Laundry Dilemna

A couple of years ago, Dane told me that he likes the shorts that are that quick-drying mesh material. He said they are very comfortable and they look cool. We set out to buy him a pair or two and came home with about four.

This year, I noticed some of Dane's shirts are beginning to look like bikini tops. I always buy the children's clothes at least one size large so they'll have some growing space. But Dane's growing space had been used up plus another healthy portion.

"Time to pass them along to Daelyn", I thought. So, off to the store we went. It seems they only carry those mesh things in blue, red, and black, so his wardrobe is a little redundant and boring. When I'd do his laundry, I'd find that matching the tops and bottoms together took way more time than it should - I just couldn't seem to easily match the right shorts with the right top, they were all too similar.

I came up with an idea; how about marking the tops and bottoms somehow so I would know which ones went together. I tried by writing a description on the shorts of the top that went with it. That worked okay, but few of the shirts had distinguishing characteristics. Plan B was to write numbers on them - Shirt and Shorts #1, written in black Sharpie on the tag. This worked great except when I forgot occasionally which number I was on. But it made it hugely easier to match up his clothes, almost like Garanimals. He could even do it himself.

When Daelyn moved into the spare bedroom the beginning of May, I realized he was desperately short of summer clothes. I guess the shorts I had bought Dane were long enough that he wore them into the year that Daelyn needed them, and Daelyn is only wearing one size smaller than Dane at this point. He had a couple of things that had been passed down, but not enough for the summer, where he needs a shorts outfit for every day of the week.

Back to the store, to the same old rack, with the same red, black, and blue mesh shorts and tops. But how would I ever differentiate Daelyn's clothes from Dane's?

In a rare stroke of genius (getting rarer with every passing year), I switched to the alphabet with Daelyn. He now has shorts outfit "A", "B", "C" . . .

This concept has revolutionized my laundry day. It's so much easier and doesn't require much brain effort, something very valuable to me at this point in my life. The only problem I have is that there are a few outfits that are reversible and don't have tags (where do you put that "G"), a few more that were not around when I was Sharpie-ing them (is that really a word?), and a couple others that are so dark I had to use a silver Sharpie for the label and it's hard to see.

I found myself yesterday pulling a pair of shorts out of the dryer. Without even looking, I said to myself "G". They're one of the pairs with the silver Sharpie that's barely visible on the navy blue back. I guess something's stuck in that old, slow brain.

I may be incapable of matching colors and styles, but at least I can match letters and numbers.

"The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be!"

Traveling Mercies

My brother wrote one of the most beautiful things I've ever read. He e-mailed it to my father and entitled it, "Ramblings". Daddy sent it out to his other children. I didn't open it immediately, Dad forwards a lot of jokes and stories, but when I finally opened it and read the attached document, I was stunned, then moved to tears.

It's difficult to explain why this meant so much to me. Some of it, I'm sure, is because of the great love I have for my only brother. He's the oldest, I'm the youngest in the family, and he always took time with me when I was growing up. He'd take me motorcycling riding with him when he went off with his friends. We always seemed to have an understanding that he didn't have with our sisters. We had a special relationship, something that existed beyond words.

I still feel that way about Chuck. I get pangs in my chest when I think about him. I still miss him terribly, even though he's lived away from home since I was 10 (38 years ago). I've lived away from him almost four times longer than I lived with him, but he still impacts my life in many ways. I'd do almost anything to make him proud, while simultaneously understanding that I don't need to "DO" anything to make him proud of me - he already is.

Perhaps his ramblings struck me because I've felt many of the same stirrings as those he describes. For years, as I've mentioned in the past, I've felt like I missed out on something by not having a hometown, not living in any one place long enough to be able to take my children "home". Recently, I realized that "home" for me is the little town in Canada where my mother was raised and my father met her. My maternal grandparents lived there until their death, my mother was born and raised there, and the Blonsky Farm is still owned by my cousin. But I've never lived there, only visited, and the feeling of always being on the move, never lighting anywhere for very long, has always pervaded my memories of childhood.

"There are Travelers, and there are Stayers. Stayers are the type of people who enjoy the stability and permanence of the same routine, the same places, the familiarity of repeating the same drill time after time. Do you drive past half a dozen restaurants you've never tried for the same old spot you know has good service, good food and reasonable prices? Can you show your children or grandchildren the home you grew up in, or Grandad's old fishing hole just a short drive from where you live now? I used to envy the people that I knew that hadn't moved in 30 or 40 years - they were Stayers."

I, too, have envied those people. However, I also find myself suggesting the new restaurant, the one we've never tried. I find myself mixing up the way I drive to certain familiar places, not wanting to get bogged down in the same routine. Always something new, which has been quite a challenge to Don throughout our marriage, since he's what my brother would describe as a "stayer".

At the root of it all, like my brother, I'm a Traveler. I don't believe I would've been content in my life had I stayed in the same place for very long. Even now, while I've lived in the same house for 25 years or so, I find myself wanting to go to different places on vacation, places I've never seen before. I'm always interested in the new thing.

While I guess there are always rewards in staying, I can think of so much beauty in life I would've missed if I hadn't been a traveler, so many relationships that would have never been, so many expressions of God's love for me.

"Somewhere between Edson and Hinton, the smoky image of the Rockies starts to appear ahead and encourages the anticipation of the beauty of the mountains. By the time you pass the Big Horn Highway turnoff to Grande Cache, the mountains are rushing towards you like an enormous blue, white and purple storm. The streams and rivers and rock outcroppings start to blend together as the road climbs towards Jasper. The only phrase that even comes close to describing the feeling is 'breathtaking'."

My life would have been much sadder if I had missed out on scenes like this one. The beauty of God's creation calls out to me from every direction, begging me to come and see. And I, being essentially a Traveler by nature, answer in kind.

"I'm coming, someday soon. I'll be there to gaze on you - as soon as I get the trip planned."