thankfulness. ugh.

Sunday night, post-Thanksgiving. Trevor has headed back to college. It's pretty quiet here, so I'm catching up on a few DVR'd shows, hating myself for having had no self-restraint with pumpkin pie the past four days, and thinking about thankfulness, and how sometimes it comes with a cost. There's always plenty to process after visiting family over holidays.

I am in my mid-40s and still have a set of grandparents alive. My mom's parents, Ernie and Agnes <smile>, are in their upper 80s, still living on their own, and in another month, will have been married for 67 years. Think about how long 67 years is. I love Grandma and Grandpa more than life itself. I grew up living near them, actually with them during my earliest years, along with my then single-parent mom.

Grandma is sassy and feisty with a touch of ornery. She likes music that reminds her of her dancing years. She now has some trouble connecting thoughts and recalling names, but she can still remember details from the years when she was a teenager in love, waiting for her man to return from the War. She makes the best sugar cookies on the planet.

Grandpa is the sweetest person I've ever known, and the first man I ever loved. I didn't get a dad until I was six, so Grandpa's strong hands were the ones that held me while I was learning trust. His blue eyes still sparkle, and he's quick to smile and laugh. I remember a few years ago when I greeted him on a visit with "how are you??" and his reply was, "better since you got here." That's Grandpa.

I am so thankful to still have my grandparents. The flip side of that is how painful it is to watch them get old. Grandma now deals with dementia and mobility issues. Grandpa is in pretty good physical health... except for the bladder cancer which he and his doctors continue to do their best to hold off.

A couple days ago we helped put Christmas decorations out in their front yard. They LOVE having a holiday display, and their huge collection includes lighted reindeer, snowmen, angels, a big plastic nativity scene. It's difficult for Grandpa to get these decorations set up, you know, because he's pushing 90 and all, so it was a no-brainer when the suggestion got floated for us to join in this project.

You never know what's around the corner, and this could very well be the last Christmas the two of them get to spend living independently in their country home. This possibility wasn't lost on me as we strung extension cords, checked lights, and made sure the inflatable Santa Claus was secured properly. I think it's the happiest and saddest I've ever been putting out decorations.

Last night before we hit the road to return home, we stopped at their house to say goodbye, and our car met theirs as they were pulling out of the driveway. We got out of our car. "Where are you headed?" I asked. Grandpa was just taking Grandma to drive the road in front of their house and see how their decorations looked from the street.

I am so thankful. In a punch-to-the-gut sorta way.

My mom and Nate, with Grandpa behind

"no room at the inn"

I come from a family of exuberant gift-givers. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. But from an early age, Christmas meant gift boxes stacked high and wide around the tree. Before ransacking the whole scene, we would stare in awe, and take pictures of the mound of presents, shiny paper reflecting twinkle lights from the tree.

The season was about the Christ Child and God's redeeming love for the world, but on Christmas morning, you couldn't see the nativity for all the stuff it was buried under, giving a whole new meaning to "no room at the inn."

'murica.

I've spent my life a full and willing participant in our consumer culture, but still a little voice inside, underneath, has cried out for simplicity. Our past two moving decisions have been made under the advice of that small voice, going against the grain and moving to smaller homes rather than larger, forcing us to get rid of things we don't need. 

Before this past move, I thought we had done a good job of cleaning things out. Two garage sales, many drop-offs at Goodwill, one Salvation Army truck pickup, many Craigslist sales, countless overstuffed trash bags... and yet when we moved into our no-basement, no-attic downtown home, our garage was still filled with boxes. I wanted to cry. I did cry. 

And so I went through it all one more time, even more ruthlessly than before. Do I use it? Do I love it? If not, "I fare thee well."

And now, two cars fit in our two-car garage. We're getting there. Don't get me wrong; we're not "there," and there's still more we could live without. But here's the beauty of living smaller: I love the things that surround me. The pictures and artwork hanging on my walls? They stir something in my heart. The books on my bookshelves? They hold significance. The knick knacks that survived extreme culling? Souvenirs from our most cherished moments, relationships, places.

Clearing out the stuff has created space for wonder. Living in simplicity and wonder is the prayer of my heart (and hopefully reflected on my shopping list!) this Christmas season.

Sorry, I can't talk, the AMAs are on.

Tonight, the AMAs! Oh my goodness I do love the American Music Awards. Always have. When I was in college, they were held on a Monday night in January, and kicked off the winter awards season. I always seemed to have a night class on Mondays, which I would skip without hesitation. We didn't have DVR then, and no way could you trust the VCR recording. If you missed one detail of manually setting the VCR date, time, length, channel, and ALSO making sure you had a tape inserted that was rewound with ample recording space left... "NOOOOOOOOO!" You could easily miss your one chance. For the AMAs, it simply wasn't worth the risk.

