The Bright Light

I opened my eyes ever-so-slightly and I saw a bright light in the darkness.  Then, flowing white robes cascading all around my blurry eyelids.  I was sure I was dying and it was beautiful, though I admit my feet were a bit cold. I closed me eyes.  

The next thing I know, it's 0600 this morning and somebody is crying.  Time to get up and get dressed.  Another school day, kids to take care of, breakfast and diapers, household chores to complete, husband to get out the door to work.  I knew it must have been a dream. Too good to be true.

Standing in the laundry room (which is catywompus to our bedroom) a few minutes after 0800, I see the white robes lying in a heap on the laundry pile. I guess the brightness last night was Al flipping on the laundry room light and the flowing white robes were not taking me to heaven but, rather, were being thrown across the room to their final resting place before the washing machine took over. 

Better luck next time, Sarah....

Blankets

Dear Eden,

At six and half years old, I think you're old enough to know the truth.  

Your baby blanket, your precious hand-made-by-Aunt-Janet Pooh bear blanket that has only once slept away from your little arms and is so soft and cuddly.... well, it fell apart somewhere along its path in this big world. 

The journey from hospital bassinet to bedside cradle to crib to toddler and then twin bed.  From Central to Western Nebraska, from it's traveling in Missouri &Arkansas and South Dakota to Wyoming, up to  Montana and back home again.  From Colorado train stations thru Iowa, Illinois, Indiana and Michigan and in your many dreams, it just kind of wore itself out.  

I tried to put it back together a little bit each day while you were at school this week.  In fact, I spent hours at the sewing machine trying to piece the shreds individually back in line, sewing one row at a time.  It worked in places. I ran out of sewing thread and bobbin twice, but to be honest, it mostly just hangs limp in rags now.  

Frankly, though, I don't think you've noticed.  You haven't mentioned anything about it all week.  And believe me, I've been holding my breath every time you've climbed into bed...waiting for you to notice that something is ever-so-slightly different.  

(Don't worry, I didn't wash it this time.  I've learned my lesson there.)

I guess, if you ever get around to reading this letter (I know how busy you are these days), just know that I tried to stop it from happening.  And I tried to make it right after the fact.  Really I did.

But I'm just a mommy.  Not a superhero.  

Sweet dreams my first baby. 

I will always love you.

In Eight Minutes

I have exactly eight minutes to write this while my mixer kneads pizza dough for tonight's supper.  New recipe, very excited to try it out.  I'm not sure what will happen if 8 minutes expire, but I don't want to chance it.

Lars, after his worst day at school ever, of which he apparently spent most of the time in his quiet box in the corner with his heavy vest on, plays Cars cars by himself in his bedroom.  This is where he spends most of his afternoons lately.  I just went in to check on him and he said, "My video watch says it's time for you to leave the room". 

Elia waxes off a Del Monte banana.  That will take her far less time than 8 minutes.

I knew it would happen eventually and it did:  I forgot to pick Eden up from school.  I didn't forget, per say, I just didn't remember to pick her up at the right time.  Every other week on Wednesdays, the kids here get out an hour early and that was this week.  I was out getting the bikes hooked up to go for a ride when I happened to walk in as the house phone rang.  Caller ID said "Schools".  Who uses a house phone anymore, anyway? I almost let it go to the machine but the number was different than usual, so I answered it;

"Sarah, we got out early today."

"Oh.  I suppose you want me to come pick Eden up, then, huh?"

There went the 'bike ride to school' idea.  Eden came running out the door when I got there and said, "Don't worry, Mom, one of my other friend's mom forgot him, too..."  Nice.  I'm the mom who forgot her kid.  And she's only in Kindergarten.  This does not bode well for my future Kindergarteners....

In fish news, we had our first near-death experience with them yesterday, when Elia climbed up on the second shelf of the 3-tiered plant stand and grabbed the tank.  I happened upon her just as the tank was tilting precariously to the left and water was spilling onto the lower levels & floor.  I grabbed the tank in one hand and Elia in the other while she held onto the lid, causing the fish to have a bit of nausea, but were otherwise unharmed. She repeated this process that very evening, when Daddy walked in at the right moment....

I had given up on getting Christmas card out this season when New Year's Day had come and gone.  However, when Allen was out of town with his parents for two weeks, I found I had some extra time on my hands and wrote Epiphany cards, instead.  I also read two of my favorite novels, cleaned my desk out, and sorted through just about every closet in the house.  We're an organized bunch here at the moment.  Having said that, Elia is officially the first of my children to be in clothes that are a bigger size than her age.  And I'm having a hard time keeping up with her.  

Well, my eight minutes are up.  Until next time....

The Chain Saw

Yesterday, I stepped outside and heard the most wonderful sound: 

A chain saw. 

Now, I understand this sounds awful coming from someone who lives in Western Nebraska, where trees are scarce to begin with.  We need as many as we can get.  However, it's not a sound I hear very often out here, and almost never in town.  And it's music to my ears.

A smile instinctively crawled on to my face and I had to hear more of it.

I couldn't tell where it was coming from, so I walked around to the side yard, just as I saw the top bough of an enormous pine tree give way and disappear from view and I heard people yelling above the sound of the motor a street away.

And I stopped to watch for a long while.  Elia joined me, craning her neck to figure out what I was looking at.  Clearly puzzled, she wandered off.

A chain saw has a very distinct sound.  It sounds like Michigan in the fall.  I can't describe it any other way.  The buzz - whine of a chain saw, followed by Dad's voice yelling, "Look out!"

And a chill immediately sets upon the air and the wind starts to blow, almost out of necessity.  

And a chain saw has a unique smell.   It smells a little bit like cold sweat wrapped in plaid flannel.  And a bit of oil.

And they have a look all their own.  Some are small for taking the branches off the boughs, and some are large to take down the whole tree.   But all of them have big burly hands attached to the black handle.

And don't forget the safety lessons that come with the use of the chain saw:  My dad had a pair of jeans that were turned into shorts some years ago.  I'm sure they are still folded in his drawer somewhere. As far back as I can remember, those jeans have a jagged edge cut on top of the thigh, about 6" in length where he set the chain saw on his leg before the chain stopped moving.  If I had to guess, at the time of the incident, they were probably brand new jeans and that's why he ended up wearing them every year after that.  And maybe as a reminder to Chad & I not to repeat the same mistake.

But the thing I remember most about the chain saw is all the memories it served me with.  I learned those woods like the back of my hands and can close my eyes and see myself sitting on a downed log, far away from reality.  I learned how to chain up a trunk and pull it home behind the truck and drag it behind the shed, cut it up, roll the stumps over to the chopping pile, then stack it in cords to dry for use the next winter. 

1987

 I thought I was strong as an ox and always wanted to carry "one more piece" into the house.  

So, you see, it is more than just the sound of a chain saw.  It's a life time of family.