Maintain, Restore, Create

My words for this year are maintain, restore, and create.

At first they were just maintain and restore, but after some mulling over I realized that fresh enthusiasm brings creativity, at least in me.

As an unofficial and unscheduled review of my life went on at New Year's, I see that the things which grieve me most about my personal life are the Undisciplines, the Messies, the Neglecteds. These are also the things that get us--the two of us in my marriage-- into difficulties.

One difficulty is not being able to find things when needed (where is the car registration for the car he wants to sell?) Another difficulty is not paying the bills in a timely way and getting a late payment attached. Or forgetting about the quarterly payments even though the monthly payments are under control. Or having to wear my husband's underwear when it's been too long since I did the laundry.

But these are just consequences of failure to maintain. To maintain implies there is a baseline, a reasonable standard we can accept as the way we want to live, in peace with each other and without making the rest of the world mad at us.

• For instance, I want to maintain our yard. That means we have to mow it on a semi-regular basis. We have invested a lot of money in it by building a wall, putting in a new driveway, and a perimeter watering system. So in this area, a lot of the “Restoration” has already been done. Remember this moment and rejoice! But to protect our investment (and my pride) we still need to weed, prune, and mow. But I think I will add African Daisies in their bold colors all along the front wall this Spring, which is where the “Create” joy gets to flow in me.

• I want to maintain our home. I are so thankful to have a home I really like. In fact, I love it. I know it's small and on a noisy street but it's warm and friendly on the inside and its easy for people to drop in. Everyone knows where we live. Which is why we have to mow. But maintaining prevents future problems: if we scrape and sand and paint the house we won't get dry rot and carpenter ants and boll weevils and things that go bump in the night. We hope. Painting the exterior is restoring (its really a mess), maintaining for the future, and creative when I get to choose my colors. If we throw in new furnace filters our furnace will last longer and my sinuses will be happier in the morning.

• I want to maintain our cars. That means no junk wrappers on the seats and floor; take them out as we exit the car. We get oil changes and brake checks and things that make the squeaky noises stop. Our cars will live longer and I won't have to wear such a big hat driving down the street. Washing my car would be remarkable enough maintaining, but what I'd really like is to restore it by buffing out all those nasty little black specks on it.

• I want to maintain our marriage. That means I want our emotional tanks to be full even though we're empty nesters. (And how can a nest be empty if there's still two people living in it? The nest, the marriage, isn't only about the kids.) Rejoicing here! So, maintaining my marriage means I get to enjoy the companionship of being with my best friend, not thwarted in conversation or by busy teens' schedules. Wait! Is our schedule too busy even for the two of us to unwind together? Monday is Elder's meeting, Tuesday is Music Team practice, Wednesday is Growth Group, Thursday once a month is Mission, Friday morning is Men's meeting 5:30 AM, Saturday is occasionally Global Challenge or Men's breakfast, and that's only for one of us. I'd like us to have dinner times together at the table, not in front of Jeopardy on the nights we're home. I would like to watch less TV in order to read more together. I would like to restore and maintain and refresh our marriage by having more together time, more quiet time, and more conversation time. Less TV time, possibly less computer time, more reading time, more dating. Remember when we used to go for drives to talk? Let's keep looking for free concerts, good walking spots, day trips and museum events as we do when we're traveling together.

• I want to maintain our relationships with our friends and family. I have different girlfriends I go out with after work for coffee or sometimes for dinners. I feel responsible to care for my Mom and Dad, even though I'm doing a crumby job of that. I don't see my Mom as often as I'd like to visit her and we don't have dinners here regularly enough for my Dad. We don't include him as much as I wish we did. But when? We want to build up and encourage the people in our church: this is a goal and a pleasure , a gifting and a responsibility. Friendships are also great treats in life, and maintaining them is a pleasure, but it takes time, and the more friends, the more time! There are so many relationships I would like to give more time to—it feels like such a balancing act. As far as I know, none need restoration in the sense of an offense having separated us, but there is a neighbor who needs support that I haven't called, and a cousin going through breast cancer that I haven't written...and I haven't responded to my mother's friends' inquiries, although I mean to...and Janis had hand surgery, and Stephanie has such terrible arthritis right now, and I haven't called my sister back...

