Peace in Life and Death

Today Denny laid to rest one of his closest friends, his little dog, Talula, who has been with him since he rescued her as a pup about fifteen years ago. 

He posted a picture to Facebook, of Talula on her last day, and the condolences began to roll in. Among them, however, there was a comment from a local chap with whom we are nominally acquainted, a Christian who never comments unless he sees an opportunity to witness to us. Why we have remained friends online is a mystery even to me. Maybe I’m reluctant to shut anyone out. He’s not been unkind, just pushy about his faith. He likes to argue and feel like he’s making a point. I’ve occasionally engaged with him when he’s commented on my wall because he’s a perfect example of the bold, condescending, and ignorant nature of evangelical Bible believers in my area.

Among the many unbelievers who offered their condolences and love to Denny, here’s this man's comment:

(I’m leaving his typos in for the full effect.)

“In times of sorrow and sadness for the loss of loved ones and things I am able to turn to my faith for solice. I know we share no faith but you always can turn to that cold mistress science that says the matter that makes up that wonderful creature that you have known for 15 years is never destroyed but only changes form. Science says your pup will live on throughout the eons changing form and shape over and over again. Now to me that doesn't give much hope but ya gotta work with what ya brought. Hopefully the chemicals that cause the emotional bonds to your pet fad quickly so you pain responce will ease and mend post haste.”

It took quite a bit of control not to post something in response, something along the lines of “Using someone's grief as an opportunity to discuss your beliefs and mock theirs… How very Christian of you.”

Out of respect for Denny and his grieving process, I’ll just say it here instead. Ha.

But it did get me to thinking about peace. I had my moments of peace while I was a believer, sure. Now I know it wasn't supernatural, it was just me and occasionally the kind words of friends. But I have far more peace in my life these days than I’ve ever had before. I'm not the only one; others I know who have come out of religion, and some who were never in it, feel the same: an overwhelming, solid sense of peace. (To be fair, not all the unbelievers of my acquaintance know this peace, but most do.) I’ve yet to help a Bible believer to begin to comprehend how that’s possible. As far as they're concerned Jesus is the Prince of Peace, the Sam’s Club of happy feelings, and if you don’t buy a membership, you aren't allowed to shop. Try getting them to see the same feelings grow as wild and plentiful as dandelions, free for the taking.

I have no reason to believe in an afterlife and so I no longer entertain the possibility. It doesn't bother me in the least because I love the fact that I am made of stardust and to stardust I will return. I have a deep sense of peace knowing that the molecules that make up my person will return to cycle through the earth and then through the universe for eons. That's something which I'm able to truly know and draw comfort from. Yeah, Bible believers believe the same, but for the faithful that’s just the beginning. From there it branches off into various beliefs based on myth and hope. The thing is, the purely natural cycle doesn't ask us anything in return. It happens whether we're good, bad, or ugly. It's as simple as simple can be. 

And I'm not just saying this because as an atheist I have no options. It true does console me. I don't wish for or need anything more than this.

As a believer I had so many doubts, as any honest believer does, and always wondered whether I was pleasing to God. Did I understand him correctly? Was I living the way he wanted me to? Was I spending enough time with him, learning him, living for him, witnessing for him? I didn’t know if I would make the grade when judgement day came, but I gave God everything I had and hoped for the best. There's precious little peace in that. I dare say my occasional peace came not because of my ideas of God, but in spite of them.

Rest in peace, Talula. Maybe we'll get together in five billion years or so and partake in the birth of a star.

Writing, Warts, and the Atlas Complex

What I thought being A Real Writer in the Slow Winter Months would be like:

Waking up in the morning while the house is quiet, grabbing a cup of tea and cozying up by the wood stove with my laptop and a purring cat at hand. Excited because I woke up with the greatest idea for the next part of my new book, I write 500 words before the first of the children plods down the stairs asking about breakfast. We eat, do their lessons, eat again, do a craft, I write another 500 words and spend an hour promoting my book online before dinner, after which I respond to email and relax with Denny.

Reality:
Er… Yeah. Well, it’s not the above, let’s just say that.

