Home (Installment One)

“You keep talking about these problems," the swami motions in the temple air with his hand.  He continues to Archana, "Let's not even talk 'big picture.'  'Pay attention to the 'inner picture.'"

That's the way my sister-friend relayed the epiphany moment she experienced during her recent trip to India.

Some day soon she and I will travel together to that land of her birth, the villages of her parents, and be overfed by her aunties, sip tea, and allow her to share directly with me that version of her home, that part of her identity.  On that day a couple of weeks ago, however, we traveled together in lengthy conversation from cackling and hooting about some of our sorrier days as awkward third graders at St. Thomas Elementary to snarky rants about the late shenanigans of our children, and to feeling our ways messily through our respective inner pictures.  

I had been focused for so many months on detailing, addressing, and checking off a grotesque number of tasks related to our family's move from our Maroa-Forsyth home of twenty years to Chad's hometown of Watseka.  If I can just get for the kids the information about their schools and activities, then they'll be able to imagine what the future holds  .  .  .  If only I could get the artwork all hung up on the walls of the new house and completely decorate the kids bedrooms, then maybe it will feel like home before school starts  .  .  .  If I get the address updated on my driver's license, and register to vote in Iroquois County, and meet the neighbors, and .  .  .  and so went on and on the five pages in the typed "Moving To Do" packet I had created for my path forward.  (Stop laughing at me Archana.  There was not any cross-referencing between lists nor was laminating involved.) 

By September I found myself saying, "I don't want to wish away time -- I know better than that, but I sure will be glad when it's a year from now."  I was weary, like to the depths of my soul weary, of putting together a new life in a new place -- for the kids, for the house, at the new job, new church, new doctor, new beautician, new veterinarian (I'll spare you from any more of the list).  I could do nothing on comfort-zone autopilot -- everything took extra mental energy, and so, naturally, I pushed onward through the list as my way to peace.

Except that it wasn't.

It served it's purpose, but the time for solving these problems and even for big picture reflection had largely passed.  No matter how many more phone calls I made, errands I ran, answers I found, there would continue to be yet more mail delayed in forwarding, more names that I failed to remember quickly enough, and the wrong turn taken onto 2nd street when I should have hung that left on 3rd.  If I'm ever to exhale, I must be still.

"Huh," I uttered contemplatively.

"Inner picture," I said resolutely.

An internal locus of control was something I knew about since my undergrad days -- Dr. Rolf Craft -- Enterpreneurship (E&B 331W).  However, living from the inner picture was a matter entirely different, and this huge life upheaval had me so action-oriented that I failed to recognize when I'd passed my train stop.  I'm looking forward to that future trip to South Asia, but a phone call from Iowa to Central Illinois offers up some pretty effective "Eat, Pray, Love."

Just.

Be.

Still.

Here and now.

The Matriarch

Phew!  Damn.  I didn't think they were ever going to let me rest -- I had to hang on for some 90 years.  Don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed table scraps and hanging out in the climate-controlled family room.  But, man, was I getting tired of creaking up and down those stairs with my arthritis, not to mention the constant fatigue.

My people kept giving me those oil pills and pain pills and healthy dog kibble and dental treats; so, I figured I best keep on goin' for their sake.  Who knows what those humans would up and do if I left them to their own devices.  I reminded 'em to step outside -- or at least to open the back door for a whiff of real air -- several times a day.  Oh, and their whining -- constant vocalization about their day and what's wrong with things and what might go wrong with things.  I would step real close and stare them down; that would make 'em stop and talk to me in their happy voices and rub off their troubles onto the top of my head.  Those people types would otherwise just chase their own tales forever.    

I didn't know if I had it in me -- to housebreak them, again, but when I saw all those sweaty homo sapiens hauling out into a truck everything the humans sit and sleep on, my fears were confirmed.  More than ten years -- that was a good run, but I thought it was gonna go on forever.  Not me go on forever, just them in that place.  We were over five years in our first house, and then, I got them all re-trained for what I thought was the last time.  I had a nice spot for my dish so they could drop leftovers for me in there.  No big dogs disturbed my yard.  When my family went out of town, the same human visited so I could help her several times a day.  And it was a nice neighborhood, which was a really good thing, because the younger boy human liked me to take him on walks quite a lot.

But, nobody listens to me.  Despite all my age and wisdom and the fact that WITHOUT ME EVERYTHING WOULD GO TO HELL!  Ahem.  Excuse me.  Um, I mean, change is good, change is good.  It's just a challenge to manage, you know, because they first hide all of their stuff in brown cardboard, and then some of them get cranky about the finding part of the game.  I don't get it, and you see why there must be a dog present at all times to save them from themselves.  I swear that if I didn't make her walk around the yard with me a whole bunch extra, that lady one they call "Mahm" would be nothin' but a hot mess of coffee and chocolate.

