I was walking this morning before most of the world had begun. It was so good to hear the cardinals and the chickadees and the robins. The blue jay manhandled a piece of nest and bullied his way past another bird that knew its place in the pecking order. The smell of flowering trees made me want to plant myself under one of the trees with a book. I didn’t even look up at the sky to notice the beauty of the clouds or the sunrise, because there was so much to see at eye level.

I’ve missed the songbirds of the city. I’ve missed the abundance of pastel-colored flowering trees in every direction. I’ve missed the routine of getting ready for work in an office, driving to an office, working in an office. I’ve missed the opportunities to see friends and worship in person with like-minded. I’ve missed being with my sister and my Dad. I’ve missed walking hills and trails.

When it was lunchtime, I walked around the building and enjoyed the smell of freshly mown grass and the visual of finely manicured lawns and a sea of daffodils in the beds next to the entrance. My penchant for orderly and neat is taking it all in right now on this side of the city as people work to make their landscaping “spring beautiful.”

At the end of a long day staring at three computer screens, I go home to hear all about Sam’s day that is typically filled with sheetrock dust, drill bits, Marketplace wheeling and dealing, and individuals bidding on a job. He’s hit his stride once again, visioning a beautiful new home and a new purpose in his unwelcomed retirement. He is finding that retirement DOES allow him time to spend a day showing off his car at a show, or time to work in his daughter’s yard and enjoy her company on her day off.

Currently, we are living in a home that is in destruction and under construction. Every room holds tools. Every room has temporary and only necessary furniture, if any at all. Every room is coated with dust or residual scraped popcorn ceiling waiting for an industrial vacuum and multiple moppings. Almost every room has a fresh coat of paint. Every room has a plan in Sam’s visionary mind. Every room will have Sam’s brainprint, and that makes me happy.

Our small group is beginning a new book study this week – Dream Big, by Bob Goff. I have begun listening to him read it out loud to me on my morning walks, and I can already sense that it is going to be a kick in the pants for me. I suppose it is good timing, since we are turning another page and entering a new season. It is time to wake up and rediscover a purpose and find new opportunities to give and serve and dream and live life abundantly.

On Monday evening, my Dad made sure I saw an email that someone from his Church of the Resurrection Sunday School class sent to him:

I am pretty grateful today. God has blessed us beyond what we deserve, and I haven’t been so good at counting every last blessing lately. I have focused on the black dot.

So today and days to come, I will retrain my life on focusing on the white paper that is full of color and stories to be written going forward.

I will think to myself…what a WONDERFUL world.

He hasn’t gotten over it yet, and I AM SO GRATEFUL FOR THAT!!

Tonight, I am grateful for the fact that Dad decided to call my sister and tell her he wasn’t feeling the best.

I am grateful the hospital decided to keep him for a couple days to whip his blood pressure into shape.

I am grateful he is following the rules now that he is home, checking his pressure, recording it in a journal, drinking water, walking his stairs, and keeping his feet elevated when he is sitting. Dad, put your feet up.

I am grateful the only book he wanted me to bring to him at the hospital was his Bible.

I am grateful my sister is so fun while grocery shopping for low/no sodium.

I am grateful Dad doesn’t mind, or is Delmar quiet, about his two girls taking over his food collection.

I am grateful God decided Dad still has a reason to be here.

And I am grateful for tight hugs and “I love you’s.”

Yesterday was my Dad’s 90th birthday. We were driving home after dinner last night, and I asked him if he had ever thought he would be 90 years old. “No, I didn’t,” he responded. He said it didn’t feel any different – he was just happy to be alive.

There are so many things I am grateful for this week – I’m older and my mind is scattered and when I am overwhelmed, sometimes I notice that scattered thoughts can be an issue. But my scattered thoughts bring me reason for gratitude this week.

Dad accompanied me to Wichita when I was 17 years old, for two toe surgeries that could have been slightly traumatic for a 17-year-old girl. He held my hand and visited with the doctor, trying to keep me from freaking out as the procedures began. Mom wasn’t in favor of me going through with the whole ordeal, and she and I didn’t see eye-to-eye…so Dad stepped in and was my advocate. To this day, I still think about what he did for me during that time and how grateful I am to have had the surgeries.