Just like you, I’m sure, I dream of a day, just one day, that goes according to plan. Or even a day where I can get the head space to make a plan to stick to. But the hours go zooming by and it takes life right along with it. Half the time, like Bilbo Baggins, I feel, “thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread."

I suspect it comes from some combination of my perfectionist nature and the sheer quantity of lovely things in life to enjoy. I can’t do it all. If I do one or two things well on any given day, I must be neglecting other things. There’s no winning. Some days this doesn’t bother me and some days it does. You ever have those days where you end up just spinning your wheels because you can’t settle on a direction? Last week I met myself coming and going. One afternoon I realized I had fixed myself an iced cappuccino, drank half of it and then, 15 minutes later, popped it in the microwave because I thought I might enjoy it better hot. I just didn’t know where my head was or what I wanted.

I wrote about writing and Denny and getting it all sorted in a recent post. I suppose I needn’t repeat myself, tempting as it is because the same thoughts still zigzag through my brain. Denny and I are still trying to find our groove, with both of us working and schooling the kids at home.

So what’s new? Well, today I’m sitting in our small public library. I’ve found a study desk where I can set up. I have headphones on so I can listen to music and tune out the goings-on around me. I’ve set myself a time limit; three, maybe four hours. No distractions. Whatever I get done, I get done. Going to try to do this one day a week. I have the most difficult time setting aside other things and making writing a priority. I want to write; I love to write, but it takes head space. My head is often crowded with other things all screaming for attention. I foolishly think that if I just get the other things done, I’ll be able to write. The other things are never done, at least not for long. Getting out of the house for a few hours narrows my focus only by a small margin, but it helps sometimes.

I really don’t know how other writing mothers do this. I want to be a good mom, an engaged mom, and for me that also means being a good teacher, raising my own children and giving them a better foundation for life than they would receive anywhere else. I want to be a good partner to Denny, spending time with him, making sure his needs are met, enjoying him, his interests, and the life we are building. I want to learn new things, to study and explore my corner of the world, as well as a few other places. I want to eat right, feed my family nutritious and delicious meals, exercise, get enough sleep, take truly relaxing breaks, keep a clean house (or at least get it clean a couple times a week), and build and enjoy worthwhile friendships. I want to express myself creatively, to write for myself and others, while making a small profit to help support my family.

Lofty goals. Maybe not so different from yours. Do you spend too much time feeling like you can’t keep up? Like time is getting away from you? And do you, like me, know full well that you’d be way more productive and happy if you stopped tripping on the idea of being productive and happy? Let’s see if I can summarize and share the great advice that I don’t always follow:

Let it go. 

There, that was easy enough. And you learned that much watching Frozen.

Heh.

Okay, the point is, both for your benefit and mine, that we’re not perfect. Agggghhh! I know! How many times do I have to say it before it sinks in? I’m not perfect, you’re not, no one is. That’s right, no one. Nope, not even Supermom on that charming blog you always read. I guarantee you that her kids bicker from me to time and that she, too, has to decide between cleaning her house and writing or something else she wants to do. And she occasionally cheats and buys bread from the store instead of baking her own. Let’s cut ourselves a little slack.

I wonder if folks had a better perspective when we lived next door to each other in small communities like our grandparents did? Or intentional communities like some do these days. What are we missing by not living and working beside each other daily, sharing our ups, downs, bumps, bruises, laughter and tears, unable to hide our imperfections? Has our ability to realistically see each other altered our ability to realistically see ourselves? To what effect?
How close does your best friend live to you? How far away is your family? How often do you visit? Who else do you relate to? How much of the honest lives of others are you able to witness on a regular basis? Do you only see the things they present on the phone? Their blogs? On Facebook? In the occasional email?

“Oh yes, the kids are all doing well. We spent two hours studying Native American Indians this morning and we ate a traditional Indian meal,” says your friend in an email. While she’s typing, the children have just finished watching Disney’s Pocahontas and are now grumbling about who’s turn it is to wash dishes. For lunch they devoured four bags of microwaved popcorn and cold canned pumpkin drizzled with Mrs. Butterworth’s. Not sayin’ all of your friends are lying to you, but each of us can definitely present things in such a way as to make us feel better about our lives. We might not be comfortable letting people see our warts. Though, admittedly, sometimes we are honest--painfully so--but because of where others are in their lives they just can’t see that you struggle, too. Instead of comforting them, your realness threatens them. (I had a recent reviewer suggest that my account of my life in Free to Be is dishonest. I had rather a good chuckle over that. Bad reviews always seem to say more about the reviewer than about the item being reviewed, have you noticed?)

