First fishing day of 2015

I decided to carpe diem today, so I grabbed my gear and headed out to one of my favorite spots to get some fishing in before the predicted downpour began. "What did I catch?" you ask . . . . . Well, I actually had several great catches today! I caught a cool wind at my back; I caught God's artistry in action as I watched the overcast grayness give way to beautiful blue skies dotted with cumulus cotton balls; I caught some rays of sunshine on my face; I caught myself paying more attention to the different shades of green in the foliage than the dipping bobber, courtesy of some pesky crabs. Despite the absence of any fish at the end of my line, I caught myself smiling and enjoying the simple tranquility of being near the water. For a techno geek like me . . . well . . . I always did think of myself as being multifaceted, somewhat of an enigma.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away . . . . .

I met a kindred spirit awhile back and I wanted to write about the experience. Being the analytical type, I wanted to first search myself in order to better understand why a chance meeting evoked within me such great emotion that I was reduced to an incoherent, rambling, puddle, unable to finish even a word or two without a fresh supply of waterworks as punctuation. I think I have a grasp on it now so here goes . . . First, a short back-story for those who do not know me. (Though why some perfect stranger would be reading this blog is beyond me, short of some Google search that would pick up a keyword or two, but I digress) At the tender age of 22, I found myself a widow with two small daughters, ages 6 months and 4 years old. Their father, my husband, was a Fort Bend County deputy sheriff who had been killed in the line of duty when his patrol car was struck by a train on a rural railroad crossing in Stafford, Texas in 1977. I must say there’s just not that many 22-year old widows out there-not then, not now. Talk about feeling all alone in the world. But “Time is the great healer,” “Life must go on,” “You have to think about the children,” and (insert any number of other tired but well intended clichés) you get the picture, right? Except . . . late at night . . . when the kids are asleep . . . or when the house is especially quiet . . . or at the end of the day just before slipping off into slumber, there were times when I would have given anything to have someone to talk to. I wanted someone who could understand my emotions; someone who could relate to my little insanities, those things that I did or said that I couldn’t do or say in front of anyone else because they would think I had gone off my rocker, or was losing it, or was just plain insane. It was the hamper full of dirty laundry that NEVER got washed because it SMELLED like him, oh sweet JESUS, YES it did! And I wrapped that sweaty T-shirt around me and laid my face on those tighty-whities and sobbed into those socks that were pleasantly malodorous because I could close my eyes tight and pretend, and make it real, even if it was only for a brief Nano second that he was lying right there beside me and that awful, terrible reality I existed in was just a cruel nightmare. How I lived for those Nano seconds! At some point I gave in to the pleading, “It’s time to move on, honey,” from a well meaning family member or friend and my treasured laundry hamper was removed from my grasp. Once, I went to the drugstore and discreetly bought a tiny bottle of British Sterling after shave and ran from the store as if someone might see me and, again, think I was nuts! I tried sprinkling some on the sheet on “his” side of the bed. It just wasn’t the same. Nothing was ever the same. I tried hanging out with “the guys” at the sheriff’s office but that didn’t last. All those friends that “we” had, were still couples and I became a “threat” so I couldn’t be hanging around them anymore. It was like being a member of some exclusive club and even though I was still me, I had somehow lost my qualifier for membership and had been ousted. I never did want to take anyone else’s husband, but just wanted to be around the people that so reminded me of him and even though nothing ever went on with any of those officers, rumor and innuendo was powerful. So, I had to stop going there for coffee. But enough about ancient history . . . Funny how you think you’ve filed things away; and you think you have dealt with them; and they are just there, kind of a part of you, but not really included in the current working version . . . Fast forward to 2014 when I attended a Memorial Service (as I do every year) honoring those officers who have given their lives in service to law enforcement agencies throughout Fort Bend County. I happened to meet a young lady and it was like looking into a mirror of the past. This lady was also the widow of a deputy who had lost his life in service to Fort Bend County and we were immediately connected somehow. She said she felt it the same as I did. It was such a phenomenal bonding moment. At once, I found someone who understood perfectly about the unwashed laundry, the loneliness, the nights spent with an address book flipping through the pages in search of anyone who might be willing to spare some conversation for one so desperately in need of it. She was me; I was her. All we could do was hug and cry. Life really does go on and time really does numb the pain that will never completely go away. I will never forget those times when I so desperately wanted to talk to someone who would understand. I gave her my cell number. I hope she knows how deeply and sincerely I meant it when I said “Call me anytime!” I hope she knows how often I think about her and pray for God to comfort her. I can’t help wondering though, which of us needs the comforting more.

