we made a park...not it's time for "good bye"...

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”- Winnie the Pooh  

I went to the Big White House on Center St. for the last time today. After 3 months of hard work, sweat, packing, sorting, giving away, hauling and more tears than have ever been cried within those walls before, our beloved home of 25 years will become a new family’s home – tomorrow at 10 a.m. Our adventures there have ended and theirs will begin…We hope they love the house as much as we did and that she loves and shelters them as well as she did us.

 

Saying “Good bye” has been very, very hard. If I had $1 for every time I’ve used the term “bittersweet” over these past 3 months I’d be well on my way to that new dock we need for our new life at the lake (our current dock is rickety and poor…)

 

As I walked through that beautiful yard, fondly called Clark Park for its size and lushness, I was amazed. Did we do all this? It’s so pretty and peaceful and, with the exception of a few weeds, perfect. I don’t remember when our yard became this tribute to birds, bees, small beasties and native low maintenance perennials.  But somehow we created this and it is marvelous.   

 

When we first moved into the Big White House we were young, our kids were little and we were busy all of the time. We had vision, though, and I had a newfound fascination for all things Southern, as we had uprooted ourselves in a move from Colorado…What? Gardenias grow here naturally and bloom throughout the summer? What, what? There is a bush called a Camelia that blooms through the winter – big, delicious, bright colored blooms? And, what about those huge Hydrangeas? And, you can plant Peonies here and in a couple of years you will be cutting those wonderful pink and white pom- poms right out of your own yard? Amazing!  

 

It felt like heaven. Money was tight, but every time I had an extra $5 or $10 I’d buy one of those precious plants - in the smallest version offered, because that’s all I could afford. Ed Bob/Mr. Clark would plant it and for the first few years I’d provide loving care in the form of bi-annual fertilizer and water as needed.  

 

We were so busy with kids and work that we didn’t notice how our little plants grew bigger each year. We just kept expanding the yard as we had time and planting those small native perennials as we could afford them, feeding and watering them, giving them love, if only occasional attention.

 

Fast forward – our son graduates from high school, so we carve out an area for his graduation party and put in a few more of those paver stones and plants…Fast forward again, our daughter goes to college leaving us with, for the first time since the kids were born, time on our hands…The yard expansion began and by the time both kids graduated from college, Clark Park was in the making.

 

When our daughter got married many of the flowers for her wedding came from our yard. When our son said he’d like to be married in the yard we expanded and improved, adding a pergola under which the ceremony took place. For these special events, my sister, a professional gardener, added her touch and viola, Clark Park was born!

 

Mr. Clark was out of work during the 2008+ recession, so he joined me in the garden and soon he was churning out hot sauce, salsa, pasta sauces, pickled jalepenos and squash, all bottled under the name “Ed Bob’s – for good times and for bad.”  

 

Ed Bob found a recipe for a delicious summer cocktail made with gin, muddled garden cucumbers and fresh mint. We made pickles from my farm Gramma’s recipe …Pretty soon what had been a hobby became an obsession and by the time Mr. Clark/Ed Bob was gainfully employed again, I was in charge of a 1,200 sq. ft. garden…We bought a dehydrator and cases and cases of bottles and jars. There were a few years there when all we did on weekends was hot sweaty garden work and bottle and can, while listening to the Braves, of course.  

 

But, with the kids grown and Ed Bob’s work taking him out of town most of the week, the bounty of Clark Park began to feel like a burden - so much time spent trying to keep it in shape, so many weeds, so much to do…So, we began shaping our next dream/phase/adventure – a smaller house, a much smaller yard and garden – maybe something on the lake? A place that I could keep up with…a life that allowed for more leisure and less work.

 

By an odd series of events that felt like they were meant to be, we ended up with our new much smaller life in a log cabin on the lake a few months ago. A similar series of “it was meant to be’s” led our home’s new family to her and they are very excited indeed. As our life shrinks, theirs expands and yes, it really does feel like it was meant to be…

 

As I walked through Clark Park for the last time, I realized I could tell a story about each and every plant – why it was there, where I got it, how long it took to flourish and how proud I was of it today – but, there’s no one to tell those stories to. The people who were there have the same memories as mine and the new family will make memories of their own.

