When Flowers Speak

One rose, one friend says, "You're special, and I'm thinking of you today."

One rose is sweet.

Two roses, two friends say, "We talked about your birthday and wanted you to know we care."

Two roses are wonderful.

Three roses, three friends say, "We really wanted your day to be special."

Three roses are surprising.

Four roses, four friends say, "Better clean up your office because you're expecting company."

Four roses are motivating.

Five roses, five friends say, "Give up counting, girl.  We're going all the way to 50."

Every time I looked up, there was another friend coming in my office door. My coworkers put yellow duct tape arrows on the floor to help direct the traffic.

It was overwhelming.  It was humbling. It was validating.

It was a parade of love.

42 roses, 42 friends say, "You are an important part of our lives."

The roses are unbelievable.  And they smell really good.

She had been scheming for months.  She took time off work, she bought a plane ticket to Alaska.  She got up at 3 am to catch her flight.  It was a huge surprise.

The last roses, brought by one incredible daughter say, "Mom, do you understand how much I love you?"'

50 roses.  One very special day.

And I will never forget what they say.



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An Easter Poem

It’s Easter in Alaska

And spring is weeks away,

There are no flowers blooming

No green grass on display.

The little girls wear winter coats

Over their Easter dresses,

You never know when you might find

A snowflake in their tresses.

Our egg hunts often happen

Inside our houses warm,

Unless we don our mud boots

And sometimes brave a storm.

Though Easter in Alaska

Does not arrive with spring,

Our hearts still bloom with renewed hope

That makes our voices sing.

For Jesus died to save us

And rose on the third day,

This is what we celebrate

Just in a special way.

So please enjoy your Easter

Proclaim resurrection bold!

And know Alaskans join you

Even if we’re cold.

                KSanders

                2010

Half A Century

I turn fifty this week.  The big 5-0.

Wow.  That's a pretty bold thing for a girl to admit, but I'm actually okay with that number.  Surprised?  Curious?  Don't worry.  I'm not going to get all philosophical about the life experience I've accumulated throughout the years.  I'm not going tell you how much younger generations can benefit from my great wisdom and counsel.

Nope.  The reasons I'm okay with turning fifty are a little less complicated than that.

To begin with, I have no grey hair...absolutely none.  I know that to be true because after I dyed my hair last week, I didn't rinse out the bottle on purpose.  That way there was some left to cover any stubborn grey strands that had the nerve to show up the next day.

I don't have a lot of wrinkles...and I've often wondered why.  Perhaps it's because of the limited exposure I get to harmful UV rays and my great aversion to tanning beds.  Maybe it's simply clean living or genetics.  Honestly?  I think it has more to do with hormone replacement therapy.

Menopause is such a negative word.  I plan to remain in denial as long as possible.

I drive a fairly sporty little SUV.  My minivan days are long gone.

I have enough strength left to lift important things, like cute little kids and groceries.

My brain seems to be functioning at a fairly high level.  If I go into a room and stand still long enough, I will eventually remember why I am there.

There is one last reason I'm okay with turning fifty this week.

I'm still young enough to remember when I thought fifty was old.

A Testimony

Life comes with transitions.  Some are harder than others, but there really is no getting around them.  As the saying goes, the only thing certain in life is change.

I was not prepared for the transitions that entered my life last fall.  My youngest got married in August, and when I returned home from the wedding, it dawned on me that neither of my kids live here any more.  That, coupled with the end of something important to me, set my world rocking.

It decked me.  And I'm not easily decked

I felt like I no longer had a purpose.  I felt insignificant.  I felt lost.  I'm not saying those things are true, I'm saying they felt true.

Have you been there?

I spent months pouring my heart out to the Lord.  "What's the next thing? Where do I go from here?  Why does everything so familiar feel so wrong? What's wrong with me?"  I peppered God with those questions, but no answers came.  So I cried a lot, prayed a lot, and waited.  I honestly didn't know what I was waiting for; I would have been satisfied to just feel better about life.

I've heard people say they have no choice but to wait on God.  That isn't a true statement because we always have choices.  At least I knew I did.  I could push doors open that needed to remain shut, I could make a stupid decision, I could start drinking, smoking and chasing wild men.  But I knew I didn't want to do something that might hurt those I love or my walk with the Lord.  So I waited in an emotional pit and it was really, really hard.

A few weeks ago, I found myself humbled before God in a way I have never experienced before.  In his mercy, he met me in that dark place and let me know he would help me wait.  We would wait together.  My
circumstances didn't change and I really didn't feel different.  But in some inexplicable way, I knew different.

Then he moved.

He moved so fast my head was spinning.  I'm still dizzy.

I've never written a post about my love for quilting on this blog, but many of you know how much it means to me.  For years I have dreamed of going into business as a long arm quilter, but the machinery required for that is very expensive and I knew it would never happen.

Today it did.

I know, right?!!!!!

I've been hearing rumors for months that one of the local long arm quilters was trying to sell her set-up, but I knew I could never afford it.  A couple of weeks ago a friend encouraged me to give the seller a call and just chat.  So I did.  She had already committed to another buyer, it was pretty much a done deal.  End of story...

...Until she called me last Saturday to tell me the deal had fallen through.  I worked up a business plan on Sunday, secured my financing on Monday and today I bought a Gammill Long Arm Quilting Machine.  It's huge, it's overwhelming, it's amazing and it comes home next weekend.

She Likes Quilts is born.

If you had told me last September that this would happen in April, I would have laughed in your face and stomped on your foot.  But God knew.  God knew all along that he was going to bless me with this amazing opportunity.  I believe he left me waiting in the dark so I would learn to trust him in the dark. Even though I couldn't see him, he was working.  He's all over this decision and all over my life.

Friend, that's true for you, too.

