I have been blogging since March 2011. At that time I chose a weird name for my blog, AShip Bound for Tarshish. It’s been so long ago, I can’t remember exactly why I chose that name, but it probably had something to do with Jonah and his relatable story of not wanting to do the hard things for God, and how God was going to get things done anyway so you might as well listen and obey.
After a year or so, I decided I needed a blog with a title that didn’t need an explanation and was more direct and understandable, especially to me! Since that time, I have been writing under the title Life on the Lighter Side, which has a double meaning. I like to laugh and find myself laughing a lot at life and myself, plus I come from a funny family line that excels in mixing love and laughter.
Proverbs 17:22 says “A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.”
The other half of my blog title’s double meaning is that Jesus is the light. I want to spread that light. As Christians we are called to. Jesus is the light of the world and in Him is no darkness at all. (I John 1:5)
Contemplate that. It’s hard for me to conceive of no darkness. Not a shadow. Not a darkened corridor. No place where light doesn’t shine. That’s Jesus.
John 8:12 says “Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, “I am thelightoftheworld. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have thelightof life.”
Today, just so there is no shadow of doubt with anyone who reads this, let me proclaim this: that light is in me because I have been born again. Jesus shed his blood for me and I came to Him deep in sin, repented, and was declared righteous by His sacrifice.
I have a debt I cannot pay and he took it away. I must live for him. He is the light of the world.
I am forever grateful for this kind of love. A perfect love.
As I have reflected on the death of Charlie Kirk this past three weeks, I’m sobered and challenged. I don’t want anyone to perish in their sins, but the One that matters doesn’t either.
2 Peter 3:9 The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you,[a] not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.
Charlie put it all on the line on his mission to make Heaven crowded. I must do the same on my somewhat smaller mission field. The words in my blog are meant to bring laugher and encouragement. Sometimes I don’t mention Jesus, but underneath it all, at a heart level, he is my fuel and the rock I stand on. If you don’t know him already, won’t you join me? There’s plenty of room.
John 14:6: Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
We are on our way to celebrate our 50th anniversary in Alaska and some surrounding areas in Canada. It was a long but nice day of travel from Orlando to Vancouver BC.
Tomorrow (Wednesday) we board a ship for part one of our trip. But tonight we are in a hotel near the airport which is where in the morning we’ll meet transport for our cruise.
Bob is an excellent planner but even he was surprised to see that our hotel is right across the street from a Costco. What a great start to our adventure! I’d never been in a Canadian Costco. Now I have.
I don’t think anything could’ve gotten me back on my feet and out of the hotel except for this. Costco does have a draw! But the best part of Costco today was hanging around the food court and eating ice cream with our new friends Tiger and Erica.
This Costco was packed so sharing tables was helpful. We tried to take a selfie so our kids could make fun of us, but our lack of coordination was on display so Tiger offered. He told us we were so cute, he was happy to step up. This was a first and I guess appropriate as we are now that old couple who has been married fifty years. It’s kind of like the first time someone calls you ma’am.
Tiger peppered us with questions about what makes a lasting marriage, asked about taking care of family and choosing a career. We told him that Jesus was foundational for marriage and a good sense of humor doesn’t hurt either.
I asked for a picture before we left. Tiger wanted a copy of it as well. This sweet couple are just dating and so friendly and warm. I pray God‘s blessing on them- the first friends of our new trip. We left a little Jesus with them.
On our walk back to the hotel, we saw our first wildlife. I’m getting excited!
January started off active for Bob and me. He had been suffering with issues from pinched nerves in his neck for some time and finally succumbed to fusion surgery. It went well, and he was told to rest and no driving for six weeks. Several days after the surgery, he noticed one of the veins in his arm had become more pronounced than usual and was uncomfortable. We were off to get an ultrasound – doctor’s orders.
It was convenient for me to drop him off as I had a doctor’s appointment just a few miles away from the imaging center. (Such is life for the over 65 crowd.) It was even more convenient when, as I was talking to our doctor (who’s also our friend) at the end of my visit, his nurse received a call saying that Bob needed to go to the ER. That place on his arm was a blood clot. I was literally talking to the doctor when the call came in. I would be there in less than 10 minutes.
