. Even though I knew he was
in a better place, I hurt for those of us left behind. I hurt for my
grandmother, who spent 62 wonderful years with the love of her life, and now had
to find away to live without him. Today as I stand here, I still mourn our own
loss. But far more than any sadness I feel, I have joy in my heart. I know that
Grama is in a better place; she is with her Savior, and reunited with Pap. This
has been her hearts desire for the past 5 years, and I am happy for her –
because I know that she is finally at peace. Finally whole again.

When Grama fell ill last week, I was faced with the task of telling my
young daughters. I prayed for God to provide the right words, the right message,
when I knew that my own explanations would be inadequate. And as I told my
5-year-old daughter Annie, I watched her eyes turn red and fill with tears. I
worried about her reaction, and what comfort I might provide. And slowly she
turned to me, with a smile spreading across her sweet face, and she said “I’m so
happy for GG, that she gets to be with Jesus and Pappy again.” Amen little girl,
Amen.

So please, please do not focus on our loss. Please hold in your hearts and
your minds the image of Grama and Pap together again. Whole again. Happy again.
Because they are happy, I guarantee you that. They were truly meant to be
together, and praise God, we know that now they are.

xoxo I love you Grams.