Home Alone

I had an unexpected day at home, brought to me by a wretched infection that invaded my upper respiratory system late Sunday night.  Thankfully, this unwelcome guest waited until all our other company had left, and the flurry of activity was over.  Then, it moved right in and set up shop in my throat and nasal passages.  But enough of those gory details. Because of this nasty bug, I got to stay home from work today, too miserable to even worry about all the tasks that I'd left undone at the end of my rather unproductive day yesterday.  I spent the morning curled up in a chair with hot drinks, a heating pad, and a book.  By afternoon, I was feeling a little better -well enough at any rate to notice that I was home all alone.

That's right - no husband (at a seminar), no dogs (at Grandma's) - just me, in my house, like it used to be oh so long ago.

Wow, was that wonderful. 

So I got up, gingerly so as not to set my poor stuffed up head spinning too badly, and walked from room to room.  It was so quiet, and serene, the sun just starting to break through the clouds and illuminate the March sky.  I made some lunch and sat at the kitchen table, listening to the birds preparing for nest building in the elm tree outside.

I realized today, after the busy hectic weekend, and yesterday's bombardment of tasks at work, just how much I needed some time just to be.  I felt content for the first time in a long while - relaxed, and happy.   I started thinking again about how convoluted my life has become in the last several months, how my work life has changed so much and is so unsatisfying, how I feel this tiny nudge in my soul telling me to move on, to honor the part of my heart that's yearning to express itself in music or words, to escape from the humdrum everyday and do something that feels right.

For a long time now I've been trying to decide which direction to take this life of mine.  Although my day home alone didn't bring me any definite answers, it made me aware that some move forward is needed.  

How about you?  Do you like being home alone?  And how do you know when it's time to make a change in your life?

Family Time

In one of life's usual chaotic convergences, several major events collided on this weekend's calendar.  The four performances of South Pacific happened to coincide with a major family occasion (baby shower for my cousin Rachel) and my husband's spring choir tour to Ohio/Indiana.   But it's all good... this morning we had three generations of cousins in my mom's living room (four, actually, if you count the wee one in Rachel's belly!)  There was much food, laughter, and good times shared in the past couple of days.

My cousins are important to me, although I hardly ever see any of them.  As an only child who is the daughter of an only child, my maternal cousins are all of the second, third, and once-removed variety.  But that doesn't matter, because whenever we do get to spend time together, we're amazed at the similarities that crop up.  My cousin Bonnie shares my interest in geneology, and we always talk about taking a geneology trip together, roaming the hills of Kentucky in search of information about our ancestors.  This weekend I learned that my cousin Grace shares my love of writing, and harbors the same fantasies about the writing life that I do.  As Crawford women, we all share certain characteristics - we love good food, we're extremely close to our families, and we can be a bit obsessive about certain things.  

My mom is now the eldest of the women in this family.  My aunt's death in September marked the end of the seven sisters who spawned a generation of more than 35 children, including the five you see in this picture.  They're scattered all over the United States, as is common these days.  So it's a rare occasion indeed when even a few of us can gather in one place for a little while.  And I think the older we get, the more we cherish these times together, knowing how few and far between they are, and how fleeting is our time on this earth. 

 We rallied at my mother's house this weekend, and she took care of us in grand southern style - turkey and stuffing casserole,  honey baked ham, homemade cheesecake and carrot cake, hot cinnamon rolls and fried bacon for breakfast, plenty of good strong coffee and cold crisp iced tea.  When four more people were invited for breakfast this morning, she got up at 7 and pulled together hash browns and eggs for 10.  Amazing...if only I can do half as well when I'm 83.

Spending some quality time with these good women was a treat.  We're all excited about Rachel's new baby, and while we don't know whether it's a boy or a girl,  we do know that it comes from some pretty strong stock.  It was good for me to be reminded of these roots of mine, and to see them stretching out into the future. 

That's what family is all about.

Tales of the South Pacific

I spent the evening in rehearsal tonight at the high school where I'm accompanying for the musical South Pacific.  If by chance you're not familiar with the story, it's set in WWII on some anonymous island somewhere in the South Pacific.  The main characters are forced to confront some serious prejudices about race relations when they find themselves falling in love with the native islanders.  It's an old musical, and that was a valid issue in those days - hard as that is to believe nowadays, in the 1940's an American GI would find himself facing some serious problems were he to bring home a girl whose "eyes were oddly made" (as go the lyrics of one of the songs). Obviously, I connect with this show on lots of levels, and not just because my son is married to a woman from Thailand.  My father was one of those sailors who served in the South Pacific, and when I watch all these baby faced high school boys dressed in their sailor whites, I realize that most of the boys over there fighting that war for real were just about that age.  My dad was - he left high school and joined up as so many of the young men did back then.  So was my uncle, who served in the air force and spent his war time in the Atlantic theater.  Both of them were second generation Americans, and yet this country was their home and when it came time to defend it they didn't hesitate for a second.  They were no older than any of the boys on that stage tonight, boys who have grown up in a safe suburban environment, whose greatest danger probably comes from talking on their cell phones or texting while driving.