 

Some women make quilts, others do photo albums or scrapbooks; I made a park and in my mind it will always be full of the wonderful events and glorious years we had in our Big White House and the now verdant Clark Park.

 

The new family probably won’t have time to keep up with the care an entire park needs – when we were in their time of life, we barely had time to make sit-down meals, let alone water even a tiny patch of grass. But, those glorious native perennials will be there, waiting under those weeds until it’s time for them to come out again…Those Camellias will light up every dreary January and February…those Peonies will continue to thrive…and, even the busiest of young mothers has time to brighten her kitchen with a vase of those bright blue Hydrangeas…

 

The scent of Gardenias flooded the air today at Clark Park. I had forgotten how they sweeten the breeze over the Big White House that way all summer long…all those little Gardenias I planted over so many years…In my mind, Heaven smells just like that…

 

I’m not sure how to say, “Good bye,” to a park, but over the years I learned how to plant one…One plant at a time, $5 here, $10 there – a bit of fertilizer and water as needed…Keep after it, even as your busy life keeps after you and eventually you end up with something so amazing and marvelous that you’ll wonder how you managed to create such a thing…And, in the end, isn’t that the way we create so many wonderful things – not just parks.

  

 

 

Farewell, dear column readers

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” -  Winnie the Pooh   

Winder, Barrow County and my lovely readers – this is “Goodbye.” Mr. Clark and I are in process of buying a lake house and if all goes as planned, we’ll be moving by mid-April. Sorting through 26 years of memories and possessions, preparing to downsize dramatically is a daunting, detail-filled task and I’m afraid even if I applied myself with fervor and urgency 15 hours a day between now and then, I won’t get everything that needs doing done. Hence, my “Goodbye.”

I’ve had a good run as a columnist in this community. I appreciate each and every person who has enjoyed or tolerated, turned first to or become angered by my work. It’s been fun to be recognized, hugged and complimented - not so fun to be yelled at or typed harshly about. I’ve enjoyed hearing that my words have had a positive impact on a stranger who introduces him or herself at an event or a store. And, I’ve done my share of ducking behind racks or hustling to the next aisle when I recognize someone who’s not so fond of me.

My first column appeared in the Barrow Eagle newspaper in the fall of 1994. Either the readers liked my work or the thin start-up the Eagle was at the time needed space filler…probably a combination of both led to me share weekly musings for the next six years. That was a busy time in my life. I worked full time at the paper as a reporter/ photographer and eventually became the features editor. My kids were in middle and high school during those years and it was such a pleasure to be able to cover their events, as well as attend them.

My columns in those days were about the kids, my experiences as their mother, local events, local politics and other thoughts as they occurred. My editor told me “a columnist’s agenda should be to inform the public, offer a fresh viewpoint, stir vigorous debate or to raise hell.” I took his words to heart and applied myself. The columns people seemed to like the most were my rants about local shenanigans, as well as the ones that brought a tear to the eye - some tender mother’s memory or a remembrance of a fallen friend or pet.

Those were good times, as a newspaper person and as a columnist…When the Eagle sold and I had to take a break from peddling my words. I missed my family of readers and the reactions I generated, a lot.   

I got another shot at column writing when the Barrow Journal started up in the fall of 2008. My old publisher called up the publisher of the new paper and told him he “had to have” my work. Imagine my surprise when my new publisher called and asked if I’d return to column writing. I was both flattered and scared…What if I didn’t have anything to say?

My run as a BJ columnist was a good one, as well. As with the Eagle, I ended up reporting, taking pictures and becoming the features editor for a while. I taped my old editor’s quote about “a columnist’s agenda” near my home work station and did my best to live up to it. By this time, my kids were grown and the things I had to write about were different – the musings of an older person, with a different perspective. There were still local events and causes, and by this time, I was involved with animal rescues and feeding the hungry. These things provided inspiration and plenty to write about. As for the rant columns, still based on local shenanigans, they were once again quite popular and so much fun to write.  

During the BJ years, I generated more tears, got more hugs and the hate mail was, at times, frightening. It’s interesting to be loved and hated, with equal fervor, by readers in the same community.

