certain that it's probably not going to happen

This week was a week in my head- not a particularly pretty place.  I spent the whole week thinking about something that I was sure was going to happen.  It crossed my mind at odd times.  It made my disposition less than sunny.  I finally took charge of myself and said, "Self, this is not going to happen.  You need to get a grip and move on."  So I did.  I made a list in my head of the things that aren't going to happen and started thinking about the things that are going to happen.  Truthfully, the following items were not on those lists because you really just can't know all my secrets.  And, by the way, the thing I convinced myself wasn't going to happen actually did, and it was completely underwhelming.

I got to thinking about a fun math lesson from school this year.  The kids were learning about certain, unlikely, and definitely not.  I made little cards with examples from each category.  The kids had to read the card and decide which category the statement fit.  Being a silly person, I had an amusing time writing the cards and hearing the results of my labors.  As I was leaving for the day, the little boy I always called the wrong name (not my fault- his best friend has the same name without the "th" in the middle!) got the one "Mrs. K. will call me the wrong name."  I laughed the whole way home.  Everyone thought the "Mrs. S. is going to have a baby gorilla." was hilarious.  Those were the best two, but how much fun we had playing this game.  It was definitely a fun way to think about real vs. not and certain vs. uncertain.

Not going to happen

* I'm not going to win the lottery.

* I'm not going to transform in Donna Reed overnight.

* I'm not going to influence my outsides by wishing.

* I'm not going to be perfect at anything.

* I'm not going to be famous.

* I'm not going to grow up.

Likely to happen

* I will do something stupid like almost go to jail for a parking ticket.

* I will say or do something I shouldn't.

* I will be a very blond brunette.

* I will volunteer for something I shouldn't that will cause me great aggravation.

* I will be sad for no good reason.

* I will want to do something good for other people.

* I will finish this stinking grad school application after working on it for 5 months(?)

* I will work hard at my summer camps and have fun in spite of myself.

* I will be mean to my beloved hubby when he's sick, taking up space, and not doing anything for me.

* I will influence my insides by being stubborn and by wishing.

Certain to happen

* I will laugh at something funny one of my kids say- daily.

* I will cry through Annie, Les Miserables, and Folger's commercials.

* I will finish reading several books, but not as many as I have on my list.

* I will find humor in other people's silliness.

* I will get a hug when I need one.

* I will be loved by my family and love them right back.

* I will be sarcastic.

* I will be as moody as a teenager- and I have an excellent role model for that one.

How do you live a life filled with items that fit into such slots?  How do you move on from the things that definitely won't happen?  How do you turn maybes into certainties?  How can I live life as the blondest brunette ever?  Yep, good questions.  The answers are clear.  Life is uncertain, eat dessert first.  Life is mind over matter: the people who mind don't matter and the people who matter don't mind.    Be flexible.  Even though I hate that word just a little bit, I can do it.  I can do whatever I put my mind to.  And so can you.

mania from heaven?

This past week has been... interesting.  A few times I found myself wondering if I was really quite sane, even a little bit, I mean.  I just was so stinking.. happy.  Nothing bothered me.  I wasn't required to be "flexible" about a thing.  I pretty much accomplished nothing.  And, wow, was life amusing this week.

My children, and the assorted random friends who showed up, seemed to think they deserved lunch.  I freely admit that I disagreed.  But I pretty much forced myself from my busy business of doing nothing to throw some pasta in a pot.  While elder spawn watched (and why exactly wasn't she making the noodles anyhow?), I "opened" a box of spaghetti.  Unfortunately, it was already open.  So when I lifted the box, the enormous box of spaghetti dumped its contents directly below it.  On my feet.  I looked down- this hurts way more than you'd think by the way- to see a spaghetti sculpture impaled on my feet.  I seriously looked for blood.  After I finished laughing.  And laughing.  And laughing.  Rebecca joined me in laughter for a while until she thought maybe I'd laughed just a little too long.  Then she left the room as she realized cleaning up was going to have to happen.

