A Simpler Laundry Life: So Far So Good

 

According to the forecast, this might be the last day in this spectacular string of days. Storms coming tomorrow perhaps, and then it looks like a bit of rain for the days ahead.

What better day to do a big wash, and hang it out to dry in the bright sun. Did the sheets even.

Since July 18 we have not owned a dryer. I wondered how it would go, relying solely on solar, as it were.

It's not like there's a problem with hanging clothes on a line. I actually kind of like doing that. It's productive and calming at the same time. I even stay outside at the end of the day and do an initial folding into the basket as I take things down. The clothes are Georgian Bay fresh, and everything tucks back into the basket in orderly categories, all clean and ready to go.

So, I like laundry days up here.

It's more about the times when the weather isn't so fine. It hasn't really happened yet this season, but it could. A string of rainy days might leave one stranded for clean underwear if you're not on top of things. When you have a dryer, you don't have to consider the weather so much. Even if you have and use a clothesline most of the time, the dryer is your back up. Up here, no back up.

There's really not anything too deep here to consider. Rather, just a realization that a simpler life, on a few different fronts, requires a different way of thinking about even the most basic of tasks. And also, for me at least, how easy it is to become reliant on things you can actually do without.

We're on this journey of down-sizing and simplifying. Right here, right now, with my clothes on the line, that's just a mid-point. Soon we hope to be able to announce more firm time lines for the build of our small home.

And then...more simplicity.

Wishing you all the simple joys a Friday can bring.

Just the Two of Us: Honest Reflections of Not the Perfect Couple

Like everything else, date night at the cottage is simple.  Not fancy.  Just real.  Just the two of us.

We took the big boat with the comfy seats down the channel and out into the open water, but not very far.  Ended up anchoring leeward of the Lizard (for those who know).  It was a calm night, still some ridiculous roaring going on way out there, but we were far enough away that it didn't disturb our water/sky vibe.

Our cottage faces west, so sunsets on the dock are our thing.  But there's something good about getting out for a different perspective, and that long, warm reflection on the water.

This was my idea.  Ken was neither here nor there about it, particularly.  In fact, the flies bothered him more than they did me when we were out there.  But he didn't say anything, just swished the flies away with a clean boat rag, and waited patiently until the sunset space in my soul was filled up enough and I said we could go.

We do a Scrabble thing pretty consistently, and quite competitively, while we're here.

Since it's just the two of us, we've made up a few of our own rules, like being allowed to look up things in the dictionary in advance of your play, and not accepting or rejecting any word unless it is actually in the dictionary.  He wins most of the time, despite my best efforts otherwise.  Mind you, he always keeps score.  But I'm certain than has nothing to do with it.  Every once in a while I smoke him.  And when that happens, well, let's just say that he narrows his eyes just a smidge, and doesn't seem at all to appreciate my round of self-applause.  There's no one else to clap for me, since there's just the two of us.

Yesterday we worked together on a very thorough cleaning of the kitchen.

I wondered how it would go since I knew we needed to toss some things (either Garage Sale or outright garbage) and while Ken reigns as Scrabble champion, he is  <ahem> not really good at parting with stuff.  But we managed.  We're not done yet though.  It's the kind of chore that takes a few good sessions.  And our kitchen can get hot in the afternoon.  And, well, we've just done months of this sort of thing in selling the house.  So easy does it, else we get all triggered and grumpy, which is really unpleasant since there's just the two of us.

Without a dishwasher, but there just being the two of us, we only do dishes once a day.  There's a caveat to that, however.  Rinse well, stack neatly.  Two reasons.  Easier to wash later.  Ants.  Usually I wash, Ken dries and puts away.  That's why I can get super annoyed when he hands back a dish as a 'reject' (not completely clean yet), and it's something he had for lunch that he didn't rinse.  Of all the nerve!

Other times we get all sweaty and irritable hauling bins of construction junk to the dump.  Or cutting and stacking wood.  Or working on the never-ending finishing touches of the bunkie.  There's no end of prioritizing in all of this, since there's so much to do and it's going to take us a long time, and we only have so much energy in any given day, any given week, and there's just the two of us, and what day is the building inspector coming, and why do we have so many buckets of used and rusty nails, oops, sensitive subject since that's something that needs to be tossed, and some people <ahem> are not very good at this.  