I don’t know much about blood clots except they can be serious and you don’t want one. I picked up Bob and we arrived at the ER in short order. The ER insisted on running their own ultrasound. I guess they don’t take just anybody’s word for anything. It was a busy evening at the ER, so after the imaging, Bob and I opted to get away from all the people coughing up their lungs and blowing noses like they had stock in Kleenex. We waited outside on a bench with a heated blanket provided by the kind nursing staff.
As we huddled under the blankets on this atypically chilly January evening, a young man walked by. I read his shirt and obeyed.
He looked at me when I screamed, “Ahhhh!” He seemed a little taken aback, but he kept walking.
Bob shook his head and very soon we were called in to get the official word. Yes, he had blood clots in his arm, but no they were not in a serious area and not life-threatening. We were sent home with instructions to use a heating pad on the area several times a day and they should resolve on their own, which they ultimately did.
As we walked through the parking lot to our car, that same young man with the scream shirt passed us. I greeted him. “Hey there. Do you know why I screamed when you walked by us earlier?”
“Not really. I just thought you were crazy,” he replied.
“You may not be far off,” I laughed. “I just read your shirt and did what I was told.”
He smiled and we went our separate ways until I almost immediately turned back to him as I felt that prompting that I should say something else. He was smoking when he walked past me. “You know you should really give those things up. They are so bad for you.”
He responded politely that he had tried in the past and it didn’t work.
“Do you know Jesus? Talk to God and ask him for the help to quit,” I said.
He told me that he had prayed in the past and that he would again. He thanked me and we went our separate ways.
I’m thankful for my impulsive response. I have no idea why I screamed when I read his shirt. That was even a bit much for me, but how else would I have had an opening to talk to a 20-something-year-old guy without screaming to get his attention first. I love how God gives us little opportunities in our life to speak to people and encourage them toward him. What funny openings have you had that gave you an opportunity to speak into someone’s life?
Just for fun. My grandkids said Bob looked like Darth Vader when he wore his neck brace. Bob chose his shirt to accent the positive and submitted to a photo. There is good in him.
I’ve been thinking about how long I have been blogging and why I keep doing it. Is it just for me to get the words out with the hope that they uplift, encourage, or entertain somebody along the way? Or a way for me to keep a record of my life over the years? It’s more than that.
It’s a way to spread some magic.
And hopefully bring a smile.
But this morning, as I looked in my memories of this day in 2011, I more clearly remembered why I started.
Since those early days 13 years ago when I wrote under the name A Ship Bound for Tarshish, I have had a lot to say. I realize that many of my current friends – both physically in my life today and on social media – may not realize that I do this pretty much weekly. If you’d like to subscribe, you can follow me (see the box on the right) and you’ll never miss a post.
Here’s a link to my 2011 post to sum up what my blog is all about and why I write it. As always, I appreciate everyone who reads my stuff! There’s a lot out there to take up your time! Thank you.
P.S. The cuties in the pictures are two of my precious grandchildren, but I’ll bet you guessed that already!
With temperatures hovering in the upper 90s for most of the month, this was the hottest May ever in Orlando. It felt like a sauna as the humidity has been hiding over the Atlantic or the Gulf. I’m sure it will get here soon – no worries. I do enjoy the anomaly of heat plus low humidity, but not so much this year as I have been forced to stay inside.
A spider bit me, and to my dismay I did not get superpowers.
Stupid spider!
What I did get was a staph infection. Today is Day 19 on antibiotics. This is one of the tetracycline varieties, which comes with a warning to stay out of the sun. So, instead of gaining superpowers, it’s more like I have become a vampire. A simple trip to the mailbox and I fear I could burst into flames.
Bob and I had a beach weekend with friends last weekend. I should say that Bob had a beach weekend while I had a stay in a condo by the beach. I did venture down for a short trip to dip my toes in the ocean. I used half a bottle of sunscreen SPF70 and wore a shirt over my swimsuit. I also had on a hat that covered my neck and stayed under an umbrella 98 percent of the time. It is entirely possible that I am whiter than before I went, but time with friends was worth it.
We did an afternoon boat trip along the Indian River looking for dolphins. We saw lots of them plus a bald eagle. Dolphins don’t pose for photos, but here’s proof one was out there:
There were two small islands crowded with pelicans and herons.
The boat was covered, so no spontaneous combustion from me. It was lovely to be outside! So, that’s what’s been going on with me. The situation has given me plenty of inside time to blog about our Italy/Switzerland trip – so that’s a positive. I’ll finish that up in the next week.
