Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Archives for 2012

The Wreck (part three of three & an epilogue)

April 10, 2012

       The Wreck happened on a Saturday. We started learning on Sunday more about the man who died. That was exactly a month ago.

********************

   Daily life continued more or less normally that Monday, except that all of our standard life stressors were more firmly rooted in place than usual, plus the newest concerns for Savannah and her family were heavy on our hearts. But overall Handsome and I were going about our business plainly and productively. Our nerves were jangled, for sure; we just didn’t realize it at first. There was really nothing left to do about the wreck, so as with lots of unchangeable things in life we just funneled our energies elsewhere then wondered why we were bickering so much.

   Early in the week I received a text from our neighbor with details about the funeral. It would be that Thursday. Handsome and I both wanted to attend, but when that morning rolled around it was clear he could not. He was tethered hopelessly to his office.

   The man’s services were held at a large, modern funeral home just about twenty-five minutes from the farm. The parking lot was filled beyond capacity, cars, trucks, and motorcycles parked in concentric curves, filling not only every designated space but also every square foot of concrete, designated or not. I barely found room for mine. People were filing into the building quickly and in large numbers. Holding hands, clapping each other’s shoulders, smiling weakly. The sun was fiercely bright that day. Warm and windy, one of the early spring days we had all been celebrating.

   Inside the building several hundred people were pacing around, finding their seats and maybe reuniting with friends or loved ones the way people do at funerals and weddings. I was offered the last open seat in an annex room with a clear view to the podium and flowers. There was no casket.

   The officiant of the service was a brother of the deceased. He was tall and solid, had a strong local accent that dressed his lumbering voice perfectly. He reminded me a little of Sam Elliott and was the sort of man who deserved the word gentleman, not guy. He led us in prayer and read scriptures with so much passion, you might think he had just discovered their truth and beauty that very day! He was urgently pressing in our hearts a message of God’s love, hope for the mansions of heaven, and comfort. Deep comfort.

   As is customary with such personal services, we got to hear some of the man’s favorite songs from his life. They played Dust in the Wind, Stairway to Heaven, and Whiskey Lullaby. The music piped in crystal clear, especially the Led Zeppelin guitar notes I remember, and every single lyric fell on the crowd like a deliberate weight. They pressed tears out of all our hearts. I wondered about Whiskey Lullaby, wondered if the family was still worried about alcohol having played a part in the wreck. What a burden, what a warning.

   Usually a funeral service is a time to say goodbye. This service, for me, was a chance to become acquainted with the man we met under such awful circumstances. As it progressed, I was increasingly frustrated that my husband couldn’t attend. He was the one who had stayed there that night in the rain. He had the most grief to release.

   I saw this man come to life in a room filled to the brim with his loved ones. Just a few days before that, the most I had seen was his white cotton t-shirt and belted jeans. Now I saw his face, smiling. Eyes literally twinkling. I saw him as a suntanned little boy in mid-century Oklahoma, often barefoot, always surrounded by his brothers and a sister. I saw him as a good looking high school football player. Then as a young adult with a magnificent white man’s Afro! When photos of that hair era slid onscreen, the room warmed with laughter. So much laughter! His most recent years seemed to be spent holding babies who were presumably his grand babies. I got to see his barrel chest draped with sleeping infants. He was always smiling.

    A girl not much younger than my own fourteen year old baby spoke at the microphone. She read her own remarks from two handwritten pages. Her dark hair was just growing back in from chemotherapy. She had a voice as soft and muted as talcum powder, and it faltered into tears at almost every sentence. Though the congregation could barely decipher her quiet words, we all cried along with her. The emotion was palpable. She barely seemed strong enough to hold the microphone and doubled over in sobs at least twice. Even as a perfect stranger I ached with this beautiful little girl, everybody did. 


   When she finished reading, the man’s brother wiped his own tears and took both her pages and the microphone then read every sentence again. His booming, affectionate voice delivered what she was trying to tell us. That we should trust God’s plans, even when they hurt. That we should be thankful for each other and what we have. That we can do amazing things. There was much more, and I hope the family kept her written pages. I wished I could be taking notes myself. So beautiful. If the congregation was weeping a moment ago, now there was widespread sobbing. From the mouths of babes, is all I could think.


   The services continued with more wonderfully loving, personal speakers. Every person held this man in such genuine affection, so much love. I keep using that word, I know, but it’s how that day felt. This man we never got to know in life must have understood how to love people. His memory seemed to braid the room together in humor, love, and affection. Even from a distance, what a worthwhile legacy.