The yard at this LAST (ahem!) house is a little smaller; so, that's less to patrol.  Less turf to guard against squirrels and blowing leaves.  But the girl people, oddly, are now in separate crates upstairs.  In the kitchen they keep moving my dishes.  I always find 'em, but this is going to take some work to get sorted out; I don't see all that well, and I'm not too sure how good my sniffer is workin'.  They come and go with bags and bikes and ice cream cones.  I don't know if my old mind can keep track of all the new things and people coming and going.  Heck, I'm still confused about where the other doors are.

Thank God for the oldest boy of the human children who finally brought home another canine.  I don't know if I'd call this puppy my protege, exactly -- he's so young, practically still wet behind the ears.  And he was more than skittish when we met, but he had somehow managed to get the humans to pay attention to him.  So, he could turn out okay.  He is a kinda silly lad.  So young.  I guess when I first took 'em on, I didn't know anything either.  In fact, this is probably a cake walk, fella; I did the hard 16 1/2 years!  You're getting a family that's already been broken in.

The family and I need him.  I need to retire.  Retire from the job. Take leave from the daily grind of my joints.  Lap from the never-ending gravy bowl on the other side.  My dogs are barkin'.  Enough of this ol' mess down here.

But those people did kinda grow on me, I admit.  They were always loyal to me and didn't care that I wasn't a purebred,  That's somethin'.  And, alright, I loved 'em.  There, I said it.  I loved them.

While it might have taken some time and repetition, they wanted to learn.  And that's something, too. Okay, pup, ya gotta promise me that you'll really watch them.  Take good care of my people.

Sorry, our people.  Okay?  OKAY?  Thank you.    

Oh, and if you stay up late when the bearded human eats chips, he'll toss some to ya.  (Wink.)

(Informal, unformatted giving of credit:  this narrative lens was stolen directly from the compassionate, empathetic, hilarious reflections by Archana Nair Bhat via our telephone banter the other day.  Thank you, "Vava,")

Grace & Gut

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  Pragmatic, skeptical, even-tempered, strong-willed, impatient with inefficiencies and with irrational situations . . . are a few descriptors of the Myers-Briggs Rational personality type. I'm sort of a Sheldon Cooper, except that he's a genius and an entertaining TV character. And I'm neither. Sooo, that leaves me with pretty much just basic logic and being easily over-stimulated. Nonetheless, one of many reasons I enjoy binge-watching "The Big Bang Theory" is because it gives to me both humility and humor. Any number of the characters, either by context or direct dialogue, are regularly called out for excessive dedication to truth and reason. Thankfully, by virtue of my parents and siblings, who are of a variety of temperaments, I've stretched some beyond my natural tendencies. I've gotten pretty good at giving grace to others, but it's still my challenge.

  
  

  Additionally, I know that I struggle with something from the "nurture" input of the personhood equation. I heard years ago that adult children of an alcoholic parent often have strong gut instincts, but ironically, are prone to ignore that very intuition. Repeated days of waiting for the parent to show up, late, and contending with a whole bucket of similar, trust-busting behaviors, the children excuse and rationalize. We say, "It's okay," so we don't have to sever the relationship with the mostly absent first dad. It can become habitual even outside of the parental relationship.

  
  

  And these two things -- grace and gut -- converge on me today, when I sit in the aftermath of months of intense, smack-down lessons from the universe.

  The negative in life isn't necessary. It tests you to prepare skills for dealing with future negative stuff, but that's cyclical reasoning. (And we all know that Sherdon ain't down with that.) I do believe, however, that if sucky things happen, I best squeeze some silver lining from it. (How's that for a poor mixing of metaphors?) The reality is that there will be some sort of unpleasantness to cross my path again, because the ways of the world ignore my preferred rules. Even better, though, wisdom makes more meaningful the otherwise ordinary moments of dailiness. So, I'm using this life transition of Chad and I moving our family to a new home, new town, and new school as my wake up call finally to trust my gut. I need to heed caution instead of granting excuses when I smell insincerity. Second chances are given for sincerity, because we all mess up. But if it keeps walking like a duck, and keeps quacking like a duck, then, for the love of God . . .