I loved this year's performances from Magic! (Canadian reggae?? a big YES to that), Imagine Dragons, Lorde, and 5 Seconds of Summer (I always want to say "30 Seconds to Mars," who I wish would have also been on tonight). I'm learning to tolerate Taylor Swift, since there seems to be no getting rid of her anyway.

I thought it was sweet when Iggy Azalea won her first AMA and said it was the first award she's ever received in her life. This got me thinking about awards and recognition. Good timing, because Trevor was just going through some boxes in his room earlier tonight and was deciding not to keep some of the trophies he's had since grade school. They just didn't mean that much to him. Most of these were of the "participation" kind, the same as everyone else got. He did show me one award he's definitely keeping, made for him a long time ago by a swim teacher. The teacher repurposed another trophy, writing Trevor's name in marker on the front of it. Pretty funny. But it was repurposed for him, and it only took a small amount of effort on the part of the giver. And it meant something.

Isn't it powerful when you are recognized specifically, by name, for something you've put effort into, whether it's doing your best in a swim class, or making it to the top of the music scene?

Even with all the inflated egos at Hollywood awards shows, I think it probably still means something significant to the artist to hear his or her name read from the stage. This is part of the magic that keeps me hopelessly addicted.

And also the glitz.

My improvement suggestion for social media

When you post something for sale online... eBay, Craigslist, whatever... you have to pick a category for your item. Maybe your item doesn't fit perfectly into a category, but you still need to choose. Put a label on it.

I'd like to assert that social media would be better if posters would have to select a category for the nuggets we share with the world.

I love Facebook for so many reasons. SO many reasons. But it's also exhausting. Yes, I know I can unfriend or (more tactfully) unfollow people. But here's the thing. I don't want to miss the photos of your kids. I want to laugh with you at the silly moments captured and shared. I don't want to be unaware when life drops tragedy on your doorstep. It's just that I'm just not always in the mood for all of the posturing, proselytizing, pontificating.

Have I been guilty myself? Absolutely. This is why I think categories would be good. Then we all can simply filter our news feeds to fit our moods, our thresholds for the day.

Some suggested categories:

Where I am / What I'm doing
These posts are the reason I can't ever break up with Facebook.
Bragging in these categories? BRING IT. If I can't be happy for your kid's Ivy League college admission or your spectacular marathon finish time, maybe I should rethink whether I'm really your friend.

Humor
With sub-categories for your own humor vs. the outsourced/shared variety.
(There's enough humor in each of our daily lives... more of that, please!)

Political/Religious
On second thought, let's go ahead and include anything where you tell the rest of us why your viewpoint is the right one. This can just be our generic "Opinions" section.

Inspirational
Mostly good and uplifting and all that, but let's be honest, on my grumpier days these are so "oh, barf."
Let's also include cute animal pics in this category.

There. I think that's a good start.

Well that was weird.

Today was the day when I tried to use brownies to get in with the door factory people next door, hoping for a tour of their four-story warehouse building.

Next to their loading dock, I found the door marked "office." There was nothing inside the entrance except a stairway going up, with bright-yellow handrails and a few nautical-themed pictures on the walls. Interesting. Upstairs... through a door... down a hallway... through another door, and there I was, inside the operation. Meaning, in front of the receptionist's desk. I put on a smile and introduced myself to her, presented my goodwill offering, and said I was really interested in their business and building... thought I'd come over and see for myself... <still smiling>

She was friendly enough, told me their business is mostly commercial, and many of their contracts are for schools and government buildings... jails, courthouses, etc. They've been in that building for a long time, about 50 years, and yes, they use the entire space. She then segued to asking which brownstone we live in, and noted that their employees used to be able to park where I now live, "which was good parking," but now they have been relegated to the north gravel lot, which the city just required them to pave, so they have been once again pushed like refugees [my words] to park elsewhere while the paving project is underway, "even though it's winter now, so this could take a while."

While she was talking to me, she was still working on her task-at-hand, and looking up at me just intermittently.

It was at this point I realized the vibe wasn't right to ask for a tour. What we've got here is more of a long-game scenario.

She thanked me for bringing the brownies, and said she'd put them in their break room. This became a slightly awkward moment, as she didn't reach to take them from me, but there was no clear space on her desk for me to set the pan. I sized up my options, and then placed the pan gently sideways on top of her in-tray, thankful that I opted for an aluminum pan rather than one I'd have to go back for.

"Okay, have a good day!" and I turned to head out. We were probably both thinking the same thing.

Well that was weird.

I wonder if she took the brownies to the break room, or just threw them right in the trash.

I'll be back in a few weeks with Christmas cookies.

Buttering up the door people

We live in a section of town among warehouses -- many of them have converted to lofts, but the one right next door is a working door factory. Doors Inc. No, really. That's what it's called.

