Not-so-great expectations

Earlier this week, after the kid was sleeping, the husband and I sat down to chat about what sort of house we'd like to find. We are sort of looking, now that we've been pre-approved for the loan, but we aren't finding our dream or anything that even resembles it. And we don't have a lot of time to take advantage of the window of opportunity that summer permits.

Just like any house hunters, we have a little list in our heads of all the must-haves, followed closely by the nice-to-haves. What seems to occur, though, is that as I look at what's really, truly available on the market and in our price range, I start to adjust my happy little list. My husband, however, does not.

I suppose it could be a matter of faith. If we trust God to deliver what we need, then the right house will either pop up or it won't. If we're meant to move, then the place will be in the right location, the right distance from town, the right school. I shouldn't need to fret about any of it. And honestly, I'm not fretting. I like where we live. If I didn't dislike close neighbors, yappy dogs, loud vehicles, and bus traffic, and if I didn't still believe that our society is doomed to collapse pretty darned soon, then I'd just sit tight here and be thankful for what we have. I really am thankful; it's a great place.

My actual conundrum is the fact that I am a giver-upper. I don't cling to ideals. I don't cling to anything. I am as changeable as a June weather system. In the midst of our lively conversation (translation: rather hostile volley of words), it became clear to me that my husband thinks I am a bit of a flibbertegibbet. That I hurry through things, longing more to finish and accomplish the task than to do it well.

The reason that hurt was because he's right. And he is the exact opposite, painstakingly researching, studying, sketching, idealizing (IMHO, of course) before even approaching the road to be taken. Which is why he's better at doing home projects, why he's superior at remodels, why the garden that he built last year looks so nice.

The problem is that other than that garden, I'm usually the driving force behind major changes in our lives. And remember, the garden came to be when I went back to work for that awful year of dad-stays-at-home-with-the-boy. It was a matter of survival, and we got through it, but by no means was I the only one going crazy. I think the garden helped my spouse to make it through the year.

I stand firm that we may not have gotten married yet, let alone purchased any homes, if I hadn't been my flibbertegibbet self and gotten the silly notion in my head about the importance of emotional commitment and then property ownership. We may not even have a child yet. Well, we might have gotten around to that, since I am married to a man. 'Nuf said.

I don't mean to expose too much insider information here; that's not what this blog is supposed to be about. I guess I am just wondering where other people stand on ideals and must-haves. Is the rest of the world as movable and wishy-washy as I am, because it's necessary to bend your own rules sometimes? Is it right to expect to find exactly the right thing? Does stepping away a little bit mean that you're giving up? That you don't have enough faith in God to deliver? Or is it just a healthy realization that adults can't wear rose-colored glasses and still reach goals?

I was reading another blog, written by a woman who'd lost a child suddenly, and she commented that some of the best advice she received was simply that as time goes by, you expect less. You don't expect to ever feel the same way that you did when your child was living. You don't expect, anymore, to see her sweet face in the morning. You don't expect others to understand your suffering. You lower your expectations. And I fear that perhaps, on a much more shallow level, that's what I've begun to do with my life.

Things don't go as you'd hoped with your home, your family, the economy, and you adjust your expectations. Jobs are lost, and once again you re-set your list of what you'd been ready to experience. Relationships disappoint, people let you down, you don't set the world on fire by 30... and all along, you are constantly rewriting that list in your mind.

Did I just describe most people? Or only myself? How firmly should we stick to that list we made? Is saving considerable money worth giving up on a lot of what you'd hoped to find? And would anyone ever do anything if they waited for the list to be completely fulfilled?

Too many questions, I know. But I welcome your feedback.

-Pessimist Mel

They DO make 'em like they used to...occasionally

Movies: The very fact that we, as a nation, have such a wide variety of fantasies from which to escape reality is kind of embarrassing. There are people in this world to whom the mere notion of watching predominantly fictional people living mostly fictional lives on a big, flat screen would seem absolutely ludicrous. It really is kind of silly, when I think about it. But it's fun, it's lucrative for many folks, and it is a means of learning about things and people we might otherwise miss in our little spheres of existence.

