In my neighborhood

If all I could see most days was that beyond my window

I would delight in the four seasons of color, of life given the neighborhood.

If all I could hear was the barks, creaks, whirring, whoosing inside our home

I would be reasonable for the solace of being alone brings peace between each one.

If all I could smell was the beast under my feet in our mostly clean house that we share

I would concede in the relative order of things that hasn’t gone to awry in my senesence.

If all I could feel was an occasional cool breeze blowing in from the opened blind beyond

I would love that this Fall has been quite mild, keeping my toes a wittle warmer at night.

If all I could sense was the softness of my baby blue-colored robe as I write these words to you

I would be glad for one area of comfort that stands out amongst the rest . . . in gratitude.

And if all of these things came true as they have this day in our home, in our neighborhood

Then I say that I am at peace with the world:  God is good.  All the time.  He is so very good.

For it is in the ordinary things of life in which we live and find our meaningfulness each day

On this street here with my hubby, our pup already asleep, with me saying “good night” one and all, and Godspeed too.

Psalm 121, peace, coming and going, gratitude, rest, forever

Left behind. Not forgotten.

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One of the great things about Facebook is that it is timeless.  Your event lives on after it is posted and no one knows what happened before or afterward just that you were there online at one moment in time.

The wedding of my husband’s son, Daniel, is a great example.  I am delighted to have worn a gorgeous dress to the outdoor ceremony at the Lakeside Rosegarden downtown near where we live in Indiana.  The weather was idyllic:  sunny and 80 degrees with a slight breeze in the abundant shade.  The nuptials were exchanged in front of the fountain and reflecting pools:  the groom dressed impressively in his Marine blues and the bride aptly adorned in white chiffon and satin.  The red roses in her hair were a lovely touch in the regal garden setting.  A small contingent was invited to witness the event early in the afternoon and an even larger one would attend the reception 5 hours later.  In the interim we snapped a myriad of photos then headed off to various restaurants in the area.  A few crashed at their hotel rooms in anticipation of the reception at a restored train station called Baker’s Street.  Surely there would be dancing, eating of gourmet finger sandwiches and cake:  festivities that are the hallmark of American wedding traditions.

You wouldn’t know that the reception is happening right now and I am not there.  I am sitting here in a Polartec sweater, pajama bottoms and my evening dress shoes (as the daytime slides have already made their showing in the soft grass around the park nearly landing me into a wardrobe malfunction!).  This was my comfort garb I selected for a short rest before I redressed for the evening.  Yeah well you can probably guessed what happened instead:  the tic attacks that had begun at the quiet restaurant I selected and enjoyed with select family members escalated into a continuous episode as soon as I lain on the bed at home.  Nope.  No nap just some more shakes.  Crap.  Crap.  Crap.

Just because we have hosted 2 gatherings (doubling the wretched symptoms over these past 4 days), got Skyped into a bridal shower (to minimize exposures to 2 dozen ladies wearing fragrances of all sorts), and attended one of the most lovely outdoor rehearsal-style receptions followed by an equally lovely wedding the next day, why would I be too weak to go to a reception?  “Why” indeed.  All of this celebrating was way too much for me a few days ago!  Such is the nature of Chronic Inflammatory Response Syndrome (CIRS):  a complication of Lyme disease and biotoxin illness.  The fact that I made it this far is a miracle for me.  I am grateful.  And I am also sad that I could not finish the festivities with everyone, dancing the night away in the arms of my beloved.  So my beloved and I did something else instead.

Just before Steve left to join his family for the wedding reception back downtown, I asked him for 5 minutes.

That’s when I put on my other pair of dress shoes so we could dance.  Oh how I love my Stevers.  (We played this song at our own wedding DURING the ceremony, before the Lord and all of our guests 6 1/2 years ago.)  Afterwards with a kiss more passionate than many of late, we parted this evening.  Later I looked at the photos we had downloaded from the wedding and posted a bunch on Facebook.  Clearly there are more memories being created at the reception as I typed.  Oh well.  I had the most romantic dance of the evening right here in our living room.  My beloved will return and all will be right with the world.  Have I said that I love Steve so very much?  My heart broke and the tears came easily as he prepared to leave.  Rest assured I needed to be left behind in the comfort of our home tonight to rest for the eighth large gathering of the week that is tomorrow night:  the wedding of a son of some dear friends of ours.  This evening Steve will have danced with his lovely daughters and mother (here from California).  Tonight it will be his turn to sit alone while his ex-wife dances with her new husband.  So much not the way it should be.  I’m sure Steve will be fine.

Perhaps another one of those great kisses will be coming my way a little later?  Hope so.  We each do what the Lord calls us to do on a night like this.  At least the pictures are really nice, eh?  Thank you Lord.  How could I ask for more?

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