Liz's Front Porch

Cyber Space Granny, Reporting!

I just gotta tell somebody, so why not post it for my special friends who hang out in blog-land!!

At 72 years taking up space on this earth, I'm sitting at my computer with buds pluged into my ears listening to sweet music coming from my I-Pod Touch.

Such decadence! Such an amazing feat.

I'm truly blessed.

The amazing thing is that I've already figured out how to download music from my favorite Christian CDs and I've got podcast from Nancy Leigh DeMoss, Chuck Swindoll, and Allistair Begg set up. And to think, a  month ago I thought all pods had to do with seeds in the earth!

The funny thing is that when I went outside to work in the yard just before dark, I forgot to take my new toy with me, so I was stuck with my own thoughts and words and I even had to quietly listen to whispers from my Heavenly Father as I dug in the dirt and potted the last of my annuals to perk up our hot, dry summer days.

My college grandson just shook his head and grinned at me. My daughter e-mailed: "Mom! We never know what you'll do next!"

I think I'll leave the Pod in my purse when I shop for groceries, though. There is a world of friends out there and I don't want to get lost in my own world all the time!!! Some of my most fun conversations happen when I'm waiting my turn at the fist market!

Well. Just thought some of you would like to know.

 

Hugs and blessings,

 

 

        Liz

A Little of My All

 Just in case you didn’t understand my PLAN from the last post, I did not promise to DO anything—like going to the moon or writing or running a 26 K.

           I only said I would tackle the WHAT that I have left. I did not realize how much WHAT there is to do.

           So in preparation of what I’ll be doing, I have cleared out an easy-to-get-to shelf in our bedroom and have finally organized all our photographs, keepsakes, mementoes, cards, letters, and more photographs that tell our seven-year-love story. Everything, including the empty and expectant scrapbooks, is ready and waiting for me to get to work.

           Yesterday I grabbed onto a TODAY thing and made a birthday cake for Dear Heart. Today was dedicated to celebrating my amazing husband's special day and I concentrated my ALL into being in his today.

           Tomorrow I’m going to a writers’ conference. Sally will pick me up at 9 and we’ll have a whole day to think and talk about our written words. Our dreams, hopes, ideas, and hard work will get a fresh kick-start.

           But, I don’t know how much time I’ll have to accomplish those WHAT projects because the front porch has new summer cushions and the petunias and geraniums are blooming profusely. I have two pots of new lemon verbena, lots of basil, and the mint is thriving. Even though I’m still struggling to get the lemon balm to survive, I can make a huge batch of herb lemonade anytime company drops in. The back porch is cooler in the late afternoons and the humming birds are here in droves and I find it difficult to stay indoors.

           So, if I don’t finish my run-away slave novel or get all the photographs into albums or clean out the hall closets, Dear Heart and our humming birds are deliriously happy. And, as I go about my days, busily using all of my WHAT that is left—I’ll smile more and I’ll worship with a happy heart.

           I think that might be what rejoicing and being glad is about. I hope you are enjoying your time, also!

Hugs and blessings,

        Liz

A Plan

I don’t know about you. I know a little about me.

I scan. Skim. Rush through. Glance. Assume.

           Then I run off to the next thing believing I am SURE of what I read, what I think, what I believe, what I know.

One word can make a difference.

           Did you check the web references in yesterday’s Itzhak and Me? If so, did you see what I believed I thought to be true that wasn't?

           Okay. I’ll stop playing around and write.

           At one of those turning points in my life, I stumbled onto a quote attributed to Itzhak Perlman. I had thrown in my towel. I was done. The years had won the race. It was time to quit, give up, stop.

           At that moment I read the quote and I SAW the word: TIME !!

I needed to believe in time.

           I whined awhile then after a long sigh turned back to living and wrote a LOT. I persevered. That was some three or four years ago.

Last winter the years grabbed me unexpectedly. I felt really tired. I became very old.

So I wallowed in being old. A lot. As I’m sure my faithful readers noticed. I acknowledged all my aches, pains, troubles, and hurts. Woe WAS me.

          

            I just hate it when I have to give up one of my pity prizes. I work hard to win every one and I love  every single whine!

  

           No, there’s NO fountain of youth. Yes, I am still tired but I don't have time to be OLD. Believe me when I tell you: there IS a difference between living many years and BEING old.

           The story goes that in 1995 Itzhak Perlman labored onto the stage for a particularly grueling concert and during the last piece, two strings broke on his violin. With no hesitation, the maestro continued playing with only three strings, presenting a dazzling climax to the concert. Then he said,

“Sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out

how much music you can still make

with WHAT you have left.”