I will keep my day job, but at night and on the weekends I will be at home where I belong,  finishing the quilts entrusted to me by quilters on the Kenai Peninsula.  It will be a lot of work, but I'm ready.

Thanks to all of you who have looked me in the eye and said, "DUH!  This is perfect!"  And thanks to those who made it possible...you know who you are.

So...She still Likes Skirts.  Now She Likes Quilts.

And She knows that waiting on God in the dark is far better than being without him in the light.

Breakin' Up Is Hard To Do

I grew up in a place that is perpetually warm and sunny.  I honestly don't ever remember the tree in our front yard losings its leaves. If it did, the new ones probably showed up before I ever realized the old ones were missing.

I wish all things in life were like that.

Back then, break-up was something my friends and I did with our boyfriends.  Break-up was a verb.

I left that constant warm and sunny world behind when I moved to Alaska 30 years ago.  Here, break-up is a noun.  It's a season, one of the many unique seasons we have here in the north.  And I don't like it.

Let me 'splain.

If it snows in October, that snow is still around in March.  So is the snow that falls November through February.  Things might start to warm up a tad in March, but then we do a two-steps-forward-one-step-back dance.  It might melt a little, or a lot, then it snows a little, or a lot.  For example, it's April 7th and I woke up to two inches of snow on my car. And it's still coming down in buckets.

Break-up is a tease.

Anyway, when it all starts to melt you get some rather unpleasant circumstances.  Like puddles so huge they eat your car.  I have a picture somewhere of my son and his friend dressed in rain gear floating on an inner tube in the puddle on our road.

That's what we call an outdoor Alaskan water park.

And then there's the mud.  Have I mentioned the mud?  There's a lot of mud.  For a couple of months everybody's car is the same color.

As things begin to dry out, break-up continues to vex us.  The sand used to make the icy roads safer all winter turns to dust.  Several months worth of dog poop begins to surface.  It stinks, and I only have one little dog.  Some families think bigger.

Hey, I'm just keeping it real.

The river can stink, too.  Dead salmon don't move as fast as live ones and some get frozen in the river.  Ick.

Thankfully, the longer days and warmer temps do eventually win; spring arrives in May.  Things turn colorful and we Alaskans bask in the beauty of our surroundings.  It's a good thing too, because I bet you're ready for me to stop whining.

Not a chance.

I'll be back to tell you about tourist season.

Comfort Food

I find the human psyche mystifying.

Well, at least my human psyche is mystifying.  I shall refrain from commenting on yours.

I just don't get how my mind has the power to affect the physicality of my body so dramatically.  Seems to me they should have two separate data bases.

For example...why in the world do I want vanilla ice cream every time I'm sick?  Vanilla ice cream does nothing for a cold or cough, it just adds to all that extra stuff in your head you want to get rid of.  If you have an upset stomach and you feel like you might hurl, eating vanilla ice cream will guarantee that you do.  Doesn't matter, I want it anyway.  It simply makes me feel better, even if it makes me feel worse.

It's comforting.

I always have the same thing for breakfast.  You may think that's boring, but I find great comfort in the consistency of boring breakfasts.  I go through phases...right now I'm in an oatmeal with applesauce phase.  Hey, it's not just me. My son used to want the same thing for breakfast every day, too.  I'm not sure he does now, I'll have to ask.  Maybe his wife has been successful in breaking this hereditary malfunction of his human psyche.

Go ahead...blame me.

Occasionally I make a box of macaroni & cheese. (Yes, there is a $20 gluten free version.) All that butter and cheesiness reminds me of afternoons when my kids were little.  I remember giving it to them in their alphabet bowls and watching them eat it with their stubby little alphabet spoons.

I add some freshly cracked pepper to it now.  We've all grown up.

Cookie dough...yum.  It makes me happy, even though my intellect knows it may give me food poisoning.  Poached eggs on toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, mushroom omelets...eggs are just the right thing to do sometimes.  And vegetable beef soup with corn bread makes me feel cozy for no reason.  It just does.  And don't even get me started on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup...I'll end up holding my favorite blanket and sucking my thumb.

I find it unfortunate that something as physical as eating can make my emotions feel things.  Seems like that's all it should do, but it doesn't stop there.  My comfort foods tend to have a negative affect on my very physical waistline. 

But I just can't find solace in a carrot stick.

Can you?

Smells

For years she had been the little girl next door.  It was cold, so my son loaned her his sweatshirt.  She pulled it over her head, grinned and said, "It smells like your house."

My house smells?

"What does my house smell like? " I asked.

"I'm not sure," she answered.  "It has a smell all its own."

                                                    ***********

Jostling through an urban grocery store, his goal was to buy produce.  He loved the pace of this new life; so much hustle, so much action, so much to entertain.  He happened upon the berries by accident...they seemed surprisingly out of place in his mind.  He breathed deeply and in an instant was transported back to cool summers, a raspberry patch, and playing in the midnight sun.

They smelled like his childhood.

                                                    ***********

Beautiful bottles, beautifully fragrances...so many to choose from.  They picked it together, her own special scent.  And though it smells like her, it reminds her of him.

And now it hurts too much to wear.

                                                    ***********

He transferred during high school.

It must have been hard joining a small class of kids who had been together since kindergarten.

He was funny.  I liked him.  He stopped by the office a few times to chat.  And when graduation came, I made him a quilt.

He was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  There was a wrong choice.

And then his parents had to make the impossible choice that offers no choice.  He was gone.  They had to say goodbye.

It took a few weeks for his roommates to gather up his things and drop them by the house.

They brought his quilt.

His parents held it to their faces...then wrapped themselves in grief and longing.  Awash in tears, hearts aching...they once again held a tangible piece of their son....

It smelled like him.