Good Days

Saturday was a sad and beautiful day.  One of my best friends laid her mother to rest. Our pastor, the son-in-law, spoke beautifully of his mother-in-law.  Everything was perfect.

Afterward, I went to our daughter’s new house.  It’s an old house really, in the heart of Liberty. It oozes charm and is full of light.  I did a few things around the yard. 

Then, Sunday, the whole crew turned out to move them in to their new home.  Our son and his bride and Duchess came. My sister-friend from the time I was ten years old came. Our daughter’s dear co-worker and friend came. Rock, of course, was there with the cattle trailer. 

We loaded every vehicle and the trailer and headed to Liberty.  Unloaded, baked some store-bought lasagna, laughed and talked.  The Duchesses had a gingerbread house to work on thanks to a foreseeing daughter-in-love.  The ice box got thoroughly cleaned and both ovens used.  We had cheesecake to honor the memory of one of ours gone on before us. 

We brought a redone table and chairs for the dining room.  We need a lot more chairs! But the Duchesses had a spot to sit to eat and then later, to decorate the gingerbread houses. 

The centerpiece is from Mother.  It is her crocheted doily and her grandfather’s buttermilk pitcher.  I wanted our daughter to have something from the grandmother who adored her so much the very first time we gathered there. 

I might be as excited, if not more, about our girl’s house.  We spent all of Saturday before last cleaning it.  I realized later what is so endearing to me about it.  The windows in the front rooms, the oldest section, have windows like my old house.  Tall with sills close to the floor.  Reminds me of a house I have loved most of my life.  The old house still exists, empty and changed some, in a museum of structures.  The house still exists even more in my dreams and imagination.  Now, at our daughter’s, there is a structure I really can go to and visit with family or sit with a cup of coffee and feel the light.

After I had driven by the house before the final signing, I told my daughter I finally understood why for years, my heart had been saying: go home to Liberty.  Yes.  I foresee many more good days to come in a new old house in Liberty, Texas. 

Too Many

I am late writing this evening.  My day was a little busy and then I got home late and Rock had to remind me I hadn’t written.  I’ve had several topics floating around in my head for a couple of weeks. Nothing has settled with them yet, though.

Except maybe this thing. Too many.  Too many choices.  Too many opportunities.  Too many decisions.  When there were only a few choices of ice cream flavors, I could easily decide on chocolate.  Nowadays, it is hard to find the chocolate among all the many flavors available.  Interestingly, I now prefer vanilla or strawberry.  Blue Bell vanilla is easy to find. Strawberry is not.

When there were only three channels to watch, it was easy to just turn off the television and go do something else.  Maybe not so much more interesting than a favorite show, but better than what happened to be on at the time.  Now, there are so many “may be interesting” things to watch on so many different channels, plus the options to record many shows at one time for later viewing, I get caught up in too many from which to choose.

Coffee has become complicated.  I used to buy one kind of coffee and make in a plain old coffee maker.  I have an electric percolator now that I like to use, but I also have several blends of coffee to brew. I have flavored instants and a French press, too.  And several “favorite” coffee cups.

So many different recipes and foods to choose. Restaurants on every corner with all different types of cuisine.  Bottled beverages of such profusion, the cooler section takes up large walls in convenience stores.  Chips are even coming in limited edition varieties.  As if there weren’t enough flavors to figure out. 

Bookstores look like supermarkets.  Supermarkets look like malls.  And I am even lost and confused in garden centers sometimes. 

All this pondering has a recent trigger.  I would like to paint the bathroom.  That means the daunting task of selecting a paint color.  Just the right shade.  Not too light. Not too dark.  Not too green. Not too blue.  That leaves a few dozen to consider.  I really not that tired enough of the pale blue on the walls to go through all that effort.

I have never been one of those people who could say I like this and only this and that over there isn’t this, so I am not interested.  I don’t know if I am too curious or too uncertain of my own choices.  It took me forty-five years to decide on my favorite color.  Nearly that long to choose a favorite flower. 

I can barely work my way through the complicated process of a coffee shop.  I usually just get a café au lait or vanilla latte.  Though my pal and I got pumpkin spice lattes just for fun last week.  One time I ordered a Marilyn Monroe.  Though I am pretty certain, cream and sugar were her only options when she was around, this one had white chocolate in it, I think.

I came across a line someplace that basically advised to pick something and stick with it. I am trying to apply it to my thoughts.   Just figure out once and for all what is preferred by me and stop jumping around trying to not miss the latest flavor or flower or candle scent or color or style trend. 

Poor Rock. I will still be rearranging the furniture and swapping where I keep things.  But maybe he won’t be subject to so many other topsy turvy situations where I am concerned.  Maybe, I said.

He is pretty tolerant of my rearranging everything, though he makes fun of it and acts like it drives him crazy.  He is actually very tolerant and very supportive of most of my hare brained schemes.  He does help me not fall off cliffs, too.  I can never say too many times how blessed I am being his wife.  Never too many hugs.  Never too many kisses.  Never too many “I love you” whispers between us.