Take it to the Garage

Life sails along without a hitch for a few seconds a week, a few days a year. The rest of the time things get messy, muddy.

Loverby and I stopped today and took a breather. Our marriage and our life needed a tune-up. It is painful and uncomfortable to put it up on the hydraulic lift and look underneath. Every thing's exposed. The wear, rust and deterioration are obvious.

Loose bolts have to be tightened. Sputtering mufflers need replaced. Tires get worn out and lose their grip. Fluids lose their viscosity. Parts need lubed. Chips in the windshield need stopped before they turn into cracks. Wipers need replaced to clean properly.

If feels overwhelming to take our marriage and life, individually and as a couple, into the garage and deal with it, but it is the only way to have the quality of life that is worth living. It is the only way to have enough leftovers to give away to a hurting hungry world.

Our garage is the marriage bed with the door locked and the lights turned down low. The garage isn't the place for movie set sex.

It is the place for tears, affection, safe conversation, confession, dreams, and naked truth. Needs are expressed, wants and desires are spoken of out loud, failures are forgiven, prayers sent, disappointment heard. Hopes are risked, requests asked for, depression admitted, fears quieted. Feathers smoothed. Tears wiped.

When we take the time to go to the garage, we realize how much we miss playing, teasing, flirting, smiling, and especially.....laughing. Mostly, we remind ourselves to relax and not take everything so seriously. We remember again that  beauty saves the world, not worry.

We remember that it takes only a little bit of creative thinking and planning to bring a romantic moment to fruition.

When the lift sets us down on the floor, our thankfulness leaves us purring.

P.S. Our mechanic doesn't charge a thing. He has a mysterious way of sending notifications for when it is time for a tune-up. They don't come with a stamp....

Timely

Loverby and I went over to visit a friend who is on the downhill side of radiation and chemo. Ten more sessions. It was a slushy morning yesterday. I was starting to get cabin fever from being cooped up in the aftermath of a lovely snow storm. The melt hasn't been so lovely. When you're miserable, they say visit someone more miserable. We came to the wrong house. She wasn't. Miserable, that is. 

Her old and worn Lutheran hymnal was lying open on the footstool by the couch where she spends most of her days. Alongside it was a box of well used recipes. Some were clipped from vintage magazines, others were hand written. A few were e-mail copies. 

I thought of Elizabeth Elliot saying....the new choruses are fine, but it is the old hymns which best get us through the dark night. 

We sat side by side on her couch and sang every old hymn we could recall. Acapella. They weren't perfectly pitched, and some ended on a different key than we started with. We kept a brisk tempo. A few brought tears. Two braced us with new courage. The writers, some from the 1700's had been in the smack dab middle of some sort of major troubles. We closed that old book feeling like we had just imbibed ..........comfort, straight, from comforters who knew precisely what they were talking about. 

When we started going through the recipes, each one reminded us of someone, a gathering, or a time. Loverby sat by tasting and smelling every dish without gaining a pound. He stopped short of drooling. 

I left with sensory loaded gifts, momentos tangible and intangible. Thanks my friend. 

Uncaged

I greatly 

admire the brave

 souls 

who try the 

latches on their

 cage,

 lift it, 

and fly 

to freedom. 

They show 

me how to

soar.  

January Bleau

It seems like everyone

around me is feeling

winter's varied shades 

and hues of blue.

Navy blue pulls down

night. Steel leaves you

cold. Silver mist winter

kills. Aqua marine likes

to dunk and drown.

Saffires, ceruleans, indigos, 

Prussians, and cobalts

don't practice birth control

during the doldrums. The 

way they multiply and  

intermarry scares me. 

There is a blue neither 

bleak nor wearisome. 

The color of God's glory

is periwinkle. 

Drench me. 

Please Pass the Poetry

Send it to the right

with your left hand 

where my right hand 

will pick it up so our 

shoulders don't get 

jumbled while I

 transfer it to my left hand 

and heap my plate

before I pass it  

to the right with 

my left where they

grab it with their right 

heaping their plate

from the left hand

before they pass it 

on to the right

 until it has gone 

all around the table 

and we sit back 

full bellied. Wait a spell, 

let it settle before 

you ask for seconds. 

Aibileen Says

You is: 

 Smart

Kind

Important

Brave

Talented

Loved

Beautiful

I took liberties and added a few other things she might have said to Mae Mobley and you and me. From The Help by Katherine Stockett. We all need an Aibileen in our lives. Often. To remind us of the truth. Amen.