I'm not a movie aficionado. I make an effort to eventually view the titles that seem to impact Hollywood positively, and others that just sound somewhat appealing or come highly recommended by people I respect and with whom I share some basic values. And speaking of values, modern film is such a different animal from what movies used to be. Cinematography has provided history, news updates, opinions, even experiments. I think that these days, as has been the case for some time, the main purpose of most movies is definitely entertainment. You really can't even compare old-style movies, and old television too, with current releases. Both have much to offer, but they're almost separate entities from each other. I guess I've always been a fan of the drama genre, regardless of whether the film is old or new.

A recent flick, Doubt, really made me think about how we as people reflect our own fears and shames onto others. The movie was a bit slow at times, yes, but definitely well-acted and very thought-provoking. Fairly new movies dealing with the theme of sacrifice have stayed with me, too--The Kite Runner and Seven Pounds were quite impressive. Even the incredibly foul-mouthed characters of Gran Torino have continued to prod me for weeks after viewing them, prompting thoughts on not just sacrifice, but also stereotypes and disadvantages. These films were well worth the time spent watching—and pondering.

But the title of this post has to do with a nice, quiet little movie that brought me back to my childhood TV and movie memories in its innocence and simplicity. It was called Love Comes Softly, and I suppose it would be classified as a Christian movie. It was recommended by several people on Netflix who were frankly surprised that they liked it as much as they did, and that was enough for me; I placed it on my queue and warned my husband that it might just be pretty darned corny.

And it was a tad corny. It was overly simplified in its portrayal of many life lessons, I'm sure. Also, there's no way a frontier woman could be so clean and pressed...and I'd point out more inconsistencies with reality, but it would ruin the movie for you. In short, it's a good story, fairly well acted, and honestly, I could have watched it alongside my 4-year-old without a single qualm. I recall seeing Michael Landon's son's name in the credits, which probably explains why it reminded me of "Little House on the Prairie" a bit. It featured some recognizable names, among them Katherine Heigl from the show "Grey's Anatomy;" Corbin Bernsen shows up as someone's husband, although I wouldn't have recognized him. But my main point is that while the movie glosses over some dirty, unpleasant realities of tragedy and daily survival in the developing western U.S., it was interesting, pretty believable, and I cared about the characters. I wanted it all to work out. When it was over, I had hope in God's ability to turn horror to happiness, in the strength of human beings, in our ability and need to help others survive and thrive.

I was also pleased that such a well-known actress had lent her talents to a project of this ilk. I'm sure it was no big budget film; I don't believe it was ever released in theaters, for that matter. The fact that a well-known young woman would act in a movie of this sort gave me even more hope than the film itself had; perhaps not all of Hollywood has been brainwashed to thirst for sex and violence in a leading role? (And to embrace Marxism?)

Anyway, those are some notables that've flickered on our screen of late. (Note: Definitely, only that last one I mentioned is kid friendly.)

Choosing blur

Todd took Marcus shopping with him the other evening, and I hurried to set up the easel and pulled out a magazine page I’ve been saving with the intention of reinterpretation. Hence the image you see here, completed in under two hours.

I used to be drawn only to impressionists, because their work was just so pretty and pleasant to behold. I began to have more appreciation for realists once I’d actually picked up a brush and tried my own hand at painting—frankly, I don’t know how they do it. I’ve seen and admired many works of art that are almost photographic in their trueness to life, pieces that are stunning and amazingly impressive. I yearned to be that type of artist for awhile, and I tried to steer away from impressionism, suspecting that it was merely my lazy nature and inattention to detail that made me gravitate to a more fuzzy, forgiving style…

But I’ve come to realize that it’s a losing battle. Yes, I am lazy, uneducated in the finer points of art, too impatient to take my time; but I also gauge every single work of art on the same premises: would I hang it in my home? Would I like to see it each day? Does it invite me to enter into whatever is being depicted? Because really, that’s how I define art—those are its calling cards in my book.

So, I will unapologetically paint pictures that do not capture every intimate detail, that are unclear in places, that encourage (even demand) the eye to mix shapes and colors to create the final image that one sees. I have come to realize that, after years of stark clarity, I am ready to embrace the beauty of vague. Just as the Christmas tree looks more magical with my glasses off, so the painting looks more pleasing to me when I don’t quite finish it, when I embrace the imperfect.

In many ways I am a realist, but in the world of painting, I can toss realism aside, squint a bit, and step happily into the vision.