Making Things -

 On Friday, coming home from work, and having a busy busy weekend ahead, I thought, "I need a project." And then I questioned myself - "What are you saying? Your weekend is full." And then I stopped at the fabric store and bought some flannel to make a baby blanket. 

Last weekend I bought some wool to cut into pieces to sew back together again, in a different shape, and after spending $45 for a pieced wool wall-hanging that I didn't need, I spent $45 to have it framed for a space I don't have. 

Yesterday I spent 2 hours meal prepping for the week. I cut vegetables into bite-sized pieces, put them on pans and roasted them in the oven, the placed them in separate containers, for meals for the week. And then I invented a mac 'n cheese 'n roasted cauliflower dish for dinner (and I don't like mac 'n cheese). 

After dinner I pulled out the flannel, now in a blanket, and continued crocheting around the edges. 

I love a project. I love making things. I love the creating - from concept to finished item, the process gives me life as I give it life. I need projects - I stay engaged, can be present - or not, and incorporate elements of me in anything I produce. 

Dinner last night wasn't just the meal, it was the physical manifestation of my process - my creating. And in that, a gift, a piece of me. 

And today, this came in my email. And lovely Sarah Bessey's post spoke words to me. She feels the same! 

Enjoy. 

It Takes A Village - Aging Parents -

We all have heard, over and over again, about the importance of a community in rearing a child. I'd like to extend that thought to rearing aging parents. 

Over the past 6 years (and 12 before that), I have been a member of the village caring for aging parents. Scott and I married 17 years ago. He had moved into his parents' home 2 years prior to care for his aging parents. I moved in with my folks shortly after my divorce 17 years ago. Scott and I purchased the home next to my parents, across from his parents, to help care for our aging parents, 15 years ago. So yes, I can write a book on this. 

The past 10 years have been the years of the most need for our parents - 

• Scott's mother's physical and mental health, and then her death. Scott's father's ever-increasing mental health decline, and his death. And then the tumultuous work in dealing with their estate - everything from art to life insurance to dejunking a home and selling it. As well as the turmoil of finding a happy medium with Scott's siblings as they did everything not-together and facing the repercussions of that. Dismal at best - the village never learned how to be neighbors. 

• And then as quick as Scott's parents passed and the estate somewhat settled, my parents took their turn. Dad's aging and his physical health decline and the toll his demands took on my mother and Scott and I. His death, and then Mom's mental health decline. And moving Mom to my sister's, all the work that has taken. And now, dejunking and distributing (or storing) 45 years of living and gathering in a home, and getting it ready to share with a niece, continuing to keep it in the family, as well as trying to help Mom understand and re-understand all of this. Thankfully, the village has been extremely neighborly, even in our differences, we have found center. 

I often feel as if Scott and I have been the Primary Caregivers for most of these years, and I have to remind myself this has been a choice, yet we've had to be diplomatic in doing so, and often we've had to remove ourselves from "ownership," as we've listened to siblings tell us what to do, or what we should be doing differently. It's hard to understand what caregiving of someone aging encompasses, until you've been there. Aging isn't pretty, and the memories we have of our aging parents doesn't always compute into what's present. 

And so here we are, moving to a different phase of our village - the Walker home is nearly ready to be occupied by my niece and her family, Mom is nearly settled in her space at my sister's, and the siblings who've been so involved in making this come to fruition are nearly exhausted. 

Our roles are going to change again - child, to adult child, to adult, to caregiver . . . 

I'm sure I'll write more as I have energy; right now I'm looking forward to a long weekend; doing my best to not use my time-off (for the first time since August) to work on sorting/sentimentalizing/saving/clearing and cleaning the family home (interestingly, not the home I grew up in). I have a project ready and several movies queued, so I won't be pulled eastward to do just a little more. 

And - this is one of the hardest things I've ever done. Emotionally and physically exhausting. I have created companies, been an advocate for the arts communities, I have been a point person for businesses, I have managed companies, I have created courses, I am the oldest child, I am a step-parent, a parent, and being a daughter of an aging parent and all that encompasses is tough. I don't think I'll be running for mayor any time soon. 