  At the same time, however, for all who are sincere -- and this is an equally great challenge -- for all who are sincere, give grace. Give grace widely and freely, when I'm tired, when I'm impatient, when I think I see the rational solution, when I feel misunderstood, when I'm hungry. And when I get caught up in old habits, I hope I sit in a place of humility, and start, again. This is something I can not attain, but, I will try, because in the words of St. Francis, "It is in pardoning that we are pardoned." I'm convinced that the only reality we have is connection with our fellow human beings. This spring, when Chad and my sense of reality was turned upside-down with regard to a few people with whom we'd worked, the petty differences between those gathered around our lunch table -- the idealists, guardians, artisans, and rationales -- became irrelevant. As did the diverse goals and styles of those across departments of the building and among leaders of dissimilar clubs and activities. Our individual skills and our personal methods of coping became inconsequential to our connections. We needed each other. We kept each other going -- one foot in front of the other, one day at a time. In late May,after a lunchtime of movie talk, a fellow lunch mate emailed to us an excerpt from "The Breakfast Club letter": "You see us as you want to see us – in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain...and an athlete...and a basket case...a princess...and a criminal. Does that answer your question?" She followed that with "Cue music..." to which another colleague and friend replied perfectly with Simple Minds' lyrics: "Don't You Forget About Me. Don't Don't Don't Don't. Don't You Forget About Me."

  On my last day of this school year, the tension was palpable and our comradery stirred in an equal measure of intensity. It was a dark and beautiful, day. We felt empowered by each other and from a place of humility. A humble confidence, if you will. When you've seen someone vulnerable, and they've seen you likewise, that mutual trust has depth. We are fellow travelers -- 8 miles or 108 miles of road between us. We're all going to be alright. Weary, but alright, because truth always wins -- eventually, and always.

  So, tomorrow. And my energy. I'm keeping it turned inward, upon myself, to channel this low, honest place. I plan to catch myself over and over, and to do better.

  

  
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• June 5

Jack Frost Part Deux

Bay's morning.

 Anna did not open her eyes until lunchtime...and then, she read, surfed the web, and did other silent stuffs.

And the boys' day (interspersed with Minecraft) was .  .  .

On this snow day we figured out what all those toys usually do when we're off at school.  Busy little buggars.

What Does This Look Like?

 

 

 

It looks like the gift of time, at home, in jammy pants.

New Year's Rockin' Eve

The Finch cousins in their annual pose with the giant nutcracker; although, the wooden soldier seems to have shrunk substantially over the years!  Gathered for our standard "Finch-Christmas-at-New-Years" are the Garard brothers (Ethan, Illini shirt, and Nathan, Notre Dame T), James' kiddos (Alex, Minecraft T, and Kallen, the wee little gal), and the Cluver chil'ren.  We were missing only Remy and Chris' Kaelyn, a senior in college, who had to catch her flight back to Florida.  Would you believe that Hunter is 1 1/2 years older than Nathan?  Or that Ethan, Baylor, and Alex are the same age? Height differentials in these early adolescent years are interesting, to say the least.

One of the oldest cousins nurturing the teeniest one.

PRESENT TIME!

The "triplets" of 2002/2003 -- Ethan born to Remy in November, Alex born to James in March, 

and Bay came along 5 days after Alex, also in March.  11 years ago, 

there was a whole lot of pregnant at Finch gatherings.

Bay was particularly tickled with her new sewing machine from seamstress Grandma Finch. ; )

Then, the dice-rolling game for white elephant gifts ensued, and chocolate fondue, and then the kids watching "the (Times' Square) ball drop" via television.  Typically, we celebrate the new year at eleven, taking advantage of the televised East Coast revelry, and this year most of us, adults, didn't even get off the upstairs couch and plush chairs to pause our conversation and venture down the stairs to the television.  Instead, we left it up to the kids to conduct the armchair commentary on the televised musical acts and official countdown.  

We also had professional family portraits taken, to be posted later if the photo studio allows for on-line posting.  One thing we considered was having everyone hold their favorite book in the whole-clan pic, and while not everyone from our entire, extended crew had theirs in tow, I figured I'd take a "time capsule" snapshot of what our branch of the tree had selected.  Can you guess which book belongs to which Cluver?

And this shot was actually taken after Christmas from our front porch in Forsyth, before we ever headed toward our Freeport New Year's.  The machine shed and lamp posts make this shot less than frame-worthy, but the colors of the sky were something for which to take pause, regardless.  I am resolving that at the start of the new year 2014 on the calendar that falls mid-year in this teachers' mind, I shall begin next semester with a lot more rolling off my back so that my appreciation of imperfect beauty like the image above triumphs over "shoulding" not only as healthy modus operandi, but as a slowed, more deeply relaxed mind.  Exhale. 

Fa la la la la . . .

Well, at least Chad and Bay were singin' their hearts out (image to be revealed later), but all of our hearts were singing to the tune of rest and relaxation, as this was not only a much-needed break from the rat-race of this particular school year, but also the first ever Christmas when we were at home.  Chad's holiday tourney schedule did not permit travel for the actual holiday, and so, unfortunately, we had to trouble the entire Cluver clan to celebrate Christmas 10 days early.  The silver lining is that on the 25th, once our kiddos opened their holiday gifts, they were able to stay in jammies all day and just play  .  .  .  and eat, and then, play some more.  First, let's back up a bit to early December, when  .  .  .

