I've Got Bins

This past weekend was absolutely a thrill. My housemate Liz is moving to Oregon at the end of the month, so my moving gift to her (really, it was a thinly veiled gift to myself) was helping her go through all of her belongings in every room and dividing them into keep, trash, and sell piles.

It felt like I was living out my dream of being a member of the "Clean Sweep" team. The most wrongly cancelled program ever. It was like crack for the OCD. I loved it.

You take a room (or two) jack crammed full of clutter from all the years and transform spaces. *chills*

It took us probably around 18-20 hours to get it all done, and we still have some more to price and organize for Saturday's garage sale.

Purging.

Like me, Liz is very sentimental. Her purge involved going through not just her bedroom and crap boxes but the large bins in the garage, the place where memories hide.

Notes, tiny gifts, trinkets, pieces of clothes that don't really fit anymore.
Paper, stuffed bears, keychains, that kind of ugly sweater. If you found it in someone else's closet,  you'd want to toss it immediately. None of them are valuable in and of themselves.

Because it doesn't have much to do with the object.
It's the adventure you were on with your family when you found the keychain, the dark place you were in when you received the note, the love that gave you the bear, the sweater that you and your best friend discovered in a thrift store.

We miss the person/place/era. It's a memento from a pin in time that you won't be able to get back to.

Weekends are no longer meant for best friend slumber parties.
Summers are no longer meant for extended family vacations with just your immediate family. You probably don't all fit in the van the same way (babies, wives, husbands).
Hidden presents in your locker from that cute boy you've got a crush on don't happen anymore.
There's just not a reason for ironically ugly matching sweater sets.

We miss our pasts, and when we keep all the crap from them, it's like our way of keeping them just a little bit alive.

The thing is, they're not alive. They keep your present from living and fill your garage with piles of useless, heavy bins.

Throw it away, recycle it, bag it up and take it to Goodwill.
Still too fresh? That's okay. Just be judicious in how much you allow yourself to keep.

"But maybe I'll use this paperwork in the future!!!"
How long have you had it? Have you used it in that time? No? Recycle.

"But I love all the memorabilia I kept from that vacation!!"
Cool. Stick in a jar and make it decor for your home. It can't stay in a box.

You don't have to throw away everything that means something to you, but learn to emotionally distance yourself and let yourself move on. Make practical what you can, take pictures of sweet notes or paste them on to the back of a picture of that friend, make a quilt of old t-shirts, give a cousin/friend the clothes you like best.

Repeat the purge every spring--don't wait for the next moving process (you'll be super overwhelmed)

It's time to let go.

The Path to Adulthood is Slippery

When I was a kid, I sucked at almost everything.
Because, duh, I was a kid.

I have this pretty ugly habit, though.
Of HATING things that I suck at.
So, naturally, I hated most activities.

Mostly I liked to swim.
I was good at swimming.
I'm still good at swimming.

Kids' parties which involved ice skating or roller skating were the worst. I would not even condescend to try and participate.

My very kind and socially aware mother put me in ice skating lessons. roller skating lessons. tennis lessons. volleyball lessons. basketball lessons.

Wanna know how much of those I cried through?
Dang near straight through the whole freaking entire first lesson.

I still suck at ice skating and roller skating (and still refuse to participate. When I go roller skating, I run around in socks, which is enormously more fun).
I straight up quit tennis.
Volleyball is a no go.
Basketball is on a "will if I have-to" basis.

But, during the lesson versions of those things (except tennis. I did not make it through tennis. Or that second volleyball camp), I got over it after the first lesson, even if I didn't love it.

My initial response to new things is frustration to the crying degree. Flash flood temper.

Yesterday, a "MainReqd" light came on in my car.
Checked the oil.
Rechecked it because no one believed I could do it right.

And it was decided that I needed an oil change, not really because I believe I need one but because I want that awful light to go off and leave me be.

Took it in during my lunch break; it was busy and I was super confused.
I felt really stupid and asked stupid questions and tried to be calm.
Did my shopping while I waited.
and waited.
and waited.
and what was supposed to take 15-20 minutes was an hour in and they still hadn't looked at my car.

I then gave up.
Took my car back to work.
And cried about it to be pretty honest.

Why?
Because I cry when I'm frustrated.
Which is frustrating.
And makes me cry.
It's a pretty vicious cycle.