When I left the BJ in 2013, it was with the hope of being elected to serve in a political capacity. When my best efforts fell a bit short, I had the good fortune of joining the Barrow County News as a weekly columnist. This has been an honor and pleasure for me. The political campaign took its toll and one result was that my desire to rant and/or fight public battles with my words died. My goal in sharing my thoughts in this paper has been to interest or possibly provoke thought, to promote local events and causes, and share pieces of my personal world. The stories I tell about animals are by far, the most popular.   

I don’t know if I’ll ever write a column again…I’ll have to wait for the moving dust to settle and get our home established again. I will challenge myself to post photos and thoughts about the “new life” and other things on my blog. It’s http://dontworrybehappy-lorin.blogspot.com/  Please feel free to check in and see what I’ve been up to.       

Ernie Harwell said, “It’s time to say goodbye, but I think goodbyes are sad and I’d much rather say hello. Hello to a new adventure. “ And so, off I go…Take good care, dear readers and friends. I’m going to miss you all, so much.

 

 

 

moving to the lake...

“The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance.” – Alan Watts

 

Mr. Clark and I bought a lake house this weekend and my head is reeling! It’s a classic case of “be careful what you wish for, for you may surely get it.” We’ve been talking about scaling back and moving to the lake for a few years, but had made no concrete steps in that direction. Then all of the sudden, Kaboom! A For-Sale-By-Owner pops up on Zillow – the lake house of our dreams – on a whim we go see it, we fall in love with it and make an offer. The offer was low enough we assumed the seller would counter and then we wouldn’t be able to afford the place…Imagine our surprise when he accepted our offer instantly! OMG! We just bought a lake house!

 

The initial emotion was euphoria – it’s a well-built log cabin on four acres on a deep water cove with a dock and a lovely view. Just under 1,900 sq. feet, it’s significantly smaller than our current home which means I just might be able to keep it clean and in good repair. There’s a loft and a wrap-around porch and a sun room along the back of the house with a luscious view of the forest and lake. No nearby neighbors, plenty of wildlife and a peace and quiet that is profound. No more city noise for us - nothing but the sound of the birds and crickets and wind in the trees.

 

Amazing! It felt like it was meant to be - the whole thing happened so quickly and easily. Then, the next day it hit me, hard – this meant we would have to leave our beloved big white house and a yard so large and lovely we call it Clark Park. The place our kids grew up…a place so full of happy memories, laughter and love…rooms full of visitors, family and friends…all of those long pleasant evenings on the back porch…The place that has sheltered and nurtured our family for 26 years will no longer be called home. I get tears in my eyes just typing about it.

 

When we called our kids to tell them the news, they were kind, supportive and understanding, but also very sad – especially since our decision was such a surprise. Some houses are just houses, others become homes. Our house has a soul of its own, a soul that other families who have lived here, other kids who have grown up and played here, have experienced. She’s just such a special, spectacular, grand old hostess…             

 

She was condemned when we bought her – nearly gutted by a fire. We restored her, moved in and have loved her dearly ever since. She was the hang-out house when our kids were growing up. Our daughter’s best friends stayed here during the week of her wedding. Our son and his wife got married here. These walls have seen our best times and our worst. Our pets, so many, so loved over the years, are all buried in the back yard.  

 

Clark Park has been a labor of love and a work in progress for years. Initially, our kids were small and life was very busy. As they grew up, life moved from busy to hectic, so we didn’t do much to create an outdoor living space until it became time for their high school graduation parties. With those, the lawn and landscaping started creeping slowly backwards, displacing privet and kudzu. When the kids went off to college, the energy Mr. Clark and I used to pour into them went into the yard. Year after year, our once overgrown acre became a private park. Flowerbeds, paths, shrubbery; hammocks, swings, benches; bird feeders and yard art – lots of bird feeders and yard art. The pergola we built for the wedding is now covered in jasmine – such a sweet scent in the spring!

 

When Mr. Clark was out of work after the crash in 2008, he threw himself into gardening and making homemade hot sauce, pasta sauce and salsa. When he found work again, it became a team effort and now we have a 1,200 sq. foot garden with some of the nicest soil you’ll ever sink a seed into. Our “Ed Bob’s” products have become nearly famous because each year we make so much that we have to give A LOT away. We have “Ed Bob’s” “customers” (you can’t buy it, we give it away…) as far away as California, New York and Alaska.  