.  .  .  we got a terrific snowfall  .  .  .

.  .  .  and the kids had a ball!

As did Bogey.  (Okay, so she looks old and cold and tired, but she did a small bit of scampering.)

The brothers doing some serious fort-building:

This is what became a 5-foot tall snowman.

Unfortunately, the week before Christmas, we had a couple of days of snow-melting temps, 

and this was all that was left of our side-yard friend.  A close friend of mine thought it prophetic 

that he wore swimming goggles. 

Then, we had the arctic freeze; so, while it no longer looked like Christmas, it felt like January -- Brrrr!  Sadly, all the early-season illness continued to sweep through our house, and Jameson missed his 5th grade music concert at school.  Bay was clearly rarin' to go!  

(And pleased that her mama gave in and invited an Elf on the Shelf to our home this season.)

He was healed up and ready to go a few days later for their formal holiday breakfast at school.

Our early Christmas in Watseka with Chad's parents, sibs, sibs-in-law, and nieces/nephews:

"Sickies" -- Bay and Cousin Lilah were quarantined after an evening of tummy upsets.

Ah.  And then, the 25th arrived and all four kiddos were healthy.

Brunch of egg casserole, fresh fruit salad, decaf lattes, annnd, that's right, bacon-chocolate-chip waffles. 

Then, while everyone scampered off to play with their new gifts, I took about 20 minutes of "Sherry time" to roam the home with my camera and see things through that focused lens.  It always slows me down, and as a consequence, helps me to see what's right in front of me (some of which has been for a long time) for which I need to be grateful.  First, I had great fun picking up this little canvas for Anna, as she's my city girl and we both LOVE Chicago (and Pittsburgh)!  The pillow delights me, first, because Anna likes this lovely song, and second, because Baylor picked it out for her sister way back in the summer from a new, shabby-chic boutique just 1 1/2 blocks up our street.  (Sister knowing sister -- an awesome thing!)

Our family room tree -- mostly hunting/fishing lodge theme to reflect Chad's interests and indulged by me over the years of ornament-collecting.  It also holds, strangely enough, my very different fascination with the White House  .  .  .

as a dear friend spoils me yearly with the newest of the official W.H. ornaments (which I cherish).  

This is the 2013 addition dedicated to the presidency of Woodrow Wilson.  

(Doves of peace, olive branches..)

My favorite new holiday decoration.  It made me smile so much when I saw it at the store -- that childlike wonder of the holiday...after passing by it several times, I finally took the plunge and bought it, and I've enjoyed seeing it every day of this season!

The kids' tree in the living room that Chad and I bought the first winter we were married -- almost 20 years ago -- at Wal-mart for 40-or-50-some dollars.  We still love it; so, when the base finally cracked and the tree toppled, we went to quick work with an over-sized flower pot and concrete to save this fav faux pine!

A few of my very favorite of their ornaments include this micro-sized infant sleeper on a mini hanger

 that I bought Bay-Bay when she was a toddler. 

And this Haitian ornament fashioned out of recycled oil barrels, as is all of the famous Haitian metal work.

The whole sugar plums thing is imagery that continues to delight me; hence, my fav gingerbread house shown several pics above, and these 2' trees that we've put in the kids' rooms every one of the past 9 years.

Oh, and THE carolers...that my mama painted in ceramics class back when I was in kindergarten (or that age-ish) and that were standard decor in our Finch house every year of my life from that point forward.  Mom was cleaning out some things (big surprise; note my sarcasm), and she wanted to know if anyone wanted these.  I said "YES!!!"  And I even asked if my sis' and brother were interested before ferreting them to my corner (unlike our children's books, small rocking chair, and baby cradle; I've since apologized for that teenage gluttony).  Anyway, the caroler on the right has always been (in my mind) my sister and my mom -- morphed into one person.  I don't know who the heck the other two are; just some random peeps.  

(Yes, standing next to what appears to them the world's largest wine bottle, ice bucket, and cork screw.)

After some pizza in the evening, it was time to assemble the 3-year-old kit of mini gingerbread houses about which I'd forgotten in the pantry for several years.  All children warned -- do NOT eat or lick this stuff!

Hunter's creation...

 I thought Jameson's home was particularly cute.

 This is what the boys did with most (but not all) of their chill time.  (They also assembled some Lego's.)

 Bay did lots of this -- the any-table-top ping-pong kit courtesy of Jameson to Bay.

As promised, Daddy C putting on the concert with Baby Bay.  After this tune, the duo took on "Gangnam Style," which summoned even the boys to put down their Xbox controllers to come see this spectacle.  I'm quite sure that if two American boys found this attempt hilarious, I'm betting that Koreans would be completely splitting their sides.

Good humor on a day of jammies was a welcome treat and retreat.