Musician's Widow

I sat staring at my laptop screen. Visiting the usual haunts. Twitter. Facebook. Flickr. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I felt lethargic. The previous day’s lawn work and heat left me aching all over. All I really wanted to do was lay on the couch with a cup of coffee. Beautiful sunshine, however, beckoned me outside. I finally consented, grabbing a book and my coffee. I stepped outside, braced for heat and humidity. Instead, a light breeze ruffled my hair. It was warm, but not too hot. I found myself wanting to do cartwheels in the yard or make chalk drawings on the driveway.

Instead, I plopped myself down in my porch swing. I put my feet up, and I proceeded read four chapters of my book, breaking only to refill my coffee mug.

I found myself wondering why I don’t do it more often. I listened to a neighbor mow their lawn. I watched cars go up and down the street. My American flag fluttered in the breeze, making the pole creak gently against the house.

My life won’t always afford me the time and opportunity to take moments to slow down and enjoy the moment I am in… I need to take the opportunities I have now and embrace them. Memorize them. Save them in my soul for when times get crazy and stressful.

The next chance you have to enjoy your world. Take it. Put down the phone. Close the laptop. Just BE. It’s amazing.

This post is cross-posted to Road Widows.

My husband is on his way to a few shows in Canada… something that is always an extra challenge due to cell phone rates going sky-high when there. But apparently, I decided to make it an extra level of stress today.

We got a new kitten this week. Our cats’ liter boxes are on a back porch, with a little cat door for them to go through. Keeps the smell down in the house and it gives them privacy. However, the little kitten had yet to figure out how to use the cat door, so I decided to take on the task of getting him to “get” it today.

I walked out into the porch, closed the door, and started trying to coax the kitten through the door to me. After trying for close to half an hour, I gave up. We’d try again another time. I reached for the door handle and… it wouldn’t budge.

THE DOOR LOCKED BEHIND ME. I wanted to cry. I fought with the door. I tried kicking it in. I tried to pick the lock (which I’ve never done before but seemed to think I could do it this time). Nothing worked. I reached for my cell phone. Only. It wasn’t in my back pocket where I keep it all the time. Then I remembered… I’d left it on the couch. My mind raced for ideas on what to do.

The back door is off that porch, so I could at least get OUT. Just as I got that door open, as if the situation needed a splash of humor, the cat door swung open and the kitten came out onto the porch with me. I guess on the bright side, the kitten figured out the door!

But once I got outside, I had to ask myself, “Now what?” I started trying windows. None would budge. I was starting to realize that breaking into my own house is a lot harder than I ever thought it would be. A good thing, of course, but it didn’t help me in that moment! My husband has spare keys to the house and our truck, but he is hundreds of miles away.

I looked around and decided it was time to start knocking on doors. I tried four doors before I found someone home. I asked to use the phone, and they let me! So I called my husband, since his number is the only one I know (and left a voicemail) asking if he’d call our landlords to come let me in the house. I visited with the neighbor — a single mother who is my age! A new friend, perhaps! — and then I said I’d just wait on my front porch until help arrived.

As I left her house, another neighbor drove up and asked if they could help me. I explained my situation, and this couple invited me to visit on their back porch until my landlord got there with a key. I told them all about myself and my husband, and I left their house with their phone numbers should I ever need help again. The wife said, “With you home alone so much, you NEED someone close by that you can call for help!” So true!

At one point, the neighbor asked me, “What did we learn from this?” and I laughed and said, “Never leave my phone on the couch?” but in reality, I learned that I live in a great neighborhood. I am the most cautious person in the world. I don’t like people really knowing when I am home or when I’m not… when I’m alone and when my husband is home. But it felt so good to find good people nearby who were willing to help out a “stranger” and end up with a new friendship.  Maybe I need to know my neighbors and let them help look out for me, especially when I am here alone so much.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what makes a house a home.

Having your name on the owner’s papers does not make a house a home.

Nor does having your name on the lease.

Receiving mail at a house does not make it a home.

Nor does staying there for a few days.

A home is much more. It’s a place you feel safe. It’s a place that makes you feel warm inside. It’s a place that makes you feel content and happy.

A home is where you make memories. Most happy, some sad. It’s where you laugh. It’s where you feel comfortable enough to cry. It’s the only place you want to be when you don’t feel well.

A home is where you welcome friends and family. Where you break bread around the table, or perhaps in front of the tv. Where you put up your Christmas tree and wait for that holiday with anticipation.

When you welcome someone into your home, you’re extending a level of intimate trust. That service guy, your best friend, your neighbor, your family… all of those people are afforded a glimpse into your home and your psyche. You decorate your home and arrange your furniture based on your likes and needs. It’s a part of who you are.

Houses I once called home through the years will forever tug at my heart a bit, thanks to the memories that were made there. I even sometimes dream about those houses, especially the one I lived in most of my life. But at this point, they’re someone else’s home and for me they’re just a house in which I once lived. The memories they once held now are held deep in my heart and memory, not within those walls.

The place I call home today holds my todays and tomorrows. It holds happy memories. Some day it’ll become like those other houses, and I’ll have another home to create and love. But until that time, I’ll care for my home and find comfort in it. To anyone else out there, its just another brick house they drive my on their way to work or to the store. But for me, when I pull into the drive way, I don’t see a house… I see my home.

I spent all day yesterday cleaning my house. Our landlord emailed me the other day saying they’d like to do a walk-through this weekend. Not a big deal, but I’d not done a good house cleaning in weeks. There was no way I could let our landlord come through with over a weeks worth of mail on the kitchen table, folded clothes on the couch, and a good layer of dust on every surface.