AND YOU CAN'T REPEAT YOURSELF AT A HIGHER VOLUME WITHOUT SOUNDING ANNOYED AND EVENTUALLY FEELING ANNOYED!  And too many times, I fear, it comes out sounding way sharper than necessary, since there's just the two of us and no one else is here to be that subconscious monitor of tone that happens when you know someone else is listening.

Also, even though it's just the two of us, we have "calendar meetings" to coordinate the orbits of what we do separately.  We stop and consider where we are in this whole big transition of housing thing we're up to these days.  We mark the progress.  We lay out what's next.  We make plans, tentatively, for what's past all that.  We pray.  Just the two of us.

In a recent Netflix fling Ken and I did, a murder mystery series, the setting was that of a fabulously rich family led by what social media dubbed as 'The Perfect Couple.'  Without giving away any of the whodunnit bits, let's just say that, well, they weren't.  Not in what they wanted the world to believe of them at least.  Far from it.

Wild television depictions notwithstanding, marriage just takes a lot of work, and for the long haul.  There are lots of spaces in a string of 46 years (for Ken and I) that have been surprisingly sweet and romantic and lovely.  Like a sunset date on the leeward side of the Lizard.

And it's also been less than idyllic.  And not in the big crisis times.  In those times we shine, we cling to each other, we are so amazing, just the two of us.

It's more in the small irritating spaces of life, like being at the cottage, just the two of you, in the middle of a rather stressful life transition, where all of it, the good and bad of it, can swish around a bit and make you real.

Is marriage worth it?  Oh yes.  But the bigger idea here is that, in reality, it's not just the two of us.

Forty-six years ago we stood in the presence of our community and made a covenant under God.  And the real story of our lives together is the wonder of how God could actually take such an imperfect couple and want to make anything of us at all.   

We're not 'just the two of us.'  We belong to something much bigger than that.

Awake and Aware

It's serene here.

This last string of great weather has included little to no Georgian Bay breeze, which makes for impeccably still waters, and a forest-gentle space out here on the deck and in here in my soul.

I'm taking it all in, greedy for the calm after the strenuous spring and summer Ken and I have valiantly stumbled our way through. I need the rest and the restoration very badly, my human frailty having been pressed as it was. I accept this as a gift.

I will write about it all, and post pictures of sunrises, and forest friends, and still waters. It never gets old.

But it doesn't mean that I am unaware of the rough waters happening elsewhere. Two events are bothering my heart right now, even in the midst of all this loveliness.

Right now people I know and love are in Chiang Rai in northern Thailand, aiding those who have been devastated by severe flooding. Some of the pictures coming out of that region are so gruesome they wouldn't be shown on public television here.

Others elsewhere had thought they had escaped from the destructive forces of both natural disaster and civic unrest of their homeland to settle somewhere safe. Yet through no fault of their own, are once again finding themselves in grave danger, all because of the power of words, political rhetoric, and social media. I can't even imagine the trauma upon trauma. Especially for the children, oh my.

And that's just two of the more well-known awful things happening in our world. There's lots more. And there's lots I know about that's not on the news. I'm sure you do too.

I say all this because, as well as seeking to have my own online space be safe and uplifting and life-giving and grace-filled, I believe the full range of good mental health includes acknowledgement of and engagement with suffering.

This is no place to hide from this. And actually, my point is, I don't think we're supposed to.

I think each of us knows our own capacity, depending on temperament, and the degree of personal trauma we may be experiencing at any given moment. Sometimes it is truly the smartest mental health move to turn off the news for a while.

But I don't think God put us on the planet to pursue serenity over compassion, self-care over contribution, or inner-peace over bringing peace to prevail over the conflict, whenever and wherever we can.

Seems to me, that's what Jesus did.

Came to engage in our suffering.

So I will let a few things bug me today.

Take agency where I can, pray where I can't.

Lap up the quiet because that is the gift I'm being offered right now.

But I will not abandon what I believe I've been called to.

