There's a wonderful shady park down the street from our house--I've shown you autumn pictures from this park before and the old 1940's swimming pool, above, as well.
Well today, after driving Lennon to the vet (and coming away with, finally, a good report), I dropped him off at home and then picked up some lunch, drove to the park and had myself a merry little picnic, complete with the blanket we keep always in the car for such impromptu occasions, as well as my current books.
I spread the blanket beneath a huge maple tree and since we've dropped back down into sane temperatures, within the ceiling of shade, the breezy air felt perfect. I even removed my shoes and used one of them as a cupholder. I nibbled my lunch and gazed at the kids of every age along the gleaming white of the pool's outer rail (it all appeared so Happy Days from my blanket).
But I also watched a mom with her two dripping-ponytailed daughters and their towels and paraphernalia walk past me on their way home and zip! Instantly I was hurtled back to my Nevada Years, the ones where I was so lonely I could--and did--taste it. When the boredom got especially bad I'd take Naomi's hand and hike over to the nearby park, appearing to her and everyone else as fine and contented as average people, but in reality, dying a little more each day due to the poison of loneliness. The kind of loneliness where you try squeezing from everyone outside of you what can only be found inside between you and God. You know, that haunting kind. I longed to race up to women in the park and ask, "Will you be my friend?" but I was way, way too shy for that.
Anyway, I remembered those dark, black Nevada Years and after comparing them to these current New York Years, well, my simple blue afghan picnic in the shade became a downright celebratory party. God has brought me not only thousands of miles away from those days, but light years, too. I am so not that same wimpy, whining person due to--finally--cooperating with God instead of insisting I just couldn't help it, any of my sadness and the ol' "how-can-anyone-be-happy-in-this-dreadful-Nevada-desert-anyway?" groanings.
And I continued to watch that mom and her two tiny girls until they reached the street and I hoped, prayed even, that she'd not entered that park attempting to relieve her heart's core loneliness the same way I used to so very long ago. For--at least with me--true, lasting companionship began only when I found it inside, first. a
And then, like a tree, its branches spread comforting shade all around me wherever I've stepped since then. And oh my, how things have changed. Everything, in fact.
Be encouraged.
******
During my one-and-only-thank-goodness year of college, I dreaded sitting at tables alone in the busy cafeteria.
Oh, sitting by myself felt fine to me, welcomed, even, but what I hated? Believing fellow students were staring and pitying me for my aloneness.
Ack.
Always I carried a book with me both because I adored reading while eating and so I could avoid any sad glances at Lonely Little Loser Girl (as if anyone even noticed mousy me anyway).
I am beyond-words grateful that those days are gone! Now? I travel myriad places by myself and think nothing of appearing alone. Because I'm so not.
In fact, two weekends ago I traveled half-awake one morning to Tim Horton's and my table felt crowded. There was me, my decaf cafe mocha and bagel, my Bailey White library book, a sweet contentment and best of all, Jesus. Anyone glancing at me probably just spied an aging, greying mousy me, but alas, our eyes miss so much when we gaze only upon the surface.
How marvelous to sit by myself, to spend my so-vital daily quiet time this way. To meditate, pray and number my blessings and to relish not having anyone pulling, whisking me away to distraction. To lazily scribble lists of things to do and then tuck those lists away for their appropriate time.
How amazing to feel that you matter, even alone.
If Tom is working or just prefers to stay home after working all week? I can still drive to the river or the movies alone-but-not-alone. I can grab my purse, a book, and hop into the car feeling grateful that I didn't (like in the old days) nag Tom or throw a fit just because we wanted to do different things.
There is a Friend who sticks closer than a brother and what a glorious day it was when He became more real to me than any friend or husband, even. Especially more real than anyone sitting cluelessly nearby, believing I stepped between the doors by myself.
*******
I am not a huge fan of summer.
Heat + humidity = one worn-out, spaced-out, dragged-out Debra.
But I do love My Summer Morning Game, otherwise known as Beat The Heat (Before it Beats You).
Here's how I play--
I awaken between five and five-thirty. I arise and walk around our house opening wide all the windows for cool air, brush my teeth and check my email, then feed the cats and give Lennon his shot and make some coffee. Then I carry the coffee (real somedays, pretend on others) upstairs to my turquoise-like-a-day-at-the-beach Dream Room for some quiet time, which lately, means watching Leave It To Beaver on dvd in bed.
Then my yard calls from below, so I dress, brush my hair, slip on my gardening shoes then bring up a glass of birdseed from the basement, which I take outside to the awaiting sparrows. Nearly always our nights here cool way down so my gratitude is great. Then I water the backyard the old-fashioned way--with a plastic yellow bucket. Stuff just grows better for me that way, rather than using a hose.
At bit more yardwork, front and back then it's back to the house for breakfast which I take, along with Lennon, outside to the front porch. There we read and watch the neighbors leave for work.
I come in later, toss in a load of laundry then wake up Tom. Then perhaps I'll take a walk or drive to the Farmers' Market or -- who knows?
Those four hours sail by like the boats I see on the river, but I play this summer game of Beat The Heat slowly. If I rushed instead of savored it, the coolest portion of my day would be ruined. Instead, there is a natural pace to summer mornings, one quite close to the pace of the old Captain Kangaroo Show. Do you remember him?
As a child I appreciated those peaceful trips the captain took us on, ones out in the countryside, especially since my home was more stressful than the nature I'd been given by God. I craved peace, even then, as I do now and these mornings--ones I smile and call Captain Kangaroo Mornings while puttering in my cool and shady backyard-- are about as peaceful as peaceful gets.
But too soon, the summer morning game ends.
Heat, humidity roll in and I must camp near our air-conditioner in a stillness state. But oh! With lovely memories of those morning hours.
******
