Once Upon an Autumn Night

“Delicious Autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.”

― George Eliot

Once Upon an Autumn Night

I am now working as a live-in nanny and after work tonight I contemplated going for a drive--to gather my sanity. I wondered what the point would be as it was almost dark and I wouldn't be able to see much...but I needed a bit of time to myself.

The air had a definite snap to it so I had the heat on low at my feet---but the windows all the way down. Fresh damp earth and fallen leaves mingled together in the gathering darkness to create a pungent bouquet. I could smell the sweetness of fallen fruit in the air—apples and perhaps the tang of forgotten berries that the wildlife will feast on in weeks to come. There was a warm top note of wood smoke that teased my nose as it wisped invitingly from the chimneys of country homes lit up with soft yellow light.

I drove through the back roads with Jimmy Rankin serenading me on my stereo and the lights of my van catching the fading glory of autumns’ colors in low bushes as I passed--bright reds, golds and fiery orange. As I turned corners and passed under the overhang of  trees and out into wide open fields, I topped the rise of a small hill, and the light of a crescent moon, slung low over the horizon, led the way and shone through the dark branches of taller trees that have already dropped most of their leaves.

I bought a diet coke and went and parked by the water---where someone named Zelda gives river adventures in pontoon boats. I turned off the van and took deep breaths of the crisp air……I heard some movement from the water, a few birds trilling in the night air and the faint sound of traffic.

After a while I started my van to drive home and sang along softly with Jimmy and cranked the heat so I could be warm as I got the full joy of my return drive and the smells of autumn’s night.  I felt renewed---I had been hidden from the busyness of humanity—just for a few minutes—which was just long enough to reclaim my peace and be fresh for the little ones tomorrow.

Arrgh!!! Spiders and Life's Other not so Little Anxieties

ARRRGGGHHH!

1. to utter a loud, prolonged, mournful cry

2. to utter a similar cry in distress, pain, fear, etc.; wail.

Yes it IS a word—it is MY word…it is one of the first words in the ‘Dictionary of Dianne’. It is one of those multi-purpose words. It can be used to express many things, from 1.) the sighting of a large hairy spider—2.) my reaction upon hearing my name—Didi, Didi, Didi,—for the fifty-millionth time in one day—3.) or the complete horror of running out of coffee….and on and on.

There are also various spellings of this word, the length of the spelling depending on the level of frustration, fright or angst. For instance— spotting a spider on the floor, (short—few letters), to the sighting of a large hairy spider on one’s person, (medium---more letters), to my sister Donna sighting a large hairy spider anywhere in her line of vision, in which case it would be a very long spelling of the word in CAPITALS and the strangled scream accompanying it would pierce the sound barrier.

.....I have always protected her from them. It was almost a full time job from the time we were children until she got married. Now her husband Stephen is her defender. I will always stand ready, as second in demand to shield her person and sanity against these beasts of eight legs and almost as many eyes—(seriously, the eight legs could come in handy, but who needs more than two eyes, unless you are up to no good. Sorry, I digress)……

Today I am using the word long and loud to articulate—inarticulately—my frustration! I am moving WHO knows where in two months to work as a Nanny for WHO knows who—and I don’t know HOW or WHERE to start sorting and packing, what to take with me, what to sell, what to give away or what to throw out.

AAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!

I completely emptied my bedroom closet weeks ago thinking it would spur me into action—not so. It sits in a big messy pile on the floor, taunting me when I go to bed at night and when I get up in the morning. I hate chaos and I especially hate sleeping in chaos—(it doesn’t matter that I sleep with my eyes closed—I know it is there, I can feel it, and last night I am almost certain I heard it breathing, taking on a life of it’s own).

Thankfully I did sort through the bulk of it last Fall—refer to the Blog, ‘The Letter D’—that started it all,---the Blog and the massive cleaning out. I got rid of things I felt I would never use, now I need to sort through things that I would like to keep, but due to practicalities I cannot take with me---and really they are just things. I am looking forward to a grand adventure, finishing my schoolwork and exploring new horizons.