   As the funeral concluded, some of the family members stood along the front of the room accepting a parade of mourners. I debated joining the line of people and felt completely out of place, even though we had been invited by the man’s friends. Since I knew in my heart my being there was not for spectatorship but to say goodbye, to offer condolensces, I crept up to the front with everyone else and along the way tried to think of what to say.


   By the time I reached the front, enough hugs and kisses and handshakes had been distributed to sort of relax the outward grief. The man who officiated the service was smiling. More of those funny, affectionate stories were clearly being shared, and at the last minbute I almost turned to go. But he smiled warmly at me so I shook his hand.

   “Thank you for coming,” he said. He didn’t know me, of course. He folded my hand together with both of his hands.


   “Your brother was obviously such a wonderful and loved person, and what a beautiful family you have. My husband and I live on — Road…” I thought that naming the road would be sufficient, no need to spell it our further. It was. His expression changed in a second.


   “Oh… Thank you,” but his smile faltered and his grip strengthened, then he looked away. I honestly was very worried it had been a huge mistake in attending. When we released the handshake I smiled a tiny bit at the woman to his right and left the funeral home as quietly as I could.

********************



Epilogue:
   In the days immediately following the funeral, we noticed a large collection of flower sprays placed on the shoulder of our road, weighted down by a cinder block. Roses, white gladiolus, lots of greenery. We couldn’t help but notice they were on the opposite side of the road and about twenty feet off from the site of the crash. We will probably never forget exactly that spot. I know I think about it every time we drive past.
   Handsome and I only one time verbally considered moving the flowers to the correct location, in honor of the deceased man, but of course understood that was not our place. So they are still there now. Withered and brown and weighted by that cinder block.

********************

   On Easter Sunday, in the late afternoon, Handsome was outside moving animals around when he saw a car parked at our front gate. This is not normal, and we weren’t expecting company, so after a moment he went down the gravel driveway. He found the brother,  the gentleman who had reminded me of Sam Elliott. They traded introductions and talked more about the wreck. Knowing my husband and having briefly met this gentleman, I can only imagine how much poise and calm was between them. The brother gave thanks for coming to the funeral and shared that yes, there had been lingering concerns about alcohol. This was a wonderful opportunity for Handsome to encourage him with the fact that he did not smell any alcohol on his brother’s breath that night and that deer are thick in this area, especially on dark rainy nights like that. It had to be a deer he was avoiding.


   I am so thankful that they met. I think it’s even better than if we had gone to the funeral together. And I am also thankful he met the brother alone, because that night he had stayed with the man alone. 


   Sometimes life draws these perfect little circles. Painful and unwanted, sure, but still full of love, lessons, promises, and even poetry.


Drive safely, loved your people, trust God. 
xoxoxoxo

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Easter Past and Present

April 7, 2012

   One of the happiest Sundays of the year is just a couple of days away… Happy Easter you guys! How do you celebrate? Our traditions are kind of a mash up of my Catholic heritage and Handsome’s straight line Bible upbringing. From my childhood, I remember a version of Seder meals, palm fronds burned into ashes for crossing ourselves at Lent’s onset, purple satin, and the weekly, suspenseful countdown culminating in a jubilant Easter Sunday service. I remember lots of white flowers always and a huge, towering wooden cross.

   Handsome’s heritage is based on passionate preaching. Beautiful, strict adherence to the gospel and sincere wonderment at the prophecies that led up to Christ’s birth, death, and resurrection. They have used the same tall cross wrapped in white satin for years. They also fill the church with white flowers which are always sent home for in-laws, friends, and far flung loved ones.

   Did you notice the satin and flowers? Our lives before marriage are filled with uncanny connections like this. And for the handful of dogma differences between the faiths, both of our incredible families in their own ways lay out delicious feasts and shower the kids in candy, egg hunts, frills, and love.

   In our marriage, then, we have learned to do a lot of blending, and Easter-time is when these hybrid practices are most evident. I like to roll out the Jewish remembrances and Old Testament stuff, which he tolerates with a smile. And he really, really, really loves his chocolate Easter bunnies. Like, so much you guys.

   Anyway, this Easter without the kiddos we are not dyeing eggs or filling baskets with fluffy pretty things. I think we’ll light a big bonfire here at the farm and cross our fingers that some of the chicken eggs hatch. Some of them are due, after all, and we do tend to get baby chicks ever year on Easter Sunday! One of our roosters named Peep was hatched two Easters ago. I am certain he has sired many chicks by now.

