The Overhaul

Today was our last day to spend the night with my Mom, since February, when Dad passed away.  It has been an adventure for all of us (my brothers and I).  We decided from the first night without him we would rotate nights to be spent with her.  It's been 4 months.  Randy and I took Wednesday and Thursday nights, with a rotating Friday night that we split up every 3 weeks between the 3 of us.  Mom loved it; at least she said she did.  She became anxious to see us and was delighted whenever any of us walked through the door.  Even though we all knew it was an adjustment, it was small, compared to her peace.  So we carried on.

A month ago my niece and her law school bound husband expressed a desire to move in with her.  The back bedrooms and bathroom would be perfect for their bank account, and Mom would have company, at night until he finished school in a year or so.

This brought on a decision to "over hall" the back part of the home.  The 1975 brown and yellow striped carpeting and wood paneled wall would have to "go" in one bedroom.  The blue multicolored shag with the blue and white striped half way up wall paper would "go" in another.  And the dirty beige carpet and mural scene of the Jackson Hole Tetons across a complete wall, had to "go" in another. (A blessing, you say?)  Plus, there would be repainting, remolding  rebaseboarding, and doors redone in each room. along with new cupboard doors in the hall and bathroom.  That makes 40 years of life, gone.

This leads me to our last nights. . . The "over hall" began swiftly.  So fast, that when we got there, we were prepared to head back home as soon as we saw there was no place to sleep.  But nay. One lonely bed was left, with a lamp sitting on the floor.  We rolled our sleeping bags out, just like every other night, and made the best.  How hard could it be?   Things started getting tricky when we had to wear shoes to bed.  The bare floor hadn't seen the light of day for 40 years.  All that was left were glue marks scribbled back and forth in some creative designs; along with remnants of 40 year old crusty carpet fuzz.  But the funnest part? The potty in the bathroom is right next to the door.  Did I say door?  No door!  It was a strategic event if you needed  the bathroom for whatever the reason.  Every door from distances away had to be closed!  Sliding doors, laundry room doors, etc.  And whatever you were doing in there, you had to hurry, keeping your eyes only on the outside doors.  Heaven forbid, they would slide open from someone on the other side!  You had to be prepared to scream at the slightest slide. Do I have to paint a picture here?!  Don't forget, the curtains and blinds had all been taken down, and the window from the "blue room" framed that potty in the doorless bathroom.   A perfect view from Jim's house!

When we returned home from vacation, Mom had room mates and a "new house".  Thank goodness it was a beautiful overhaul.  It covers up the memory of those last nights.   

Kayla

June 6, 2006.  Kayla was 6, in kindergarten, and joining her older sister in taking piano lessons from me.  We were very creative when it came to octaves, since her little hands could only cover about five keys.  But as the days and years passed along, her hands grew.  Her feet reached the floor.   Her abilities expanded.  Her tastes were enhanced by her Vietnamese background.  To day was her last lesson, after finishing up with some beautiful pieces at a recital 2 weeks ago.  She has been with me for 10 years, and is now a junior in high school.  That is an accomplishment.  It pleases me to know she is a better person, with senses that have only been provided her from consistent practicing and sharing.  This makes me happy.

Visiting Teaching Backpack

My Visiting teaching days with Katherine were filled with inspiration as we visited Sharman.   Month after month, Sharman's living room became a sacred spot.  I would listen while Katherine (who had recently lost her aging mother to cancer) and Sharman (who was in the middle of caring for her mother in another state), shared stories, ideas, and encouragement for an hour as we visited each time.  Their stories were similar, but even more alike was the, love and compassion they each shared for their mothers.  In those days, I had healthy and able parents, yet I was prompted to know that the visits would do me good in my future.  So, I collected those thoughts and feelings and put them in my back pack for future reference.

Now many years later, I find myself reaching in to my collection for assurance.  I don't remember the details of their stories, but I do remember the feelings I had when I listened in.  Compassion, love, generosity, patience, faith, on and on.  I'm so thankful for those visits, because today, I am beginning to put these sweet  pieces together.

A miracle of Visiting Teaching is that it can affect us all if we, with empathy, tune in to another's life  And the life that is benefitted most can turn out to be our own