Whose Life Is It?

Middle One dropped by the other morning.... just to visit.  Living in a bedroom community of Tulsa where 100,000 citizens reside, sometimes feels like we are living in another town compared to our small-town experiences in Wyoming.

Why heck, I think the largest number of people living in one place in Wyoming is about 59,000.  But we didn't live there.

Our six homes were located in towns no larger than 6,000.  It was not at all unusual for neighbors to drop in "just to visit" or that families taking a walk might pass by and decide to ring our bell for an impromptu conversation, which could easily turn into burgers on the grill and kids splashing about in a blow up pool.




I look at Middle One and think, "She's living my life" - the life I knew for so many years - raising three children - very involved in a church community - trying to make ends meet - discerning how to divide my time between children, friends, husband and work (salaried or volunteered).

I look at Middle One and TJ and feel as if the clock has swung back in time.

Both my daughters have three children, great husbands, good friendships and a strong faith.

They love their homes and enjoy making them spaces where their families feel safe and loved.  They want them to be places that welcome others and provides their husbands with the refuge they sometimes need.



 When Middle One's husband needs to wind down he will go into their bedroom and play his guitars (each one has a specific musical distinction).  When TJ's husband is weary, he likes to forget the day in a televised game of golf, baseball, football or poker.


He-man's therapy has always been his work shop. But these days grand children have risen above the swirl of sawdust and the smell of freshly cut wood.

Now I wonder, does my mom see me as living her life?  A life where the early years of retirement allowed her to surrender to the day.  A life that no longer began with the buzz of an alarm clock or a day spent with children that didn't contain homework, doctor appointments, piano lessons or laundry.  A time when she could sit and read or wash her hair or look at birds out the window and not once be interrupted.

Maybe that's why each day... no each moment ... seems so fantastic.  I feel as if I have finally opened my eyes to the miracles that extraordinarily unfold before me in my ordinary life.

Thank God for growing older!  Thank God for families that extend what was begun long, long ago.  Thank God for birds and shampoo and little to do.

I hope you have a most ordinary day!