For some reason, I'm dying to see the inside of their warehouse. Here's my plan: I'll make a pan of brownies, take it over to their office entrance, and try to bribe my way into a little impromptu tour. This is a little out of my comfort zone, but I think tomorrow's the day. Friday, they should be in a good mood. Cold outside, so I'll make sure the brownies are warm.

I'm kinda hoping it looks like Monsters, Inc., on the inside, so clearly my expectations are too high.  If any doors at all are on an overhead-track system, that'll be good.

Sometimes I can smell lacquer fumes on the outside of the building, so maybe everybody's high in there, who knows? Oh. Maybe I should consider making a different kind of brownie.

I'm doing it. Tomorrow. I'll take photos if that seems appropriate. And, of course, if they don't kick me out immediately.

If it goes well, maybe I'll find courage to ask about using part of their parking lot for my bunco group coming over next Monday.

on parenting... and getting out of the way

So. One kid is now off to college. I dreaded it for a long time, and then it happened.

And it's okay.

He's been at University of Northern Iowa for 2-1/2 months now, and he's connected with a church (playing drums there), and a running club, and the "UNI Outdoors" program, which is a group he went spelunking with in South Dakota this past weekend.

On Sunday, I texted him to ask if he knew UNI beat North Dakota State in football the day before, ending ND State's 33-game winning streak (!!).  No, he told me, I've been in a cave. Literally. 

And having the time of his life.

If it had been up to me, he wouldn't even be at UNI, majoring in leisure (which I try to say without rolling my eyes), and taking weekend trips to caves.

It's a good thing it wasn't up to me.

When your kid goes off to college, it makes you reflective as to whether you've done enough to prepare him for what's next. Dennis and I have done some things right, and some things very wrong. But one of the best things we've done is to mostly allow Trevor to choose his own paths along the way.

When I think back to the things that have been huge in his life, and have made him the person he is today, Dennis and I chose exactly ZERO of them. How's that for humbling?

Cross country -- I never would have guessed. When he was little, we signed him up for baseball and soccer. and bowling. :) In 7th grade, he decided he wanted to run. Okay, mister 9-minute mile. And then he worked his ass off until he was a team captain in high school and running varsity.

Drums -- We put him in grade-school band playing trumpet, and also got him hooked up with piano lessons. And then he asked where he could take drum lessons. School band? Yawn. We got him a drum set and an instructor... actually several instructors along the way. He has loved being in different garage bands, and has played some fun shows in Des Moines. He's made his way onto church praise teams, where he has found mentors in the realm of music, faith, life.

Y Camp -- Again, he's the one who brought up going to summer camp when he was nine. It hadn't even crossed my mind. Now he's on staff at the same camp he started at, and again, he's found friends and mentors and fun and adventure there. His camp experiences have largely paved the way for wanting to major in leisure (no eye roll).

College -- We visited a handful of schools, and thought the choices were fairly whittled down by the fall of his senior year, and then Trevor said, "Oh. And I want to visit UNI."

So there ya go. I still tried pulling for my alma mater, Truman State University, but I knew.

I hesitate to give much parenting advice. It's a tough job with constant second-guessing. But here's what I've learned from raising this one: he needed us to give him options and opportunities and encouragement along the way, and then he needed us to get out the way and let him be him.

I wouldn't have guessed. But that's kinda the point.

New View

After 22 years in the 'burbs, it was time for something new. Last month we sold our house in West Des Moines, along with a whole bevy of yard-care equipment (yay!), and moved into Des Moines.

I can't even believe how much I've fallen in love with Des Moines since we moved to Iowa 15 years ago. When we moved here, Des Moines was the boring, nice guy you knew in high school. Friendly but forgettable. And then, at the 10-year reunion, HELL-O, now he's good-looking, funky, witty. 

So I'm in love. 

And so we moved here. 

We're in a brownstone on the south skirt of the city, with a rooftop patio.

Some refections after living here for a month...

I CAN'T WAIT for spring and summer, when we can enjoy walking to farmers market, outdoor concerts, music and art festivals. And enjoy that patio more.

It's difficult to not eat out every night, with so many great places a short walk away. We've decided Royal Mile should be our Cheers, so you'll find us there every Thursday night. 

It was a little unsettling to discover that vagabonds go through our trash regularly. I've started putting our redeemable cans out there in separate bags, for easier rummaging. I'm nice like that.

I miss having a basement for stashing all the extra stuff. And yet I'm glad we no longer have a place to stash extra stuff. 

I don't miss: 

yard work. 

the huge cottonwood tree, with its incessant dropping of leaves, branches, seeds. 

the mean squirrel who lives in the cottonwood tree.

One more thing. Once you see the vodka bottle in the EMC building, you can't not see it.