I’m praying that this will go away before Bob and I set out on our next adventure – a golf trip to Scotland with our son and his family, which starts in less than a week.
I will not be golfing, but that has nothing to do with staying out of the sun. It has everything to do with the fact that I am very unathletic. I’d say at least I won’t get hurt since I won’t be exerting myself, but if a spider can take me down, well, what else can I say? Thankfully, I’m in no pain, but prayers for complete healing for this weird thing would be appreciated.
And speaking of prayer, I was very convicted at church this morning of not asking for prayer. I was on an antibiotic, but that was not proving to have the healing power that I thought it might. I’m thankful that I know The God who heals, and he sent his Son Jesus to offer both healing and eternal life in Him. So, I asked for prayer at church, and I’m asking here again if you would please pray for me. Thanks!
Our first day in Como was cold (by Florida standards for sure) and add to that a 25mph wind; and we decided to forego boating on beautiful Lake Como. Too choppy, too chilly! The best option for us was taking the funicular up the side of the steep hill to Brunate, a lovely Italian village.
The funicular was completed in 1894. Since spending time in Europe, that didn’t even seem old anymore. On exiting the funicular, we were treated to lovely views. My breath was taken away by the view of the Alps, but the surroundings we were standing in were lovely as well. This was Brunate.
Hotel in Brunate
The beautiful, blue sky was compensation for the cold temperatures, though I did check the shop for a beanie style hat to keep my ears warm. It was to no avail as it was supposed to be spring. This was not the first time that I had inquired as to the normalcy of the winter-like temperatures. And this was not the first time that I was told there is a saying in Italy – “April does what it wants!” No worries, I would be warm again when I got back to Florida.
There was a man making bracelets set up in an out-of-the-way booth. He told me the bracelets were made of Murano glass, which he described as “important” to Italy, particularly Venice. He also was selling lace doilies. These he described as important as well, especially since his mother made them. It’s a treat to chat with local people and hear them talk about their country. I love the way the Italians use the word “important” to describe things dear to their heritage.
The funicular only goes so far up the hill, but we hired a taxi/jeep to take us to the top. We figured we’d ride up and walk down, but after our ride along the steep, narrow streets, we thought better of it, a decision our knees would thank us for!
Once we got out of the jeep, there were stairs waiting for us to go to the lighthouse at the very top of the hill (note, for Floridians this is like mountain climbing).
Up, up, up we went, and we were rewarded with the best views of the Alps. Whatever breath hadn’t been taken away before, was surely gone as we feasted our eyes on the Swiss Alps.
All this fresh air and walking really stirs up an appetite. We had choices. Perhaps the Osteria Bar and Pizzeria, which was attached to a church or was that vice versa.
That was almost novel enough to have us eat there, but we opted for a place with a better view. We were glad we did. Our first course was bruschetta three ways. We order bruschetta often, both at home and abroad. This was the best we ever had. Our favorite had caramelized onions atop. Magnifica! We followed that with soup in keeping with our pursuit of warmth. Yum!
Back at sea level (or lake level), before we joined our friends for dinner and wine, I found a pop-up soccer souvenir stand and bought a beanie. My ears were grateful. Now I looked like a fan of the Italian national team. That works for me.
On Sunday some of us ventured out to church. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, because a service in a language I could not understand didn’t sound worthy of rising early. Let me tell you, though, you never know what you may experience, and this was worth it. Danny, who is also the founding pastor of our church and like our other traveling companions, a friend for over 40 years, wanted to check out the churches. We split again, with some sleeping in and some of us going to the 10:00 service at the Como Duomo, at least we went for the beginning of it. Listening to the pipe organ is amazing in any language.
The previous day during a walk we had found an Evangelical church. The service there began at 10:30, so we did some church hopping. This church was modest in stature. The people were friendly and several spoke English. We were greeted warmly and every person we met was excited to introduce us to the pastor. She is originally from Germany, but she speaks English well. So well, in fact, that she preached the service in Italian and English. We weren’t sure if that was for our benefit or not, but it was very moving that she would go to the trouble.
They handed out song booklets like what we had in the church we were going to back in the 1980s and 90s. It was a joy to see some of the old songs printed in English and Italian. The church was close to Presbyterian in doctrine, and their service that day was abbreviated as they had a meeting going on after the service, so we were there on the perfect day. Gloria a Dio!