I will not look away or refuse to care,

lest I lose the soul I am so determined to protect.

Let Me Not Forget to Tremble

"Splendor and majesty are before Him,

strength and glory are in His sanctuary."

Psalm 96:6

This morning's sunrise.

In a little bit, Ken and I will tune in online to Highview Community Church for worship service (starts at 10:30). It will be 'the next best thing to being there' and will be our go to until we are back in the city for reals.

But before all that, I took advantage of yet another perfect morning to get out in the kayak to greet the sunrise coming around the point.

Christian worship is, at very least in part, a reorientation to the character and sovereignty of a Triune God, Father, Son and Spirit.

It should evoke trembling.

And love.

[The title of this post is from a song by Nicole Nordeman entitled Tremble.

Worth a list if you are finding your way in these matters.]

Just Hanging Out on the Deck

 

"In quietness and trust is your strength."
Isaiah 30:15

Just sending out a Friday hello from this little guy I found relaxing on a nail on our deck railing. That's a finishing nail he's claimed, so you can tell both how small he is, and what I'm experimenting with in terms of cool features on the camera of my new phone.

We're coming to the end of a spectacular week, weather-wise. Every day but Monday, I've been able to set up my work station outside on the deck, and do what I need to do in view of the water, surrounded by trees, simply enjoying a quiet place to think.

This morning Ken has gone into town to take care of some in person business, so I'm on my own for the day. We get along just fine, working 'from home' together. But after a rather people-intensive, meeting-intensive week (and here I was worried about feeling disconnected!) I'm just as happy to grab a little bit of actual solitude for the day. Next level quiet, if you will.

And just as I am writing this I am joined by a humming bird who hovers for several seconds just above my laptop. So close I'm holding my breath. I can feel the movement of air from her wings! And...she's gone. No pictures. Not yet anyways ;).

So happy Friday, from me and caterpillar and the humming bird, and my chipmunk companions, and some blue jays who better get here quick before the chipmunks steal all the peanuts.

Maybe this isn't so much solitude after all. :)

Prepared for Anything

 

"What's coming will come.
And we'll meet it when it does."
Hagrid

Chopping wood has been a special priority this particular cottage season.

We always enjoy the use of our fireplace over the summer, on those cooler nights or first thing in the morning when the temperature drops a little.

Of course we have to have S'mores! It's not a family cottage time without S'mores!!! And roasting the marshmallows happens best when a good fire is dying down.

But this season, when Ken and I will linger longer into the fall -- and we all know how temperatures can dip -- we'll actually need it to heat the place. Hence the woodpile priority.

It's hot work over the summer, and at the time seems ridiculous. Building a stack of fuel that will produce heat at the same time you're dying for a breeze to cool things down. But it's smart.

This is the kind of task we often do together. But yesterday, on a cooler but sunny day, when I was wrapped up in Garage Sale planning and sending emails and getting ready for my next Zoom call, Ken got himself set up and went to work. What's pictured is all him. All I did, on a break from my computer, was to gather about three loads worth and fill up the wood box inside.

Depending on the weather, I think we're going to need more than this. It's okay. There's so much wood lying around on the property out in the forest, we won't be left stranded. As long as we get to it and make sure we're prepared.

I'm a big fan of being prepared. I truly believe we are responsible for whatever we can do to plan things out well, anticipate needs in advance, reduce the stress of scrambling, or even perhaps going without just because we we're ready for something.

And...

There's also a sense that we prepare for life by doing the inner work of building resilience and faith and confidence so that we can deal with the unexpected. Some things we just don't see coming. Regular practices that connect us with ourselves and with God's Spirit are also a way of being prepared. For anything.

And...

In the midst of those experiences in life for which nothing could have prepared me -- honestly, nothing -- I also know firsthand what it's like to be carried, helpless but safe, in the hands of a God Who is never surprised.

Whatever you're preparing for, hope plans are going well.

By the way.

That smile of the face of a husband doing a chore that will help make his wife feel more secure?

That's a good quality in a man.

Fill Up the Heavens

Oh that morning sky!!!

After being away for the weekend and yesterday's heavy rains, it was glorious to be out in the kayak again.