           So. After much prayer and a little sleep I guess I’ll tackle the WHAT that is left.

           I have no idea how it will show itself, but I suspect it will be easier to use all of my WHAT that is left. For however long it goes on. 

This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!

Psalm 118:23-25 NASB

Love,

   Liz

Itzhak and Me

I wonder what—if anything—my favorite quote has to do with the post I wrote yesterday.

“Sometimes it is the artist’s task to find out

how much music you can still make

with the time you have left.”

The quote, attributed to Itzhak Perlman, so touched me, I hung it above my desk.

           One would think such wisdom came from an ancient guru. Do you know Itzhak Perlman? If you want thrilling inspiration, read on.

           Mr. Perlman was born in Tel Aviv on August 31, 1945 just as World War II ended. Tradition has it that he uttered those amazing words around his 50^th birthday.

Still not impressed?

           Did you see Schindler’s List? John Williams wrote the score and Itzhak Perlman, an Israeli-American violin virtuoso, was the violin soloist for that 1993 film. Mr. Perlman’s performance won Williams an Academy Award for best score.

           Of course Mr. Perlman’s journey did not begin with success. Born a Jew long before Israel became a nation, he contracted polio at the age of four and learned to walk with the use of crutches. As a child, Itzhak fell in love with classical music listening to the radio and studied at the Academy of Music in Tel Aviv before moving to the United States to study at the Juilliard School with the great violin pedagogue, Ivan Galamian, and his assistant Dorothy DeLay. Today when he performs concerts, Itzhak walks onto the stage with crutches wearing heavy leg braces. Once settled into a chair, he creates magical music while seated.

           Itzhak and his wife Toby, a classically trained violinist, reside in New York City. They have five children, Noah, Navah, Leora, Rami (of the rock band, Something for Rockets), and Ariella. In 1995, the Perlmans founded the Perlman Music Program in Shelter Island, New York, offering gifted young string players a summer residential course in chamber music.

           Itzhak Perlman, known world-wide as a violin genius, conductor, and instructor, is considered one of the preeminent violin virtuosi of the 20^th century.

           IMHO, Mr. Perlman practices what he preaches. Only eight years younger than I am, Itzhak is STILL making beautiful music and leaving legacies with every step his crutches take him.

           Meanwhile, in my own office I stand, stretch, and turn to walk away from the words on my screen when the words from the heart of a gifted violinist look me in the eye. Stop back by my front porch tomorrow. I think I can explain the connection between Itzhak and his music and this very old grandmother and my words.

 Hugs and Blessings as we near the finish line of Spring!

    Liz

 

[facts on Itzhak Perlman gleaned from  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Itzhak_Perlman  and http://www.snopes.com/music/artists/perlman.asp ]

 

Smart Woman's Day Pondering

Today is International Very Good Looking,  Smart Woman's Day and I’m none of those BUT ... I got to thinking.............

 

    I stay tired lately [it’s that old sleep-deprived demon] so the characters in my stories are withering away. My thinking is labored, dull, and dreary. I have no energy to remember the plots I created.

But, last night I slept really well. All night. Straight through. For 8 hours. Hey, I feel like my old self today. While emphasis is on the “old,” my mind was stirring so I browsed the book sections at HEB and at Walmart for something light and fun to read. Every fiction I checked—both deep and heavy as well as light, fun, and fluff—was about KIDS. You know: all those twenty and thirty-somethings with the world by the handles, have life figured out, and engage in one delightful or frightening or thrilling experience after another.

I left both stores empty-handed feeling much older.

Driving home I asked the steering wheel, “Why does the world think older and wiser women are dull? Why hasn’t someone written about older and wiser women?”  Talking to inanimate objects is something we older gals do. The steering wheel had no answers.

With the groceries put away, I checked e-mails before ‘rocking chair time’ with Dear Heart on the porch.

One e-mail was a sweet, beautiful, and powerful “forward” about the seasons of life. It entreated the reader NOT to give up or stop in any one season.

(hummmmm. )

The other e-mail was a fun and fluffy message proclaiming that “today is International Very Good Looking,  Smart Woman's Day.” That one encouraged women to “go for the gold.”

(hummmmm, again.)

Sure, I’d love to be the one to write those novels about older and wiser women, but I’d never come up with believable adventures for old folks. Middle-agers is writable because everyone knows that fifty-year-olds get into all kinds of trouble babysitting grandkids and parenting their parents. At sixty, gals finally figure out what life is all about and new adventures pop up everywhere. But seventy---- ??? no way. You wouldn’t believe it.