For me, taking my writing seriously has involved an honest examination of my ideals and my perceived failures. It has involved hours of self-doubt as well as a certain amount of neglect in other areas of my life, no matter how smooth it looks from your end. It’s true I spend too much time comparing my accomplishments with my ideals. I make more progress when I put my head down and barrel through, oblivious to the inner doubts as well as everything others are saying, positive or negative. When it’s just me, just doing what I do, that’s when I shine. A bit of self-acceptance goes a long way toward shining.

But someone has to bake the bread, make sure the house gets cleaned, plan meals, juggle appointments, remember birthdays, comfort the sick, teach English, read Dr. Seuss…  Oh well. I’ll do what I can and will try not to beat myself up over it, instead enjoying the moments because they’re all worthwhile. And I will learn to lean on the ever-willing and lovingly supportive Denny, who is quite capable of doing many of the above practical things, as well as knowing how to boost my morale. I spent entirely too many years doing it all myself with nary a pat on the back and old habits die hard. He’s a good one, that Denster. They don’t get any better.

Well, whatever the case, I reckon there will eventually be some balance of life and acceptance. It’ll all come out in the wash. Speaking of which...

New Year, Old Year

Yesterday found the Williams Henke family settling down into a typical evening. Eat dinner, wash dishes, chat with the kids, retire to our respective spaces to unwind before bed. No staying up until midnight, no New Year’s champagne or kisses. I've spent most of my life on the outside of American holiday traditions, so I don’t usually pay them much mind. Though vehemently opposed to religious holidays when I was religious (yeah, you read that correctly. Funny thing about religion, any other than your very own can twist your knickers), these days I could take or leave most of them. I don’t always have the umph required to celebrate the arbitrarily assigned holidays, but friends change things. Good friends are always a reason to celebrate. A holiday is just an excuse to spend time with the ones you love.

A sweet three minute holiday greeting in video form from our friends across the pond got me into the spirit of this new year/old year business last night. There they were, champagne in hand, sitting on the hearth with a warm fire behind them, telling us how much they have enjoyed getting to know us over the last several months, saying a little something for each of the nine of us by name, looking forward to the new year with us in their lives, and making me melt into a puddle of tears. Afterward we chatted online and counted down to the new year with them, six hours in advance of our own. We celebrated by snacking on some of the British biscuits they’d sent us a couple weeks before. Today we gathered and recorded our own greeting in response. A bit longer, as there were more of us to cover, though it was like pulling teeth to get the kids to say anything at all. Little beasts. Denny, clever man that he is, added cricket noises over the kids’ silent shrugging. Perfect.

It’s all got me reflecting on the year past and feeling right hopeful about the year to come. Here’s where I get teary-eyed.

Two years ago today I gratefully took a seat at my dining table with family and friends (one of which was Denny—who’d have thunk he’d be moving in almost eight months later?), fresh bread and hot tea, and a cozy fire in the stove. I’d spent most of the previous month in bed with a back injury and, just for fun, a kidney infection. I was happy to be recovering, to have friends over again, to bake bread again. I was feeling vivid and alive with my new freedom and my new friends. It felt like a splendid way to bring in the new year and I considered making a tradition of it. It didn’t happen this year, in part because some of the kids have a touch of a cold, but no matter. In the past several days we’ve spent all kinds of time connecting with our dearest friends, the people that make our lives worthwhile. Some on the phone, some in person, some online. So what if it didn’t all happen today?

If that were all, I’d feel right rich and content, but there’s more. This year I’ve matured and developed deeper character while exploring what it means to be me, to be free. I love who I am today. I feel like I have my very own identity for the first time in my life. And I love all the changes and challenges and people that helped shape me; Denny, my children, my parents, my friends, my readers, my reviewers.