The next day, another friend over for a lunch- even more culinarily delightful than spaghetti.  Then her mom called to make a plan to acquire child.  A plan that involved a trip to the library and Rita's.  I was all about it!  So we went to the library.  Rebecca disappeared upstairs.  This is important because we actually left her behind and had to go back to get her.  Anyhow, chaos at the library included a chance meeting with several kids from my class this year.  Including the one Katie calls my "nemesis".  Absolutely not.  This boy provided me with endless laughter this whole year.  Anyway, I made the mistake of telling this boy that we were going to Rita's also after the library.  So we all went together (as his mother and sister really had no choice), me, my two kids, my friend, one of her daughters and this other family.  Amusing already.  We did have the private girl table.  Thank goodness.  So. The spaghetti incident happened to come up in conversation, which made me laugh again.  My giggles morphed into guffaws from the looks on my daughters' faces when they realized that I actually cooked that stinking spaghetti.  Um, yea.  I wasn't throwing a pound of spaghetti away (especially since I wasn't eating any of it anyhow).  Well, then there was some flailing about (I did mention that Katie was with us, right?) and Katie hit Rebecca's spoon which did the predictable double flip, spewing gelati all over the table and assorted other places.  This sent the psycho (me) into absolute gales of laughter.  Then there was Katie holding a spoon full of stuff while also laughing, a constant stream of ice stuff dripping on her legs and clothes.  Which was also hilarious to me.  I was laughing so hard, I could barely see the stares of horror around me and those 3 stuffy ladies LEAVING Rita's in a huff.  I couldn't even look at my friend.. who, while completely wonderful, is NOT like me. 

As we're leaving, Katie tells me that she thought my "nemesis" was really annoying.  This made Rebecca and I laugh all the more.  Day 1 of school I knew this boy was Katie's clone, from the constant loudness, absolute unsolicited opinions, in your face all the time, all the way to the matching forehead scars.  Oh, yea, and he never listened to a word I said.

The last time I had a week even a little bit like this past week, was the end of April or early May.  I found myself just walking around smiling- even more than usual.  I must have looked completely simple with that smile on my face.  No apparent reason.  It took me days to realize why I was so happy.  I'd just finished a free-for-all.  April was Easter and all that goes with that.  The final weeks of my Penn State course which entailed the final written project and the horrific presentation.  And the culmination of Rebecca's middle school musical and my being in charge of ticket sales- ticket booth is great fun but a big time commitment.  So all of this finished up.  So here I was, in the situation of no longer smacking my head against a wall and it felt good.  So my foolish smiling was the absence of chaos and stress.

Not really being very bright, it wasn't until my week of utter laziness was coming to an end and my corresponding mania was ebbing, that I realized I was so manic, happy, and amused this week because I wasn't banging my head against the wall again and it felt good.

So I guess it's a good thing that there are very few weeks that are like these.  Or maybe it's good that I can vent happiness.  Or maybe I do really need therapy for incredible mood swings.  I think I can safely say that a little bit of laughter in life is good.  It feels good.  According to Reader's Digest, it's the best medicine.  I know for darn sure, when your life is filled with people who may or may not listen to you, who may or may not take initiative to make their own stinking lunch, who may or may not think you are a public embarrassment, it's a good thing to be able to laugh at them and yourself.

rememorial day

It's Memorial Day again.  As a central Pennsylvania girl long before I moved to central Pennsylvania, Memorial Day in Boalsburg is full of history.

This is how we celebrate it now:  my little family joins my mother, father and brother in a trek through the cemetery in Boalsburg putting flowers on the graves of dead relatives.  It involves getting along with those people for at least an hour.  It involves telling my daughters stories of the relatives.  Probably the same stories each year, but since I doubt they are really listening the stories seem fresh.

