Today, I want to pay tribute to my dear friend, Elsie Larson, who three years ago today, went home to be with the Lord. I miss her tremendously because she was my writing mentor, prayer partner, and FRIEND.  Upon her retirement from the dental field, she decided to write.

And write she did. An extraordinarily intelligent, grounded woman, she chose to grasp the techniques of writing--went to conferences, workshops, critique groups, read favorite authors, books on writing, and encouraged everyone along the way, that they had a story to tell, and that--

they needed to tell it.

I was one of the fortunate ones along the way. She moved into my area of town, so I joined a critique group she had formed.  By then, she had published two books, and was well into her third. By this time,  I had written as a public relations professional, free-lanced as a journalist, and had edited for various writers along the way. But our friendship bound us together as well as being writers. Toward the end of her life, she had laid writing aside and embarked upon art. Her greatest joy was journaling,  then adding a "prophetic" art touch; indeed it sprang to life and she bequeathed it to her children when she knew death was at hand.

My biggest disappointment was not writing a book-she always said she didn't want to go home to be with the Lord until "you have written the book I know is in you, Katy!"  Instead we partnered much on articles for Guideposts Magazine for which we both wrote.  I helped critique and edit (along with others) that which she wrote.

We sequestered ourselves at the beach, writing days, eating and laughing and watching old movies at nights.  We walked our dogs, talked about life, disappointments, joys, what God was doing! and in the end, we were kitchen table friends, enjoying each other, knowing our weaknesses and our strengths, and treasured "being" and sharing our creative endeavors.

My first book will be dedicated to her.  What she didn't understand--and she knew me well, is that God had much to do with me before His book--that is, the book within me--would come forth.
Today, my heart says, "It is time for that book." For the journey and the book to come, I thank you Elsie Larson.

Hard Lessons?

One thing I am learning during this period of grief, surprisingly is -- gratitude.
 
Gratitude for my loss?

Let the record show I am not there. But I am aware that tiny sparks of light during my day are shots of gratefulness. Random things to be sure--personal touches which the Lord gives to me that encourage my soul.  A beautiful fall, sunny and rich with color.  An energetic dog which gives me reason to walk when I REALLY DON'T FEEL LIKE IT. A cat on my lap. A good book with a happy ending. Comfortable shoes. An afternoon with my notebook and pen, magazines galore, and I just peruse, jot down good thoughts, good ideas, good deals, and let my creative juices flow. Hope for home improvements, avenues for writing projects, stories of people turning their lemons into lemonade, that sort of thing.

Actually, I hadn't thought of the spiritual application until I turned to Philippians 4:6, an old favorite of mine -- "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication,with THANKSGIVING (caps mine) let your requests be made known to God;" I have memorized and prayed that verse countless times. Countless times I have felt the peace erase my anxiety. I  turned to it by habit almost -- looking for comfort during my meditation time. Like popcorn popping in the microwave, thoughts sprang up that brought me joy--big and small.

Rejoicing with my son Tony over his brand new job.  His graciousness and gratitude over our support, and his delight in treating us to a celebration dinner encouraged my mother's heart!  Sharing laughter and amazement of how the experience unfolded as a family shored us all up in hope after the pain of the past months.

Hugging my older Chinese neighbor on a walk with my dog as she proudly spoke the few English
words she knows "How you doing?" I respond by bobbing my head up and down, and she laughs, using every known muscle in her seasoned face.

Grateful for my big new, COLORFUL umbrella which I had during a recent downpour. (Note to non-Oregonians--I rarely carry an umbrella here-rain is a way of life--I rely most generally on expensive hair spray.)

A conversation with a dear friend who honored me by sharing precious last moments with a friend in hospice and the joy it brought to her and to him.

Plopping down after morning chores, drowning with sadness and tears (a bad day) when I turned on T.V. and voila! an old movie I hadn't seen in years which took away my tears.  I howled with laughter.

Surveying the mess in the midst of reorganizing my office, my dear husband comes home after a long day, seeing my distress, trucks me down to Office Deport to purchase a new file cabinet which has been on my "I NEED THAT"  list for a long time.

There were other tidbits, but I got it. 

Even in the midst of the storm, there is light, albeit at times, little sparks.  But I know from experience, that those sparks, realized day by day, enlarge my vision, encourage my heart, and eventually burst forth to larger bursts of  thanksgiving.

Thank you Lord.

         

I don't enjoy surrender, ANY surrender.  It's messy, gut-wrenching, painful, frustrating, decidedly S-L-O-W-E-R than humanly possible, if that is possible.

My personal agenda  gets longer, I get weaker, my focus is mush on a good day, I am overwhelmed, indecisive and  when I think I can, I can't.