Every day, Dad can go downstairs in his apartment complex and see and enjoy the piano that he bought for me when I was a freshman in high school. My sister and I grew up playing a very old yellow-ivoried upright that served as our tornado shelter during storms, but when she went off to college and I was the only child left at home, a new piano was purchased before our move to Hutchinson, and I was the one who enjoyed it the most. Just three years earlier, he and Mom had taken me to Wichita and purchased a brand new Holton Farkas french horn that was my brass companion for the next 7 years. It is still my companion, like a companion you keep on a shelf in the basement, though.

When I was young, there was almost nothing more exciting than when Dad would pull over on our trip home from Haviland, and just a few miles from Haven, he would position me on his lap with the steering wheel directly in front of me. What THRILL it was to be DRIVING, me steering, and Dad pressing the pedals.

My daughter on four legs, Natia the Italian Greyhound, led a pretty chaotic life, being shuffled between Karissa, to me, to Mom and Dad, to Angela, back to me, to Dad, and back to me. Poor little Natia had lots of homes and lots of love. Dad was such a rich part of her little life and he would take her for walks and even scooped poop. Who would have ever thought MY DAD would scoop poop.

One of my favorite sounds is listening to my Dad laugh when the Royals do something wonderful during a game.

I grew up watching, on occasion, Johnny Carson. I cannot imagine that my parents would have ever allowed me to stay up that late, but apparently they did. I have forever and a day thought that Johnny Carson looks JUST LIKE MY DAD. They have the same “build,” the same facial structure, and the same deadpan smirk with a punchline.

I love to hear my Dad pray, love to watch him sitting at the table with his Bible open, love to watch him each Sunday on Zoom, attending virtual church in Indiana. He is a blessing to many and he doesn’t even realize it.

I can still smell the interior of a Cessna or a Piper. I can still visualize the flaps moving up and down, hear the buckle being buckled in the seat while my Dad is talking to the tower, getting ready for take-off or landing. I can still feel that AWFUL feel when he hit an air pocket and we dropped or when he would take us through the clouds and my grip tightened.

Dad taught me how to wash windows: bug-gy car windshields and big plate glass windows on the building when there were no windshields left to wash and he was not about to have two daughters standing around eating cheese crackers with peanut butter on his dime.

One of our jobs when working for Dad at the gas station was to close down the drive each evening. We had to dump the soapy, dirty water and put the squeegees inside, make sure the paper towels were full, read the pumps, and remove the air hoses and store them inside the office. I hated those air hose removals – they are like opening a can of biscuits or turning the crank on a Jack-in-the-box. Dad knew that I hated that job, so he always did it for me.

Almost every Christmas, Dad went a few blocks south of the gas station and bought Pegues $25 coins for Christmas gifts that he would give to my sister, my mom, and me. They were like pure gold and one of my most favorite memories of childhood. I felt very loved and very special every Christmas.

When I was very little, Saturday mornings my brothers were old enough to work with Dad at the station but Angela and I had to stay home and help Mom clean house. We had jobs ALL DAY LONG. I always had to dust, and Mom cornered the market on knick knacks. I also had to hang clothes on the clothesline when I was tall enough. But one of my favorite jobs was late afternoons when the warsh had come in off the line. Mom would set up the floor ironing board and give me a pile of pillowcases and Dad’s handkerchiefs to iron while I watched Wide World of Sports on the big console TV. To this day, I love to iron.

Dad was the best grandpa to my girls when we made trips to Kansas City to go to Worlds of Fun or had a family vacation with Mom and Dad to Orlando to spend a few days at Disney World. He loved to ride rides – had to be in his DNA since he was a pilot. He could rollercoaster and spin and freefall all day long and come off a ride holding a granddaughter hand with a huge grin on his face.

As we all celebrated him last night with some cake, my sister and I read through almost all of the 109 cards and well-wishes that he had received so far. He’s impacted a lot of lives in 90 years, and we were blown away by the kindness and thoughtfulness of people who have known Dad over the years. It was so fun to reminisce and open cards from people we knew when we were still able to sit on Dad’s lap and steer the car. I am grateful for all of you who took the time to send to him.

There just is no better Dad. He’s one of a kind, and I am more than grateful that he is 90 years old and still delivering punch lines.

I love you, Dad!

The sounds of early morning

How a vehicle sounds on a brick street

Robin chirps, catbird songs, and yoo-hoo chickadees

Sprinklers automatically watering the grass

A dog, happy barking

Wind howling outside just before sleep happens

“Hi, Ama!”