How we used to celebrate was certainly different.  When the great aunts and uncles, now the beneficiaries of the flowers, were alive the cemetery visit was an amazing adventure.  We'd meet at Anna Nanna's (it was years before I found out her name was really Aunt Anna Mary) sweet little house with the gorgeous garden.  Someone had visited a florist for the beginnings of the arrangements, but so many of the flowers came from Anna Nanna's garden.  Columbines are forever a symbol of this day for me and always make me think of her.  I'm sure my help was less than helpful, so I'd wander about to check out the sheep and their little backyard surrounded by trees and covered in succulent grass.  In any case, what seemed like hundreds of people put together these fabulous arrangements- the floral containers stored in their garage just for this day, as far as I know.  I don't remember how we got the flowers and the people across Atherton to the cemetery, but we did.  Wow, what a big deal to get just the right flowers to the right relative.  In those days, I probably hadn't even known any of the people.  The list was long.  I probably whined and was in a hurry, but I don't remember it as being tedious.

Aunt Anna Mary and Uncle Fred were so interesting.  They were childless, so their house was probably a nightmare for my mother when my brother and I were young.  I remember Anna Nanna as a sweet, little old lady who always wore classic clothing and school marm tie up pumps.   She had this sweet lady voice, but really was tough as could be.  She had a foot pump organ which she eventually allowed my brother and I to play.  She had a gorgeous braided rug that I seem to remember she let me help mend on occasion.  Uncle Fred was interesting.  He was pretty crotchedy and a wealth of bad language by the time I knew him.  I just talked to someone the other day who'd interviewed him years ago.  He was a famous guy in his day.  In my day, he was a bald guy with good stories.

I remember one time at Anna Nanna's when her younger sister, the bold one, was visiting and she and I laid out in the back yard in our bras and underwear.  (I may actually not have been a bra wearer at the time.)  Aunt Ginny was absolutely my favorite.  She was all things cool and sophisticated.  She had gorgeous silver hair and always wore fabulous silver jewelry (definitely my role model for loving silver jewelry) and she knew just the right colors to wear to be gorgeous.  Aunt Ginny and Uncle Dave lived in Pennington, New Jersey for many years.  We'd go visit them every year, stay in their adorable house and go to the Jersey shore for a day trip.  Aunt Ginny loved Fiestaware- which I still love.  Uncle Dave was a jigsaw puzzle man.  We always did puzzles on that trip.  It was awesome when Aunt Ginny and Uncle Dave moved to Boalsburg!  They were so much closer.  I loved visiting them more frequently!

No Memorial Day retrospective is complete without mentioning Aunt Fern and Uncle Bob.  They had a sweet little house next to the park.  For years and years, I'd walk past their house with the wisteria tree and think of them.  (The tree is gone now.)  Aunt Fern was in charge of the annual soup and bread sale in downtown Boalsburg for as many years as I can remember.  This soup thing happens to this day.  We don't usually catch that event any more.  It was on the agenda for many, many years- even after she was gone.  Something about many people's vegetable combined into one and bread slathered in butter is a real treat after the decorating of the graves.  I don't remember much about Uncle Bob and Aunt Fern- they were pretty quiet.  Their only child was run over by a car when she was 16, perhaps that's why they seemed so quiet.

Boalsburg was a big part of my childhood, even though I didn't live near back then.  The great aunts and uncles, the tribute to Memorial Day, the craft booths, the family gatherings, the canons booming, the military museum all were a huge part of my family experience.  Then I got married and moved to Maryland and coming to Boalsburg for Memorial Day seemed too much of an ordeal, so we didn't.  Unfortunately, by the time we moved back to Pennsylvania, all these wonderful relatives were permanent residents of the cemetery.

So now, I bring my daughters to put flowers on the graves of the people I knew and loved who never knew my babies.  Rebecca asked me today at each grave if that person knew I had children.  The answer was always no.  So I told her little stories of each one.  The flowers are not so much for the dead, but for the living aren't they?

