Finding My Way

I need to pause, for myself more than anyone else, and look at what this past year has been.  I have officially been unemployed for one year, by reasons of choice as well as practicality.  Those last few days at my job were a blessing, but they also were mixed with a bit of heartache as I said goodbye to dear colleagues and precious students alike.

As much as I enjoy being an old-fashioned housewife, there are days I miss teaching.  It is one of the most difficult jobs on the planet, so I don't desire to ever endure all that it encompasses (except for homeschooling our future children), but there are moments when I wish I could have bits and pieces of it to experience again.  I miss running across the hall to my friend Anita's classroom to share whatever was on my mind and heart.  I miss Makayla saying "thank you" to me at the end of every lesson.  I miss sharing my passion for the written word to young minds, whether fully absorbent or not.

It was difficult leaving my teaching ministry of five years.  I finished on a Friday, and the next day I went to PA to visit Brian.  I remember being emotional after saying goodbye to so many dear people, and I think I needed to head to PA then, my future home, so I could learn to let go.  Brian had bought me flowers, knowing it was difficult for me to say goodbye.

That was just my job.  Leaving my family was hardest of all.  I had left home before.  I even lived in another country temporarily... but I always came back.  That's where it was vastly different than leaving all the times before.  After that point, I would forever return as a visitor.  While visitor is not the same as outsider, there are times I do feel that with my family- not deliberately on anyone's part, but it is inevitable to always miss something important, whether big or small.  In the quiet corners of my heart, there is some weeping still.  I miss my dear nieces and nephews, who are beginning to look older to me.  Because I see them every few months, I notice the changes far more than my regular visits, which used to be several times a week.  I miss the giggles of my nieces and their sweet hugs.  I miss my wonderful mom whom I know like the back of my hand.  I miss dragging her out with me to the Christmas Tree Shoppes or Kohl's even after she complained she was too tired to go anywhere.

Life is a beautiful journey, a tapestry of events, both happy and sad, woven together to make a beautiful piece of art worth framing.  Many times, joy and pain go together.  When I had the sadness of leaving home, I had the joy of becoming a wife, a joy that does outweigh the pain of the things I've had to let go.  That too, is a journey.  Letting go wasn't done all at once, but it is something I still must do.

My life has transitioned so much in the past year.  Single to married, living in NJ to living in PA, working as a teacher to now working as a housewife.  I've had to learn more about myself this year as the former has been stripped away.  Instead of serving seventy-five or so middle and high schoolers, I serve my husband. The days are lonely, sometimes.  Once used to seeing many people during the course of the day, I am now mostly by myself.  But I have found that the silence is useful, meaningful, and profound.  This year, I've had to rely on God more than ever, and in the stillness, I've learned more both about Him and myself.

Just as I've had to learn my way around this tri-state area where I now live, I've had to find my way around my new life.  It's been an adjustment, one that has not always been easy, but has definitely been worth it.  I am blessed beyond measure, and while I look forward to the day that I no longer feel like I'm still in a transition, I do appreciate the journey, because it is there that God shapes me the most.  The end result isn't nearly as important. 

An Invasion of Sorts

It is no secret that I hate bugs, flying insects, and creepy crawlies of just about every size, shape, and form.  The only bug I can somewhat tolerate is a ladybug.  By tolerate I don't mean that I want them in my bed or crawling on me, but I do not feel the need to stop everything and kill them right away.

Something mysterious is going on in our apartment.  Let me explain that we live upstairs in an old house.  I don't know the year this house was built, but it is so old we have a light switch that I saw in one episode of "The Waltons".

Let me share my story, if you please.

A couple of weeks ago, I had a wonderful chicken dish cooking in the crock pot all day long.  Brian came home from work, and while sitting down to relax, we noticed two flies roaming about.  (No, they did not come through the door.  We have a long staircase between the outside door and the door to our apartment.)  There were two more a bit later.  Brian and I tag teamed, one with the all-natural bug repellent, and the other with the fly swatter while we chased them around until our place was free from the creepy things at last.

Fast forward to last night.