Well. I’m just thinking out loud... and thought I’d share it with you.

Blessings and hugs.

            Liz

 

 

P.S. here are the links to the above-mentioned sites. Enjoy!

http://www.slideshare.net/spiderweb99/the-seasons-of-life

http://butterfly505.spaces.live.com/blog

Idle Thoughts

♫  Hummingbirds are oh-so-tiny but provide huge returns for the relatively small amount of sugar from our pantry. This year, we have six feeders. Each holds about a cup of sugar water and we refill all the feeders at least once every 1 ½ days. Our hummers graciously allow us to sit on “their” porch in the late afternoons for a private acrobatic show as they dip, swirl, flip, and flit around drinking and humming. Sugar is small price for so much joy and faithfulness.

* Spring has been delightful this year. The rains came too late to provide much showy wildflowers early in the season, but the fields are green and hay machines are busy. I assure you that the expression: Make hay while the sun shines originated in the Texas hill country!!!

© My granddaughter will celebrate her 9^th birthday in Germany this summer. Her daddy—my Marine son—flies over early to participate in some military tank conference then Madeline and her mommy join up with him. How DID she grow up so quickly! I am positive that just last month she was a tiny baby. I guess I blinked. I can’t wait to hear about her adventures in Germany!

☻ A friend called me today. Oh you remember… that old fashioned land-line instrument that kept us connected to family and friends in the “old days”…!! Well, I was thrilled to my toes because she just zipped past Facebook, e-mail, and her cell to punch my number into the TELEPHONE. She wanted me to know that finding my post this morning delighted her. She checks my blog every morning—even through my long dry spell—so she won’t miss a blessing. I had no idea. She is the one who gave ME the blessing. I am grateful.

Sleep well, my friends, and remember:

           “I thank my God in all my remembrance of you, always offering prayer with joy in my view of your part6icipation in the gospel from the first day until now. For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” [Phillippians 1:3-6 NAS]

    Thank you for blessing me,

                 Liz

Hope for Sleep

So many sleepless nights. Not sleepless like Tom Hanks had in Seattle, searching for Meg Ryan. We’re talking the toss and turn, ache and hurt, up and down, struggle and squirm kind that shoots you out of bed to walk the floor for hours.

Restless Leg Syndrome. If you don’t have it, I'm glad but it’s a good guess that you know at least one person who does!

One friend described this malady that barges into my nights uninvited as “dancing legs.” Don’t I wish!!! This disorder of involuntary and unpredictable twitching, jerking, aching, and trembling of my lower extremities has haunted me off and on since I was a little girl and now in my seventh decade has escalated out of control. There is nothing about bedtime that is soothing or relaxing or fun anymore and I have manufactured some mighty creative excuses to procrastinate climbing into my wonderful, comfortable, luxurious bed each evening.

I told my doctor I had “restless legs” and he prescribed appropriate medication that works in ordinary cases. Like sugar pills with a hang-over for me. It never occurred to me to explain, in graphic detail, how my life has spiraled into desperate sleep deprived horrors over the last three years. Had I explained, I’m sure he would have referred me to our local brain guru.

Did you know that “restless leg syndrome” is a neurological condition?

I had no idea!

Today, I took my daughter to her neurologist for a routine checkup and during idle chit-chat as we walked to the exam room, the doctor casually mentioned restless legs.

I screeched to a halt, exclaiming, “WHAT? I want an appointment. NOW!”

They couldn’t handle the “now,” but I see him in seven days. So, after all these years, what’s another seven days? What’s another seven nights of dread for this aged walking zombie?

Seven days is nothing. And everything. I have HOPE. Just a tiny, shred of hope is energizing. A smidgeon of hope planted excitement into my limp, exhausted, wrung out, tired old body. Hope is precious.  Life-giving. Breath. Air.

My physical ails are only life-shortening, not life-threatening.  My medical problems are so minor I am ashamed to complain and seriously try to keep quiet. The complications in my life are simply that: minor complications and I am grateful it is not worse.

But, sleep deprivation steals my joy and renders me useless to those I love and serve. Hope helps. Maybe I’ll even find my words again and blog with you more often!

Thank you, Holy Father, for hope in our daily struggles. Help me, even in my zombie times, to remember that You know and care and that I have eternal hope in Jesus Christ the living, resurrected Lord.

 Sleep well friends,

Liz