Hot, hot, hot

Have you noticed that the weather is unseemly, unseasonably, un-Godly hot? Especially for this early in the summer? What the h***???

On another note, we are now official residents of the South Hills of Pittsburgh.

It's different but good. The traffic is worse, but we knew that going in. The new street and neighborhood have been swell so far, with friendly folks and plenty of peace and quiet.

There have been, and will continue to be, some home repairs, yard fixes, adjustments and such. We knew that, too, although I don't know if we envisioned quite this many. Alas, the place is our little money pit now, so we'll grin, bear it, and prioritize long, long lists of projects.

We have no regrets. (The only things I've missed are a more flat backyard and the central A/C we left behind...) I do believe that this is the place God had in mind for us. And if it's possible for a house to feel, then this little house is content— happy to contain a permanent family again after years of solitude.

Stay cool and check back soon. I hope someday to resume painting, to actually complete unpacking and organizing tasks, and to write a meaningful entry about the trials of the sale/purchase/move/baseball playoffs/last days of school all within about a 48-hour period of time. (Although, I've noticed that already, my mind has begun to block the unpleasantness of the entire experience...)

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Please say a prayer for blessings on all our troops who daily defend the freedoms that many Americans take for granted. We celebrate Independence Day for more reasons than cook-outs and fireworks.

Transitional thoughts

I’ve been thinking a lot about transitions.

I’m sure this is related to the recent situation here at home, what with joblessness and job-searching and the [now-at-least-temporarily-eliminated] possibility of role reversals between Todd and me. And I’m certain that I’m still thinking about changes in part because Todd is still in the midst of transition, and will be for a while; he’s started a new job, at a new company, in a different field of work. He’s trying to absorb a lot of information as quickly as possible, and he talks about how overwhelming it is when he gets home—so I’m experiencing the transition vicariously, if you will.

I suppose I’m also thinking about it because of changes within our church, some long past, some recent, some current and upcoming. They all make me ponder what the future holds for this body of believers, many of whom have taught us much and have become friends on the journey.

And I’m faced with undeniable transitions in my son, of course—every day he grows, learns a skill, discovers a new pastime or toy or treat to embrace. He’s a walking change machine. And there are some changes in me, although not nearly so pleasant to observe: lines, droops, the occasional wiry gray hair…but enough about that.

I’ve always been one to scoff at people who fear change. I claim to love change, to accept it and even seek and encourage it when need be. And I still believe that is true. Change is healthy; as our pastor reminded us today, “Healthy things grow, and growing things change.” So true. But age and experience have added a new dimension to my comprehension of the side effects of change. Whereas I used to see transitions as refreshing and a little bit dizzying, now I also see the downside: transitions reveal fissures in the big picture—some tiny, some not so—and those fissures often grow and lead to more transition. It’s almost as if change is the catalyst for more change.

And why not? I recall my pregnancy (although I honestly try not to), and being diagnosed with gestational diabetes. The nurse likened pregnancy to an extended stress test of sorts, explaining that often, a pregnant state reveals other issues that are or will likely soon be amiss in the woman’s body. She recalled cases of pregnant woman uncovering not just diabetic tendencies, but beginning stages of heart problems and even multiple sclerosis. That huge change the expectant female body goes through is just the sort of stressful transition to cause other tiny cracks to grow and spread until they, too, are discernable, diagnosable concerns of their own. They weren’t really caused by pregnancy, they probably would have happened anyway at some point, but there it is—pregnancy can egg on other ailments until they all start showing up as an ugly package deal. Transition begets transition—at least in that case it does.

So, perhaps every change is a mini-stress test, and often it reveals the fissures that are hidden in the infrastructure but would have waited quietly until later if not forced into noticeable existence by the stress of the first change. Does it happen that way in relationships? In work situations? In neighborhoods, government, communities and culture? I think so.

Maybe that’s the way life is supposed to be. If transitions didn’t build on each other and didn’t happen in clusters, then there’d never be any down time between clusters where you could catch your breath and be comforted by the thought that you have a slight clue what tomorrow will bring. Or maybe I’m just fooling myself; maybe there is no such thing as down time, and probably none of us will ever have a clue what tomorrow will bring. Maybe when you stop transitioning, when change stops occurring in your life, then you’re done.

Could it be that simple? Change or stop living?

Wow. Too deep for me. I think the sudden heat outside has gone to my head.