The crackle fizz when pouring a carbonated beverage over just-pulled-out-of-the-freezer-ice

Lori K’s laughter heard ’round the world, or at least in the entire building

Basketball games on the TV in March while I prepare dinner in the kitchen

Today, I am grateful that I haven’t completely lost my mind yet, but it is absent more often than present, it seems.

I am grateful for

• rain
• a safe return of my sister and Dad from Florida
• Zoom and streaming that allows Indiana and Florida and California and Washington and New Jersey and Arkansas and Texas and Kansas City to be on my lap and my desk with just one click
• soft fur and a reassuring purr at 2 am and 3:30 am and 5 am and 8:53 am
• clothes that don’t fit that serve as a motivator and built-in guilt
• monumental 50th, 60th, and 90th birthdays to celebrate this month
• memories of flannel Bible stories and Winkie the bear during Children’s Church with Violet and Josephine
• evidence the lilacs didn’t die and spring is getting ready to make its entrance
• a beautiful card from Geri
• three small oranges to eat this morning
• so many more projects to keep a driven husband happy
• a nice evening last night to celebrate foster son’s birthday
• a few more opportunities this week to enjoy a fire in the fireplace
• tulip reminders to keep pushing through the darkness
• the love of God, how rich and pure, how measureless and strong – it shall forevermore endure, the saints’ and angels’ song
• Daylight savings that makes me want to sleep longer but gives me a little more staying power between 5-8 pm
• forgiving and understanding friends when I do not respond to emails and texts because of overwhelm – a neighbor friend said it best over the weekend in a message (that I have not responded to) “I’m just about done people-ing.”
• supplements that are keeping me from the funny farm…for now

Today, on this 23rd day of February in the year of 2021, the sun is shining, the layers of warmth are not needed, and God has blessed this part of the world with 60 degrees of pre-spring. I am sitting in a passenger seat of a rusty old box truck with a laptop keeping my thighs toasty warm – work is just a click away on the taskbar at the bottom of this page. But first.

We are making our way west across Kansas, headed back home after a quick but necessary trip to Kansas City. Sam made the trek yesterday, loaded from floor to ceiling in this diesel-chugger, me following behind in my small SUV carrying a backseat full of large framed pictures and a flat screen TV.

Today, with the help of some wonderful friends, the furniture was unloaded into our new garage after the official handing over of the keys and garage door opener outside the title company office.

It is noisy enough in the cab of this truck, pretty much the only thing we can listen to is our own thoughts on the craziness of the latest adventure. My thoughts take me to reflection…

Replanting is in Sam’s DNA. Like farm ground that harvests a great crop for several years, sometimes it just needs to sit dormant and rest awhile. Sometimes, the crop needs to switch things up and grow in a different field.

We are nomadic. Never too settled, it doesn’t phase us a bit to load up and try something new, some place new. God knew we were a pair – always willing to go with the flow, spend hours on the road, and consider “home” wherever we happen to be. It is who we are.

I am grateful for new adventures with my best friend.

I am grateful for another opportunity to purge and weed out the growing collection of things.

I am grateful I don’t have to live in this box truck.

I am grateful he is driving so I can work and write while sweating in the sun coming through the windshield.

I am grateful for a cousin realtor who puts up with our crazy ideas and continues to produce just what we think we need.

I am grateful for new projects, even if it means sheetrock dust.

I am grateful for new yet familiar.

I am grateful to be able to keep what we love without having to let go of everything.

And I am grateful for the “sign” – a penny left in the middle of the new living room floor. Aunt Patsy taught me to never disregard – it is our reminder to put our trust in God. We do. And we will as we go forward through the rest of 2021.

I am grateful on this last work day of the week, for this last work day of the week.

I am grateful while I still have it to be grateful, for the opportunity to work from home, but I am so looking forward to driving to work once again and having space in an office.

I am grateful for an oncologist who is also a friend.

I am grateful for 30 degree heat waves and the anticipation of a long walk tomorrow.

I am grateful for laundry done so that I don’t have to do it on the weekend.

I am grateful that Sam is having a fun weekend away with a good friend.

I am grateful for surprise owls that show up outside the cancer center and amaze me.

I am grateful for Valentines received, even though I didn’t send any this year.

