THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #3: Let's be honest here, they simply don't make a comfortable bike seat. I don't care how big the honking thing is, it's going to hurt your cowgirl, period. And, it's going to hurt for a very long time.




You may have heard that yesterday (April 18) was my birthday. Thanks to so many who e-mailed, Facebook-ed or called with such sweet wishes for the day. As I had hoped, I did get to ride my bike yesterday. The wind died down, the sun popped out and 42 degrees it turns out is okay bike-riding weather. So I jumped on LuLu and did something I always do on my birthday, I visited a graveyard.

I've been snooping around in graveyards on my birthday for many years now. No, it's not the morbid in me, it's the writer in me that calls me to these places. Do you know how many stories are buried there? So much history. Yesterday, I visited with a guy who was born in 1773! He lived almost a hundred years! You might be wondering what he told me, yes? Well, grave stones can tell you a lot about a person. He was a beloved husband, father and German. He lived very close to where my house is now. I know that because this little graveyard is across the road from an old church building that used to be the worship house of a congregation of German Lutherans. Several years ago, the old church building was renovated into a house. A lot of Swiss and German folks settled in this area when they got off the boats. They started farms, built a church, raised their families and lived and died in this ten-mile radius around my house. Cool, huh?

Others folks were lying near by like Heida, Gertrude, Wilhelm and about seventy-five others. I sat there under a tree and wrote a couple of vignettes about a few of them. Someday, one of them might show up in one of my stories.

LuLu looked out of place in the graveyard-- all that pink and those shiny spokes surrounded by all that old, mildewed stone. Yet, she turned into a metaphor right before my eyes: Never forget the past, but don't linger there too long. Visit and remember those who went before and what they can teach you, then hop on your bike and get out there and live. Make your own memories. Tell your own story. Leave your own mark.

So, I did. I paid my respects and then LuLu and I took off. I sang out loud as I peddled. I can do that because I live out in the country and no one can hear me. And, I'm now sixty years old. I've decided that sixty-year-olds can get away with a lot if we look pitiful enough at times. The Fake Knee had a hard time keeping up, but the old gal hung in there. The Cowgirl, on a pain scale of one to ten, with ten being screaming-out loud-painful, was still at about an eight, yet, we peddled on. I spied my first spring Cardinal, a big fluffy guy perched on a branch looking like royalty. A couple of bunnies hopped across the road in front of me. And, a rooster had the audacity to chase me down the road. If looks could kill, I'd be laying in the gravel right now with that feathered bully still picking at my flesh.

All in all, it was a good day. I've decided to make this a birthday week. I'm sixty. I can do anything I want.

love you guys,
deb

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

THE LULU CHRONICLES

LuLu-ism #2: Just because today is your 60^th birthday doesn’t mean you can’t ride a bike, or walk six miles, or decide you might want to become an astronaut.Well, maybe starting to learn astrophysics in your sixth decade is stretching it a bit, but whatever! Birthdays are just numbers arranged in a sequence. Now is the time to put more stock into dreams than numbers. I’m just saying…

PHOTO: My birthday cake. It was made out of 60 cupcakes

Thank you, family!

Today, at 7:15 p.m. I will officially turn sixty years old. For years on my birthday, my daddy would tell me about the day I was born. According to my dad, I was born with a pointy head. I’m assuming then, that I was not the cutest puppy in the nursery… however, I was probably the most interesting.

All my life I have felt like I was special. Maybe that was due to my parents extraordinary doting skills, or the fact that I have always been able to touch my tongue to my nose, or maybe it was the pointed head thing. Whatever, I’ve always believed I could do anything I wanted if I put my mind to it. With that said, it makes me wonder on this my sixtieth birthday why I am just me, instead of someone that turns heads or cured cancer or invented Post-Its. After sixty years, I’m still just me.

As I was riding LuLu this morning, in the cold (remember I live in Wisconsin) I had a thought. Being just me is okay… even after all these years. No, I haven’t contributed in some highly public and astonishing way, but I have managed to stay out of jail. What I mean is that I think in my sixty years on the planet, I’ve done more good than harm.

No, I didn’t become a world famous photographer with National Geographic (something I thought I might want to do someday). But, I have taken some photos of my family that are priceless. Nope, I didn’t become that Marine Biologist I thought about who would skin dive and swim with giant turtles. But I am teaching my granddaughter how to dog paddle and float on her back. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. Have I traveled aboard? Nope. Am I well versed in…well, anything? Hardly. Well, okay, I’ve written a couple of books and I’m hard to beat at Scrabble.

