Simple needs are best.
Skies so blue. Rooms with a view.
Just give me shelter.
I let an uninvited guest stop by for a while this Christmas.
And that would be old Ebenezer Scrooge.
A.k.a my dark side.
Snarly as the dirty bangs under my cap, I still managed to throw on a sweater and jeans to wear underneath my longest parka Christmas Day to go for a drive.
Though the service at the local church was labeled ‘casual’, I felt some Lutheran lutefisk loving guilt about not dressing up.
Especially since the church is right across the street from the care facility where my devout church going Mom lived before she passed away.
My sister Nancy had been encouraging me to go to a service, knowing the one year anniversary of my husband Richard’s passing was the next day. Nancy was thinking a good round of “Joy to the World” was just what I needed.
“Come on, just sing away those blues, sister,” I muttered aloud in the car on the way over.
Reaching deep within for every ounce of perkiness I could muster, I pushed the heavy wooden church doors open.
The busy ushers directly outside the sanctuary missed my grand entrance and my only chance to get a program.
Or maybe, I scared them off.
Anyway, I spotted an empty pew halfway up the center aisle.
Perfect, I thought, until the parishioners began singing
And I stood there only humming.
The words were printed in the programs held by the ushers way in the back.
The sound of my humming was being quickly replaced by the grinding of my teeth.
Ok, this isn’t working for me I thought.
Maybe I should slip out? But how would that look?
Though I didn’t know anyone there, my guilt took over again for even entertaining the notion.
I should stay, I decided.
And just try to relax.
After all, there was the promise of a story coming in the service instead of the usual sermon.
The promise was fulfilled.
And the story began.
It was a true tale, one of a young couple who met as pen pals during World War II.
A sweet, young woman back home, and a brave soldier overseas.
The minister read us several of the letters. The words in each, reflecting first a spark, then a flame of the love developing between them.
The couple faithfully wrote to each other for four years before finally meeting in person.
And shortly after that special day, they married.
Living a rich and full life, the wife then passed decades later on Christmas Day.
I wept with every single word. The first time I’ve cried in years.
What a gift to each other the woman and her soldier were.
And what a gift the story and the tears were to me.
Walking out after, still blotting my eyes with a wet Kleenex, I felt a weight had been lifted.
I’ve often heard the first year of grief will be the toughest.
And I now believe it’s true.
Having finally shed tears and knowing my 12 months are up, I’m moving on.
And I’m proud that I’ve also completed most of my paperwork duties related to Richard’s passing.
With the exception of one, that I will be putting in the mail today.
I’ve just completed an obituary form about my husband for his college alumni magazine.
To help with the section on work accomplishments, I found an email this morning from a former co-worker of Richard’s.
At the end of the note, she shared a Mary Oliver poem read by the chaplain at my husband’s memorial service. The message was lost on me at the time, but having re-read it today I know this beautiful mantra for a life well lived will be sticking around.
And I am quite happy to report, Mr. Scrooge will not.
“When it is over, I want to say; all my life I was a bride
married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.
When it is over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up having simply visited this world.”
Yes, I believe there truly is amazement beyond.
I’d risen early, slapped on SPF 50 sunblock and left for a long climb up rolling country hills.
I kept a steady pace, only stopping occasionally to take a few pictures.
I’ve been working hard on taking better care of myself.
Like getting more exercise.
Taking vitamins consistently.
Wearing more sunblock.
And eating healthier.
Later I walked again, but this time down by the beach.
I wore a new wide brimmed gardening hat to protect my face from the nasty UV rays.
I even de-stressed at a yoga class in the afternoon, and burned a few calories in the process.
But walking out the studio door, I found myself a little light headed from the humidity and no lunch.
So I allowed myself to buy just one little chocolate truffle at the corner store.
“Just so I don’t pass out,” I told myself.
“I’ll make it up with my big kale salad at dinner,” I muttered to the clerk as I paid.
She gave me a smile, with maybe just a hint of sarcasm.
I drove on to the grocery stock with a healthy food list to re-stock my shelves.
And I was happy that I stuck to that list while shopping.
But walking out of the grocery, I caught the whiff of a familiar and sinful summer scent.
It was coming from a big blazing grill.
Soon it was teasing all of my senses.
And that grill was overloaded with sizzling pork chops, king size hot dogs, and plump and sassy brats.
I immediately found myself first in line for the brat, chips, and pop meal deal.
Then I even asked for a second bag of chips.
Getting back in the car I rested my sauerkraut laden brat in the cup holder, wolfing it down as I drove back home.
I was in pure brat bliss.
But once home unloading groceries, I noticed the lonely purple yoga mat in the back seat.
It seems I’d failed once again.
Well, so much for this ‘health’ day.
So maybe that nitrates stuffed piece of casing has taken one day off my life.
Not to mention the pop and chips.
But at least I’d forgot the second bag of ripples back at the food stand.
And the grill event was a fundraiser.
So I’m thinking tomorrow will be another day, and a fresh start.
At least I can hope.