This event was made all the more poignant by the discovery of the saddest tombstone of all.  It's actually a beautiful tombstone- dark stone, with a pretty beach scene etched on the right and a coastline with houses on the left side.  A very peaceful tombstone.  The name etched so distinctly in the stone and in our hearts- visible from far away.  This grave site- too new to be covered with grass- is now covered in beautiful flower petals.  Rebecca and I stood there crying as we pulled the petals to decorate the grave of her beloved gym teacher who was much, much too young to leave this world.

alpha and omega

I have two favorite times of year: the beginning of everything and the end of everything.  Why is that?  I love the excitement of new activities.  The thrill of making the schedule work.  The joy of going from the somewhat uncluttered, unstructured summer to the carefully orchestrated schedule of fall.  But yet, equally exciting to me is the culmination of the chaos as one by one the school year activities wrap up.  I love having my Tuesdays full of church friends and kids, but I also love having my Tuesdays uncluttered with responsibility.  I love the excitement of classes beginning, but I love the relief of having all the work done, the stress relieved.  I love the thrill of the beginning of rehearsals for the middle school musical and the utter chaos entailed by tech week and performances.  But I also love watching my child, one of many, shine on the stage and then having the experience be over.  Finite.  I love the joy of nagging and fretting about getting the younger spawn to choir rehearsals, easily forgotten on a Thursday morning (that might be sarcasm).  But I also love watching the final choir concert where she belts out her favorite songs regardless of those around her.  Still to come.. two band concerts, an older spawn choir concert, a piano recital.   That's ok.  They are soon and will be incredible (or at least amusing- I guarantee that Katie beating a bass drum and plucking a string bass will be mighty hilarious.)  The older spawn, in spite of her whining about the practicing, positively sparkles on stage.

It's not just the kids who have beginnings and endings.  As I said, I just finished a class at Penn State- difficult but also enjoyable and worthwhile.  The culmination there was a paper and a presentation.  The presentation I really could have done without.  Really.  So, now Monday nights are free.  This is also a beginning, however.  Today I took the GRE for the first time ever.  I was nervous, panicked even.  I finally convinced myself that I could live with my results because I could always fork over the mula to take it again.  Well, not positive, but I think I may not have to take it again.  This is big for me.  This means I actually have to finish my application to grad school- a new beginning.  I have closed my eyes and leaped!!  I have no limits! (I'm paraphrasing "Defying Gravity" here.)  It doesn't matter that I'm old as dirt- probably too old for a career change- or that I'm not entirely sure I want to switch from the cushy job I currently have (which is possibly there for me next year, possibly not).  What matters is that I'm embracing a new beginning.  Yes, I've already taken 3 classes for the Masters.  So it's really not a beginning.  Still, I have to finish an application, put my fate in the hands of someone else who might decide that I'm not right for the program.  I'm willing to take that chance.  If I can conquer (to a point) a big, scary test, I can finish an application.

That's not all I have by way of beginnings and endings.  New beginnings:  I was asked to help backstage at the first production of the local summer theater.  How cool is that?  I had great fun helping backstage last summer at the musical of the season, "Hello Dolly".  It was fun!  I fully expect to help again this summer during the show that a friend's daughter has been cast in.  I love being asked to do something!  Who doesn't like to be needed and wanted?  Other new beginnings involve summer and the relaxed chaos that brings.  I'm teaching more summer camps than ever before.  Pretty terrifying, but equally exciting- or would be if I had a clue what I was doing.  Endings?  Yes, I have endings.  I'm done worrying about something I have fixed as well as I can.  I'm done beating myself up for making a bad decision. I'm not perfect, but I am dreadfully sorry.  That's the end.  No more tears, recriminations, wishes.  Life is too short to be sorry for what cannot be fixed.  I kissed the boo boo and now we move on.

"Some things I cannot change, but till I try I'll never know."  Change is a beginning... but it's also an ending.  Either way, the spawn and I get to belt along with YouTube.

baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and Chevrolet

Spring is just about here.  (I'm trying to be realistic just in case there's another freak blizzard.)  A young girl's fancy turns to... baseball?  This has been going through my head all day.  Clearly, I'm not young and you've probably never heard me mention baseball before.  Not only that, it's probably softball anyhow. 

