In This House

In this house, a daughter's courtship and marriage
In this house, a son became a man
In this house, a faithful dog's home-going
In this house, a dear father's rapid dementia decline

In this house, family, friends, neighbors, and belonging
In this house, cancer defeated and celebration
In this house, church birth
In this house, earnest back porch prayers the right pastor needed & surfaced the very next day

In this house, intense journaling, blogging, journaling
In this house, stimulating trail head for lake walks, lake walks, lake walks
In this house, grandchildren's laughter, toys, and noise
In this house, Christmas joy

In this house, a courageous man's skills honed
In this house, life's ebb and flow
In this house, tears of joy and sadness, another move
In this house, EVERYTHING

Gotta Live Like We're Trying: The Call

Our local Braum's carries the particular brand and type of almond milk my sensitive body needs; and, the check-out lady giggles and calls my husband "the tech-y guy" because we use a phone app to make our purchases. David at the local health food store recently shared he lost a close friend in a way I'd rather not say, and he knows the items I come into the store to regularly purchase.

Wendy's on Independence has rehearsed our order many times: Low-salt fries and no-cheese on the burgers; and, they can predict we'll respond "Dave" when they ask our name. At a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, we don't even have to verbalize our order (we are annoyingly predictable, and that waitress is amazing)!

Our church purchased at least a thousand snack bags of my favorite (Boomer Generation) Lay's original potato chips, even though they know Doritos are preferred by the Millennials they are geared toward. Jason in Branson's Banana Republic Outlet store can probably predict that each visit's purchases will total less than $10 after our coupons and discounts.

Two local hummers have discovered their feeder-of-choice for summer 2019 and dive bomb it regularly. A Dollar Store hummingbird feeder hangs from the red bud tree in our backyard. When chipmunk-chomper Lois the Cat visits from next door, they do retreat temporarily. Years ago when our favorite son asked if we wanted a red bud tree, offered free at his workplace, we never imagined it would begin as a skinny little stick that would need to be protected, nursed, carefully nourished, and eventually ideal for hummer-sightings.

Three of our favorite grandchildren (albeit long-distance grandchildren and the only ones we have) dream about a magical closet in our home, with shelving that holds a zillion toys and treasures.

We have community and friends. And heroic neighbors like Irish Joe. Our dearly-departed cock-a-poo once snuck a sip from his drinking cup sitting in the front yard and was a little loopy afterward. Joe has had knee replacements, mind you, and he has and knows everything and can do anything! He does things like provide and replace a sprinkler head to keep our front yard bushes from slowly withering away, and helps hubby and me cut down a hard-to-reach branch, because Joe spots from his front yard that I can't seem to jerk the telescoping branch-cutter cord fast and hard enough while hubby steadies the pole.

So, why on earth would the notion of moving far away come to mind? Especially after 25 years in the same city? and at this stage of life? Are we crazy? We would prefer to believe we've accepted the call. And, gotta live like we're trying.

Yellow Brick Road: Dreams

Atop Oz Hill

The Land of Oz, Yellow Brick Road, and aspiration are all synonymous with a teen fictional character named Dorothy. She walked her long road just once and eventually reached her goal--returning home to her beloved Kansas. 

Dorothy's struggles played out in a dream state; our aspiration struggles played out in real life. Over and over, for 18 years... similar to Bill Murray's Groundhog Day, a 24-hour time span that repeated and repeated. Fortunately, our days were not insanely identical. More like the biblical Israelite people, aimlessly walking in the desert for 40 long years, but many of their aspirations never realized. Forgive the Debbie Downer, but most died never seeing the Promise Land.

The Yellow Brick Road's journey can feel endless at times; but, with a little faith and a lot of bigger-picture reminders, one can survive unscathed (with no lingering smoke smell, like the three biblical survivors in Daniel 3's fiery furnace). Their ordeal left no scent of toxic responses, like cynicism or sarcasm.

It may sound corny, but our "road" related to praying for THE dream job for my ambitious husband. To use his courageous heart, mind, and passions in a career where he is best suited. I am biased, but I believe he is gifted, IQ-wise. Brainy. For years we envisioned a dream job that was potentially a misfit. It didn't happen. We semi-retreated for a long while to study our navels and take time for needed reflection. In hindsight, we could have experienced the Peter Principle, jamming a round peg into a square hole. 

Around age 45 is when our career grooming and prayers began, zeroing in on one narrow type of promotion. Yet, after years of quiet preparation and waiting, we were passed over. Invisible. Even Loyal Toto needs affirmation other than a dog biscuit every so often... yet, our bubble dramatically burst, high and dry. That was 1,824 days (a day was subtracted for leap year), or 5 years ago. But, who's counting?

All it takes is complex math to figure out our ages now. Old enough to throw in the towel without ever seeing our prayers answered. Old enough to semi-retire and live out the rest of our years in the same pleasant city, eventually fully retiring, after being a part of a larger organization that graciously provided us finances and purpose for a combined 50+ years. Riding off into the silver-lined sunset, with co-worker friends singing "Happy trails to you."

But a funny thing happened on the way to pondering those swirling thoughts. A new job possibility presented itself. A meaningful opportunity. What's the catch? (Dorothy was required to fetch the witch's broom, so there MUST be a catch). It involves sifting through and packing possessions (dishes, pans, tools, clothing, toys, etc. acquired during 40 years of marriage), to sell our dream home; moving away from familiar and affordable Midwest to foreign and pricey East Coast.

Our tweaked dream job is in a city miles away; a long 12-hour drive from everybody and everything familiar. No longer an affordable, spur-of-the-moment solo car-drive away from those we love and cherish, but a draining drive or a pricey flight. 

That is the catch. That is the kicker. For this unbelievably impacting opportunity.

As I fumble to open a new box of toothpaste, a startling thought comes to mind: When I open the next new box (in probably 3 months), we will be living in a land far, far away.

I am fearful, about the entire moving, re-situating, and community-building process. However, fear-fueled sounds better, because this move is not about us. We dare to adapt and dream, for an ever-more cause. No guts, no meaningful Oz story.

Tick-tock. Follow the Yellow Brick Rode. Way too much to do.