So, I got up and started cleaning. I even made a trip to Target to pick up more cleaning supplies. My cat, probably fearing that I might vacuum him (or use him as a duster), hid all day under the bed.

As my cleaning for the day drew to a close, I stripped our bed to wash the sheets.

There is nothing like fresh sheets, I say. I think if I could feasibly have fresh sheets every night, I would. But its not feasible, so I make due with about once a week.

I waited with anticipation for my sheets to get finished washing. I threw them in the dryer, and then ran to jump in my freshly cleaned shower.

That is part two of the epic sleep experience. Freshly showered, plus fresh sheets (throw in a thunderstorm — which I didn’t have, but that’s what the Lightening bug application on my phone is for) and you have most epic night of sleep. It seriously doesn’t get any better.

Okay, maybe you could throw in a back massage. But I don’t want to be greedy.

The dryer buzzed, and I pulled the warm, soft sheets out. I took them to the bedroom and started to put them on the bed. My cat came out and watched me. I gave him an evil eye. Last time I put sheets on the bed, he decided he needed to check out the fitted sheet personally for me before I could continue. He left a nice clump of white fur behind before I could shoo him off.

(Sidebar: putting on sheets makes me miss my old cat, Sully. He always made a total pill of himself trying to “help” me… and I’d always get mock-mad at him. Usually, we’d end up wrestling with the comforter. Good, good memories.)

I finished the bed without any problems, and, as I expected, my cat jumped up and curled up in his favorite spot: right below my pillow. I patted him on the head, and I took the laundry basket back to the laundry room. I grabbed a few clothes that needed to be put away and took them to the bedroom. I hung up the clothes, turned around and then saw it.

MY CAT HACKED UP A HAIRBALL ON MY BED.

I may or may not have uttered a few choice curse words. That’s between me and the cat. But he did a good job of it, and I decided it was payback for scaring him all day long with my cleaning. The wetness of it had gone through the comforter onto the top sheet. THANKFULLY the fitted sheet was unscathed, but it didn’t matter that much. I still ended up re-stripping the bed and shoving my comforter and top sheet in the wash.

I prayed my comforter survived the ride.

It kind of did. One corner had some batting sticking out when I pulled it from the wash, and I had to go find a needle and thread to patch it up before drying. That was fairly painless, and I did eventually get my bed reassembled. But somehow it all seemed like a lot just to get that epic fresh-sheet sleep.

Worth it?

In a word: YES!!

Sunset over my own backyard

My husband and I occasionally talk about wanting to go on vacation. A trip to the mountains or maybe a beach somewhere. Or even just a night at a hotel somewhere not related to work in any way.

However, funds are short and there’s no way to swing that right now. That’s simply a fact.

I often mention, though, that we need to explore our own city and area a little more. I still want to eat at Loveless Cafe and drive down the Natchez Trace Parkway. We are planning to visit Adventure Science Center next month, and even though we used to live minutes away, we’ve never visited The Hermitage.

We always enjoy visits to Stones River Battlefield, though, and an afternoon at Centennial Park never gets old. Every fall we visit a pumpkin patch and corn maze, and I hope we can make it to Oktoberfest this year.

There’s plenty to do right here, but its so easy to miss that fact.

When we take a drive out into the country, or even times we’ve visited my father-in-law on the coast of Oregon, I often wonder if the people who live there appreciate the true beauty of where they live. I venture to guess they don’t, simply because I so often forget to look around and appreciate what we have right here myself.

Yesterday, my husband and I took our cups of coffee into our backyard and just sat enjoying the sunset. It was so peaceful and relaxing. I mentioned to my husband that while we may not be on the porch of some cabin in the Smoky Mountains, I was enjoying it just the same. I unplugged for a little while in my own backyard. I sipped coffee and we watched the outside cats play and tackle each other. We watched the sun fade and twilight begin.

It was in a word, wonderful.

In this world, we seem to always be looking for the next best thing. Looking for something more. Looking for something better.

Maybe once in awhile we need to realize… what we each have is someone else’s “more” and “better.” Shouldn’t we appreciate that fact? Shouldn’t we live in the moment in the place where we are right then? Shouldn’t we just… be?

After being out for two weeks, my husband is officially en route to home. In fact, by the time I post this, he should only be 6 hours out.

Don’t get me wrong, I am a-ok with being on my own and his being gone for long periods of time. I’m just out of practice of it, I guess, since its been a long time since he’s been gone for more than maybe four or five days at a time. (Whereas, when we got married, he’d be gone for weeks at a time regularly!)

But: I CAN’T WAIT!

I am so ready for him to be home for a few days.

I’m ready to have to keep his side of the bathroom vanity free of make-up and my curling iron of flat iron.

I’m ready to not be able to sleep in the middle of the bed, with my laptop open to keep me company.

I’m ready to cook full meals for two instead of half-cooking for one. I’m even ready to bicker with him over my little “kitchen rules.”

I’m not ready to give up the driver’s seat of my truck, but, hey, I can’t keep all the fun of that truck for myself.

I’m ready to navigate around his suitcase, be able to get a hug any time I want it, have him come up behind me and scare me to where I get angry and yell at him while he laughs, and to look at all his pictures from this run and hear all his tales.

I’m ready for countless other nuances of married life that disappears when one of us leaves on the run. The wheels on the bus go round-and-round. And I’m excited that they are rolling my way.