Thanks to Denny, last year I was inspired to dig within and scrounge up the gumption to complete and publish my first book, the first of many. I did it for him, I did it for the children, I did it for myself. What I didn’t anticipate was the floodgate of responses. I’ve been completely humbled by the kindness and warmth with which my words have been received. Because of the autobiographical nature of my book people feel they are directly connecting with me when they read it and many have reached out; some to encourage, some out of curiosity, some even for help. I have wonderful friendships at the turn of this new year that I didn’t have at the turn of the last, simply because of the writing and publishing experience. It was unexpected and is very rewarding. There’s no feeling quite like it.

Last year I explored new aspects of motherhood at the side of Denny, who has been embracing and exploring fatherhood. I’ve heard “you’re such a good mom” more times and more sincerely than I’ve heard the whole time I’ve been a mom. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed having a partner who cares about the children as much as I do, and cares about me while we’re doing this parenting thing. As a family we are learning to navigate the teenage years, transitioning these young people into adulthood with as much grace as possible, while giving the younger ones a good foundation and happy childhood. Perfectly? Heck no. But we communicate, we love, we strive for understanding. I’ve thought a lot about my past and my mistakes, but I wouldn’t undo a moment of it because wow, these kids are astounding.

Our home school has cranked up a few notches in quality. The older children are writing up a storm in the form of reports as well as creative projects. Instead of a narrow history of the earth starting six thousand years ago and involving a worldwide flood, the children are learning about the history of the universe, evolution, our place among the stars and the animals. Social studies happen regularly as we discuss events current and past. The children are inundated with some form of science study nearly every day and all seem hungry for it. Algebra has found its way to the table. We are also learning gobs about Britain, thanks to our friends over there who love to share their knowledge and experiences. We’re very much looking forward to traveling to the UK as soon as we can afford it, probably within a few years. (Donations accepted!)

Together we have worked and sacrificed to pay off debt and, aside from a moderate mortgage and a small dental bill, we’ve done it. Not only that, but we’ve managed to get my and the children’s health up to snuff with dental visits and vaccinations. (Without a dime of support from my ex. Just sayin’.) We’ve improved our home with some orginzation, lots of shelves, a bit of paint, and sundry other things. Our property saw the addition of a duck pond, two cedar arbors and some trellises, hugelkulture garden beds, and many perennial herbs and flowers. In a bittersweet vein, we parted with our goats to free up time and energy to pursue other things. But we still make and sell soap.

We’ve had a lot of laughs, shed a few tears because we’re really just big softies, and enjoyed the year thoroughly. Thanks to all who have been a part of it. I can’t begin to imagine what next year will bring to my door, but I greet it with open arms.

Free to Be Promo

Been a while. How about another chance to download Free to Be for free? 

Feel free to grab the above image and share it.  =)

Time Is On My Side

Tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

That classic sound of time slipping away is announced by the grandmother clock above my mantle. A birthday gift from my dad two years ago. (Or was it three? Tricky time.) Somehow it’s wormed its way into my heart as one of the most soothing sounds in the world. If I can hear it, it means the house is quiet. The only other sound on this wintry afternoon is the hiss of the water pot we keep simmering on the wood stove. And the occasional slurpy sip of hot Yorkshire tea with a little cream and sugar—that’s me, being cozy. Every now and then I hear a shout or a note of laughter drifting from the yard, where my younger four children are at play, bundled up in snow suits, hats, mittens and boots of assorted colors. (I love that my boys don’t mind wearing pink.) Make it do or do without. There’s no snow on the ground today, just an inch of ice and sleet. It’s a make-it-do winter.


My older three children are upstairs doing their school work. When the younger ones come back in I will fix them some hot cocoa and we’ll read together on the couch and then they’ll do some copy work at the table. Maybe today I’ll break out the sewing machine and teach Blue to use it; she’s been asking me to. Denny is in the back working at his computer. I see an occasional flutter at the bird feeder outside the dining room window as titmice, nuthatches, chickadees and cardinals fly in for a quick snack.

But it’s mostly quiet. Stillness prevails. I am basking in it.
We must, as parents, you know. We must pause to note life's peaceful moments. Did I say parents? As people—with children or otherwise. Slip away from the children or send them outside, set the iPhone aside, turn off the TV or radio, find somewhere inviting and just be for a few minutes. Funny, we have to unplug occasionally to fully recharge. (For the record, I did spend at least nine minutes this way before I thought how nice it would be to write it down and grabbed my laptop.) 

