No Gifts Please

He said not to bother about his birthday.

Still I think he was pleased with this morning's effort: rolled apple muffins, scrambled eggs, milk, coffee, candles on a carrot cake and the Happy Birthday song, a "Do whatever floats your boat" card and a spritzer of cologne to replace his old bottle that reminded me of my Granny T's scent.

(Did Grandpa wear Chaps and leave behind a bottle that she'd dab on in a reminiscent mood?)



When Dan asked, I assured him this new cologne was different. I lifted the back of my hand for him to catch the slightest fragrance from yesterday's test. He waved away my hand grumbling something about how he hoped the fragrance wasn't still noticeable.

I ignored his resistance: "Of course, it will smell different with your own body chemistry. That's why the person who's wearing the cologne should be the one to test it out."

"I just don't want to smell like your grandmother," he said still refusing to concede my point in his stubborn Norwegian way. I said, "Well, it was either this or Soul2Soul. I didn't think you'd appreciate something from Tim McGraw and Faith Hill."

When he (rock-and-)rolled his eyes at the country singers' names, I knew I'd at least gotten something right. For fun, I added, "I could have chosen Calvin Klein's Obsession - for $50 a bottle."

"I don't need something so expensive," he said, "Just something - "

However he finished that sentence didn't matter, because it all came back to my original point: He should pick out his own cologne. Or, better yet, we should work on it together to fulfill his requirement:
"I want something that YOU like."

After struggling to open his gift's plastic packaging, he sprayed a mist on his forearm, took a whiff and offered me a turn.

"It smells like -" he began and I finished, "deodorant."

He grimaced, then said, "Well, I guess that's what I was looking for - something to cover the odor."

He showered, dressed, donned his new spectacles and was on his way out the door. "Oh, I forgot my new spray," he said, darting back to the bathroom.


"Hold the bottle high up in the air, spray a mist, and then step under it," I advised him of my method for avoiding fragrance overkill. By that time, he'd already sprayed his hand and was rubbing it onto his neck.

It made me think: Maybe next time, I should look for aftershave? Aqua Velvet. Then, he'd at least smell like my dad.

As he hopped in the car and drove away, I lifted the back of my hand to my nose and drew in the day-old fragrance of Nautica: Bergamot orange, clary sage and fresh lemon, spicy black pepper and sensual sandalwood. The product's advertising boasts a scent that is revitalizing and seductive. Launched in 1992. The year we were married. Now I imagine the ocean depths and coastal winds of my husband's heritage.

Tonight— after his work day, a Lenten meal and worship service singing, plus two different choir practices—I'll try again, more subtly. Fragrance and body chemistry. I like it. Maybe he will too.

To the Top

I asked Noah to join me on a walk up the hill tonight.

"See you at the top," he agreed hopping on his bike and setting off down our driveway and onto the gravel road. As I walked, I noticed he'd stopped on the rise not far from the stop sign. He was toying with his Gameboy as I approached. I thanked him for waiting for me and asked, "Are you ready now?"

"Ready for what?" he replied. I smiled, pointed to the pavement and onward saying, "To go to the top."

"I didn't know you meant THAT hill!" Noah said. I laughed, "Where else?"

He mumbled something about the gravel hill on which we were presently standing. I shook my head, "This isn't much of a workout. We need to stretch our muscles."

 

"Oh, all right,"

 he conceded.

"See you up there!"

He switched gears

on his bike

to make

pedaling easier.

He
ended
up
walking
the
final
leg

where

he

waited

for me

to

catch

up.

Then
we
took

a

few

photos

with
the
dramatic
background


(from 1,350 feet/
410 meters
above sea level
overlooking the
170-foot/ 52 meter
rise from the
distant river valley.)

With my promise

of helping

him build

a Facebook page,

he began

the descent home.

I followed at a slower pace, walking to the corner and turning onto the gravel road.

There, a couple big hoot owls began conversing. Having just overlooked the expansive forest, I didn't wonder why.

Back home Noah didn't wonder why I'd asked him to join me. Instead, he said, 

"It feels good to get all this exercise."

Next time, he'll know why I ask him to join me: To the Top

Happy St. Patrick's Day

 

 

May God give you —

For every storm, a rainbow,

For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.

For every problem life sends,

A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.

Amen.

 

 

Celebrating our family's Irish heritage on St. Patrick's Day! Giving thanks for our Wednesday visit with my mom's mom whose dad's grandmother immigrated from Ireland.

SURPRISE!

I love surprises – usually.

I got two Tuesday.