• I want to maintain and refresh my spiritual life. I want to be open to the Holy Spirit living in me, breathing life to my choices and giving me direction. I want to experience His power--the power of the Spirit—as I obey God's Word. So, I need to be in the Word. I need to have a listening heart and an obeying will and then act on what I know. This will be restorative in any area that is weak and by maintaining this standard I will find all the creative expression and joy that I seek.

This baseline, this composite sketch of “reasonable standards”, is too daunting in itself to fulfill. What if I had unreasonable standards, or needed to rise above the baseline? What if, for example, my daughter were getting married and an entourage of her fiance's relatives from Africa were coming to stay at my house for the month before the wedding? What if I wanted my yard, house, cars, meals, hospitality, and demeanor to be exceptional? Heaven, help me. I mean it. Only Heaven can help me to maintain what I have, restore what I have failed to maintain (that would be the basement. I haven't even talked about that yet.) and find creative pleasure in it. There is the joy.

HEAVENLY FATHER, MY HOUSE IS YOUR HOUSE. MY YARD IS YOUR YARD. MY CAR IS YOUR CAR. AND I DO WANT MY BASEMENT, THE PIT OF ALL I'M SAYING, TO BECOME REDEEMED BY YOU TOO. IT IS YOURS ALREADY BUT I CONFESS TO ITS NEGLECT, MESSINESS, AND CONFUSION. HELP ME TO RESTORE IT TO A PLACE OF USEFULNESS AND PRODUCTIVITY SO I WON'T BE AN OBSTACLE TO ANY MINISTRY YOU WANT TO HAVE IN MY LIFE, WHETHER HOSPITALITY OR STORING DECORATIONS.

AND LORD, I DON'T WANT TO JUST BE ABOUT THINGS, I WANT TO BE ABOUT ESSENTIALS, THINGS THAT YOU VALUE ABOVE ALL: PEOPLE. INTERRUPT THIS SELF-IMPROVEMENT PROGRAM ANY TIME YOU WANT WITH THE PEOPLE THAT COME MY WAY. HELP ME TO WELCOME THEM WITHOUT WORRYING ABOUT MY AGENDA—YOU KNOW HOW STUCK I GET ON PROJECTS.

SO PLEASE, GIVE THE IDEAS, THEN GIVE THE MOTIVATION, THEN GIVE THE POWER AND THE STICK-TO -IT-IVENESS. MAKE THIS YEAR IN MY LIFE A TIME OF RESTORATION, A TIME FOR BUILDING DISCIPLINE IN MAINTAINING, AND A YEAR OF GREAT JOY AS YOU CREATE IN ME THE CREATURE YOU WANT ME TO BE, AND I CREATE FOR OTHERS A REFLECTION OF YOU. THANK YOU, LORD, AMEN.

Feeling Bearish

I feel like a bear--a great big old hibernating bear. Or one who wants to be hibernating and isn't quite in a cave. The sofa has come pretty close, though; I have one blanket over my head and around my shoulders, and another one over my feet. Propped sideways on the sofa I have snoozed away several evenings and a couple optional meetings this week. Catching up on a recorded TiVo program took three tries before I made it through to the end finally.

I don't know if its the cold weather and high winds blowing around that make me want to curl up and stay inside, or the shorter days of winter, or the extra layer of bear fat I put on over the holidays. The vacation days were less active than usual due to the weather, but the hand-to-mouth movement was just as active.

How do bears come out of their somnolence?

I'm glad I'm not alone in this, though. My walking partner cancelled one day this week and I cancelled the next. We agreed to walk in the afternoon when it "would be warmer" but it wasn't enough warmer. So far, our best system is mall walking with the 7 AM gang of old men.

Another girlfriend is feeling bearish, too. On our day off this week I called and asked her to come over. She liked the idea of getting together, but didn't want to leave her cozy wood stove. Why didn't I just drive over there? As nice as a visit in front of her stove sounded, the cold winds and the long drive to the country discouraged me. We decided that in our old age we are going to need adjoining condos with a door between so we can visit without having to go outside.

