We cleaned the heck out of it.

You may remember these ladies,

lovingly known as my 'housies'.

Here's something I would like you to know about us:

We are relatively clean people.

Even relatively clean people, however, need to deep clean every once in a while, and that would be why this past weekend found us:

tearing. it. up.

The tall one 

 was deployed to the highest places;

the organized one,

to the places needing her most. 

Then there was the thorough one,

put onto the dirtiest.

When she had finished, we looked at that fireplace door so clean, 

and busted a little bit of gut, laughing at ourselves:

Who knew it wasn't supposed to look like that?....

And the answer is: WE didn't.

We've sat in front of that fire for years,
and never once thought it was a little dim.  

Of course I, being I,
jumped right inside the spiritual principle found there: 

How often in life do we sit around thinking that the dim light is all there is, until God wipes us down in all of His thoroughness?

In fact, once I started looking I couldn't stop finding: 

The nature of deep cleaning,

 where it gets worse before it gets better.

Where things are found that have long been forgotten,

like carcasses of dead old nasty things hiding out in unseen places, needing to be removed for good, sucked out through a rather uncomfortably aimed nozzle.

And then, after the walls were washed, the corners exhumed of any and all things resembling and/or made up of dirt, 

 the furniture moved back into place,

after we looked around and breathed in the clean,

and realized that that dirt has been eating away at our very souls without our even knowing it;

after all of that, I looked around and thought:
How often do I sit in my own filth, not even knowing it's there?

Kind of like, 

 who knew the top of the fridge was massively disgusting?

But--once I got a vantage point, I could see, and once I could see,

I could clean it spotless.

And do I even need to say it? 

I realized--once again--that the only One with a vantage point on me, is the only One who can truly make me clean.

And so, at the end of the (very long) day of cleaning the heck out of our house, I was reminded of what I never want to forget:  

I know a God who says--

You may not know you need it.

You may think you're relatively clean.

But here I am--ready to deep clean the heck out of you.

Ready to tear it up, in order that you may freely and freshly breathe.

Routine, you're nice.

Every year there comes a moment where I realize that the free-play of the summer is ready to transition into the routine of the fall, and by the time it rolls around, I'm ready for it too.

This fall has started slowly, gently, easily.

There's been time for leisurely and luxurious cooking.

There's been a return to my piano teaching schedule, with more time for more students, and a fresh start for those who have been marching through their piano goals with me for a while.

There's been settling into my office and my roles 

of teaching and assistant-directing.

And there's still some flexibility for work days at home, with baking bread, laundry, a little bit of piano tuning on the side.

And all of these things cause me to sit back and sigh, 

with peace, with content.  

Hello fall, your routine is welcome, your ease is nice.

I never said my normal was actually 'normal'...

The thing about a return to normal life is that when a good friend says 'hey, I have to go do this weird thing, wanna come with me?', I have the capacity to say: Sure!

That would be why I found myself here,

not that long ago.

Who knew that in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania there does actually exist a Himalayan Salt Cave?

Yes, deep inside this warehouse of a building, 

there is a cave,

 made of walls of salt,

 complete with lanterns.

You pay the good people of the cave 15 bucks, and they let you in.  You sit in eerie silence on reclining chairs, waiting with others in the room whom you don't know, and who may or may not make very odd sounds once the session commences.  For the next 45 minutes, you allow the salt to infiltrate your body whilst listening to terrible music.  And when all is said and done,

you step back out onto the floor of pink salt crystals in your blue paper booties, full of far more iodine and--supposedly--far less inflammation, ready to take on the world.

As for Katy and I,

we figured that if we were less full of toxins, 

we might as well fill ourselves back up before we got back home.

Hello normal life....who knew you'd be so interesting?

A return, to new things

Finishing a season of your life ultimately leads to the beginning of another.  That would be why--not that long ago--I found myself approaching the phenomenon of end/beginning, asking: 

What now shall I do?

Clear to me was the need to stay put.  Tired I was, and the thought of establishing myself in a new place was overwhelming to say the least.  'Here I am,' I thought, 'my feet on the ground, my community solidly around me.  I'm not leaving.'  

Fine.  Ok.  Great.

But the question remained:  Staying put then, what now shall I do?

And then, one day, the answer fell out of the sky.

And then, over the next few months, it all fell into place:

My new thing would be Assistant Directing the Institute housed in this cute little cottage, which I had wandered past for all of my Penn State years, and for which I had inexplicably gathered a special affinity in my heart.

And so, in these first weeks of a return to a semester, 

I have settled in.

I have begun my new tasks,

have rejoiced in my new office

tucked inside that cute little cottage.

But I have also rejoiced in a return to the things
that I have long loved about my living here,

such as the walk to and from home,
that passes through this town I call mine.

And then, this week,

a return to the classroom,
to new students and learning and moments full of fun.

A new season, mixed with just enough of the old.

Because my God is big, and the keeper of my way:
This now shall I do, with gratitude.

Return to Normal

Recently I found myself on the phone, 

saying "I'm just running errands tonight..."

And I realized: A return to normal life is lovely.

Lovely also was the spontaneous inclusion of this special girl, 

 whose original plan for the evening was to follow her sister around at her new school orientation,

but who ultimately decided there were
much more important ways to spend her time.

After our errands were over, 

 we returned to my house to find
Ginger in the middle of a cookie making spree, 

 which we jumped right in on.

 Investing deeply in the making,

 we decided we needed to wait around for the baking.
We hung out, lazily.  We googled characters from Harry Potter.  We discussed important life issues, such as whether or not having your tooth numbed for a small cavity is worth losing feeling in your face for the rest of the day.  Then, we watched our favorite food network, in order to make us hungry for:

YUM.

By the end of our spontaneous and slightly random evening,

the evidence was clear:

Hooray.  For Normal.

Ah, family.

It all started out peacefully enough,

 a lovely evening swing, with Grandpa.

 Then, someone got the great idea that said swing would be a perfect place for a perfect family picture,

 and all hell broke loose.

We were striving for perfect, when realistic is what we got.

And, you know what?

I think that that's the way it should be.

Delighted, I'm sure.

While ceremony fills me with grumpy, relaxed and peaceful gathering with dear people fills me with:

Delight.

My family,

having rolled into my living room
to partake in the events of the day,

joined with me and my usual cast of characters

in one of my favorite locations, 

for an evening of lounging,

chatting,

eating,

and playing.

I wandered around from place to place,

taking in the scene,

happy all over my heart.

The temperature perfect, the breeze lovely,
the food delicious, the people mine.

 These men manned the grill,

 these ladies oversaw the table.

In fact, the number of friends who worked behind the scenes to make the night a success gifted me with their kindness, and freed me to dwell in beautiful memories.

Memories like

 this,

 with this delightful one,

solidly one of my favorites.

Memories like

 conversation with this old cousin,

 getting to know this newer little face,

being with my family,

 being with other people's families,

being with the goodness of devoted friends.

Breezing by without a hitch,

the day began as a grumpy graduation,
but elevated itself to my favorite night,
of all time.

I was indeed delighted--
of this, I am sure.