Let me tell you what I really am… As I was peddling down the road with my fake knee and my not too comfortable cowgirl, it dawned on me: I am happy. Life has been extremely hard this year. I’ve had challenges that should have broken me, discouraged me and left me for the buzzards. But they didn’t. God simply wouldn’t let them. By His grace, I’m still standing. I’m sixty years old and I’m not only standing, I’m peddling! And with each rotation of my bike tires, I feel new dreams bubbling up inside me. I’m thinking about taking up painting and archery.

I’m happy. Not bad for a gal who started out with a pointy head, wouldn’t you say?

deb

STOP, LOOK, LISTEN

LuLu-ism # 1: If the wind is blowing strong enough to nail you to the garage door, you might want to reconsider riding your bike.

I got up early ready for my date with LuLu. However, when I looked out the window I was reminded that, oh, yeah, I live in Wisconsin. The wind was kicking up a storm, literally. The outside thermometer was struggling to reach 32 degrees, and on top of that it was sleeting*. Not to be deterred from my daily bike ride, I took a vote from the stakeholders asking for a “Yay” or “Nay” response.

Fake Knee: “Seriously?”

Cowgirl*: “Duh!”

So, I caved. No bike ride today. Picture LuLu in the garage with her little peddles spread across the garage door, screaming, “Don’t make me go out there, please, please! I beg you! Have mercy!”

Okay, “Plan B”. Any self-respecting, serious health nut determined to get into better shape has one, right? Well, I do too. LuLu has a sidekick. Hop-A-Long Cassidy had Gabby Haze, right? Before you were born? Well, how about Batman and Robin? Better?

Meet Rusty. Picture in your mind a stationery exercise bike from the days of the Olivia Newton John “Let’s Get Physical” era-- including leg warmers and pink headbands. I found Rusty at a St. Vincent De Paul thrift store for five bucks. He’s my go-to guy. He’s not pretty, but he’ll give the fake knee a run for its money.

So, as I’m peddling along in the loft over looking my living room, I start to think-- What’s the lesson here? First, in bike riding and in life, we need to heed the warning signs. No more head in the sand type decisions. Yeah, that may be your dream house, but can you afford it, really? Or, yeah, the guy’s cute, but the fact that he showed up at your house for your first date with his mother, well, BIG warning sign, sister. Think! Heed! Pay attention!

Hurricane force winds, sleet and body parts were waving red flags the size of a duvet off of a California-King bed, screaming, ”Don’t do it, Grasshopper!” How many times in life have I not heeded the warnings, the gut feelings and the voices of reason and plowed ahead anyway? Too many to count, I’m afraid. I’m going to work on that.

Second, sometimes life is all about Plan B. So have one.

Until tomorrow…

deb

GLOSSERY:

*Sleeting: frozen rain. Very cold.

*Cowgirl: my buttocks

MEET LULU

Meet LuLu. She’s my new bike. I got her for my 60^th birthday even though I’m not quite sixty yet. I will be April 18. I wanted to get a head start with my bike riding since here in Wisconsin if you don’t get outside right when the ground starts to thaw, you’ve missed spring. You may be asking yourself, “Why would a sixty-year- old want a bike anyway?” Good question. My answer: I think it will be a great way to try and get my aching, aging, overweight, almost, practically disabled body back in shape…she said foolishly. So here’s the deal: As of today, I’m starting The LuLu Chronicles. For some reason my new little Schwinn bike has the name “LuLu” painted on her. Go figure. But it fits, I think. I want to ‘record’ my progress or lack of and hopefully learn something along the way about myself, challenges, longsuffering and anything else my new friend, LuLu, thinks I need to know. I’m actually going to write this blog as if someone is reading it. Although I do think I have three faithful readers. Bless your hearts.

Actually, I’m on day two of bike riding after a week of trying to find the perfect bike seat. Three seats later, bingo! I think I’ve found the largest bike seat this side of the Mississippi. I still hang off of it a bit, if you know what I mean, but it will do nicely. Of course, just because my new seat is the size of Montana and Wyoming combined, doesn’t mean it’s comfortable or that I’ve been able to avoid the dreaded ‘bike butt’ phase of my new venture. For the record, from now on, I think I will refer to my butt and all those parts near by as ‘the cowgirl’ (you know, the bike seat being the ‘saddle’ and all). I’m doing this to avoid any shady characters that happen to Google looking for porn the trouble of finding their way to my sight. That just creeps me out. Plus, it sounds more lady-like, sort of. Anyways, the cowgirl has bike butt after two days of being in the saddle.