I'm sure I'll be better when I see my first daffodil. What wakes bears up?

Winter Scenes

Oysterville on Long Beach Peninsula

Christmas Breakfast at Evan and Lisa's

Evan, Jake, and Sonny

Me sunbathing at the Washington coast

Amanda in sunny reverie

Talking to Lindsay on Skype, Christmas

Winter textures

Union Station, Portland

Abbi's "winning" hand

Cranberry Bogs in Long Beach

WHITE CHRISTMAS

Christmas went by in a blur, a white blur, that is. Although we were enchanted with the first snowfall, and excited to get an extra day off of school in that interminable last week before vacation, the novelty was soon replaced with indecision and inconveniences. Schools didn't know whether to close again or not, folks didn't know how early to cancel their Christmas parties and music programs and Christmas church services. And it just kept snowing. We only had 2 days of school in our district; others were worse.

I stayed inside, happy to have sewing time for projects that wouldn't otherwise have gotten done. This is the first year I can remember where my sewing projects weren't just promises. As a matter of fact, the 30 placemats I made were from fabric I bought several years ago. I still have the fabric for the girls' handbags from a few years ago, and the apron fabric for Grandma C's gift of at least a decade ago. Clearly I need more snow.

Amanda got home after 24 hours delayed in airports and planes and was not amused at "house arrest by snow". Even though she'd planned to read lots and just sit and do nothing, when it was the only option it was not as charming. After 2 weeks of snow, freezing rain and then finally melting rain, you can imagine her chagrin when on the eve of her departure it started to snow again--big white fluffy flakes. The weatherman was right though, and it was gone in time for her early morning drive to Seattle, flight to Chicago, Nashville and drive to Dayton. The cold spell followed her eastward.

We had lots of game nights with Evan and Lisa, Emily and John, and Brett and Nichole. Amanda was a magnet of course, and everyone with 4 wheel drive or chains or studded tires took advantage of them to get out for a change of scenery. Evan and Lisa came over several days so Lisa and I could sew together. We had 2 machines set up in the living room on a 8' table, and we each did our own project happily side by side ("Parallel Play", Piaget calls it). We listened to Christmas music as long as we could stand it and then turned to the Mamas and the Papas.


The recycle trucks couldn't run on the side streets in town, so John had an unexpected week off. I think he used it digging cars out of drifts, charging batteries, shoveling, fixing furnaces and looking for Prissy, his white cat, in the snow. (She reappeared after a week without explaining herself). Emily worked all week with John delivering her. She is carefully keeping all her days off for their trip to Tunisia in 2 months.

Poor Nichole worked longer hours than usual at FedEx with the Christmas rush complicated by the snow closures. One night she was there until nearly midnight working outdoors in 20 degree weather. Brett worked at the hospital as usual with a long commute, but one night he had the fun of driving hospital personnel home in a rental Durango with all the bells and whistles. Later they realized he wasn't old enough to do it for insurance reasons, so that was the end of his chauffeuring career.

And we made cookies. One day my friend Diane wanted Amanda and me to come over and make snow angels but we said, "forget it". Half an hour later she called again to say she was coming over to bake cookies. She tromped through the snow carrying chocolate chips and whatnot, falling three times and catching herself a few times more. She made toffee bars and chocolate chip cookies, Amanda made sugar cookies, I made ginger bread and shortbread and jam-filled cookies.



Emily came over to bake her Pumpkin Bread gift loaves, and made 18 loaves plus a dozen star muffins. Lisa and Evan baked to relieve boredom and brought bags of goodies every time they came over!

One night Brett and Amanda and
John went sledding on the golf course
by the light of the silvery moon.
I think I was jealous.

We had determined to give our Christmas gifts to people needier than ourselves, so on Christmas day after the food and games we shared who the recipients of our Christmas giving were. It felt very wonderful to know that we were helping others in a life sustaining way. Some of the family went in together and some gave individually. God is so good to us and we all felt good in sharing.