I enjoy the house at this moment with the awareness that someday the children will be grown and gone, the days more still and quiet than busy and noisy, and I’ll go about my days and nights with more time to remember how full of life it once was. Not that I anticipate the fullness going out of my life when my kids are gone--I have plans, ideas, hopes—but it will certainly be quieter and… different. I’ve read the mommy poems about the fingerprints on the walls growing higher and higher and finally disappearing. I’ve cried my share of sweet and bittersweet tears as I’ve watched my children play together, say the darnedest things, reach personal milestones, snuggle next to me on cold mornings and give me hugs when I needed it most. Childhood is fleeting. Time is fleeting. I’m neither in a hurry to see it pass nor longing to hold onto it. Sometimes I’m just incredibly aware of it. And in those moments it seems to stand still.

My mind snaps photographs, desperate to capture the moments. I take actual photos or write down descriptions if I’m able. It’s a process of observation, pausing to acknowledge my life, to memorize and appreciate it. I take the moments in and they shape me, help to make me who I am and who I will be. I don’t want to rush by them and end up at the end of the road wondering where my life went, you know? My house will likely be very quiet one day, but, if I’m careful to capture them now, it will be full of vivid memories. What’s more satisfying than the knowledge of a life purposefully lived?

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.

Writng Projects

Ooh, starting to feel a bit nippy out there, isn’t it? I heard rumor there might be a snowflake or ten this weekend. Not sure I’m quite ready for snow, but I do love it when it arrives. We’ll see. In the meantime, the fire’s glowing in the wood stove, the children and Denny are doing school, the sky is overcast and I’ve got the day to write to my heart’s content.

My writing space

So, what is Williams writing these days, anyway? Well, for starters, I’m aiming to get at least one blog post up a week. So much to write about, so little time—you know how it is. I’ve been learning to use Twitter and trying to remember to Tweet a couple times a day on there as well as engaging a bit. I may or may not be getting the hang of it. Ha.

But the projects… oh, the projects! It’s delicious to have projects. I’ve mentioned before that I’m working on something akin to a sequel to Free to Be, but done in a fictional style. Autobiographical fiction, they call it. Though I’ve long been daunted by writing fiction, a good friend and fellow author has given me a push and a whole heap of encouragement to try my hand at it (and, as always and of course, I have Denny’s full support and enthusiasm). It’s a different sort of bird altogether, I tell you what. I find it much more difficult than the writing I’ve done over the last two decades, but I do so love to learn and I’m learning a good deal. The tricky thing is not putting too much pressure on myself. Naturally, I’m my own worst enemy. Aren’t we all? 


Along the way my friend had the idea to write something together, something light, fun, and rather absurd, an ebook we can write quickly and sell cheaply. So, we spun off a ridiculous romantic parody and are having an absolute blast with it. I’ve set my other project aside for the time being, realizing that by collaborating with an experienced, talented, and, thankfully, very patient writer, I have the opportunity to learn in ways I couldn’t on my own. There are many tricks he’s learned over the years and he’s throwing them all at me. He’s figured out my learning style and sort of gotten into my head, able to guide me through any rough spots. He, his lovely lady, and my Denny are thoroughly enjoying watching me spread my wings and grow in confidence. I feel quite blessed (all praise to his Noodly Highness [wink]). Other people pay good money for half such mentorship. Man, I gots good peeps.

Carving out the time to write, that’s one of the difficult parts. Denny is taking over much of the children’s schooling as well as the cooking and such, attempting to free me to write (have I mentioned that before? I think I mentioned that). But writing has often been my…hmm... dessert. Something I got to do when all my work and other things were done. Like a quiet moment with a warm brownie and a glass of milk when the wee ones go down for a nap. Since Denny entered the picture and saw the potential in my writing, we’ve gradually made the shift to prioritizing it. Seeing the success of Free to Be was a good kick in the behind. But in the beginning we had to sort out some of my other projects to see what might be able to help support us. We still make and sell goat milk soap and I still do a bit of sewing and crafting (all available locally and from our website), but honestly, for a while there I was getting a little stressed trying to make it all successful. Success takes time and energy. With a large family and a small farm, I was spread thin. Partly I was still trying to do most of it myself, as I’ve always done, and not leaning much on Denny, somewhat to his frustration. I’ve learned a lot about partnership in the last year and a half, that’s for sure! Denny’s been so patient. He’s just… mmm. He’s an incredible man.