 

It was easy to forget how much this all means when I was grousing about yard work or weeding or washing all of these d%&m windows…Easy to long for a bungalow or a lake house…fewer chores…a different life. And, then we got that and all of the sudden it’s clear how much I love this place and all the things I’ve been grousing about.  

 

Change is hard; that is to be expected. A big change, like moving away from the best home EVER and beginning to sort through the few things that will go with us and all the things that must stay to be sold or be given away…Well, right now that feels like an awfully large task.  

 

“We’ll have new adventures there,” my daughter said, hopefully, her voice wobbling from fighting back tears…”This is a chance to make new memories,” my son added, with a big lump in his throat.

 

Big house, beautiful yard, ridiculously productive garden - we’re going to miss you so much! It’s a blessing to be able to chart a new course and start into a new life, but there’s going to be a lot of tears, throat lumps and sadness, on the way to that lake house.

 

Since we’ve taken the leap and plunged in, now our challenge is to turn this move into a bittersweet dance.  

 

 

Hello, Black Dog

“It’s okay not to be okay.” – Namaste Café

 

Depression, melancholy, down in the dumps, the blues, S.A.D. (Seasonal Affect Disorder) or Vitamin D deficiency – call it what you will – for years I have struggled emotionally this time of year. The days are short and often cold and gray; the nights are long, dark and even colder. I can’t seem to get warm, even on a sunny day. My heart feels like it’s coated with ice; I wonder if I’ll ever feel warm sun on my face again…

 

Meet my Black Dog – the Black Dog of Depression. Winston Churchill made his Black Dog famous most recently, but it turns out the history of the Black Dog goes way back. In British and European folklore, influenced by Greek and Roman mythology, black dogs are harbingers of death or emissaries of the Devil. Several 18^th Century writers wrote about their Black Dogs and “the Black Dog is on his back” was once a term for melancholy.    

 

I named my Black Dog some years ago, after all attempts to fight him or ignore him or conquer him or reason him away failed. He’s a wily dog, persistent and stubborn, unwilling to deter from his annual schedule of spending early January through late March with me. And, like a real dog, when left uncontrolled, he became the alpha/ boss of me - almost larger than life.

 

When I read about Churchill calling his depression “The Black Dog” something clicked. If an important intelligent prime minister found some success in putting a face on his depression, naming it his Black Dog and learning to coexist, so could I. And so, I stopped letting the Black Dog control me and I took control of him.

 

Not only did I let him slink onto the porch of my S.A.D. melancholy mind, I invited him in, gave him a place to lie by the fire and eventually agreed to foster him – temporarily. Like all dogs, he seemed to respond positively to me taking control this way, and since we’ve come up with this arrangement, he’s much gentler on me.

 

I’ve always had dogs, often too many at once, and black is my favorite canine color, so I like to think of my depression this way. My Black Dog lies around the house, always near, ever keeping a watchful eye, but these days he barks only occasionally and I can often ignore him. When he’s hungry, he laps up a little of my weak, S.A.D. energy. Mostly, he just naps contentedly, snoring loudly, moving his feet as if in a dream, running after whatever it is he runs after once he’s left me. Sometimes on a particularly dark, cold, sad-ish night, my Black Dog whines softly and thumps his tail, as if to say, “It’ll be alright.”

 

And, he’s right. After all of our time together, I know it is temporary. We have learned to coexist. Our relationship has become an easy, if not so pleasant one. I accept him and he stays in his place. And, as predictably as he appears, he’ll lope off again, once the dogwoods bloom and it’s warm.    

 

For years, I resented that Black Dog. Why did he have to torment me and always so predictably? None of the remedies for depression or melancholy or S.A.D helped and those Vitamin D supplements had no effect. What lesson did he have to teach me? What purpose did he serve?

 

Then, it occurred to me that my Black Dog may be teaching me to deal with adversity like any old dog does – face each day, each step, each physical challenge with consistency, determination, and optimism.  

 

As bleak as this day may seem, there are daffodils blooming outside, bouquets of light, and the birds don’t stop singing, even in the freezing cold and their feathers remain bright. Each day offers some promise, even if it’s only that we are one day closer to spring and the Black Dog’s departure date.  