But I got back to the office, asked around for really anywhere alternative for oil changes, sent an inquiry email, which I followed up with a call, scheduled an appointment, and even printed off a coupon from their website.

Two steps backward in the maturity sphere, but you can't be good at something you haven't tried before (unless you are literally the worst person in the universe. seriously. keep that stuff to yourself. we will key your car. in love.).

Now I know.
I know what kind of oil my car uses.
I know where to take it and where not to take it.
I know to use the internet instead of calling my dad first and panic him.

Next time, I'll kick this oil change in the trunk.

Stop. Collaborate and Listen.

It's that special time of year! No, not Christmas. THANKSGIVING!

My all-time favorite holiday. It used to be a close runner-up to Christmas Eve, but since we've grown out of our old Christmas traditions, Thanksgiving has taken its rightful place at the top.

Every year growing up, Chon and I would watch the Macy's parade for hours, then he would...well...I don't actually know where he would go, but I would get changed (usually more than once. Jansie usually called my first attempts "homeless") and ready for the day and help the women in the kitchen.

Mashed potatoes are only right one way. Once they are in mountain form, a spoon forms a crater, a slice of butter goes in, and a dash of paprika sprinkles across the top.

My food roles are cranberry sauce and stuffing. My stuffing recipe is absolutely incredible. The cranberries, though, I never get exactly right. It's a delicate art, cranberry sauce.

When she's there, Krissy joins me in our joint role of table setting. We are in charge of putting ice in the cups. That's it. It's a lonely job without her. There's nobody to hide escaped ice cubes under various table toppers with. Or roll eyes when my mother or aunt cracks a joke about finally letting us in on the family secret recipe for ice cubes. (One day, we'll get that recipe...:))

From there, it's just a mess of singing, people, food, getting trapped at the table (literally), games, pie, mass naps, food, rifling through the black friday ads, and maybe a drive down to Utica Square for Lights On.

The very best part of this tradition is the way my family collects people.

I don't remember a single Thanksgiving where I was related (or knew) everyone at my table. Friends, family, friends of family, teachers of family, random college students with nowhere to go, random church members with nowhere to go, etc. And for that one day, they are my family.

Today, we had Thanksgiving Irish Style with a few splashes of home.

The Macy's Day Parade was on all afternoon, the food was everywhere, and gathered around the table were friends, family, and a stranger. The students, who have become my friends and family; Hadden and Betty, who are a very sweet and sparky older couple who look after us and are also like our family; and Naomi, who is a friend to me and a stranger to them.

And the very best thing happened. All this was good and well, but I received two phone calls that made my day. Two of my brothers FaceTimed me. I don't know. It seems like a silly thing to care so much about, but being remembered is a big deal to me. I met my nephew Superfly for the first time (met is a liberal word for staring at a phone pointed at a sleeping baby) and got air kisses from two of my nieces. Here's a silly, unclear screen shot of my oldest brother and his family.

Jansie, too, has sent me various pictures from the day's festivities. It's a quiet year for the Odom's. The siblings are due for their Thanksgiving with our family next year, so this year was just my ma and daddy, my aunt and uncle, and my sweet grandmother.

Check out my mother's impressive edible arrangement (she really has quite a gift. At my graduation, she made my face, nosering and all).

What am I thankful for?

1. My full handful of nieces and nephews. They completely changed my family and my life. They're so itty bitty, but they've made such a dynamic impact. One they won't ever completely understand. I love them with my whole heart. And while I'm at it, I'm thankful for the technology that allows me to be a part of their lives even while I'm so far away.

2. My family. My brothers, sisters, parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins. I'm sure everyone has a wonderful family, but mine...man. Lord has blessed us.

3. I am thankful for a God who forges unlikely relationships between unlikely people and gives us the grace to break and grow with one another as we pass in and out of seasons in our lives. Freak accident friendships. The three I have in mind are with Haley, Caity, and Kira.

I know the top one's blurry, but it captures us perfectly. Always in motion. Always laughing. Always doing something ridiculous and silly and fun. Just fun. And yet, they are the first people I go to when I need to talk through matters of the soul. These pictures in particular are taken in Haley Nelle's room by her boyfriend who met all of us simultaneously. That's how we like to do things. He survived the vetting. We kept him. He's a good one, David is. 