This never gets old.

I believe I am in good company here.

"Early in the morning,
my song shall rise to Thee."
(Holy, Holy, Holy - Reginald Heber)

"Let me hear in the morning of Your steadfast love,
for in you I trust."
Psalm 143:8

"All of creation sing with me now,
Lift up your voice and lay your burden down.
All of creation, sing with me now,
Fill up the heavens, let His glory resound."
All of Creation - Mercy Me

If you Google "morning quotes" you'll get a lot about deliberately setting yourself up for the day, good or bad, by the way you begin.

For me, the wide sky is a reorientation to the fact that God is far bigger than whatever temporal troubles my mind wants to mutter about in that space between sleep and awake.

Just look at Him!!!

Pause for a big deep breathing in of fresh wild air.
Exhale.

I think this day is off to a great start for me!!

Wishing the same for you, friends.

The Smell of New Erasers

Looks like a rainy Monday morning.

That's okay, because after the abundance of this past weekend I'm all good with settling in all snug to work quietly inside.

And with so many conversations, so much crunched into the past two days, it's good to be back by the water to unpack and process.

It won't be an entirely quiet week though. Contrary to my concern that working and living up here for the fall would somehow make me "disconnected," I am "connecting" via meetings and conversations every single day this week. Such is the benefit (and responsibility) of technology.

And such is the nature of swinging back into fall's start up of life and ministry. With 'back to school' comes all the other rituals of seasonal new beginnings, and it's not just the changing colours or crisper mornings that signal a time of refocus. It's a collective sense of what I might call 'the smell of new erasers' that means we're ready for the ways our lives productively move forward within the framework of structure and routine between September and June, weather we're in school or not.

Sort of like how making your bed in the morning helps provide a more successful mindset throughout the day (Google Navy Seal Admiral William McRaven's inspirational speech), fall's 'reset' sets us up for the season.

I suppose I thought that, being away from the city, I might miss out on that 'new fall beginnings' feeling. Happily, such is not the case. There's still reports from grandchildren as to how the first days of school have gone. There's still an annual Garage Sale to organize. There's still the 'firsts' of gatherings and meetings, and kick off celebrations, and seasonal goal setting and mapping out of plans.

Yup. No problem. I'm feeling fall big time. Smelling all 'earaser-y' here.

Sadly, because I love doing this, all my fall décor is packed nicely away in storage, I'm not too worried though, because, hey, there's no lack of pine cones and acorns and (soon) coloured leaves right outside the door to be creative with. We've decided against getting a pumpkin for the deck, though, because....bears.

And yes, I realize, and very much hope that, in a few days some summer weather will be back for a visit. I have zero problem with that, and will be enjoying as much outside work on the deck as I can squeeze out of the next few weeks.

But in other ways, the fall feeling is upon us, and I'm ready.

To all those still adjusting to new routines, strength and patience to you as you pack those lunches and get everyone out the door this morning. May you be graced with little moments of delight in the small things, and may you be present enough in those moments to let them fuel your soul.

To anyone feeling disconnected, may there be moments of meaningful exchange, enough to remind you of how beautiful and important you are.

To everyone stepping out into new adventures this fall, may you be inspired and invigorated by all that possibility!

Monday, here we come!

It's All Going to Be Okay

I wrecked my phone.  I'll start there.

Last Friday, a week ago now, I went over to finish up the task of loading bins from a pile of construction junk beside the bunkie.  It was hot.  The sun was bright.  No pockets. 

I didn't want to leave my phone on the stairs where it would be exposed, and also possibly easily knocked off onto the rocks below the staircase.  And, I didn't simply walk up the stairs and leave my phone inside the bunkie, because I didn’t want to forget it when I was done.

So I tucked my phone into a place women often tuck things to keep them safe.  I don’t mean to be indelicate, but sports bras are particularly good for this sort of thing.  Enough said. Moving right along to the story.

I worked hard.  I'll remind you that it was hot.  Let's just say my phone got a little (ahem) damp.  Enough to mess with the touch screen.  Enough that, over the next five days, no amount of drying-out tricks recommended online could remedy the problem.  My phone was rendered useless in that I could not even draw the pattern to unlock the screen.  Nothing.  It was declared a done deal.  We’d have to see if we could get it repaired next time we were in town. 