That's not to say, of course, that the world will always be safe for them, or for their children.  These kids were about 9 or 10 years old on September 11, 2001,  the morning that "will live in infamy" for those who came of age in the 21st century.  For only the second time in the history of our country, we were attacked on our native soil.  It's a sobering event, certainly, and makes you think differently about your safety and your freedom - makes you less likely to take it for granted.

My friend Pat, who is directing the show, and is a teacher to her very core, has spent lots of time educating the kids about what life was like during the Second World War - the spirit of sacrifice, the rationing, the patriotism.  The Sunday afternoon matinee performance is dedicated to veterans of that war, and they will be admitted free of charge and given reserved seats in the front row of the auditorium.  It's likely to be an emotional moment for me, as I recall my father, and my uncle, and think about them as young, innocent men, stepping up to make the ultimate sacrifice if necessary for the country they both loved.  I will blink back tears, I'm sure, as I say a silent prayer and thank them for their service.

And as I think about my son, who was able to bring a young woman from the South Pacific home to American without a second thought about prejudice or discrimination. 

That's really what it was all about after all, wasn't it?

Write On Wednesday - Birth-Day

First, let me say that I know it isn't Wedneday... But, it's March, and life is crazy for me during this month.  There's always lots of musical stuff going on, and this year is no exception.  Plus we're crazy busy at work these days (which is a good thing I know), and my husband has been getting tons of contract work from his former employer (also a very good thing!) but it means I've lost my household helper.  I had become quite accustomed to having someone else doing the grocery shopping and the vacuuming and paying the bills...

However, all things work together for good, or so I'm determined to believe. 

And the other thing about March- it's my birthday month.

Oh yes indeed, in the midst of all the fun and games, I've grown another year older.  So, indicidentally, has the Byline.  Because I started this blogging thing as a 50th birthday present to myself, four years ago, and it has been the best present I ever gave me.

Let's talk for a minute about birth-days.  I've always totally loved my birthday.  As a child, it was the occasion of much hoopla.  There was always a big family party, involving all my aunts, uncles, and cousins.  Then there was my "friends" party, which was one of the coveted invitations of the spring season at Horace Mann Elementary.  Back in the 60's birthday parties were not the dime a dozen occurrence they are in the 21st century, so my parties were quite the event.  My mother threw a mean party, too, with a hot lunch, two kinds of cake, lots of games, and great prizes.   One year our table centerpiece was a Dream Barbie complete with prom dress and accessories (my friend Lisa's older sister took that one home.)

Of course, as one ages, the significance of birthdays wanes.  What is the thrill in getting another year older? After 50, it's just more wrinkles, more hot flashes, more grey hairs...and less energy.  So this year I decided to look at my birthday in a different way.  I'm completely disregarding my age, since, after all, it's just number.  Instead, I'm focusing on me, on all the things I've accomplished and all the dreams I've yet to see realized.

I'm rather proud to have made it for 54 years, to be married to a man who still loves me, to have raised a healthy, intelligent, handsome son, to have a good relationship with both my (still living) parents, to have the love and respect of friends and colleages, to have work that I enjoy (most of the time).   I'm still standing, as the song goes, and I'm happy to be here.

In the years ahead, of which I hope there are many, I want to write more - maybe polish off those novels that still languish in the bottom drawer.  I want to play more music, maybe get involved in another small ensemble of some sort.  I want to spend more time with my family (including the grandchildren I'm still confident will arrive someday),  and travel more (getting started on that one with a trip to Paris in October!)

This year's birth-day itself was rather low-key.  I worked all day, but enjoyed a nice birthday lunch courtesy of my boss and office mates.  I came home to an evening of snuggling with the pups in front of the big screen tv, enjoying the homemade chocolate cake my mom made for me.   I don't need fancy parties anymore - it's enough to have some "me" time.

After all, that's what birth-days are all about.

Me.

And I'm worth celebrating.

for Write On Wednesday