The last two weeks, I have been wondering WHERE to start packing or WHAT…so what are life’s essentials? I am not packing coffee. Wherever I go? If there is no coffee—I ain’t going. And yes---ain’t is a word in MY dictionary too—it is the inarticulate word for the phrase—‘am not’—dripping with the attitude of will not and cannot--make me go where there is no coffee.

So no need to pack coffee, but I will take a few of my favorite coffee mugs, my perfume, my Bible, books, music, pictures, a few favorite things that portray my uniqueness, my make-up, and……oh yes---my clothes---(they are not necessarily listed in order of importance). I can’t pack most of this stuff yet, because I will be using it. Last night I was wandering through the living room wondering where to start and my eyes landed on my bookshelf---I could start here. Let’s see--top shelves—school books. There is my beginning. Pack my school books and carefully label, because I am hoping I will need those right away in the Fall. Seems simple right? Now I have my beginning and once I have the first box packed it will keep me moving until I…well…MOVE.

As for the other burning questions of—WHO knows where I am going, and, WHO knows who I will work for? I know WHO knows and that is all that matters. God knows. As I pack and get ready for life’s new adventure, I am trusting Him to lead. I have seen the verse below posted on Facebook at least twice in the last few weeks. Although it was written specifically for the children of Israel and their situation at the time…thousands of years later I can take the same verse and apply it to my life and situation today. Because God loves me too.

Jeremiah 29:11

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Indeed God is blessing me--I have a wonderful family to work with--one I have worked with the last two years--They have three great kids--we live in the forest--and they treat me like I am worth my weight in gold..:D  That's pretty hard to beat!!

I Love You Too........

Charlotte 1999

I Love You Too…….

So if you read my previous blog entitled “I Love You”—you will remember that I was sixteen when I first learned to stammer it. I am careful to express to the people in my life, my love and the joy knowing them gives me---whether it is with ‘I love you’, or thanking them for their time, because, really when life is over and done with—relationships with God, family, friends, (and if you are blessed to have a significant other), are really all that matter.

I have always told the children I take care of that I love them; I try to show them in different ways---I encourage them when they do well or when they try harder when they are struggling. I show them with hugs and kisses, and by choosing to spend time with them. I enjoy their company. I show my love and respect by apologizing when I need to…..and I have always been careful to assure them of my love even when it is necessary to discipline them.

Sometimes the responses to, ‘I love you’….are interesting, funny, and enlightening.

One young boy would get this funny look on his face when I told him I loved him, he was comfortable with me and returned my hugs warmly, but sensing he was uncomfortable with ‘I love you,’ I asked him if I should stop saying it. He replied. ’No, I just don’t know what to say’. I told him he could say whatever he wanted—he didn’t have to tell me he loved me, he could say thank-you, or nothing at all, that I was okay with that, but sometimes I just needed to tell him what he meant to me. When I asked him if that sounded reasonable, he smiled and said he thought that would be okay—and it was.

A little girl I took care of years ago in Calgary, was annoying her older brother and his friends by ‘directing’ them in how they should play, (actually we had another name for it, but I am trying to be sensitive, because they will probably read this). Exasperated, Steve came in the house and asked me to sort it out. So I called Sandra in and explained the importance of being respectful toward her brother and his friends, and was quite firm about the possible consequences if she didn't. She was quite miffed at her brother for telling on her, and as she was leaving to go back outside I felt it prudent to remind her to not slam the door as she was leaving.

I said, ‘Sanny’…….

‘Yeah, Yeah’, she said, ‘I know, I know….you love me even when you are mad at me.

SLAM ....went the door. I did not appreciate the echo in my head, but I was amused at her assumption, and pleased, that she understood I loved her even when I had to be firm with her.