It was an afternoon of meandering around Lake Como and imagining what it would be like if it weren’t so windy! We made the best of it and totally enjoyed being immersed in Como. Our hotel was situated in Piazza Camillo Benso Conte di Cavour (piazza translates to square). We happened upon a band finishing up a concert. They were playing Beat It by Michael Jackson.
There was lots of activity in the square as the band broke down the stage, including an alley of clowns that wandered onto the scene. (Yes, that’s what a group of clowns is called. That was new to me.)
Recorded music was being played in the background and we watched as folks boogied across the square while kids kicked a soccer ball around and Danny finally got McDonalds. After a while, you need a taste of home.
We were scheduled to leave Como and go to Switzerland the next morning via train. The itinerary was Como to Lugano to Lucerne. The hotel concierge informed us that we would likely have to deal with a scheduled train strike. They have them periodically, so to the Italians it’s part of life. But for us, this was alarming. We were told that we could possibly get out before it starts but we should have an alternative plan. Start and stop times of these is precise and they would last 24 hours or so. That was not information that comforted us.
We walked to a close-by train station (not the one we would depart from) and the attendant said that our train would not be affected. She even double-checked it with the main train station and told us we should be fine. Probably because of that pesky language barrier, we weren’t completely relieved. I’d say we were about 80 percent. Total relief wouldn’t happen until the next day when we hopefully boarded our train.
The following morning, we arrived at the Como S. Giovanni Railway Station, and it appeared our trip would not be cancelled. Nearly every other trip was canceled due to the strike. We were thankful as we set out on the next chapter.
One of the many ways that I’ve probably damaged my kids has to do with Halloween. When I was a kid growing up in Maryland, I liked it quite a lot, unless it was cold, and my mom made me wear a jacket over my costume. I would have rather frozen to death than wear a coat. What was she thinking?
In those days, Halloween involved going through our own neighborhood and knocking on the doors of people we knew. Mrs. Harrington was my favorite as she would give out home-made, hand-decorated cookies. You could not get away with that kind of love in today’s climate. One time as I went through my bounty, I discovered that, like Charlie Brown, I had received a rock – and not the kind of rock that I enjoy today. Unlike him, though, I had plenty of candy. Sometimes it even lasted until Christmas!
Fast forward to having children of my own. By this time, I had become a Christian and was increasingly sensitive to the darkness of Halloween. It seemed the days of mostly cute and fun costumes had shifted to an abundance of costumes and billboards that emphasized evil and scariness. I hated taking our kids out to restaurants and stores where the decorations were scary. I didn’t like subjecting them to that.
When our oldest two were little, we took them trick or treating (one time, as far as I can remember). They donned store-bought costumes and those horrible plastic masks that make your face sweat, and we hit a few houses. It didn’t seem like a big deal, but every year I grew more uncomfortable with it. I didn’t like frightening creatures coming to our front door either. How does one protect their children from all of this darkness? That was our dilemma, and let me tell you, we didn’t handle it particularly well.
Who are those masked children?
We couldn’t take the kids out of the house to avoid the unknown quantities arriving at our front door, because there were so many everywhere. In my head, it was like a zombie apocalypse married Freddy Krueger – a regular nightmare for me. Of course, I may have been a tad over dramatic. I knew that the Bible taught to abstain from all forms of evil, but parts of Halloween were cute – though those parts weren’t as prevalent anymore, plus I wasn’t sure that should matter. So, every year we wrestled in our minds with what to do. One year we even turned on the sprinklers thinking that would keep things quiet, but our neighbor called and told us they were on. She thought it was by accident instead of by design. Sigh.
My best-ever Halloween involved our small group from our church gathering at our house for an evangelistic outreach for our neighborhood. We shoved all our furniture to one side of the house and invited the neighborhood in for a magic show. My dad, who was a magician, came and performed for the kids (and their parents). He had a unique way of weaving the gospel story into his show. Also, that night it rained, so we were packed to the gills.
So, sorry kids. I hope this is the worst way we’ve messed you up. Some of you have pointed out that it was okay for us to take grandchildren around, but you were denied the pleasure. Yep, you are not wrong; that’s inconsistent, too. Though, that’s really on the parents, not the grandparents. We were simply serving while remaining wishy-washy on our Halloween stance.