Over the next several days, other than the normal frustrations of not having your ‘device’ available (yes, I did notice how many times I reached for it that first day), I wasn’t terribly inconvenienced other than not being able to respond to texts.  Basically everything I do on my phone I also do on my computer, except phone calls and texts.  Oh, and my camera.  I really missed my camera. 

And I felt kind of stupid.  What an expensive mistake.  Here at a time when Ken and I are practicing a new kind of frugality, I go and wreck my phone.  If it can’t be easily repaired, then I’ll have to buy a new one.  Phones are not cheap.  This is not money I expected to spend right now.  Ken was practical and kind enough to point out that I hadn’t had a new phone is about six years, so it was probably time for an upgrade anyways.  But I still felt bad.

Wednesday was town day.   It was Ken’s idea to forget about going to a repair place.  “Let’s just bite the bullet and get you a new one.”  He’d looked online, and if we checked out the Mobile Shop in the Supercentre in Midland, we might get Optimum points towards groceries.  So, okay.

It’s hard to describe what happened when we got there.  A cascade of good surprises tumbled out at us almost like a “too good to be true” prank.  I won’t even try to include all the numbers, but the phone that most closely replaced what I already had was on sale, and this was the last day, and there was one left. Of course, this being a new model, everything on it was more and faster and better, including the camera.  The renegotiations on my account, including the cost of the new phone, was a significant reduction in current monthly payments.  Yes, I said ‘reduction.’   And to top it all off, the points thing was enough to include a good quality phone case, the charger block, plus $200 worth for groceries. 

What?!?!

Something that appeared at first to be an unexpected hardship, had turned out instead to be an unexpected benefit.

We got back into the car and whooped it up for a bit.  And stopped and thanked God for looking after us.

It was such an encouragement right now to get this great deal; to have this unfortunate ‘expense’ turn into a fortunate ‘gift.’  Felt like a confirmation that this direction we’re going is the right one, and that, under God’s watchful eye, we’re going to be okay.

So, thank you Lord, for Your tender care to my relatively small, but expensive, situation.  Thank you for a lower monthly payment, a better phone, AND a better camera!  Thank you for all those free groceries!

And then I couldn’t help but remember all the times in my life when this very same thing has happened.  When circumstances that at first seemed difficult, unwanted, even devastating and grief-ridden, have in hindsight ended up being gateways to blessings that I would not have experienced otherwise.   All the times when God has turned tragedy into triumph.  When what at first seemed bad has ended up for my good.  And not just for me, but all the people who, by proxy and default, have been blessed in the wake of it.

I think the most classic story in the Bible about this is Joseph being sold into Egypt, then ending up second in command to Pharoah.  His own words express the acknowledgement of God’s grander purposes in the writing of his story.  In offering forgiveness to the brothers who sold him as a slave to that caravan heading west, he says:

“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”  Genesis 50:20.

It’s an epic story you can check out for yourselves in Genesis chapters 37 to 50. 

And Joseph nails it.  Yes, God turned the lowest point of his life into something that ended up saving countless lives throughout a brutal famine. 

I really doubt my new phone will save lives.  But it’s been a good reminder.  And a faith-booster, if you will.  When I can see the hand of God helping to write the story, I can be more patient and steady in the storm.  And when it all resolves, I am full of praise and gratitude.

And we could wrap this post up nicely right here.

Except.

I would be less than honest if I gave the impression that every bad thing that happens has such an obvious glimpse of glory.  And I would suggest that if my faith is built only on the times I can clearly understand what God is doing with my pain, then it isn’t really faith at all.

Because “faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see” (Hebrews 11:1, emphasis added) and sometimes, sometimes we do not see any good out of the bad.  Not at all.

Sometimes a medical condition just simply wrecks its havoc.  Sometimes financial ruin just ruins.  Sometimes a motorcycle accident, or a stillbirth, or any other ripping away of beloveds never makes any sense at all.  Not that God explains to us at least.  Maybe, maybe God has a greater good in mind, but He’s not telling us what that is.