I am grateful for our new small group online and re-entry into our church home.

I am grateful for a neighbor who has a huge heart for the stray cats, so I can watch them visit the blue food dish in this extreme cold.

I am grateful for plenty of fruit, plant based milk, and good supplements to put into smoothies for our breakfast every morning. For someone who hasn’t liked a variety of fruits and vegetables EVER, this sure is a great way to get me to enjoy them now!

I am grateful for success, in any form.

I am grateful for naps.

I am grateful for jigsaw puzzles and…I’m gonna start a new one tonight, just me, myself, and me.

And I am grateful for what the next several days will bring.

The mess? Muddy, slushy streets and yards. The blessing? Moisture.

The mess? A fine layer of dust ash covering everything and dirty floors in need of vacuuming and mopping thanks to wood brought inside for the fireplace. The blessing? Warmth and the glow of a fire in a beautiful room.

The mess? Yucky nausea and weakness. The blessing? Chemo and supplements that are working alongside prayer to heal a body.

The mess? Lots of work and little time to play. The blessing? Work that is fulfilling, tasks crossed off the list, and a job well done.

The mess? Sore muscles and an acknowledgement of weakness. The blessing? Exercise that signals progress, even if it is teeny tiny progress.

The mess? COVID. The blessing? Helping each other more, spending more time together, being more aware of cleanliness and germs.

The mess? Clutter. The blessing? The opportunity and necessity to declutter and gain an appreciation for that which is most important.

The mess? Exploded egg in a microwave. The blessing? A clean microwave after much elbow grease.

The mess? Many hours in a vehicle on long stretches of highway. The blessing? Good tires, reliable transportation, bluetooth and hotspots, heated seats, and the destination.

The mess? Regret/remorse/repentance. The blessing? Forgiveness.

It seems that most weekends lately have involved being on the road, going from here to there. This weekend, the only here to there has been home to Airbnb across the street to clean, or home to the grocery store.

This particular Saturday has been filled with

• exercise,
• stripping the bed and making a bed with fresh sheets,
• getting both Airbnb’s ready for guests,
• cooking and cleaning up the kitchen,
• grilling a large “chunk of pork” thanks to Keith’s tutorial several weeks ago,
• organizing a game cabinet,
• laundry and folding good smelling laundry,
• making a grocery list and then putting all the groceries away after a trip to the store,
• teaching son the correct way to iron a dress shirt and dress pants,
• and entertaining cats.

I probably should be cleaning bathrooms. I probably will clean bathrooms. But Sam isn’t having a good afternoon and is trying to sleep away the chemo yuck, so I am sitting watch and trying to ignore the Big XII basketball games on the tv. The fireplace needs a couple of logs. The cats have decided they are worn out from too much catnip chemo and are napping.

These are the moments to cherish and be grateful.

I am grateful for beauty in nature. We were driving to Sam’s appointment yesterday and were awestruck at the moon at 6 am. He pulled off the road so I could try to freeze it in time. I told Sam I wished I had a camera that could capture the moment, but we both agreed it was a moment meant just for us.

As we pulled into the hospital parking lot at 7:30, Sam saw a fox peaking over a snow hill. He was THAT close. But I had put my phone down in my purse and so MY picture is of Foxy running away, but the other picture is what we actually SAW.

I am grateful for once-in-a-lifetime moments.

Sam had his CT scans while the sun decided to make the trees sparkle. I am very grateful for great health care and the best oncologists for Sam.

After he was finished, we drove to the other side of the complex to the Cancer Center. While Sam was sitting in the waiting room to be called back to chemo treatment, I took a minute to go out in the parking lot and seize the moment of frozen trees in the sunshine. I wish I had more time to zone in on a couple of them, but this is what I got.

Today, I have been at my desk all day, listening to snow crash off the side of the house. It scares two cats, but it is a welcome noise for me, like snow crunch underfoot, or children sitting on sleds and squealing with delight. I am grateful for the sounds and beauty of post-snow.

I am grateful that this year, Sam didn’t need help shoveling our drive. THIS year, he could do it himself – with a shovel and with a new toy. He has come so far…

Finally, on this end of the week, I am grateful for smiles in the middle of adversity. I am grateful that when a door closes, another opens when we are ready to move on.

I am grateful for Emmanuel, God with us.

And I am grateful for healing and wonderful CT results.