I made a turkey stew, and it was a quick meal to prepare.  No crock pot cooking for hours, permeating the entire house.  The whole thing took a half hour at most.  As soon as I was done and scooped myself a bowl (Brian had a late night, so I was on my own), what buzzes past my head? You guessed it.  I covered my dish and decided to deal with the intruder.  Fortunately, he landed on the sink and I swatted him and flushed him down the drain.

It wasn't over.

There were two more, but they didn't go so easily.  I armed myself with my all-natural bug repellent and trusty fly swatter, and I donned a hat for good measure.  Why of all nights did Brian have to come home late this night?  I couldn't do anything else but chase these flies.  It took a while, but I FINALLY got the last of the suckers, and Brian came home moments later.  He was proud that I am slowing becoming a country girl at last.

So I wonder, is this a PA thing, having houseflies, or an old house thing?  I can remember growing up we only had a housefly if the door was held open a little too long and the intruder managed to get inside.  Here, we have nothing open, and they only seem to come out for dinner, so I think they must either be in the attic or in the walls.  I shudder to think they are lying in wait, ready to fly out when I cook my next meal.

Brian and I hope to have good news to share on this blog soon about a new home.  Until then, it's a battle in here!

Rhubarb Coffee Cake

Years ago, my friend Debbie introduced me to rhubarb by means of a strawberry-rhubarb pie.  It was love at first bite.  Yum!  Since then, I have made quite a few strawberry-rhubarb pies, but it is sometimes difficult to grab rhubarb at the grocery store for the small window of time it is there each spring.

Two summers ago was my first time at Brian's home in NY.  Much to my surprise, his mother actually grows rhubarb in her backyard.  I left that visit with an armful of rhubarb, and when I returned to my home in NJ, I had so much that I had to figure out what else to do with it.  I ended up making rhubarb coffee cake in addition to my much-loved pie.

Brian, however, strongly dislikes rhubarb.  Just a couple of weekends ago, while visiting his parents', Brian's mom again allowed me to walk away with plenty of rhubarb.  Since he dislikes it, and I can't very well eat a whole strawberry-rhubarb pie by myself, I turned again to the rhubarb coffee cake.  I got a little bit sneaky, and decided to cut up the pieces of rhubarb really small, and I figured that the taste would not be noticeable if I did so.  I was right.

When Brian came home from work, I told him that I made coffee cake, and I didn't mention the dreaded ingredient.  He tasted it, thought it was delicious, and that was the end of it.  I told him just before writing this post that it did, in fact, have rhubarb in it.  He was only momentarily shocked to find he had eaten his sworn enemy, but I think I maybe proved that rhubarb can be good, even for him.

If only he would like to eat strawberry-rhubarb pie!  Perhaps I will make one anyway.  More for me!

Sharing Each Other's Interests

I have been looking forward to this summer for some time.  For the first summer since I met Brian three years ago, we don't have to travel back and forth to see one another.  Last summer was particularly crazy.  Between trying to plan our wedding and packing up/preparing to move, it was a whirlwind.  After our honeymoon, Brian was right back to work and that's when I began to look forward to this summer... a hopefully and expectantly un-chaotic, calm, peaceful summer of my dreams.

Perhaps I should not dream TOO big.

In our excitement, we often speak of things we want to do this summer. Earlier today, one thing came up in conversation that I did NOT want to do. Whilst cleaning our DVD cabinet, Brian came across his Yankees World Series DVD (I believe it was '96?), and casually asked me if I would watch it with him. I said an emphatic "no" included with a very strong "I will not". Yikes, I hope I didn't sound like an unreasonable wife, but I did watch the Superbowl with him (a thing single Courtney would never have done in a million years), and I've endured my fair share of listening to recordings of junior high and high school bands over the past few months.

As my husband continued to ask me if I would please watch it with him, I said that I would not unless he would sit down and watch Jane Austen with me. To both of our satisfaction, an agreement began to take form. "How long are those movies?"  "Well, 'Pride & Prejudice' BBC version is something like five hours, and that's just one." He decided to throw in another baseball thing to even out the difference. I tried to tell him that I have three versions of 'Emma' and at least two of everything else, but I won't make him watch all the versions. I won't be that mean.

So now the only challenges that remain are preventing my mind from wandering during baseball and keeping Brian from falling asleep during Jane Austen.  Think we can do it?