For some reason the baseball mitts and balls have appeared in my living room.  I'm not sure why the spawn have brought these out, where they found them, what they are doing with them, or why I still hope they will eventually put them away somewhere more sensible.  In any case, there this items sit.  Calling to me.  Making me think random thoughts of games with bats, balls, and mitts.

A couple times a summer I may feel inclined to put on a mitt and play some catch.  I may throw like a girl, but I like to throw hard.  If there's no smoke coming out of the mitt, there's no point.  If I can move my shoulder the next day, we didn't play long enough.  The kids are afraid of me.  (Might have something to do with my aim.)  Hubby occasionally will play- let's be serious, he'll do whatever I ask him to do.  He's that kind of accommodating.  However, when we play, I can still feel my hand at the end.  Not hard enough.  Still... a bit diverting.

I got to thinking about my youth (this is where the young girl part comes in.)  I grew up on a cul de sac, next door to the boy who was 7 days younger than me, but a year ahead of me in school, and up the street from a nice Irish boy.  (It is St. Patrick's Day, after all.  Had to mention that.)  The three of us used to play this game (that I can't remember the name of) in the "circle".  One person batted the ball, the other two fielded, then the batter laid down the bat, and the catcher rolled the ball to hit the bat.  Great game!  We had another game we played in the backyard.  This one I do remember the name of- Rundown!  There were two people playing catch and the third in the middle trying not to get tagged.  I'm certain that I got caught a lot.  I don't remember that, but I certainly do remember the fun. 

Regarding baseball teams... of course I'm a Pirates fan.  Alas, the same kind of Pirates fan as I am a Steelers fan.  So when they are in the Playoffs, I'm watching.  (not holding my breath)  Now, back in the day, oh yea.  I watched the Pirates.  The day being when Chuck Tanner was coach.  Dave Parker was a wild man.  Willie Stargell was a gentleman.  How could I not watch the Pirates?  My dad hogged the TV, so that's what I had to watch.  It's more painful to watch TV with my dad these days.  He's a fanatical clicker.  We get 10 minutes of baseball, 7 minutes of John Wayne, 8 minutes of Dirty Jobs.  Makes my head spin.  There's always something better to do at my house, so I don't even know which channel they broadcast the Pirates.  I will find out if the World Series is a possibility.

My parents live in Altoona now, so they've taken us to see the Curve about once a year.  Us being the girls, hubby and I.  My mom is disinclined.  The girls are way more interested in wandering about than in watching baseball.  We did have fun watching the silly games and their mascot.  Why can't I remember what the Curve mascot is?  Something vaguely Grimace-ish.  We stopped going to the Curve when the Spikes came to State College.  I will say the Curve was more fun. 

The first Spikes game we went to was for hubby's work party.  We had a buffet and seats practically outside of the outfield.  Not a lot of action out there.  Trust me.  I will tell you that one of the Spike outfielders of that season was a lying, cheating scumbag.  He "fielded" a pop fly and raised his mitt in glory.  No one knew any differently.  No one in authority anyhow.  We observant ones who were sitting beyond the outfield absolutely saw that ball hit the ground before his mitt.  Yessirree, Bob.  Lying, cheating, scumbag.  It was a year or two before I permitted us to attend another game.  The next game we sat in the real seats, near the food (and possibly there was a beer as well), where we didn't have to observe the action in the outfield.  Instead we watched Ike the Spike do lascivious things with old ladies and the Nookie (what the heck kind of name is that?) dance for homeruns.  Much more entertaining.

Hotdogs.  I have to feed the only children on the planet who won't eat hotdogs.  or macaroni and cheese.

Apple pie.  Hubby makes the best apple pie in the world.  That's all I have to say about that. Except that there was talk of pie recently.

Chevrolet.  I learned to drive in a Chevy Citation.  What a cute car.  I loved that car.  I will admit to being an idiot in the car many times.  There was this great hill that was really not on my way to anywhere.  But still I drove to the street just to go down that hill.  If you were going fast enough when you hit the top of the hill the tires left the pavement.  Roller coaster, baby!  One time I was driving with some major appliance in the back (not actually an odd occurrence in my youth), and cruised that hill.  The box hit the roof.  I'm probably lucky it didn't go through the roof.  And once there was a mound of dirt in the parking lot of the church.  Yup, I had to go over it.  My dad wondered a bit how the tail pipe got bent and why there was dirt in it.  I suspect he knew who the culprit was.  I may have admitted it.  On the other hand, I may not.