   Sunday we will be at church and then with both of our big beautiful families, taking pictures of nieces and nephews, filling up on ham and sugar and love. In the mean time I am so happy to dig through old photos and memories and share a few glimpses of Easter Past…

“Then ye shall say, it is the sacrifice of the Lord’s Passover,
who passed over the houses of the children of Israel in Egypt
when he smote the Egyptians, and delivered our houses. 
And the people bowed the head and worshiped.”
~Exodus 12:27

One of our personal traditions has been to cover the front door frame in paper then paint it red,
to symbolize the sacrificial blood required for the Passover.
Of course this is to facilitate the message about Jesus being the ultimate sacrifice.
Here is one of many front door paintings over the years, this time in 2006.  xoxo
Look at those sparkling dark brown eyes!
And I just love “good morning” hair on my girls…
Makes me want to snuggle them and inhale their sunshine perfume!
Easter morning is when solemnity ends for us.
The waiting is over because the stone is rolled away!
We are all candy and color and fun, pomp and circumstance!
(Egad! Looks like I was hoping for a resurrection for that poinsettia!)

 
   If springtime is when the earth reawakens, then Easter is when my spirit does. No doubt about it, witnessing so much spontaneous life all around us grows more amazing every year. If seeds can sprout just by sitting on top of damp soil, untended and unwept, then surely Love can spark in even the dimmest relationships. Surely healing can be delivered to withering bodies. Love is what makes this happen, and it is the most powerful force of all. When something is promised to you, however unlikely it seems, trust it. When you have heard that whisper that everything is gonna be alright, then stop railing against the circumstances and just be ready for it.

“And behold, there was a great earthquake:
for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, 
and came and rolled back 
the STONE from the door, and sat upon it.”
~Matthew 28:2

Happy girl in white lace gloves at Grandma and Grandpa’s house for a big cousins egg hunt! 2006
She has downright infectious laughter and can squeeze the air out you with one of her famous hugs!

They wore their dresses and bonnets all day long!
Our first Easter at the farm, 2008.
Our house looked so different before the fire that happened a few months later!
This pretty girl is my baby offering a very solemn Bible reading
before our traditional sader meal of grape juice and unleavened bread.
We usually do this on Good Friday.
Another door painting for Passover. Look how much the girls grew!
Over the years they memorized our unique traditions.
If I almost forgot the foot washing, they let me know!
Admittedly that part is pretty nice.
In 2008 we were blessed with a set of adorable pygmy goat twins just in time for Easter.
We packed them up  in a basket full of baby blankets and took them to church!
(I resisted the intense urge to dress them in Easter frocks… sufficed with lacy blankets instead.)
There was much baa-ing and giggling during service, and all the kids wanted to hold them.
This is one of the hidden benefits of attending a small church. You can bring your goats if you feel like it.
My beautiful first born. The artist, the feeler, the animal tender.
She watched over those goats all of that very long, happy Sunday
and let Spice (this gray little girl) nap on her whenever she needed it.
I love you baby. xoxoxo You amaze me in so many ways.
Here is my gorgeous little sister Ang with her baby and my little buddy Kenz.
The baby goats were a handful, but they did not lack for attention that Easter!
   So maybe your Easter traditions are steeped in faith and ceremony. Or maybe they are lovely pastel shades of chocolate and Pagan (wink-wink, rib-rib, totally kidding). Better yet, maybe your customs are a perfectly American blend of the two. However you celebrate this weekend, the Lazy W wishes you and yours lots of love, lots of joy, and lots of deep refreshment. The best kind, the kind that lasts and lasts. 
“But whosoever drinketh of the water 
that I shall give him shall never thirst;
but the water that I shall give him 
shall be in him a WELL
of water springing up into everlasting life.”
~John 4:14

Celebrating New Life is Good.
Believing in Impossible Miracles is Better.
Happy Easter You Guys!
xoxoxo

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Filed Under: Easter, holidays, memories, Passover

Roses After the Rain

April 5, 2012

http://instagr.am/p/JBFJ1OOZuu/

   This fire-and-ice rose bush was one of the first gifts Handsome ever gave me, before we were married. It’s been through many transplants and lots of extreme weather over the years. I am so happy to see it bursting with fresh new blooms today!
   Plus I just got Instagram for Android, so… this is just about the funnest thing ever. I may never use a real camera again.

Fire and Ice…
Kind of Like Romance …
XOXOXO


Published with Blogger-droid v2.0.4

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Filed Under: instagram

The Wreck (part two of three)

April 3, 2012

 Almost a month has passed since the fatal crash in front of our farm. That Saturday night will be etched in our minds forever I am sure, but the next week was far less vivid. Following is approximately how the next morning went for us.