On Tuesday, January 6, I awoke with a start realizing that the house was empty except for me and Ron for the first time in several weeks. The commotion was over. The pizzas were eaten. Both bathrooms were ours. No extra shoes by the front door, no endless stream of mugs and glasses waiting to go into the dishwasher. Half empty pop bottles fill the refrigerator and the laundry is piled high. The ornaments are down but not put away. The Christmas dishes are still in the cupboard because I can't quite put them away.

I am going to use the Christmas mugs a little while longer.

What's in a Name? Part 2 and End

I was part way through thinking about names and identity when I wrote last, but the point was really to explain why my website is called Hollace the Mopsy. When you choose your own appellation there's a lot of pressure.

When Ron and I were thinking about what we'd like to be called as grandparents, we tried rolling a lot of possibilities around on our tongue. Starting with the desirability of names that would distinguish between maternal and paternal grandparents, and following a smart Scandinavian tradition of "Mormor, Morfar, Farmor, Farfar", we tried PoRo (Pop Ron) but got stuck at MoHo (that's no way to talk about your granny).

So I became Mopsy, which has nothing to do with the fact that I wear a mop on my head. It's just a coincidence. Really. And Ron became Popsy, which is so reasonable because P is for Pop and M is for Mop, I mean Mom.

At the same time we wanted a familial name for Amanda to call us; friendly and parental but not pushy. Mopsy and Popsy fit just fine. So it's not just a name, it's a good-humored state of mind , a relationship, a role identity, a freedom to offbeat parenting and fun.

A year ago I tried to revert to being called Hollace professionally and socially. It has not been successful. I believe I thought that I might find my roots or a clearer raison d'etre if I went by my given name. I would be more officially my real self. (I know, you're all thinking I think too much). It's all still a muddle but it explains my title: Hollace the Mopsy is my ego, alter ego, myself and my hopes for a better self to emerge if I keep at it long enough.

Now, it's almost time for me to go to work and "keep my good name" as my grandmother ("Grandma") would say.

Perhaps more will follow.

What's in a name? Identity. But we don't get to pick our own name until we start a blog, at which point others have determined our given names, titles, and role names. I was named Hollace Lindsay Howatt at birth, at some school age acquiring the nickname Holly, more generally understood by the public.

Misunderstandings about my name and therefore my very identity occurred early in my life when upon my birth a telegram was called to my Iowa grandparents. My excited grandfather misheard the news and spread the announcement around Cedar Rapids that Horace Linseed (thought to be a grandson) had arrived and was doing fine. Which he would be, presumably, until he got old enough to realize what kind of "handle" he'd been given.

Misunderstandings persisted even under the caption Hollace Lindsay. I was repeatedly sent draft notices and warnings from the armed forces back in the draft lottery days, and was assigned to the men's dorm at a very conservative college in my freshman year.

Other names and identities inadvertently collected through the years were Hollymolly (brothers), HollDoll (one particular brother), Holly Babes (a Bible school roommate who started the appellation and spread it insidiously through the small campus so that on student body election day my identity, role and persona become utterly confused as Holly Babes, the new girls' dorm leader). Eventually this was shortened to HB, emblazoned on my beerstein which uninformed viewers might think stands for the HofBrau House.

Then came the Mrs., the Mommy, Mom, MOTHER!, and the kids' various nicknames for us: Madre and Padre, Mo and Po, Ho and Ro. Lastly, Mopsy.

Probably one of the most conflicted namings/identity changes brought upon me was changing my last name in marriage. It wasn't that I didn't love the new name: the word itself was quite pleasing, traditional, not overly common and had good associations for an Anglophile. I had no feminist hang-ups about losing my identity in a new name (I hadn't chosen the first one either). No, the problem was my very fine initials. HH was so symetrical, like a cattle brand. An artist could do all kinds of things signing her paintings with HH. My luggage was all engraved with the wonderful and symetrical HH, and here is the kicker: HH looks the same viewed from either side of the suitcase. It is completely unambiguous, HH viewed from the left or right, top or bottom (unless your name is Isabella Icthius, in which case you have another problem). I really regretted having all my elegant Samsonite set be instantly outdated and belie my new identity.

I'll save for another telling the first time my husband used my new name, title, and identity.

And then there is the Mopsy development.

More to come--I have to go "live up to my good name" as my Grandma used to say, and get some housework done.