One more thing.  Three Rivers Stadium.  I may never have been inside (which is debatable), but I was sad to see it go.  It was representative of the goodness of youth, when Pittsburgh was home and the home team was black and gold.

going on an adventure

"Adventure brings excitement, creative flow, and energy, and these are essential to you. Yours is a highly artistic nature. Continual stimulation is required to keep your psyche healthy. Experience something new today. Even if it's just a walk to a place you've never been, it will give you the adrenaline you need."  a recent horoscope for me, the epitome of a Sagitarius.

Yup, I'm one of those dorks who likes reading my horoscope.  Sometimes because it is just so wrong.  Sometimes because it is just so right.

This one caught my attention for the right part.  I've been a little bored lately.  I do crave adventure and newness.  Not the bungee jumping kind of adventure- I'm way too boring and restrained (and chicken) for that.  I do seem to live my life to say the words, "what the hell was I thinking?"  Sometimes it's helping backstage at a local theater show when I'm teaching summer camps every day. (which is in itself in the WTHWIT category).  Sometimes it's volunteering to cut hundreds of fringes for kids to tie pillows to give to hospital patients.  Sometimes it's taking classes at Penn State or taking up water colors or learning to play the oboe (or more recently clarinet) or Irish Step dancing or playing a piano duet at a recital or dying my hair orange (supposed to be blond, but it was orange).  I seem to crave putting myself out on a limb with the potential for huge embarrassment.  So right now I'm lacking in the potential for huge embarrassment department.  For some reason this makes me a little sad.

It also makes me think (something that I don't generally like to do.)  Do I really need to put myself out there to have adventure?  Heck, no.  My little life is loaded with adventure.  My two daughters are an adventure every day.  This morning we had the drama of auditions for that local theater.  This involved wailing.  If these two could put as much emotion on the stage, I could be a Broadway mother.  Oh, and let it be known, I was right.  Spawn #1 had a good time.  My job?  An adventure every day too.  I'm in constant motion doing who knows what every second of the day.  Our classroom motto is "be flexible".  The kids are always laughing at me- whether I'm calling them by the wrong names (some days I just call everyone "Fred") or saying some nonsensical word like "hooziedink" (their favorite).  One day my little buddy, who's always happy to let me know when I'm being goofy, said he was "having a Mrs. Koch moment."  Meaning that he was either forgetful or unfocused or silly or all of the above.  I had to laugh at that.  The college thing is not so much a whim anymore.  It looks like I'm actually going to pursue that advanced degree.  Who knew I would finally do that?  Not me.  For sure an adventure.  Taking classes with 20somethings who share their interesting weekend stories while the prof is in the room is a thrill.

This is the part of the blog where I have inserted random quotes about adventuring.

“Remember what Bilbo used to say: It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to.” — Tolkien
So sometime take a walk and see where you end up.  It may be a walk past that fabulous house that you'd love to live in someday.  It may be the convenience store to buy a bag of contraband chips.  It may be through the woods or up a mountain or on the beach (if you're lucky).  It may not even be a walk.  Ignore the price of gas and take a wrong turn and keep on going.  You may drive past a llama farm or a gorgeous sun-dappled view.  Take a trip with your family (an adventure all of its own), get lost of course, tell stories, sing songs, fight with each other.  I may suggest you don't drive over a curb and trash your car on the way to the beach or leave the hot dogs on the kitchen counter on your way to the campsite.  (I may also suggest that you don't travel with my family.)

“Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go.” — T.S Eliot
What do you lose by trying something a little far out?  Maybe some sleep.  Maybe a little bit of your self-respect for a little while.  But, all in all, the trying will probably get you a lot more than you lose.  Maybe not in the way you might think, but wisdom is also part of the adventure.