Well, one day this spring Denny was consoling me through a bit of stress. We talked about where my focus should be; soap, sewing, writing, or whatever. He held my hand, wiped at my tears, and tenderly asked me a question I won’t soon forget.

“Sweets, what do you want to do?"

Dang, I still tear up thinking about it. S’cuse me a moment.

Okay. Better.

See, Denny and I have an understanding: we have one life to live, we want to live it to the fullest. We will sacrifice the standard American luxuries—new cars, big houses, fancy toys, etc.—to live a truly rich life enjoying each other, working together, spending time with and enjoying the children, having equally meaningful friendships, getting our hands dirty tending a bit of land and making it beautiful. Earning money to cover the necessities must be done from home if at all possible if we want to see this happen. Earning money in a way we enjoy—even better. And with a minimalist lifestyle, we figure we can make it happen. We just need the focus.

So, what do I want to do? I want to write. Hands down, no hesitation, beyond a shadow of a doubt, if I can help keep a roof over our heads with something that brings me deep satisfaction, then absolutely yes it would be writing.

And it’s still so moving that Denny wants to see me happy. That he cares. That he cares enough to ask and cares enough to help make it happen. He trusts me and my writing. I want to say he has faith in me, but he’d scoff at that. He trusts.

Aaaagggghhh! It’s overwhelming. Loving this damned life.

Now, back to work. 

Casual Thoughts On The Sweetness of My Life

Disclaimer: If you cannot stomach hearing about how happy I am, and some random, rambling thoughts, better skip this one.

Man, I love my life. I really, really love my life. I used to say, about three years ago, that I was living the very life I would choose if given the choice. I knew then that that was only about 88% true. The country living, my location, my children, homeschooling, all the activities which occupied our days, even our economic situation was not entirely antithetical to the lifestyle I enjoyed. Simple, frugal living is what I would choose if I had to choose between it and luxury, but it’s far easier to accomplish when you haven’t the choice. For many of us, it’s a conscious sacrifice; we’d rather have the time to enjoy simple pleasures at home than throw greenbacks at a fancy shopping mall in what little time we left after chasing the same greenbacks around a workplace.

If you’ve followed me for any length of time you know, of course, that the other 12% of my life, the unsatisfactory bit, was my marriage. No matter how I tried, that relationship wouldn't jell. 

Little took this pic of me & Den a few nights ago.

In hindsight, with its reputation for perfect vision and all that, I look back today and kinda chuckle at my percentage split. I guessed, but nonetheless underestimated, the significance of the impact that a mutually loving, respectful, joyful partnership could have on every aspect of one’s life. I continue to be overwhelmed every day by what Denny and I share. It enriches everything.

I had so many insecurities when Denny and I hooked up. The merest bump in our peace and harmony would find fear winding its icy hands around my throat. I wasn’t good enough for my first husband, how could I possibly be good enough for an amazing man like Denny? But Denny understood my fears and was patient with me. He reassured me. He knew me then and knows me know and has a knack for saying just the right thing. In the beginning I shared with him what I suspect is not an uncommon fear for people entering a new relationship after a failed one.

“I couldn’t make it work with my ex,” I said through tears. “It seems like too much to hope that you and I build something lasting."

“Oh, but I see it so differently,” he said, taking my hand. “I don’t see failure, I see your success. If you can make it work for fourteen years with the likes of your ex, and come through with flying colors, which you did, there’s every reason to believe you and I together can do a whole lot better."

You can’t argue with this man’s logic.

And so here we are, thriving. My insecurities fade daily, overwhelmed by love, patience, kindness, recognition, appreciation, respect, admiration, and the occasional round of tickling. Things aren’t just good, they are great. And they just keep getting better. It’s a remarkable thing when you get the right two people together, how they both can grow into even better people.