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The Next Morning
   Handsome and I were outside early Sunday morning, still dazed, only very thinly rested from the few hours of broken sleep the night had divided between us. We were watching the sun press through the gray morning, counting the animals, randomly gripping each other’s arms and kissing each other’s faces, greeting the day as calmly and gratefully as we could. Church was a few hours away but might as well have been months. Time crawled. I don’t think we spoke much except to ask each other for new theories on the man’s identity. We wondered who might be missing him this morning, and had they even been contacted yet? I had tried in vain to find reports of the wreck online. Knowing more about this man felt like the most important thing. Grieving him personally was the only thing left to do, and the suspense was painful.
   We kept looking over towards the spot where so much had happened just a few hours ago. In the hazy morning light it looked bizarre. The emergency crews had done a good job clearing the debris, leaving no obvious signs of wreckage or anything. No longer any blanket of shattered glass, no errant tools from the truck’s spilled tool box, no clothing. No blood. Nothing was there to let people know what had happened, and this was unsettling. The emptiness of the road compounded my feelings of guilt that we were both home, alive, disconnected from the man and his grieving family members. We had only missed the crash by moments, after all.
   The guineas had descended from their treetop beds. The roosters were waking up with loud crows. The geese were honking and zooming towards the pond. And the buffalo and horses were stretching and pacing towards their breakfast spots. It could have been a normal morning. Eventually, in the muted fog we noticed an unfamliar car parked across the road and a short, slight man walking through the tall grass, head down, shoulders bent, hands in his pockets. We deliberated briefly, then Handsome took a deep breath and walked down the gravel driveway. At that distance I was just watching a silent movie, but one rich with expression. They spoke for several minutes, embraced (this is so rare for my husband), walked the length of the road and together searched for traces of the man’s life and death.

   When he returned to the house, my stalwart husband told me that the man was a friend of the deceased, that the family had just received the terrible news and only an aching sliver of information, so he was here at the crash site trying to piece together a fuller story. The timing was such that the police would have just barely completed their overnight report and not yet determined cause, no autopsy yet of course, very few answers for all of the inevitable and desperate questions. The fact that we could have a conversation with this man’s friend so early the next morning was a real blessing, for us as well as for him.

   There was some concern that the driver had been drinking, but since Handsome had spent those last minutes so near his body, searching for signs of life, holding his hands and talking to him, he was able to say that he didn’t smell any alcohol. This was more than a small comfort we think. And in the course of talking we were able to get an idea of who the man was, be assured that his family was notified, and begin to slow down the build up of anxiety.

   After the man’s friend drove away we retreated inside to drink coffee, shower, and dress for church. Putting on makeup felt perfectly ridiculous. Time still crawled and everything felt dull and heavy, but we plugged away at our Sunday morning and afternoon routines. That first day he and I were particularly tender with each other. Unfortunately but naturally, this changed as the week wore on and stress accumulated.

   Later, after church and lunch in the city and then finishing animals chores back at the farm, we learned even more about the man who lost his life. While we hadn’t met that first friend before Sunday morning, it turns out that the deceased was a close friend of our neighbor just south and west of here, with whom we are very familiar. Sadly, in that shocking, bittersweet way, they had spent that Saturday evening together and had parted ways just minutes before the crash. Our neighbor was as glad to talk to us as we were to talk to him.  He was able to describe the man to us a little more, indulge us with a general picture of his life and family, and ultimately promise to let us know about services when they were planned. We were so grateful for this.

   The man we wanted to grieve did not live here but was retired and working odd jobs nearby, also spending time with his adult children who are locals. He was a grandfather. He was recently remarried but according to our neighbor (who told the story with lots of affectionate laughter) that sudden marriage was quickly determined to be a mistake. But no worries, he had fallen in love again. He was a fun person, a friend, a good guy. As Handsome and our neighbor traded ideas about the crash, they more or less agreed that the way his truck had flipped, he could very well have been avoiding a deer. It was a really dark, rainy night, remember, and deer are heavy around here lately. We are always telling our friends and family as they  leave, “Watch for deer!” And we mean it. Apparently this was exactly the man’s character: he would not hurt a fly and was known to go to great lengths to avoid animals on the road.

   Connecting peripherally with the man’s loved ones helped a lot. So, thinking nothing else would come of the traumatic weekend, we continued with our routines and loved each other tenderly and deliberately all of  Sunday evening.