So, grief has its way with me again.

I've always been struck (because I have grieved more than once in my life) with how life comes at you in the midst of tragedy.  Since the death of my son Chris, four months ago, my three-year old refrigerator died, my vacuum cleaner blew up in smoke (yes, smoke), my kitchen sink pipe sprung a leak, and flooded, causing an outcropping of mold, ants marched nonstop across kitchen counters, the dog ate my husband's hearing aid, I received a $200 parking ticket (even the judge raised his eyebrows and exclaimed, "wow, that's a biggie") and, and, and.  My mind tells me, "this is life -- move with it, ride the wave of life and pain, work with it, NOT against it!

But my emotions tell me something else-my heels are dug in, I resist feeling the desperation, the loss, the chaos of finality and death of suicide, of a young man gone, of a family changed. Of walking my dog during a beautiful autumn day and feeling the peace of God,

but not the fullness of kicking leaves, the plan of building a new deck, the thanksgiving of work and the joy of it, the thought of the holidays---

dread set in, and I don't want to fight it.  I just want to finish my walk--the dog needs it.  So do I, but I don't care. The "I don't wanna's set in!"  I feel six, maybe two, maybe even before that.

But God.  Today, it isn't a verse, it isn't a workbook on grief--though all those things are helpful--it is just setting with the sadness of it all, and
waiting for the Holy Spirit to take me to a deeper level of surrender.  Maybe I can lift my heels just a tiny bit today.  Just a little.

Old Habits Die Hard.

I have learned that, if I want to forgive and be patient WITH OTHERS,  that I must FIRST be willing to be patient and forgive MYSELF.

Reads easy, works hard, especially in the wake of technology, MY WEAK SUIT.  Mind you, I am married to a computer engineer, and I have two sons, both flourishing in the computer industry, sooooo. . . . .

Prouding proclaiming that I know how to CUT AND PASTE does not cut much mustard in my family OR my crowd (pardon the pun.)  I am the last of my friends (well okay not the last, but close) to navigate freely through cyberspace.  So I have to forgive those who dove in and eagerly acquired NEW KNOWLEDGE, NEW SKILLS while I steadfastly stuck to pencil and paper.  As a result, I have caved under the weight of POST-IT NOTES, while my friends race ahead of me in the cyberspace lane. That would be the new FAST LANE.

My friend in Latvia comes to mind.  Though she is my age, I swear she was born with a computer in her tiny new-born hand, and pondered how to CUT AND PASTE as the doctor CUT THE CORD.  She has successfully authored two blogs, written articles and won awards through the internet, digitally photographed her adventures (and bravely, her misadventures) while most people were still on hold with technical assistance.

Then there's my friend in Arizona who CUT A DEAL for a Jaguar on the internet. Arranged for it to be inspected and shipped clear across the country, at a tiddy savings, all ON THE WEB.  You heard me right.  Humbled by my own inability to cut a car deal with ANYONE, I was pretty sure these two would not jump up and down at my tiny computer victory.

Yearning to share with SOMEONE, I turned to my Australian Shepherd, Gunther, to share my newfound knowledge of how to CUT AND PASTE.  He always listens.  He cocked his head, smiled as his lower lip quivered, and MY lower lip quivered as I knew that my dog, closer than a brother,
GOT my success.

But WAIT!  He leapt out of the room, returned with his red ball, dropped it at my feet and barked.
My heart sank. With a sigh of resignation, I picked up the ball.  "No Gunther, not CUT AND CHASE!
CUT AND PASTE!

Well okay--chocolate sundaes to celebrate anyone?

Welcome to my blog OVER THE COFFEE!  In a sea of blogs replete with opine, define, refine, and oh fine, I confess to feeling left behind in a world of texts and tweets.

For the record, I learned to type in my dad's small midwestern newspaper office on a LINOTYPE.  So if you are trying to follow my technology trail, THERE IS NONE.  Granted I have inched forward since my first powerful text, "how u doing".

Suffice to say that when I felt the urge to get back to my writer's roots, I could no longer type on my old Royal typewriter.  So my New Year's resolution for 2013 is to gain some headway into the world of technology, and how to find my niche in it. With the help of my two tech-savy kids who give me technical assistance with GREAT grace, I decided on a blog.

OVER THE COFFEE is the title my dad used for his weekly editor's column over fifty years ago.  I am still struck that, with a Starbuck's on every corner, there is still that innate personal desire for caffeine and connection. You may smell the coffee thanks to the wonderful blog design by Tony Jenkin, but the connection?  Well, that is up to me. Come explore with me the little adventures, big and small, in our ordinary lives during extraordinary times. And hopefully, you will keep coming back.  So, tune in.

Coffee's on!

 

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