This was the year that our daughter and her family were briefly living with us while getting ready to move out-of-state. Bob and I had purchased a Hashtag the Bear costume for a church program and Bob put it to use to hang out with the grandkids as they wandered our neighborhood on what may have been the hottest October 31st ever.
I know that most, if not all our kids and their families, like to participate in Halloween trick-or-treating. Even though I have no credibility in this area, I’ll still offer advice to try to keep the kids more focused on Jesus every day and less influenced by the things of this world, including Halloween. And do what your conscience allows. No guilt.
To sum things up: I don’t like Halloween. I was sometimes an inconsistent though well-meaning parent who in a lot of ways was growing right alongside our children. Grandparenting is easier. Now I can buy all the candy we want and get it 70 percent off the day after Halloween. The prices are much less scary.
I had three best friends when I was a teenager. Leslie was one of them and the one with whom I kept the best contact. It helped that she moved down to Florida several years ago, which gave us the opportunity to get together.
Our perpetual plan was to meet at The Back Porch Restaurant in Lake Alfred and enjoy lunch and shopping. It was the perfect place to meet—nearly halfway between our homes. We loved it. It’s an idyllic spot for ladies to pull away from the cares of life and enjoy each other’s company. Sadly, we were not very good at keeping those appointments. Things happened, for instance, travel, work, kids, grandkids, and COVID. I am thankful for each time we had there.
We missed celebrating both of our birthdays on The Back Porch last year. I was traveling on mine. She was not feeling well on hers. The loose plan was to meet in December, but of course the holiday activities got in our way. We always thought we’d have the next time.
Bob and I were on our way to our son, Joe’s, for Christmas when I got the call from Tad. Leslie suffered a massive stroke, and she was gone. The words hung in the air as I tried to grapple with what I had just heard through Tad’s trembling voice. No more trips to Lake Alfred. No more crazy phone calls. No more reminiscing about our youth. No more long text streams. Just sadness mixed with the reality that I couldn’t quite grasp—Leslie was in Heaven. I knew that for sure. We both had accepted Jesus as our savior when we were 15. It was another one of our bonds.
Because I don’t clean out my texts often, I sat down and read all our conversations from October 2019 through November 2022. They are filled with laughter and sadness, joy and pain, prayer requests, hurricane check-ups, sarcasm and love. I will miss her crazy laughter and wonderful sense of humor, but the love of a good friend—I’ll miss that most.
The last time I talked with her was in September right before Bob and I headed to Hawaii. Hurricane Ian was coming to Florida, and we wanted to make sure she knew she could evacuate to our Orlando home even though we’d be away. She assured me she’d keep it in mind and teased me for evacuating all the way to Hawaii like some kind of crazy over-reacting paranoid Floridian. I love her.
As teenagers, we spent a lot of time at each other’s houses. They were a mile apart, but we walked it. Kids walked everywhere back then. Leslie had a pool in her backyard – something that was unheard of in suburban Maryland at the time. Therefore, we spent more summer days at her house. One day when we were walking back to her house from mine, she spotted her neighbor coming towards us. My fourteen-year-old self had a huge crush on him at the time, so she wanted to warn me, especially since I had just polished off a couple of Hostess HoHos and my teeth held evidence of that yummy chocolate cake and cream filling.
It was a good thing that I was packing that day. I whipped out my squirt gun and promptly cleaned my teeth. Leslie gave me the all-clear teeth sign, and we both laughed so hard that we couldn’t do more than wave hello when we passed by him. That is a great example of the passage from childhood to adulthood. Having a crush on a boy and carrying a squirt gun while eating junk food. No wonder our parents didn’t know what to do with us.
It was a hot summer day and we joined a few others wading through the Reflecting Pool on the mall grounds in D.C. We were so scared we’d get in trouble.
Once Leslie accompanied our family from Maryland to Florida to visit my grandparents. By that time, my two older siblings weren’t making the trip, so she joined my sister and me in the backseat of our Oldsmobile Delta 88, complete with plastic on the seats.
My grandparents lived in a “magical” world called MoHo Park, which was right off the fairly new Interstate 4, several miles from the up-and-coming, Disney World, and smack next to a prison farm, which later became the 33rd street jail in Orlando. It was a mobile home park for senior citizens. The entire park loved it when families would visit. They freely shared their pool and provided us with bikes to ride. My grandparents were two of the most loving people in the world, so they fit right in there.
