SURF ZONE

Okay, so I haven't posted in a month - I've been living in the surf zone these past several weeks. What's the surf zone? When Steve was stationed at Camp Pendleton, CA, I often joined him for picnic lunches on DelMar Beach. Although not a strong or serious swimmer, this native Tennessean enjoyed bobbing and jumping in the surf zone where huge waves crashed ashore at the end of their journey across the Pacific Ocean. I quickly learned that if I didn't jump into the thundering waves at exactly the right time, I would be knocked head-over-heels and drug through churning sand and saltwater - with zero visibility and no sense of orientation - until the surging wave coughed my pummeled, numb, exhausted body onto the beach. (Maybe some day I'll tell you about the time I surfaced from one such episode without my swim suit!)

So how have I been living in the "surf zone," here atop a hill in the middle of a West Tennessee hay field? Let's see . . . in the past four weeks, our family has hosted four groups of out-of-town guests (lots of sweet fellowship!). We have made two trips to see the dentist, one visit to the doctor's office, and had two vehicles into the shop for repairs. We worked two weekends at the county fair, attended the Troy Pecan Festival (woo hoo!), celebrated two birthdays, and crashed one youth swim party. (Do you hear the whoosh of waves breaking on the shore yet?) We moved two kids to college for the beginning of fall semester, and have officially started school with the five younger guys here at home. I've taken one son to get his driver's license and to apply for a job, and ferried two girls to piano lessons. And, BIGGEST NEWS OF ALL - Emily and Dennis are now officially engaged!! Oh, yes - I've also been doing the mountains of laundry and mega-cooking that are part of our normal routine. Whew! I need a minute to catch my breath!

Some people make sense of the events of their lives by talking through them - conversations with friends or family, sort of a verbal method of processing and understanding everything that's going on. Not me - I'm the quiet, melancholy type. I ruminate. And then, I write. I don't keep a journal, but I frequently jot down thoughts and scribble notes to myself. It's my way of "thinking things through" on paper. So, as each week passed without any time for writing, I found myself growing more and more agitated. Finally, I decided that God just didn't want me to write ever again . . never ever! A totally irrational thought, of course, but it still took me the better part of a recent afternoon to talk myself out of my gloomy mood and finally sit down at the computer.

The computer mouse malfunctioned. Okay, girl, don't let a little techinical difficulty get you down! Come on, you can do this! I gritted my teeth and pressed on. Then, I couldn't find the legal pad containing my notes and musings. (I know you computer savvy people are wondering why I have to have paper and pen to write - I'm from the paleolithic age, okay?!) I left the computer to scour the house. No notebook. Fifty yellow legal pads in this house and I can't find the ONE pad with MY notes! By the time I gave up searching, one of the kids had commandeered the computer and it was time to start supper. I threw up my hands in defeat and headed to the kitchen in an Eeyore funk.

But you, dear Reader, know "the rest of the story," because you are reading the blog that I finally found time to write! And so, metaphorically speaking, I will plant my feet firmly on the sand, straighten my bathing suit, wipe the sand out of my ears and eyes and nose, and listen to the faint sucking sound of that last spent wave dragging itself back out to sea behind me. It feels wonderful to breathe the air again!