Goodbye, Elaine.

There's nothing like a funeral to put things in perspective. Especially when that funeral is for someone whose life was shorter than it should have been. I attended such a funeral today. Elaine Ostiguy, a friend from my church, died this week after a long battle with a rare form of cancer. If you are interested, here is her obituary:
http://www.desmoinesregister.com/apps/pbcs.dll/dclassifieds?Dato=20100624&Kategori=Obituaries&Class=30&Type=CAT1320&Lopenr=100600587&Selected=15

An obituary does so little to convey the richness of the story. Here's some of what Elaine's obituary doesn't say:

1. Elaine died 6 years to the day after her husband, Jim, whispered his last words "Goodnight, babycakes." He died at some point during that night. Jim was a marathon runner who was one of the healthiest men I have ever known. They never did find out what caused his death.
2. Elaine was a spitfire full of spunk literally up to the day she died. She was driven by an insatiable desire to squeeze every drop of living out of life.
3. Second only to her love for Jesus, Elaine's sons were her passion. When Jim died, and even moreso when she was diagnosed with cancer, Elaine's single focus was preparing them for adulthood. She succeeded. Her youngest, Nathan, turned 18 and graduated from high school this spring. They have their work cut out for them, but she left them well prepared.
4. Elaine touched a lot of lives, but not only in the way that was talked about in her eulogy today. She also provided the world with an opportunity to see the Church in action. Friends literally have had to hold her up over the past 6 years. Men from the church have managed her lawn, helped her move to a smaller home, fixed all manner of broken things, taught her to ride a motorcycle, and helped raise her boys. Women friends have brought uncountable meals, cleaned her house, did her laundry, drove her to doctor's appointments - even when they were in Boston, researched clinical trials and experimental treatments, held her, cried with her, and helped raise her boys.

I wasn't part of Elaine's inner circle, but because she was so transparent in her struggles and victories I was privileged to witness her journey. So much of what happened to her and so much of how she responded to it showed those who knew her even remotely that there is irrefutable evidence of God's existence. Jim and Elaine's story is the stuff of novels with a hefty dose of raw, and sometimes ugly, reality. You simply can't make this stuff up. They not only finished the race well, they ran it with grace and integrity. Though it seems incredibly unfair that a loving God would take both of these people so young, they taught us how to die well. And that is a lesson worth learning.

Olfactory Deja Vu

From time to time a memory is triggered by a song, or a place, or a taste. But never before have I had such a strong experience triggered by a smell. Not only was I thrust backward in time, but for a brief moment I could actually feel the emotions of a time long gone.

Tonight I was walking my 5-year-old Havanese, Lucy. We have made nightly walks a ritual that both she and I look forward to. Tonight our walk took us past a home where a man was mowing the lawn. It is pertinent to the story to say that this lawn is not the most pristine in the subdivision. By the smell, I'd say there was a fair amount of alfalfa mixed in the grass. And that was the trigger.

As we walked past this yard, grass/alfalfa being mowed, I was virtually slammed with a series of flashbacks. It was just like in the movies...pictures and emotions flashing through me like electricity. I was (virtually speaking, of course) a teenager again.

• It is summer. Haybaling season. It's Saturday afternoon.
• I am driving the baler tractor on the side hill across the road. I'm frightened and inexperienced, and worried about the tractor tipping over onto its side on the steep hill. When I'm on the straightaway, I'm bored out of my mind.
• I have the red bandana kerchief on. There is grey dust clinging to the hairs on my arms, and I know I'll be blowing black out of my nose the rest of the night.
• I can see the thin, blue, curving tape that is the Turkey river weaving its way through our farm, and the limestone bluff across the river. It's a familiar view, and in my adult mind I realize that I had no clue how beautiful it was. 
• My dad is yelling at me - I can't hear him clearly. I want desperately to please him, but I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong.
• I'm daydreaming about the date I hope will happen tonight. I'm planning what to wear, where we will go, what I will say.
• I'm filled with hope and enthusiasm about the future. I dream of college and big city hospitals and marrying the man of my dreams. I'm absolutely certain he doesn't live on a farm.
• I'm secretly glad that I'm not on the wagon stacking bales, but I feel guilty at the same time. I wish I could throw bales as well as my brothers. I hate being bested by a boy younger than me.

And just as quickly, I'm 51 again. 30 seconds, if that. A few steps further, and the scent of alfalfa is gone. I try to hang onto it; to stretch it and make it last. Like a dream you wake from too soon, I try to go back to that place. But it was gone.

This could, just possibly, be a perfect day.

Saturday morning. 10:30. I am still in my pajamas. That is always a good sign.

I counted back Saturdays all the way to the first of the year and realized that I have not spent a Saturday morning in my pajamas in a VERY LONG TIME. I used to think spending a quiet Saturday morning doing essentially nothing was a waste of time.  When people said to me, accusingly, "You've never been to the Downtown Farmer's Market?" I always felt guilty, like sitting on my deck drinking coffee on Saturday morning was a sign of a serious character flaw. No more. I now realize that Saturday mornings are my refueling time. They are the times when I am able to catch up on the 5 or 6 quiet times I missed the rest of the week, notice what God is doing in my garden, listen to a few birds, and actually taste my morning cup of coffee. This is essential to my mental health, and probably my physical health as well.

There is no softball today, no high school graduation parties, and the lawn was mowed yesterday. The house could use a little cleaning, but I've decided (for today at least) that a clean house is highly overrated. Hannah needs some summer clothes, so I think we will venture out for some shopping and lunch.

On another topic, Darrin and McKenna are moved into their new house! They closed on an absolutely darling little (and I do mean little) Beaverdale bungalow last Friday. Last weekend the Spragues and us helped them get a sorely neglected yard trimmed into some beginning shape. It will need a lot of love, but after a lot of RoundUp and a good fertilizing, it is looking a lot better! Here are some photos.

The lord of the manor...

Even Lucy helped out.

Linda with her jet pack of RoundUp.

Who ya gonna call? Weed busters!

American Gothic - Sprague style!

Oh, and one last thing. People ask me how many people read my blog and I have to say honestly I have no idea. Once in awhile someone tells me they saw one of my posts, so I know that at least occasionally someone looks at it. If you happen to stop by, could I ask that you post a comment just letting me know you were here? That way I can decide whether this is really worth doing.  Thanks!!

One man's trash.....

....is another man's treasure. And thank goodness! Coming off the heels of Darrin's wedding, the LAST thing I wanted to do was get ready for a garage sale. But with a little prodding from Al (ok, a lot of prodding) we took advantage of a clean garage and put the tables back up and began hauling JUNK from every corner of the house. Outgrown clothes. Gently (or not-so-gently) used sporting equipment. Incomplete sets of dishes. One used trumpet. Scores of childrens books and video games and movies. Even (gasp!) scrapbooking supplies!

For some reason Al is like a kid in a candy shop at garage sales. At his own, he thinks he is the CEO of a major retail company! He loves talking with all of the "customers" and negotiating prices. We have agreed that I do all of the pricing because he believes that the mere act of pulling something out of the closet inflates its value. I love you honey, but you can't get $10 for a Mickey Mouse t-shirt purchased at Disney World in 2004 just because it still has the tags on it!

At the end of the day our tables were bones and we had sold far more than we expected, making the effort worthwhile.