And it just needs to be said, if we’re being honest, that that’s exactly where the deepest faith is forged; in the dark pit of not having any good end to the story.  Not yet anyways.  Not here, not now, not where we can see it and understand it and write happy-ending blogs about sweaty phones turning into better things.

Hebrews 11 talks about both.  First half is all the good stuff.  Second half is all the brutal stuff.  And it’s all about faith, both halves.  And in describing the people who did NOT see the good outcomes, the author says this:

“All these people were still living by faith when they died.  They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance, admitting that they were foreigners and strangers on earth.  People who say such things show that they are looking for a country of their own….a better country – a heavenly one.  Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.”  Hebrews 11:13-16m emphasis added

So, yay for my new phone.  And yay for all the amazing ways horrible experiences end up turning out for good in ways we can see and celebrate.  And let’s be careful, of course and always, to give God thanks for all of it.

But also yay and kudos to those suffering in ways that seem pointless, but they keep living faithfully anyways.  God is not ashamed to be called your God.  That’s pretty incredible.  And so are you.

============

With thanks to Bill H. for the gift that provided today's photo, and with the happy anticipation of experimenting more with this new camera!

Make Yourself at Home

Psalm 91:1

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High

will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

At the request of a friend, I nabbed Ken's phone (mine's still not 100%, more on that in a bit) and took a few pictures of the inside of our cottage.  The friend had commented that it was all lovely to see the front of my kayak on flat water with sun reflections, or various views of the shoreline, or all the flowers and all the outside things that I post while I'm here, but that perhaps a glimpse inside would be nice.

For that friend I sent an email with a more comprehensive virtual tour.  

For the purposes of this post, here's a few samples.

To be perfectly honest, the pictures makes it look bigger than it actually is.

It is most accurate to describe our summer home as 'modest,' 'rustic,' 'vintage.'  Even then, we're choosing words that spin things a tad lot.  We upgraded the bathroom about 10 years ago.  And we make sure we choose, new reliable replacements when an appliance burns out, because you just can't get a repair person out here easily at all.   All the regular maintenance of painting and plumbing and electric usually results in bringing things forward a little.  

But the bottom line is, the place is old.  Original windows.  Seventy's paneling that needs to be removed.  Quirky built in drawers that require you hold your face just right to get them open.  That kind of thing.  We're not talking about a recent build with all the structure and design features one might think of when imagining a "cottage property".

We're not that kind of summer place.  But we love it here.  Our kids and grandkids love it here.  And actually the word we most often use to describe it is 'home.'

The word for 'dwell' in Hebrew is 'yoshev'.  And just because I love how it looks....יֹשֵׁב

It means to remain, settle, sit right down.  There's a sense of permanence about it, of protection and safety.  This makes sense in Psalm 91:1 because it introduces the theme of the entire rest of the psalm.  If you know it at all you probably know it well.  It's a well-memorized part of the Bible; a go-to psalm for those in the midst of great peril.  And there's just generally a lot of comforting security and promises of divine intervention throughout its 16 verses. 

I'm parked here for a bit, in this psalm.  It's become the key guiding Scripture in this year's seasonal plan for ministry development and spiritual formation.  For obvious reasons, given our current transitional housing situation, I felt drawn into a slower deeper meditation and study.  I've been here before, memorized these words in other seasons of my life.  But I'm curious as to where this will take me this time out.

And it brings me back to the cottage and this whole sense of what or where we call 'home.'  To be honest, there is more of a sense of permanence here than in any other home we've lived in.  For 100 years, Ken's family has been summer-dwelling on these rocks, which themselves are reassuringly solid and unchanging.  In the season of upheaval that was June and July, it sure has been comforting to nestle in up here and just rest for a bit.

But even here, it's not forever.  Not even seasonally.  Even if we wanted, we can't really stay into the winter.  As at home as I feel right now, this won't last longer than a short eight weeks out.  And it's not supposed to.  We have the whole deal of the other end of things to look forward to; a nestling into the new build in Kitchener that's coming closer all the time.

So God's invitation to make myself at home in Him is brilliant and compelling.  

Especially right now.