The restless beast is stilled—momentarily

I believe in sharing. In theory, anyway. Which is why I'm barking at everyone I talk to today, why I'm muttering moody epithets to myself as I stomp around the house completing jobs, why I have been unsurprised to find myself visibly scowling each time I passed a reflective surface. I'm just sharing my cranky state. The weather stinks, it's mid-winter, I panicked this morning and canceled plans thanks to overly zealous weathermen, and now I have probably missed a perfectly good, sunny afternoon when I might have been out gallivanting... Huff, sigh, groan, growl.

It's been that kind of January, hasn't it?

Anyway, since I've been so eager to share my annoyance, frustration, and irritation with anyone who's willing to tune in, I should (on the flip side) also share something positive and delightful, to make up for my curmudgeon-ness. So, I will.

I had an absolutely fabulous time yesterday afternoon, in spite of snow and slush and icy gusts. My best little guy and I had a date—at the symphony.

Now, we don't go there often, although I'd love to. We've enjoyed the Pittsburgh Youth Symphony Orchestra several times, because it's fun and inspiring to see youngsters playing those instruments with such skill and aplomb. Plus (perhaps I should mention this little tidbit) the PYSO performances are usually free. Yep, gratis. That's double-plus-good for us.

But yesterday's show was a special treat, one that we'd been hoping would come around someday. You see, my son and I are huge John Williams fans. Yes, the John Williams who writes movie music. The true deserver of the moniker America's Composer. I love Copland too, people, but I think JW has him beaten. I do. Who cares what motivated the composition? Does it really matter that it was written to accompany scenes of a film? To me, that makes it even more awesome in a way. I know how it feels to paint a picture that I have chosen to render—and how much more difficult the task becomes when it must be made to order for someone else's preferences...

Anyway, when we heard about this show, even my husband looked pointedly at the two of us JW admirers, and suggested that we go. It was decided. And since my best big boy would be coming back from a weekend out of town on the day of the matinée performance, we decided that only Mom and Son would partake. Then, my charming kiddo stepped into the amazing kid arena by declaring he'd contribute allowance money to the seat purchase so we wouldn't have to sit in peanut heaven. So—I knew without a doubt that he really wanted to go.

We bought the tickets online, and waited for the big day. Which was yesterday, as you know. Even before we got inside the venue, we were met in the lobby by a brass ensemble's swelling performance of the Superman theme, and the music just got better and better. The concert was commanded by resident conductor Lawrence Loh, a gifted, youngish fellow who is also a self-proclaimed JW junkie. He was a perfect choice for the day, introducing each piece or even particular scene with gusto, background information, and an occasional prop or outfit. Loh morphed into a Jedi knight with light saber in hand for Star Wars; then, Professor Dumbledore himself used his "wand" to lead the symphony in selected Harry Potter musical selections. Loh was a fantastic master of ceremonies and maestro, and the perfect choice for such a rousing collection of memorable, heartwarming, bewitching tunes. He made no excuse for Williams' soundtrack niche, acknowledging only his greatness and genius. That gorgeous music filled Heinz Hall's soaring arches and intricate corners, and not a single classical music snob could be found. The adoring audience thanked both conductor and composer with rapt attention, roaring applause, and not a single peep from a cell phone.

The best part of the day occurred to me halfway through the first half, as I sat alternately wiping the corner of my eye (the opening notes of Jurassic Park) and grinning foolishly (Hedwig's Theme): I realized, with quiet shock, that I was sitting perfectly still. I wasn't wiggling a leg, or drumming a finger, or twitching my knee. I was just sitting. I was completely in the moment. Maybe that doesn't sound like such a big deal to you, but for me? A B-I-G D-E-A-L. I cannot sit still easily; long car rides are torture, meetings used to make me alternately yawn and weep, even long movies have become challenging. It just feels like a waste of time, my mind wanders, and my body yearns to move busily about, engaging in restless activity after restless activity.

But yesterday? That music washed over me with a physical presence, a calming aspect that I haven't experienced for months. It was splendid.

And now it's a precious memory. I wish I could have bottled the moment, the scene itself—not just the sounds, but also the smells and sights of that wonderful snapshot. And I wasn't alone. Everywhere around me, people were smiling. I haven't seen that for a long time.

Thanks, Lawrence. Thanks, John. For those two hours, I was completely at home right where I was. What a rare treat.

Embracing the ides of January

I've been flying rather high since I survived the holidays. And look at that calendar—it's the middle of January already! We've been comfortably busy with normal life such as school and related functions, church activities, and even the highly likely sale of one of our old cars. Just enough excitement for me. I feel alive, but in a good way; I'm not drowning in fattening, befuddling festivities. I am thankful.

Here's the latest painting, created from a photo that I took of (what else?) cute animals from North Woods Ranch. I needed a rest from dog paintings, which were—happily for me—popular as commissioned Christmas gifts. (Piggies are for sale in my Etsy shop.)

The days, they're gettin' longer! (Say it with me, in an affected Scottish brogue. Wasn't that fun?)

Less is best

I think I'm finally feeling almost normal today. Christmas holiday, New Year's, extended vacations for my son and my husband, then a ridiculous cold front that caused more unplanned time off—all that mayhem has meant no time for me to enjoy the silence and build up my introvert reserves. Even today was tarnished by yet another school delay. I love my son, but when we can't even step outside for fear of frostbite...? Enough.

At this moment, at last, I am flourishing in stillness. The swish of the washing machine in the basement is the only sound to accompany my tapping on the keyboard. Blissful. Soon, the symphony of rushing heat from the vent will start again, offering a variety in my minimal auditory stimulation. Perhaps I'll turn on some music in a little while, but not yet. Not yet.