In 1999, I was living in Montreal and taking care of Charlotte and her sisters Marion and Juliette. Charlotte and I were in the kitchen doing something together and I don’t remember what it was she did as she walked from the room, but it delighted me -- and I told her I loved her. She stopped, turned around and with a big smile and with quiet sincerity said, ‘I know’.

Her words kind of stunned me, more so than if she had replied with ‘I love you too’. It was the way she said it—there was no doubt in that child’s mind that I loved her. Love is ALWAYS a gift—but that day Charlotte taught me that to know that someone has confidence in my love is a gift too.

A Constant Life

One of my earliest memories is of being in the living room pretending to fly as I jumped from the furniture. I am probably younger than four. I can hear Mom in the kitchen singing as she does the laundry. I can smell the laundry soap and bleach and hear the rhythm of the old washing machine beating the laundry clean. (I can smell molasses cookies baking too, but when I told Mom about this memory years ago she said it would not have been the same day).

This is the strongest memory of my Mom? Surely I loved my mother for more than doing laundry and making cookies? Then I realized--whether she was doing laundry, baking cookies, finding a jam jar for the hundredth bouquet of limp dandelions, or holding the bucket while I was sick—she was a constant presence. It is her presence that is the memory. 

When she died it was painful. Who do you turn to when the one you have always turned to is gone? In the first few months I would reach for the phone to ask or tell her something. When I drove home on the weekend and walked through the door—my heart would strain to hear her footsteps in the kitchen or her voice calling out hello. I missed the warmth of her touch.

When people came to visit and offer sympathy to the family---everyone said the same things about her-- whether they knew her as Sister, Aunt, Friend, Neighbor, Jean, Jean-the-bean, or Mrs Ness. They spoke of her kindness and patience, her gentle spirit and laughed about that little bit of mischief in her. Even Dad as her husband and we as her children and grandchildren knew her the same way. All of these relationships were very different, but her character was obvious and constant throughout. What a blessing that was to me.

It has been eight years since Mom died. After the grief lifted I realized she is still with me. She is with me in the memory of her love. She is here in the smiles of family and friends, as we remember. As her life was constant, so is her memory.

Evermore--Edward Shanklin Ness, May 21 1930-September 2nd 2009

All my life, Sunday morning had its own sounds. My Father would be up early and usually the first sounds we heard were of him rattling the lids on the old woodstove as he lit it. He would always listen to an old time preacher named Perry Rockwood on the radio. The fragrant smell of coffee and bacon would fill the house and he would ‘sing’ along with a hymn or two as he made his breakfast. After Perry Rockwood was done—he might listen to another radio show, or there would be silence as he read his Bible and prayed.

Three years ago on Sunday, August 30^th, I came down the stairs, the house was cool, silent---none of the Sunday morning sounds or smells. Dad had been ill and laying in the hospital for three weeks. As I sat there in the silence with an aching heart, I wrote this poem.

EVERMORE

The chair by the fire sits empty

Ashes are low and gray

Sunday’s dawned full of silence

We wait, we trust, we pray

Dad taught us to love, work and respect

But the best of what he gave

Was the knowledge of God, the need of our soul

He taught us that Jesus saves

Dear God—with you we watch over Dad

Trusting you--we wait your will

We will stir the flames of the home fire

And keep it burning ‘til—

--We join You and Dad and Mom someday

At heaven’s blessed door

Where love and faith meet eternity

We’ll be joined for Evermore

---Dianne—August 30 2009

Three days later Dad went home to heaven, our hearts were heavy with the loss –but we rejoiced that Dad’s faith had been finally and completely realized—he had joined Mom in heaven and they were both home with the One who loved them best and most

I Love You.........

"If we discovered that we had only five minutes left to say all that we wanted to say, every telephone booth would be occupied by people calling other people to stammer that they loved them." -Charles Morley

Growing up there was no doubt in my mind that my parents loved me. They showed me in many ways, but I do not remember hearing them say I love you when I was little. I loved my parents so much I thought I would burst--I smothered them with hugs and kisses. Mom would be in the kitchen working away and I would hear her singing or talking—I remember my heart filling with love for her—right from the bottom of my toes and I would run to the kitchen and launch myself at her 5’1 frame and wrap my arms around her legs.