 

This year I thought I’d dodged the Black Dog’s bullet altogether. Here it was, late February and there’d been no sign of him. I was beginning to allow myself to consider the possibility he might be gone for good. But then that bitter, bitter cold last week descended and even though I only lost power for a few hours, had plenty of food and blankets, and only one frozen pipe - that cold got the best of me and in my Black Dog came.  

 

This year, the gloom is gentler, hanging lightly over my head. I’m able to keep better track of my many blessings; I’ve started telling the Black Dog about them. He seems to like listening. Maybe, like me, he’s tired of being depressed. Maybe he’s finally ready for spring…

.

 

 

 

 

that red-eyed monster, anger

“Don’t say something permanently hurtful just because you’re temporarily upset.” – Buddhist Boot Camp, Facebook

 

I grew up in a loud family where yelling was an acceptable way of communicating and anger was an accepted emotion. “I yell because I care” was my Dad’s motto and somehow we knew that was true. His yelling not only didn’t hurt us - it showed us how very much he did, indeed, love us.

 

In the Sinn family, frustration is expressed by cussing profusely and/or kicking inanimate objects – never people, never animals – just objects. Project isn’t going well? Insufficient progress? Toss your hat on the ground and stomp on it – you’ll feel better in no time, guaranteed.   

 

This kind of behavior is not understood by most folks. To many, anger is an unpleasant scary emotion that causes one to recoil – it’s not the simple emotional currency it is in my family. Our anger is as quickly forgotten as it is to heat up. No apologies needed; the explosion happened and now it’s over, no permanent damage done.

 

As I quickly discovered, expressing anger the way my family does causes damage and can result in irreparable harm.   

 

When I was younger and had much more going on, as well as much more at stake, I was angry a lot. I lost my temper easily and hurt a lot of people along the way. I remember how my kids used to come to me tentatively with a problem, nervously laughing about whether they should “unleash the She Bear” in me. At the time it seemed funny, now not so much.

 

My form of anger is the verbal knife – sharp, cutting, cruel. I don’t kick objects – I leave scars. Now that my kids are grown and age has leveled my hormones, life is calmer and I rarely lash out. Anger is less of an issue for me than it’s ever been, but occasionally it rears its ugly red-eyed head. I am reminded how powerful my old friend is and how important it is to control her.   

 

One of my favorite books about anger was published in 1985 and spent some time on the New York Times Best Seller List. In The Dance of Anger, Harriet Goldhor Lerner, Ph.D. offers these thoughts:  1.) “Anger is a signal” – a powerful one to tell us what’s going on in and around us. 2.) “Anger is neither legitimate nor illegitimate, meaningful nor pointless. Anger simply is.” 3.) “If feeling anger signals a problem, venting anger does not solve it.” 4.) “Those of us who are locked into ineffective expressions of anger suffer as deeply as those of us who dare not get angry at all.” 5.) Learn to recognize the true source of the anger, rather than simply display the symptoms. “What is the real issue? What about this situation makes me angry?”

 

Lerner’s notion is for us to learn to “use anger as a tool for change” – rather than a weapon. She advocates learning better communication skills as an important part of that.

 

Another way of looking at anger is from a philosophical or Buddhist perspective. C. JoyBell C. puts it well: “Anger is like flowing water; there's nothing wrong with it as long as you let it flow…On flowing water travels little paper boats; paper boats of forgiveness. Allow yourself to feel anger, allow your waters to flow, along with all the paper boats of forgiveness. Be human.” 

Jim Butcher says, “Anger is just anger. It isn't good. It isn't bad. It just is. What you do with it is what matters…You can use it to build or to destroy. You have to make the choice." This is a very helpful, powerful way to look at anger – as a catalyst for needed change.  

 

An old friend of mine, John R. Rifkin, Ph.D., wrote an also very useful book called The Healing Power of Anger. “ In it, he describes anger as containing energy – energy which makes us more action-oriented. He says, “Power is the use of energy to act on the work so that it meets your needs. This energy frequently comes from anger when we are responding to an injury.”

 

I like thinking of my old red-eyed friend Anger in this way – as a tool, a source of energy, a catalyst. The trick is to breathe and count to 10 before I pop off and say things I regret, doing damage that can’t be undone.     

