 |
| Running on Coffee and Jesus #doormat |
Tis the season…..
Of Fall. To Fall.
One of the many things I love about Nebraska is our 4 seasons, and I am asked all of the time, “what is your favorite?” I. Don’t. Know.
If Christmas was a season, it would be Christmas. But mostly they are referring to the 4 seasons. Spring. Summer. Fall. Winter. Probably Fall. After all, look around. GORGEOUS!
As I scan the perimeters of my home, I have a host of trees each representing a color of the rainbow — literally all 6 colors plus a few variations. It is gorgeous.
The irony hasn’t been lost on me. October 21-26 is in the fall. One of the hardest weeks of my life for as long as I can remember.
According to Webster, “Fall means to descend freely.” And, it is this time that I normally fall into (to go down quickly; to sink inward) what I call “a funk.” I got it from my mama. I hope my kids don’t get it from me, but chances are, they might. Sometimes I talk about it; other times, I just wallow in my own private hell. Sometimes I write about it; sometimes I …. sink inward. Knowing this about myself, however, has become powerful.
Growing up, my mother didn’t really talk about the reason this time of year was hard. I would always hear stories from other family members about going to see my dad in the hospital, who took me, and what I was wearing. I heard my Nana singing the song I sang, over and over on my way. I can still hear her in the sing-song voice. I recall waving from the parking lot at him peering out his hospital window. It is one of the two memories I have of him. (The other is receiving a switching all the way from the highway to the house when I got away from them in the yard.) I heard stories of who watched me for long stretches of time while my mother was living her own hell and then the story of my dad passing into the kingdom of heaven on October 21st, with my mama curled up beside him in his hospital bed. They were so young. 23 and 24. Babies I would call them now. I would hear stories of swinging on Ms Pete’s front porch the day of the funeral while the procession passed. I waved at my daddy for the final time. I was two years old.
One fall morning in 1988, I was dressing for school on a very important day for several reasons. I would soon be taking the TASP test that would determine if I was college material or if I would need remedial classes to ready me. To this date in my life, it was the most important test. It was also homecoming weekend. I had the most gorgeous mum from a high school boyfriend, a beautiful, but sensible formal gown for the dance, and the utmost excitement for the weekend. I hear the scream. My mother was screaming out to my uncle through the telephone. I knew exactly what, “No, Danny, No,” meant. She didn’t said anything. Not a word. She acted normal, albeit her normal funk for this time of the year.
I completed the hours long test before anyone else because I didn’t read one passage. How I passed, I will never know. (Yes, I do., know. I’m Jesus’ favorite!) Friday, October 26th, I walked the long corridor of our locked down hallway, and opened the loud clanking door to find the guidance counselor, my mother and a friend waiting. Only then, I officially got the news that I already knew. My “Fanny” had passed away. I was suffocating. The grief. On. Top. Of. The. Guilt. The emotions were enormous. She had been in the hospital. My mother had needed to go, but she would stay to try to provide a stable week for me because of this silly test and homecoming. We left immediately for the 3 hour drive. I rode, while she drove in complete silence. The radio softly playing, though neither of us actually heard anything. Not until Cinderella starting singing quietly, “Don’t Know What You Got (Til It’s Gone), and the tears began falling again. The favorite song of the week now took on a different context, and one that would stay with me for a lifetime. I don’t hear that song today without remembering that drive and that guilt.
For years I wasn’t really conscious of this week, until it was over and I was trying to figure out what was wrong and pull myself out of the funk for my own children. Now, I somewhat embrace it and plan for it. Some years, I sink in and hermit. Some years I work really hard not to do that and throw myself into a task (mostly the football years). I have bought my last 3 cars during this time — that makes me happy. I usually attack self help or awareness programs during this time when I sink inwards and escape from society. I focus on weight loss this time of year. It’s easier because I don’t care to get out and about. Vacation would be a perfect escape, however, my husband prefers to be hunting. He actually escapes me! I think he got tired of my weepy self; lucky him.
Fall is the time of year I can go weeks without doing my toes or shaving my legs. Even days without washing my hair and applying makeup. I stay home as much as I can, so it doesn’t really matter. But is it healthy? I’m not sure. Physically or Mentally? It’s all so confusing. But projects help. Maybe.
This year, I am tackling decluttering. Walking in my home, one wouldn’t likely think it is cluttered. My Nana always told me, never let your house get so out of sorts, that you can’t pick it up for company in 30 minutes. For the most part, this has always held true for me. Except. Laundry is my hell. And, once you open a closet or cabinet, duck! My table is decorated, the floor vaccumed, and things have a place. Shoes might be strewn about or jackets and backpacks thrown on the floor. Again, I can chunk those in a closet, quickly. I admire those with minimalist lifestyles. Is that learned trait or a born characteristic? Nevermind. I will never be a minimalist. I love things that make me happy. 
In my quest of decluttering, I have tackled 3 cabinets and one linen closet successfully. I have many, many more to go. I have pulled out totes from my storage room to better organize memorabilia, and made the biggest mess. It sometimes gets uglier before it gets better. It is so hard to know what to throw away and what to keep. If I throw it away, I will find a need next week. If I keep, I won’t remember where I put it. Why is this so difficult? One word. A.D.D.
So, I have decided to turn to professionals. But first, I need to declutter enough for them to help me declutter and organize. It’s like cleaning for the cleaners to come. I must turn to my past and dig out my POWER HOUR training. I learned this from the one and only Belinda Ellsworth back in the day when I was busy building a thriving home business. One solid hour. No messing about (In my best Len Goodman voice). 15 minutes each task. laundry. clean a cabinet. empty a drawer. organize contents. I will keep decluttering my way out of this funk this year, and soon it will be time to decorate for Christmas! My happy, happy time!
‘til then…Send me your best decluttering tips! ;)