My Father always smelled like fresh air and the woods that he worked in. After supper most evenings he would lay on the couch for a half hour to watch the news and get the latest weather report---before going back outside to work. I would sometimes climb up and sit on his stomach. Other times I would lay snuggled into his shoulder with his strong arm around me and breathe in the scent of him. I felt cherished and safe.

When I was older, maybe sixteen, we had a guest preacher come to our church and he talked about loving the people in our lives and telling them we loved them. He said if we loved someone we should tell them—because love is a gift, and we never know what it will mean to someone. He said it would take courage the first few times—and be awkward, but it would get easier.

I am ALL about love, so I took that as a personal challenge. That very night when it was time to say goodnight, I was kind of squirming, but I remembered the preacher did say it would be awkward. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper, I gave him a kiss on the cheek, and put my arms around his neck to hug him. I said softly over his shoulder,”I love you.”

He whipped his glasses off, looked at me and said—“What did you say”?

Blushing, I stammered, “I love you”.

He quickly retreated behind the newspaper and mumbled, “Ah…me too”.

Mom’s reaction was exactly the same, except she chuckled, no doubt thinking she was indulging her sentimental child…. (smile).

My parents were the first ones to hear I love you from me---but didn’t I love my brothers and sisters too? Hmmmm---this took some considerable thought, but, I did not want to back down from the challenge. I had been told it was important—so with great embarrassment, through gritted teeth, I told each of my five siblings I loved them. Considering we loved to torment and tease each other, my declarations of love were met with various reactions; laughter, suspicion, a little irritation---and perhaps a little love in return...(smiling).

Dad and Mom were very accepting of my expressions of love, even though it was a little bewildering for them at first. I think my siblings were traumatized. I am laughing as I write this—I almost feel sorry for my family—because I was just getting started.

My family is very close. We show our love in the way we talk to each other, the way we treat each other—how we help meet each others needs. All our lives, our affection has been evident in how we tease each other about our differences---we have it down to a fine art. Learning to say I love you was just another way to express that.

The night before my Mother died, she called me, even though we had spoken at length the night before. I will always believe her call was prompted by God. At the end of the phone call, I told her I would be home the next day, and I would see her then. I ended the call—as usual—by telling her, “I love you”, She replied, “I love you too dear.” Just before she hung up I said, “Mom! I don’t want you to think I am just saying that---I really, really looooovvvvve you"!!! We both laughed—she said, “Okay dear—goodnight.” Five hours later I got the phone call that she had died—suddenly and unexpectedly.

The day before my Father died, I told him his body was too sick to get better and that he would be going home to heaven soon. I told him one of us would be with him until that time and that we loved him. He tried very hard to say ‘I love you too’, but he was having trouble breathing. That night Jane and I stayed at the hospital. While Jane rested I stood beside Dad’s bed. I kept reaching out to touch him---resting my hands on his arm or holding his hand---I wanted him to feel my touch and to know I was there. Every time I did, it disturbed him and he would struggle a little for breath, so around 4am I lifted his hand one last time and pressed a kiss to it—and softly said my last I love you—I am not sure he heard. I woke Jane at 5:30 and then went to rest. Dad died forty minutes later.

My parents and I had a lifetime of expressing our love to each other---through actions and words. If I did not have those last opportunities to tell my parents I loved them in their final hours—I would have no regrets. Although I am grateful I learned to tell them I love them, the way I treated them was more important, and I know they were confident of my love.

I don’t remember who that guest preacher was, but I thank God for him---and if he is still alive I ask God to give him a special blessing for the gift he gave me—the challenge to be vulnerable and express my love. All the squirming, blushing and stammering was well worth it.