 

This, from the Buddhist Boot Camp Facebook page, is a habit I am trying to establish: “Before speaking (or typing), ask yourself these three questions - Is what I’m about to say true? Is it necessary? Is it kind? If it’s not all three, don’t say, email or text it. Become a contributor to a quieter, more honest and sincere world. Be part of the solution, not the pollution.”

 

My red-eyed friend likes this approach. It’s good for her self-esteem and what’s good for Lady Anger is certainly good for me. 

  

 

Valentine's Day...true love...wine...and chocolate...

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” – Emily Bronte

OR

“Love does not consist in gazing at each other, but in looking outward together in the same direction.” – Antoine de Saint-Exupery

 

Valentine’s Day has always been awkward for me; I feel the same about New Year’s Eve. It’s like everyone is feeling festive, romantic and special and there I sit, all Hallmark-carded-up with no place to go and no one waiting for me…It’s not that Mr. Clark and I don’t love each other. We do, very much so, and have for 38 years now. It’s just that our love is the slow burning, steady kind - built over time, no fireworks in the sky.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m a big believer in “true love” - my theory is that there are two types. One is the kind Mr. Clark and I share. It’s steady and solid – those two St. Exupery souls looking ahead together, rather than staring into each other’s eyes. The other is the soulmate kind – a love that was always intended and simply has to be. This is Browning’s love, the love Shakespeare wrote about and Soloman sang about - the love novels, poems and songs salute. Those couples can and actually do spend hours staring into each other’s eyes – sharing a love the rest of us can only dream about.  

 

My maternal grandparents were soulmates. They found true love at the age of 13 and 14. He had just finished eighth grade and was off to make his way as a farmer in Eastern Kansas. Since she was a year younger, he waited for her to finish school, then asked her to marry him. They started what turned into their grand adventure together on Valentine’s Day, 1928.  

 

During their 72 years together, their small farm grew into a big one. They raised four children and were blessed with eight grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren before my Grandpa died. Since they were farmers and so much in love, there wasn’t a single day they didn’t spend together – living, laughing and working side by side. Even as a kid, I could see something special in their relationship, something that, as much as my parents loved each other, their relationship lacked.

 

My Grandpa died 15 years ago, the day after Valentine’s Day. He was in the hospital and things were grim. My Grandma said one of the last things he said was, “I’ll stick with you, Kid, until after our special day.” And, he did. She is 101 now and still misses him fiercely. She says sometimes she feels his hand lightly on her shoulder or hears him whisper “Kid!” softly in the night…And, as much as she’s enjoyed living, she says she’s ready to go home to him.

 

My son-in-law’s grandparents have an equally sweet story of true love and a long life spent together. She says she fell in love with him when he was in the third grade and she was in the second. It was Show-and-Tell Day and he brought a duck to school. Something about the sight of him in his short pants, hair all slicked back, holding that duck so proudly on the school stage earned him her heart right there and then. They enjoyed nearly 60 years together before he passed away and he, too, remains sorely missed.     

 

I was a wedding photographer for a few years, so I captured many couples’ “Special Moments” during their “Special Day.” Some really do seem like soulmates; others are a solid match. Most wedding days are festive and fun, but the soulmate celebrations were my favorite. There’s a magic in the air, as if a long-dreamt dream is finally coming true. Those couples breathe, dance, laugh and move in complete unison and with such ease – it’s amazing and beautiful and something the rest of us, happily married as we may be, can only wistfully wonder at.

 

My daughter and her husband are soulmates - I’m sure of it. They met in a high school art class. He was a senior; she was a freshman. He tried to set her up with his best friend, then realized that she belonged with him. They went to his senior prom, her senior prom and made it through the long distance college years. They married the summer after she graduated and theirs is a truly happy romance. She lives for him, he lives for her and they have so much fun together - in nearly 18 years, they’ve never had a fight.

 

It’s a blessing to have enjoyed true love – the St. Exupery or Browning kind – whether for a long while or briefly. And, it’s a blessing to have Mr. Clark at my side. But, as Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “All mankind love a lover” - maybe even more so on Valentine’s Day. Here’s to a full heart and true love, whatever form it comes in – whether it be gazing into your soulmate’s eyes or sipping red wine, savoring dark chocolate and watching a movie that gives you a happy cry.