I visited Macy's recently (an item to return, an unused gift card—these are the things that are required to get me into the mall). I stood in that vast space dedicated to consumer culture, and I gaped at the innumerable items around me. Modern, classic, work-out, work-wear, young and hip, old and proven. And that was just the petite section of women's clothing. Are you kidding me? How's a person supposed to choose from such a plethora of options? I don't have the energy to narrow down the categories. At least, I don't want to expend my precious energy doing something so pointless for very long. I know I've written about this before, the ludicrously large number of choices we have when purchasing anything, and I'm still wound up about it. More and more, I love thrift stores. Now I can add this reason to the list: fewer choices to have to make. Limited options simplify my life; too much of anything is not pleasing.

I can carry that argument back into the Christmas season, which finally limped out the door while I kicked it and hollered with glee. I love Jesus, yet I despise a lot of Christmas. And you know why? Because there is too much of everything. Think about it. Too many parties, too many dinners, too many cookies, too many responsibilities and gifts to buy and people to remember and time off and even too much red wine. Excessive revelry, even excessive fellowship, makes me antsy and short of breath, eager only to retreat.

So, I grasp with new depth why I steer clear of Macy's and places like it, and why I sing joyfully to myself as I take down the Christmas decorations. It's not just a new year, or even a new start that lightens my heart.

It's the promise of LESS.

Christmas Eve already?

Boy, that was fast. I know Thanksgiving was late this year, but still...

It's been a busy season. I had some paintings to do, some baking to do, and I finally purchased a candy thermometer and tried my hand at a temperature-sensitive something-or-other... But mostly? Well, I fell back into the typical Mel at Christmastime persona... Crabby, ungrateful, ashamed of what our culture has done to Christmas, alarmed at the state of our country and the happy state of denial where most people reside... My Christmas roller coaster doesn't neatly align with any step program; heck, it isn't even consistent from year to year. But each December, without fail, I end up feeling down about the whole thing, stricken with guilt because the joy I'm supposed to be experiencing is quite absent a lot of the time.

Although, I suppose I am going through some kind of step program, because I've arrived at the acceptance stage now. And I do have some peace about the entire thing. That's no program, though—that's God. I prayed for peace, for the ongoing awareness that Christmas means For Us a Savior. Our pastor did a great sermon on Sunday about that very miracle. It was just what I needed. We have to be intentional about seeking joy. Did you know that?

Don't get me wrong, I'm still going to flit in and out of holiday-induced depression for the next few days. But through it all, I'll be singing a catchy little song to myself: Jesus Christ is coming to town.

Wait, He's already here! He was here, and He is here. That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

I wish you the same song in your heart, through stress and bad weather and Christmas returns. We can still sing.

Appropriate

Given the day, I figured I'd share these song lyrics; we sang this song in church recently, and it was so simple yet so sincere. I have been humming this for days now, and that is a genuinely good thing. Praise and thanks precede blessing, in my experience at least...

Give thanks with a grateful heart
Give thanks to the Holy One
Give thanks because He's given Jesus Christ, His Son

And now let the weak say, "I am strong"
Let the poor say, "I am rich
Because of what the Lord has done for us"
Give thanks

Have a happy Thanksgiving, and I hope that you spend the majority of it doing just that: giving thanks. There is strife, there are trials, but there is always a Companion by your side.

A little glimpse of warmer days

These three were clucking around at my sisters' house one day last summer. The sun was warm, the sound of their chatter was soothing, and I snapped a photo in hopes of preserving the moment.

Not quite the same as being there in person, but still powerful enough to evoke a vague essence of balmier days...

It's for sale in my Etsy shop. Now I'm off to start the next one! Carpe diem, right?

Facing the front

I'm a light sleeper. I believe I've already written about that here, probably more than once.

For the past few days, I've been mulling a post about how frequently things change in our lives. It's the same kind of post that just about everyone in the world has read, usually penned by someone in the midst of personal upheaval. The gist of my thoughts is quite familiar: The only thing that's truly permanent is change. It's the one constant factor upon which we can rely.

It became crystal clear to me overnight, as I was awakened countless times by the noise of wind punishing the trees outside and rain trying determinedly to beat its way into our home. All those noises that woke me were the indicators of change coming—colder temperatures, precipitation where there had been none, wind rushing forth to usher in the new weather pattern. Each time the gusts blew with vehemence, I was reminded anew that I'd wake to a very different kind of day than the one that had preceded it.

My husband? My son? They slept through it peacefully, oblivious to the disturbances just a few feet away.

I think it must be nice to sleep through the approaching storm. I can't do it. I feel it, I hear it, I'm jerked awake over and over again with each new gust front. There are things swirling around me in my life, the lives of my family members, and I feel them full force: New patterns, difficulties and obstacles, unwelcome shifts in behavior and lifestyle.

I guess I am a person who directly faces the gust front in order to feel prepared to handle what's coming. I want to be ready each time a front nears... but is that even possible? Knowing that it's lurking doesn't really prepare you for what it's bringing. And yet, you can't spend your life waiting in an underground shelter. Sometimes I'd prefer to be like those folks who simply sleep through the oncoming storm, but I wonder how they do it. Are they standing sideways, weathering the blast without even realizing it's here? And what about those who never see it coming at all? Are their backs to the wind? Doesn't it blow them right over? How can they withstand the force without ending up on their faces?

I suppose there's a comfortable balance, of knowing but not dreading—preparing, but not suspending life during the prep. I have yet to achieve that balance. I face the front, and fret, and watch its swirling destruction. And yet, as someone recently reminded me, we humans are a resilient bunch for the most part. The changes wash over us, and we adjust our internal gauge to accommodate the "new normal." And happily, our stalks usually grow stronger when the wind is damaging. Sometimes we break, but far more often, we endure.

With help, we endure.

The Lord is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him. -Nahum 1:7