The downward “contacts” spiral

We ventured back to the zoo recently to see the baby elephant, and were fortunate to snap a photo. She was quite cute, hanging out underneath her mom and peeking out at the crowd of admirers across the fence. There was a baby tiger, too, although our only glimpse of him (through countless heads of other observers, of course) was of his furry body lying asleep on a folding lawn chair.

What with baby animals to view, and it being summertime and all, the zoo was crawling with folks. There were bazillions of kids. There were parents who spent much of the time just ticking off heads to make sure everyone was still with the group. There were moms, dads, and the inordinate amount of what appeared to be grandparents, all herding children through the park.

My old college roommate was there with her hoard.

I saw her just outside the monkey house, pushing a stroller with one child, surrounded by other small ones. I was pretty certain about who it was, as she was relatively unchanged from the last time I’d seen her a few years after we’d graduated. She looked great, slim as ever, unlined face, no bags or sags that I could discern (darn her). And then her twin sister came up behind her, also pushing a kid and leading another, and the kids were all cute and well-behaved, and this sister looked just as good as the first sister.

And I stepped back to let the masses pass, and I kept my sunglasses firmly on my face and said nothing. They never really looked at me, intent as they were on keeping the gang together, and I never spoke up or tried to get their attention.

I don’t know why, really. The last time I saw that girl, we spoke and were friendly and things were fine. We’d parted a little roughly after being roommates, that’s true; we had shared a dorm room and for the first half of the year, things were great and we had a lot in common, and then she had the nerve (tee hee) to become a Christian and suddenly we had nothing in common, she hated my music, was against all parties, was a tad aloof with my friends… Needless to say we did not room together again. But honestly, there are no hard feelings that I’m aware of. I just didn’t feel like a reunion. (Well, I’d never liked her sister much, either—she always flirted shamelessly with my boyfriend at the time, the coquette.) But seriously, it was hot and crowded and there were kids everywhere and we didn’t go to the zoo to get together with old friends; we went to see the animals, to give the kids a fun time, to be outside instead of in. We did not go to reminisce. At least that was my stance.

It’s funny—in this day and age, it’s quite common for people to switch directions several times in a life: kid-dom, college/post-school, career with multiple jobs, marriage perhaps, maybe a family, another career with more jobs… The average person has known many more people than he or she can capably stay connected to. And yet, we have more ways than ever of being in touch with people—so there seems to be this palpable pressure to keep in contact with everyone you’ve ever known. I wonder sometimes how people used to keep in touch with so many folks in the “old days” before technology enabled us to communicate so easily… and then I ponder that perhaps there just weren’t as many people to keep in touch with. We’ve created our own monster, first with frequent and speedy life changes, then with crowds of people to accompany each change and beyond, and lastly with innumerable gadgets to help you blab with someone incessantly.

Something similar happened to me last spring; I was shopping with the kid, minding my own business, and the next thing I knew someone was saying, “Mel, is that you? Mel?” And sure enough, it was another girl I’d known in college, a friend of a friend, who’d spent time in some of the same circles I had. She was shopping too, with her children, and we chatted and caught up a bit and then she whipped out her cell phone and asked for my number so we could get together sometime. I dutifully whipped out mine, too, and we exchanged numbers and parted ways with warm smiles. And that was that. I’ve never called her; she’s never called me. And it was honestly nice to see her. But that doesn’t mean we want to see each other again, intentionally.

The truth is, if we wanted to get together, then chances are good we’d have kept each other’s phone numbers handy for years prior to bumping into each other at the department store. I know there are exceptions, people lose touch or someone moves and the new address is lost, etc., but in most cases people who want to keep in contact do just that: they keep in contact. They go out of their way to talk, to meet, whatever.

I’m hesitant to admit that I have very few contacts that have remained with me through my many life changes. The truth is, I’m just not the same person I used to be. If I’d talked to that former roommate at the zoo, it would have felt like talking to someone who used to know someone I knew… but that’s all. That woman doesn’t know me any more than she knows a stranger. At least that’s how far away that world that we shared seems to me now.

Or am I just a bad friend, the one who lets the relationship slip? I know a handful of dedicated folks who still write letters to the people they knew decades ago. My own parents are still close to the same people they were friends with over 50, even 60 years ago. I try to tell them how rare that is…but maybe I’m the rare one.

I don’t know. All I know is that if I start to recall all the people from my past who I haven’t seen or spoken to for years, my head hurts and I feel guilty. And Lord knows there’s enough of that going around; I’m not going to encourage it. Now, please excuse me while I put on my dark glasses.