During the daytime the three of us girls needed more to do than ride bikes and swim in the pool, so we toured the model homes. I should add that our tours were self-guided. It was great fun and felt dangerous. It wasn’t truly breaking and entering, as all we did was enter. I guess in those days you could leave doors open more freely, even if you did live next to a prison farm.
One fine summer day as we were going through a model home, we heard the front door open and voices wafted back to where we were. Uh oh. Leslie was not one to handle stress well and this time proved no different. Linda and I, I am sure, were not exactly models of discreet silence, but we held it together as we pushed Leslie into a closet. Of course, we joined her. Someone had to hold their hand over her mouth.
To this day I don’t remember if we were discovered or not, but I do remember Leslie laughing and ultimately crying so uncontrollably that I now wonder if those who entered the model home were hearing impaired. It could be! We were in a senior citizen community.
Years later, about a year after Bob and I married and moved to Florida, Leslie called me to tell me she was engaged. Would I be her matron of honor? Of course I wanted to, but there was the problem of money. We were newlyweds with Bob finishing college and me working for Social Security. There was no way I could afford the trip. Her dad sent me a plane ticket. He was a sweetheart, even though he always said he’d give Bob and me a year since I was clearly marrying my best friend and very young at that. Now you know why Bob and I have stayed married for going on 48 years. It was to spite Mr. Smith! I think it eventually made him happy to know we were going to make it!
Leslie and her kids, Kevin and Katie, visited us in Florida when she came down to a roller-skating competition. She competed and was quite good. She worked at roller rinks while raising her kids. We picked up where we left off, but this time we were not the kids. Yet every time we’d meet up, the kid in us leaked out the way it does when you’ve known each other forever.
Last week, Bob and I went to Venice Beach, Florida, for Leslie’s celebration of life. She lived in Florida for a few years prior to moving there, but I had not yet visited since the move. The last time I saw Leslie was the spring of 2020 when she and Tad met my mom and me for lunch. COVID and other things had interfered with our seeing each other, but I’m thankful for that brief time together.
Leslie didn’t know that Bob and I planned to come see her and see her new life and have Bob meet Tad. We knew it would be after the holidays, but sadly we were too late. Our trip to see her was to say a final goodbye to her and give our love, comfort, and support to Leslie’s son and Tad. To grieve with those who grieve and to share memories of Leslie with each other.
I’m sad and I am grieving, but I grieve as one with hope. Leslie knew Jesus as her savior. I have no doubt about it. We will see each other again.
Leslie with her sushi stealing cutie-pie grandson. She loved her grands. She sent me this picture two years ago.
I did not handle it well when I saw Joe Theisman’s head roll on the ground and settle under my car. I was reminded of the Redskin’s game back in 1985 where Joe had his career-ending injury. As Bob has always been a Redskin fan, I was subjected to watching them play whenever they were televised. (I’m not sure if he worked that into our vows, but I was okay with it.) I wish I had gone out for a walk that day. I vividly remember seeing the bone break in Joe’s leg. It was horrific. Lawrence Taylor, who tackled him, was the first on his feet to vehemently jester for help. I’ve never seen a player as distraught as LT.
But this isn’t about the human Joe Theisman; it’s about my Hallmark ornament Joe Theisman.
It all began on a rare Monday full of motivation to get a few things done around the house – specifically, window washing. The end of Hurricane season was nearing but all eyes remained on the tropics as Hurricane Nicole was eying Florida. The skies were cloudy, so Bob and I adjusted our plans from working in the yard (probably a waste of time with a storm approaching) to the windows. I was inside and he was outside. Side note: I love him being retired!
We started out together but his job takes longer, moving the hose around and such. When I finished I kept on going to my mom’s bedroom and deep-cleaned it. Shoving furniture around and wiping baseboards, vacuuming as far underneath things as I could reach, and finishing up with damp mopping the floor. As I wandered through the house fetching the things I needed, I could hear the water running outside as Bob was finishing up. I went into the laundry room and noticed the floor was wet. “Oh, Bob,” I muttered to myself, figuring he had blasted the door with the hose in an effort to clean it. I threw a towel down and went into the garage, which was also wet. At that point I found Bob and told him we had a problem. He was in the middle of something and would be with me in a minute.