The Walker Village: 

    7 children - 4 near, 3 from afar

    Spouses - 4 who have been phenomenal front-line and behind-the-lines

    Primarily 3 grandchildren and 12 great-grandchildren

    1 grand-daughter and her family who will be moving into the home

    1 sister

    

    

Feeling Lonely on Sunday Mornings -

 I have been reading Rachel Held Evans' "Searching for Sunday Morning: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church."  I've been reading this on Sunday's, a way to get some inspiration as I sit at home rather than congregating, mostly because of CoVid, somely because I don't want to go to my Church, and secretly, I'm relieved. 

I can only read a few pages at a time, then I have to think about her words for a few minutes to a week, before picking up and moving forward. 

There are a few pieces that do this to me: Terryl Givens' "The Mormon God Who Weeps," and Michael Singer's "The Untethered Soul." Writings that hit deep, leave an impact, and make me think, for days, weeks, months, after reading. 

In Mormonism, congregations are based on geography, not on choice. You go to church with your neighbors (or are assigned), which, hopefully, creates that sense of community, based on location. Now, that's pretty much next-door, neighborhood in Utah, yet in other areas, that could be those in the same town, not necessarily neighbors. And in building community, the Church is saying, "There is always someone you can reach out to help, to serve, to tend and befriend." This also means there is always someone watching you - "keeping their eyes" on you - supposedly. 

And for the most part, this works. 

Yet as Evans wrote about leaving one "church" and searching for another "congregation," one which met her needs, I am angered and frustrated as I read, because Evans could search, she had options. And I don't feel similar.  I hunger for a similar opportunity - to search within my faith for a congregation where I can be/have friends, be a neighbor, share and laugh with like-minded people. In my Church we don't follow a Pastor, we stay and wait for the Bishop to change, basically every 5 years. Yet 5 years is a long time to be unfulfilled, feeling like an outsider, not understanding the leader's direction, purpose, intent - even upon asking. 

Evans mentions searching for a congregation that fed her; where she could be more liberal, be more grounded, have deep conversations and search scriptures and ask questions, and feel safe and feel challenged. Oh my, that would be nice.

A friend, a youth pastor, has been asked to move to an area and start a church, within Evans faith beliefs, however, with a more liberal approach with a more accepting of differences philosophy.  And he asks Evans and her husband if they'd like to go with him. 

And she is beyond ecstatic, seeing this as an answer to her prayers. 

And here I sit, where changing congregations actually means moving from my home. And while the new Bishop is great, the congregation's mentality hasn't changed, and mine has never fit - I have no peers, I have maybe 3 friends, and Scott and I don't find a home in the Church, just as much our fault as anyone's. If people, not buildings, make a Church, where is mine? Who is mine? 

So on Sunday mornings, as I wait for the online Sacrament meeting to begin, trying to be diligent in "attending," thinking this is a time to be a part of the virtual community, I am reminded of the depths of my loneliness and the despair I feel at my lack of options. 

Not happy

Not sad

Just lonely

On Sunday mornings. 

Speed of the Sound of Loneliness -

Feeling rather helpless today, a little frightened, quite cynical, and just a little isolated. This song, in all its beauty, has been on repeat in my mind. 

Written by John Prine, these two versions are my favorites. 

You come home late and you come home early
You come on big when you're feeling small
You come home straight and you come home curly
Sometimes you don't come home at all

So what in the world's come over you?
And what in heaven's name have you done?
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run

Well I got a heart that burns with a fever
And I got a worried and a jealous mind
How can a love that'll last forever
Get left so far behind

What in the world's come over you?
And what in heaven's name have you done?
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run

It's a mighty mean and a dreadful sorrow
It's crossed the evil line today
Well, how can you ask about tomorrow
We ain't got one word to say

So what in the world's come over you?
And what in heaven's name have you done?
You've broken the speed of the sound of loneliness
You're out there running just to be on the run

You're out there running just to be on the run
You're out there running just to be on the run