Here are my challenges:

I’m middle aged. (Yes, I plan on living to be 120)

I’m over weight.

I have an artificial knee that is a HUGE whiner.

And… I have a terrible track record of sustaining anything that’s good for me for longer than, let’s say, three and a half minutes.

So there you have it. Day Three of bike riding will start tomorrow. If you’d like, join me along the way. I’d like company. Let’s see what we can learn…

deb

PS. The dog in the picture with LuLu and me is Murphy. Little does he know that I've order a little 'doggie basket' for him that fits on my handle bars. Aren't we going to have fun (heh-heh).

LIFE HAPPENS...

PHOTO: Papa and Cian share their first
moments together.


On Tuesday Gary and I were blessed by the birth of our seventh grandchild- Cian (pronounced KEEN) Maccrae Cleveland. On Sunday, Gary was readmitted into the hospital with a raging infection exasperated by his radiation treatments. How can one go from pure joy to heartache all in a matter of days?

When I held that sweet baby boy in my arms a few days ago my life was perfect. God smiled on us with this little guy. I stood in that hospital room watching my tired but beautiful daughter-in-law cuddle her child. I beamed at my son as he stood over them proud and and full of love. I watched my husband of 39 years welcome this new baby into our family with a gentle kiss. Life was good.

Then... Sunday night I stood in another hospital room and joy wasn't to be found. Fear, confusion, and dread filled the air as I watched nurses and doctors hover over Gary. Life was not good.

Life... it just is. We can go from mountain tops to deep, dark valleys in warp speed without warning. How do we survive these pendulum swings without our hearts stopping and our bones caving in? How do we do it?

Well, my training on the job is teaching me is that WE don't do it at all. We can't. We aren't capable. The only way we are left standing when life throws its punches is that something else or Someone else does it for us... holds us up ... shelters us from the icy rain ... Someone else takes the blows for us.

In both of those hospital rooms, the happy one that held this precious newborn, and the scary one filled with tubes and bandages, a Presence entered. A Presence filled each of those rooms with wall-to-wall protection, strength, and guardianship. Life happened and God stood near.

I'm happy to report both Cian and Papa are doing okay. Cian is home with his parents and big brother, Cormac. And Papa, well, he's still in the hospital, but it isn't as scary as it was.

Life is good except when it isn't, but with God near it's all do-able.

blessings dear ones...

Minister shares experience in civil rights movement

Minister shares experience in civil rights movement

Counting Blessings

PHOTO: Some say I look a little bit like cooking mogul Paula Dean. You be the judge…

The three ‘C’s’ of Christmas are: 1) Cooking 2) Cooking, and 3) Cooking. I think between the nine adults sleeping at my house over the holidays, the little space in front of my stove was the most used real estate in the whole house, and that includes the bathrooms. We took turns, baking bread, pies, cookies, candy, turkey, sweet potatoes, dressing, and the list goes on. It was fun, but if I don’t have to stand in front of my stove for the next month boiling water or anything else that resembles cooking, I’ll be a happy woman.

The Clevelands had a lovely Christmas together. We had much to celebrate and much to be thankful for. We had our Papa/father/husband with us, strong and celebrating a victory over cancer. We had my parents, 2Pops and Granny Jane, 83-years young, sitting on the couch in their furry robes opening presents with us on Christmas morning. We had six little people sitting on the floor in footie-jammies, oohing and awing their way through wrapping paper and toys. We had a crackling fire keeping us warm, a white Christmas outside to keep us in the spirit and of course, food. We had food. Lots of food.

But, my most favorite moments were when I was able to just sit quietly and listen to the sounds around me. Children chattering with sweet voices that came straight from angels; My parents having quiet conversations with their grown grandsons; my daughter-in-laws laughing together in the kitchen-- in front of the stove, of course; And, toddlers squeaking and squealing around our knees like soft squeeze toys. Could a cup be any fuller?

These are the moments I want to breathe in and hold inside of me. It will be these moments I will return to when the snow melts and the mud starts clinging to my shoes. When the days wear on and I feel afraid or stressed or beaten down, I will remember the health on my husband’s face, the giggles of my grandchildren, the light in my mother’s eyes, and the goodness in my sons’ hearts. And, I will once again be reminded how gracious God has been to me.

It’s a new year, dear friends. I’m counting my blessings. I hope you are too.

deb

Below are a few family photos from the holidays... Thanks for stopping by...