My Nativity Set

I packed up my Nativity set just now to be stored until next Christmastime when it will be unpacked with a renewed joy and anticipation. I had packed it up several years ago, (just as I have done since the day it came home with me) and for a few years, I couldn’t find it. Rather than replace it, I just quietly and personally bemoaned its absence during those times and chalked it up to yet another of the things that I had “lost” in the many moves I’ve made in my life. It’s funny how such seemingly small and insignificant things can mean so incredibly much. I have no clue why I remember the details and history of this Nativity set so clearly, and yet have trouble remembering such things about other greatly significant possessions. Regardless, I have decided to write about this while I can remember. I don’t recall the date I acquired this beautiful symbol of Christian faith, only that it was sometime before Christmas, circa 1980’s. I had wanted a Nativity set but just could not afford the really nice ones. I do recall that my children were all young (or yet to be born) and it was during the time in my life when I was not attending church. I resolved that until I could find one that was beautiful and elegant, yet within my budget, I would do without. Oh, there were plenty of cheap ones to be had, but they looked exactly like their price tags: distorted, cartoon-like figures painted in bright colors and missing a Wiseman or two. I suppose I could have afforded the ones that only had Mary, Joseph, and the Baby Jesus, but I wanted authenticity. They were not the only players, albeit the most important ones, but I needed them along with the shepherd, the three Wisemen, and a few animals. I could live without the stable, I supposed, but it just seemed sacrilegious and disrespectful to leave out any of the other folks. So, I was at the Garden Ridge store in Stafford, shopping for Christmas stuff when I went down the aisle with all the Nativity sets, thinking I would just look, since I was fairly certain I couldn’t afford any of them. About the middle of the aisle, I saw it. I was very excited to find it because it was so nearly perfect. The little figures were all less than 5 inches tall, and made of a cream colored ceramic. It included an oval-shaped, polished wooden platform upon which to display them. The set included Joseph, Mary, and Baby Jesus, three Wisemen, a shepherd, three animals (lamb, cow, and foal), and it even had an angel to overlook them all. The price was right, so I grabbed it since it was the last one they had. I looked to see if I could find one exactly like it, only a bit larger, and there was nothing even close. That year, I had received a gift that was contained in a beautiful oval-shaped keepsake box. The lid had an image of a Victorian Santa, with a little girl in her nightgown, surrounded by stuffed and live animals. As I was taking down the Nativity set that year, I noticed that pretty box. It was only slightly larger than the oval platform for my Nativity set so it was a perfect place for storing that set. It has maintained that purpose through these many years. From the very beginning, I was always very meticulous about how I wrapped and stored each piece. I had a couple of pieces of gold colored tissue paper that I used for wrapping some pieces, and white tissue for the others. Each year, I would very gingerly unwrap the figures, smooth out the tissue paper so it could be used again, fold it up, place it in the empty box, and place the keepsake box under the tree as a decoration. Through all the moves that I have made in my life, I have had to walk away from some possessions because I had no help to pack and move it all. There were times when I was so overwhelmed by depression that I was doing the best I could do, to just put one foot in front of the other. Somehow, my keepsake box, with its precious contents, managed to make it safely through all those moves. I am grateful for that miracle. My little Nativity set is very precious to me not only for what it obviously represents (the birth of Christ), but also for symbols known only to me. Its survival through the ages represents stability for remaining unchanged and unbroken through all the trials of life. Its endurance represents my tight grip on my faith. Its smallness represents my being poor and struggling to make ends meet over the years. Its understated elegance represents humility and reminds me to remain humble, remembering that one need not have wealth to be considered elegant. It further reminds me that true wealth is determined by counting my blessings instead of counting my money. I know that I am rich beyond my wildest dreams. This year, when I went to pack it up, the white tissue papers I had used for lo these many years, were a crumbling yellowed mess. It seemed disrespectful to wrap a Wiseman in yellowed tissue paper so, after searching through options in my Christmas wrapping supplies (which for an OCD’er like me is no small task) I found tissue paper worthy of wrapping my little figures for storage. The Wisemen were wrapped in the original gold tissue; the shepherd and animals in new white paper; Joseph and Mary in red paper with white snowflakes; and the angel and Baby Jesus in red paper with darker red words saying JOY, PEACE, NOEL, and MERRY CHRISTMAS. I have always known that this tiny little Nativity set has been especially meaningful for me, but I believe this is the first time I’ve realized the depth of my feelings about it. While I would still like to find a Nativity set that meets a certain set of my personal specs, I will always display this one as the first and best.