The first one came just before Isaac left for school. The PSEO student announced he wouldn’t go to the college for his American-Sign-Language play practice that evening. Instead, he’d perform at the high-school music concert, playing numbers the senior-high band would perform for contest late Wednesday afternoon.

“YOU have a concert TONIGHT?” I sputtered.


Usually at the start of each school year,
families receive a concert schedule.
Our family didn’t get one this year.
Neither Isaac nor Aaron had signed up for band
at the year’s start due to class-scheduling conflicts.

However, Isaac decided to participate in band
on a part-time basis opposite his Monday-Wednesday-Friday college class. While our high-school senior succeeded in taking on a new position as the band’s tenor saxophonist, he failed to bring home a concert schedule.

First I emailed Dan. Then I phoned both sets of grandparents. We like to support our boys in their activities, but this last-minute notice would make things difficult. Dan had work up-to-his-ears. His folks had wee-hours-of-the-morning travel plans on Wednesday. Early Tuesday bedtime required.

My folks had already made a three-hour-round-trip visit for other activities twice in two weeks and have a third one on the calendar at this month’s end. Plus, today they planned to visit my mom’s cousin who was recovering from knee-replacement surgery. I understood everyone’s conflicts.

After school, I received the second surprise. My mom called to say, they finished their visit with her cousin.  In conversation, they’d mentioned Isaac’s concert – a surprise they’d declined. Her cousin said, “You know, you’re already half-way there.” Mom said his encouragement convinced them to drive the other 45 minutes for their grandson’s performance.

“I’ve got three Little Caesar’s pizzas here that I picked up for supper,” I said. “Come join us.” Mom declined saying she and Dad wanted to try out our town café instead. When I recommended their chef’s salad, she invited me and whoever-else-wanted-to-come-along to join them for supper. I knew Dan, Isaac and Aaron would be busy with work and basketball practice. And Noah – well, his love of Little Caesar's pizza was the reason I was a few minutes late in picking up him and his tuba after school today. Mom said, “Well, you come then. We'll call you when we come into town.”

I was just finishing supper-table preparations for the others, when Mom called, “We’re at the top of the hill,” she said. (See my blog’s banner photo? That was their vantage point!)  I replied, “I’m on my way.”

Together we sat down in a booth, ordered, ate our meals and chatted. Just me and my parents! When the waitress asked if we wanted dessert, they declined. As she walked away to total the bill, I pointed to red lettering in the window – “Special: Homemade Pie and Coffee Special $3.00” –and said, “They’re famous for their pie.” Mom and Dad looked at each other and asked, “What kind of pie?” I read off the flavors of the day. Coconut cream made Mom hold up her finger, wave the waitress back to the table.

“We’d like pie before we go to our grandson’s concert.”

Both the meal and the concert were a delight. Spending time with my parents was the à la mode to my slice of blueberry.

This morning, Isaac surprised me again. He said their band received a "Superior" rating from each of the four contest judges for their performance of "Novena." Afterwards, one judge came over to the 27-member band to confess, "I didn't know what to expect from a band this size. Yours was one of the most musical bands here!"    

SURPRISE! I love this sort.

The End of the Earth

Many years ago, my sister and her husband were looking at lots to build a new home. They found one they liked in a cal de sac about a mile from their suburban residence. Not wanting to leave their current home, their young elementary-school daughter took one look at the wooded lot and decided it looked uncivilized. My sister said, "Wendy and the boys live in the woods."

My niece replied, "No, Wendy lives at the End of the Earth!"

I couldn't help remembering my sister's musing today as I walked the dogs. The morning sky was bright blue and completely clear in all directions. It was truly a beautiful day to walk in this rural setting - forested foothills stretching from the western horizon across the north and to the east. And to the southeastern and southerly horizons, meadowed wetlands with groves of birch and oak adjacent to hundreds of acres of open farmland on the southwesterly side.

On the last leg of my walk home, I noticed a few jet streams overhead and more forming as other airlines cruised across the sky. In a 15-minute timeframe, I counted a dozen jets traveling overhead in all directions. I thought how infrequently we see two trains meet at the town's railroad crossing. To see such a busy skyway was even a rarer occurence.

Still it happened today, here at The End of the Earth.

Live with Purpose

I'm cleaning house:
taking things apart,
cleaning them up
and giving them
new purpose.


I  like this update best—a frame my sister and dad made from our family-farm's old-barn wood paired with a photo of the farm's wagon trail.

It sits in my bedroom on Granny T's dresser.
It reminds me of my roots.
It inspires me to Live with Purpose.