4. I'm thankful for my amazing college friends, professors, and mentors who continue to impact my life. Rabbi, Tracy, Abby, Becca, Peter, Adam, Maddie, Anna, Carli. I'm sure there are others.

5. I'm thankful for change. Like the change of me living here, the changes of family additions and marriages of my best friends, the changes God is making in my own life.

There is no need to make a specific number for God. The rest of the list simply doesn't exist without him.

To close this incredibly long post, I leave you with the song we sing around our Thanksgiving table (hands held so nobody sneaks food. Grandma...):

Father, we thank thee. Father we thank thee. Father in Heaven, we thank thee

*Cue male family members attempts at prayer and successes at tears.*

In Memoriam

I want to tell you a little story.

Once upon a time, I was a very small sort of person, and I had two very best friends: Sarah and Shelby. I actually don’t have any memories pre-SS. We were inseparable. Sarah and I were inseparable.

These two girls had two great-grandparents, named Nolan and  Ilene or, more affectionately, Papa and Momo. The three of us spent lots of time with them. Even after I didn’t anymore, I knew of how much time the girls spent with them from talks after church with Papa and Momo.

You see, life took some nasty turns and left Sarah, Shelby, and I in very different places. At Woodlake, every single week before I’d leave, I’d find Nolan and Ilene to hug them, tell them I loved them, and ask about the girls. Every week, Ilene would respond the same way by taking my hands in hers, looking at me with her deep, blue eyes, and telling me to pray for “our girls.” It undid me every time.

The beautiful thing was, though, that no matter what was going on in Sarah and Shelby’s lives, no matter how hard and hurt they were, they were still sweet and soft with their great-grandparents. They inspire gentleness.

They were also the kind of couple who still held hands to walk to the car together. It’s a little thing, but it’s a big thing. After more than fifty years of marriage, they still held hands to walk to the car.

When I left Woodlake and when I moved to Arkansas, I worried constantly that due to my desertion of my church and my estrangement from my friends, I wouldn’t ever know if Nolan and Ilene had died.

This past Christmas break, I felt it all through me that I needed to find them and visit. I made some calls, found the nursing home they’d been moved to, and didn’t go for days. I couldn’t do it. At the very last day possible (honestly, I think it could have even been the day I went back; I don’t remember), I went. I think I spent the whole time crying. My heart burned with every sort of emotion. Missing my friends, wanting them to come back to Jesus, seeing Nolan and Ilene reduced to nursing home state, everything.

Nolan was pleased as punch that I’d come, and he remembered me. Ilene was so near death that she couldn’t speak or move. We just looked at one another, and I held her hand and told her how much I loved her. She died a month later. My ma saw it in the paper.

Her funeral was a most redemptive experience. Jesus has done incredible work in Sarah and Shelby and, for a few moments, it was as if nothing had changed between us at all.

This summer, I felt the same sort of pull to go back and see Nolan. Again, I couldn’t make myself go. The day before I left for Ireland, I finally did it.

It was downright fun. When I came in, he was struggling to get energy enough for shoes, so  I sat on the ground, took up his feet, and slid them into socks and shoes. After, he tapped his feet like a jig and started “yippie-kay-ay”ing. Ready to run the Boston Marathon, I’d say.

We looked up at the picture of him and Ilene on his wall, the one that looks so much like Sarah, and he told me how they’d skipped church right after they got married to have that photo taken. He told me how much he missed his sweetheart.

We talked about a lot of things and laughed together and I could not get over how totally sharp his mind was. As a former counselor/professor, he was thrilled I was headed in the same direction. “But of course that makes sense! You’re one of my girls. You got it from me.”

When I kissed his cheek on my way out, I told him he better wait for me to come back. He said he had no intention of waiting that long for his heavenly reunion.

Just before I woke up this morning, I had a dream that I was in my mama’s bed, and she came in to tell me Nolan had died. I woke up instantly and checked my phone. I had a FaceBook message from Sarah. Nolan hit his head yesterday and went to go be with his sweetheart and his sweet Lord.

God is so good. He orchestrates the patterns of life so perfectly and with so much grace. I was able to say goodbye to both my adoptive grandparents before they left and have closure and redemption with Sarah and Shelby.

But, more and better, Nolan and Ilene lived to see their great-granddaughters come back to Jesus. That, is the very best.