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Sunday Evening Five Senses Tour

April 2, 2012

   Hi you guys! I am surprised and frustrated to see that an entire week has passed since writing anything. For months now but especially this past week, every day has been filled with activity from before dawn until the latest hours. So I really shouldn’t be surprised at the lack of writing; it’s just that time has passed so strangely this week. The days have run together and I have lost track of their passage. 
   Some of the hours have been incredibly sad, truly grief stricken, and others have been just plain stressful. But some slices of life around here have been very peaceful and happy too. Deeply joyful. We have so many blessings to count and celebrate. Truly. I feel like ending the weekend with a 5 Senses Tour to sort of take inventory and catch my breath.
*************************
See:  My husband working across the room on some family photo and paperwork scanning projects. He’s already getting tanned for the summer, and his green eyes glow bright and clear against his darkening skin. He is so gorgeous, and I love watching him concentrate. I love watching his eyes focus, his arms flex, and his jaw set firm. He keeps looking over to smile and wink and air kiss me. I can also see the X Men movie playing on our bedroom television, a basket of clean folded laundry, and my hurriedly painted toenails. I see luscious green pastures through the windows. And here is a new book I just started, on loan from a book club friend Desiree…

Smelling: This evening we have the air conditioner on for the first time in months, so can I smell that familiar mechanical frost, that artificial fresh-stale scent that tells us summer is close. I can smell my perfume, which today is euphoria by Calvin Klein. Seems appropriate. For all of our pain or confusion in life, we are simmering in love. We are euphoric more often than we deserve.

Hearing: The ceiling fan, the hum of the air conditioner, X Men, and an occasional rooster outside.

Tasting: Iced coffee. Sweet, creamy with half and half, perfectly dark and strong, and very very cold and wonderfully refreshing.

Touching: Clean bed sheets, new yellow cotton shirt I snapped up at a garage sale yesterday (it is incredibly soft), light breeze from the ceiling fan, and the annoying burn of a scrape I got on my shin earlier, from running into a dead sunflower stalk. That thing was like a steel pipe you guys, seriously! Ouch. Watch out for those things. I might need stitches. Not really.

Thinking: In church this morning we heard a lot of good messages, but one has been echoing in my head all day: “God doesn’t answer needs; He answers faith.” This will naturally spark a lot of debate and conversation with people, as it has in my own troubled mind, and as always I welcome your thoughts here. But so far the statement seems to be consistent with my life: Those prayers which remain unanswered are probably the ones where my doubt is strongest. Kind of a cruel paradox, but if it is true then it bears with it clear direction: Trust God. Also, I met a fascinating woman today who started telling me her life story in just about half an hour, quite by surprise, and I am so glad for this. She’s on my mind tonight. I am thinking about the garden for sure, excited to join the early warm climate with some growing projects of my own. Thinking of local honey. Thinking of camel rides with my friend Marci. Thinking of how differently people navigate grief. Wondering what the girls are thinking about. Hoping my Uncle Chris is doing alright.

Feeling: Very grateful for the love in my life. From passion, romance, and truly wonderful friendships to family ties and  new acquaintances, love is abundant. I feel it all around me and all through my daily life, which is amazing. The power of Love to overcome my anger, fear, and bitterness is nothing short of awe-inspiring. I miss the girls more than I can put into words. Their beautiful faces and sweet voices and memories of their skin are never far from the surface, so I am always on the verge of tears to mention them. But even that dark feeling is being slowly overcome by Love. I feel hopeful. I feel happy for the past and excited for the future. Content in the present, confident that they are not just alright but thriving. I feel so proud of Handsome for his talents and work ethic, for all of his accomplishments at the commish lately and for everything on the horizon there. I definitely feel sad that our family has lost our grandmother, regretful that I didn’t see her more these past few years. I want more than ever to spend extra time with my Grandpa Rex.

*************************

   This sensory inventory could go on for hours, you guys, but I will close up now and work on something else. I have book reviews coming, in addition to everything else I’ve been meaning to write. Thank you so much for stopping by the digital Lazy W. How is everybody else doing?
Life is Beautiful
xoxoxo

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Filed Under: daily life, five senses tour

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Hi! I'm Marie. Welcome to the Lazy W. xoxo

Hi! I’m Marie. This is the Lazy W.

A hobby farming, book reading, coffee drinking, romance having, miles running girl in Oklahoma. Soaking up the particular beauty of every day. Blogging on the side. Welcome to the Lazy W!

I Believe Strongly in the Power of Gratitude & Joy Seeking

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