Once upon a time, I believed that any relationship could succeed if you just work at it hard enough. I must have learned this watching my parents work out their issues, preserving, overcoming. I guess that’s why I didn’t think much about it when I married the first time. I was pregnant, this was the father of my child, and so naturally he would be my husband and we would make it work.

Whoops.

Two people, agreeing on those terms, could possibly create something lasting and, at least, tolerable, if not decent. If you can’t even agree on that, well...

But oh, do not overlook compatibility! Personality, life experiences (including upbringing), interests. Probably in that order. The more different, the more tricky. Two incompatible people could work at a relationship and still barely achieve what two ernest, compatible people might consider a bad spell in their relationship.

What I find interesting is that at nineteen, when I first married, I was less than half the person I am now. At thirty-four I obviously have more personality, more life experience, and more interests. And Denny has his share under his belt. We might have clicked 15 years ago, but nothing like we do at this time in our lives. We are compatible on so many levels it’s pretty much ridiculous.

I wonder then, do the relationships of the young automatically suffer a deficit because the youth aren’t as developed? Maybe they don’t know who they are yet and have a higher chance of getting together because this or that 'feels good,’ but then tend to grow apart? Maybe they just don’t know what they want yet? How many young loves truly blossom? Our genetic instinct doesn’t seem to be toward long-lasting, fulfilling relationships so much as rushing us to reproduce.

But if it’s true that most young loves ultimately fail, maybe mid-life relationships are more satisfying. But then, there are plenty of middle-aged people bouncing from relationship to relationship, lost and unsatisfied. Not everyone has the knack for knowing what they want and the ability and/or luck to find it.

Whatever. Just babbling. I just consider myself very fortunate to have found my way into a fulfilling relationship. And sometimes I give myself a little pat on the back because it wasn’t all by chance. I attracted Denny and Denny attracted me because of who we are.

All that to say what? The rich things in my life have become richer because I have a partner with whom to share them. Parenting is more of a pleasure than ever. My new worldview, that of a humanist rather than an God-fearing authoritarian, has changed the way I relate to my children. Denny continues to watch me with fascination. He hugs me and affirms me with deep sincerity. He also holds me when I cry, tormented by fear of screwing up my children. And he loves me all the more because I care so much. We talk over all the issues regarding the children, the attitudes and the education and the future. When the children are being particularly adorable we catch each other’s eyes and share the moment. If we’ve been doing our own things during the day, we catch up with each other and he never fails to gush about something sweet he overheard or saw. He is full of ideas and enthusiasm and energy. The children accept and love him, but I hope that someday they will truly appreciate how fortunate we are to have him with us.

Denny has settled quite well into Make-It-Do Farm. I’m always eager to hear his ideas regarding the property and he, mine. How about some fruit trees on the hill? And some more blueberries next year, maybe two dozen in all? And if we mulch these flowerbeds heavily with leaves this fall we could plant purple coneflowers and rudbeckias in the spring, maybe some chamomile. Yeah, we’ll have to build a little fence of twigs to keep the chickens and dogs out of it. If we cleaned that over there up it would look nicer, and we could build a doghouse there before it gets very cold. In 5 years time what would you like to see? Me too. We should write it down and make a list to accomplish each year.
A garden geek after my own heart.

And don’t get me started on finances. You know, I don’t think we earn much more than my family did before, but it’s managed carefully and gets us so much farther. It was at least a year before I stopped getting soggy-eyed with gladness when he would invite me to go over the finances with him and he’d wrap it up, saying, “So, we’re good for this month and next.” Money isn’t His and Hers, nor does it fall to one of us while the other remains “blissfully” ignorant. Together. Partners.

Some practical things have changed that I never saw coming. I sold the goats. I don’t sew as much. Denny is doing most of the schooling. Most of that is to free me up to write and do writing-related things. Identifying myself as a writer, an author… Yeah. Wow. It wouldn’t have happened in my old life. I love it. It’s different, something of an adjustment, but I love it. And Denny loves watching it happen. 

I feel like a new woman. But when I tell Denny that he points out the parts of me that were always there, the parts that are just getting some air now. Strength, confidence, talent. He’s right, of course. That man and his logic.

Sigh. I sure do love my life. Thanks for letting me carry on about it for a bit.  =)