I went back down the hall to the laundry room, which by then had a small current of water flowing in it. I ran and told Bob he needed to shut off the water NOW, all the while not remembering that I know how to shut off the water. That’s how used to Bob taking care of things that I am. Anyway, I walked through the puddle of the guest bathroom into the adjoining bedroom, which was very wet, and into the walk-in closet which had become a lake. Of course, lakes in Florida are not like lakes up north. A big puddle might be referred to as a lake down here. Whatever we chose to call it, there was a lot of water to deal with.
The clean-up effort began just as I was ready to stop doing chores and put my feet up. I will forever be leery of motivation to clean! As it turned out, we had a leak under our slab so we spent a lot of time with our plumber that week.
All that being said, it was the clean-up process that led to the trickle-down effect of putting up our Christmas tree two weeks before Thanksgiving. The tree was in a box standing in our garage in an area that was now a small pond. I moved it away and laid it on its side to dry out. It hadn’t been in water long, but when it was time to put things back in their rightful place, we had the decision to stand it back up and wonder if it was completely dry or put it up in our living room, thus giving the box adequate time to really dry out. So, there you go – I began decorating the tree as Hurricane Nicole made landfall on our poor East Coast. Weirdest hurricane watch ever!
As per usual, Bob climbed the ladder and handed down the boxes full of decorations which are stored on a high shelf in our garage. I guess he thought he had a good grip on one as he dangled it from the ladder for me to retrieve. The only problem was I wasn’t there and his grip was waning. The box came crashing down and popped open spilling some of the contents onto the floor, including Joe Theisman, who was at one beheaded.
I’d like to tell you that I was gracious to Bob, but that would be a lie. I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say that Joe wasn’t the only one who was in trouble that day. The irony of my anger while decorating for the celebration of the birth of The Prince of Peace did not escape me. The pettiness of it was humbling. I’m thankful for forgiveness.
I was able to pop Joe’s head back on and once again he has a special place on our Christmas tree. Plus, Bob and I moved past the beheading and happily went about our day a little more aware of how fragile life can be – in more ways than one.
Be on the lookout for those things that can rob you of your joy during this time where Joy to the World is practically the theme song! I hope you have a wonderful Christmas! I’ll be back in 2023.
It was morning on Christmas Eve. I had my act fairly together. Bob and I had everything wrapped and under the tree. This was a luxury we didn’t have when we were raising our children. We would always wait until they went to bed to bring out the presents, which was more and more challenging the older our children got.
As is our “tradition,” Bob and I reminisced about former Christmas Eves. Sometimes we were wrapping gifts late into the night. Bob might have been found assembling a bicycle or one time pouring cement at the side of our driveway to install a new basketball hoop. These are things you can do when you live in Florida!
I also reminded Bob that our daughter and her family would be arriving late that night, probably around 10 pm, so he may want to consider a nap. Bob, who 364 days of the year has more energy than I could hope for, almost always hits the wall early on Christmas Eve night. The only thing that kept him going was assembling something, so if that wasn’t needed, he was ready to start dreaming of sugarplums dancing in his head. It usually would happen right after the children had hung the stockings by the chimney with care and shuffled off to bed. This was my time to take them all down, lay them across our bed and stuff them (the stockings, not the children). I always tried to get things evened out, which I don’t recommend because it can make you crazy. Often, before I could even get started, Bob was half asleep on the bed. It always has baffled me. Why, this one night, couldn’t he stay awake? It remains a a perplexing role reversal for us.
But on this particular Christmas Eve morning, all those thoughts about getting things even were stopped in their tracks. We received a text that a dear friend of ours had passed away unexpectedly that very morning. I gasped so loudly that my mom came in from the other room to see if I was okay. It was a shock made worse by the fact that it was Christmas Eve. I looked down on my bed. The stockings were laid out with their loot above them. I was in the process of counting and evening things out. And then it didn’t matter.
As tears flowed down my cheeks, all I could think about was my friends. We’ve known this family for decades. Christmas wouldn’t be the same for them. And with a flash I realized that my children never compared what they had in their stockings. Nobody cared if someone got a little more or less than their siblings. It was a blinding moment of clarity of what mattered.
What mattered was the people. What mattered was that our friend was now with Jesus. We know that with total assurance. What mattered was grieving with our friends, but not without hope. What mattered was sharing Christmas with our family – hugging them and being together. I hope I never try to make things even again and that every Christmas Eve I will think about Andy and Emily and the lessons that God taught me on that day when he went to meet Jesus.
Life on the Lighter Side 