“Adventure isn’t hanging on a rope off the side of a mountain. Adventure is an attitude that we must apply to the day to day obstacles of life.” — John Amatt
Who the heck is John Amatt anyway?  Whoever he is, he is absolutely right.  Life is the adventure.  There's no direct path from here to there.  There's more than one way to choose.  Keep adventure in your heart and be prepared to find yourself unprepared, untrained, and surprised.

“ if you’re alive, you’ve got to flap your arms and legs, you’ve got to jump around a lot, you’ve got to make a lot of noise, because life is the very opposite of death.” — Mel Brooks
Do not be well-behaved.  Make a scene in public.  Dance in your living room with your spawn.  The adventure of life is not a quiet thing.  Life is loud and wiggly.  (just like my kids)

Bored, schmored.  I have no reason or right to be bored.  There are books to read, songs to sing, places to go, and people to meet. I just need to decide which adventure to have today.

empty chairs

As I stare out in the back yard I see my little fire pit enclave- a stone fire pit with an adirondack chair and an odd wooden couch with no cushions.  Everything was covered with a few inches of snow, up until today when the ice storm condensed the snow into a shiny, but less pretty mess of destitution.  I saw these empty chairs combined with the throes of a cold winter and the seating reflected my mood.  But this vision, this seeming reality, led me to think of another pair of empty chairs.  A very talented photographer friend of mine took a picture of two chairs perched together for conversation in the midst of a flowerbed of what we technically called "blue flowers."  The first time I saw this photograph I fell in love with it.  These two chairs, although empty, are filled with promise.  The promise of another spring.  The promise of fulfilling their purpose of conversation.  A copy of this photograph will soon be mine to enjoy every day.  (I couldn't be more thrilled that this friend accepted an exchange of her photograph for a pair of handcrocheted mittens- fun to make, more fun to someday see warming her fingers.)  Envisioning the promise of those chairs made me think and rethink about empty chairs.

I think of my favorite chair, which we call my "office".  This ridiculous chair, very comfy, purchased for $3 at Centre Peace resale shop on a complete whim, is a scene of comfort in my house.  This chair in which I can find a hundred ways to sit comfortably while reading, crocheting, sometimes napping.  This chair the location of many conversations with the children.  There have been numerous times when I would say to a crying Katie girl, "Do you want to come into my office?"  She sits on my lap (sometimes even still and quiet), as we negotiate through the drama of her life.  An office conversation never fails to end with a hug and a laugh.  

I think on the funny little love seat I insisted we pick up off the street. Yes, I'm somewhat ashamed to say we are notorious furniture scroungers.  This happens when you have 2 messy kids and 3 cats with claws.  We learned the hard way that there is no point in buying nice furniture. This love seat currently is not empty- holding the bellowing child who wants me to be there with her instead of blogging.  However, when it is empty I can think of many times when it is not.  The times when we watch a family movie.  We've tried to have all four of us sit on this little couch.  If anyone could sit still, this might work- it's a tight fit, but doable.  I can think on nights after the kids are asleep (getting rarer with that teenager who stays up too late), when the man and I can share a moment of quiet closeness or watch tv together.  We have to be close, not only because it's a small couch, but also because the cushions lean in to the middle.  Then I can remember a gathering of friends where somehow we had 10 people draped and gathered on this funny little couch and somehow we still looked comfortable.

That little fire pit arrangement in the back yard doesn't represent destitution at all.  The chairs may be empty now (and I sort of think I might go sit in the rain today), but they hold the promise of future fullness and memories of the past.  Those empty chairs hold memories of a chilly October evening when friends sat around that fire enjoying conversation and laughter.  Those empty chairs hold memories of my daughter Katie and I huddled in blankets as I read (with too little light) aloud Harry Potter.  Those empty chairs hold the memory that my handy hubby created that fire pit because I said I'd like one and helped me drag those chairs around it. So.  An empty chair is simply a chair that is not currently physically occupied- but there is plenty in it.