Plant Yourself Where You'll Bloom I went out to the remains of my zinnia garden this morning, as I've done every week or so even into the Fall, and I found a few hidden jewels among th crispy, mildewed leaes of the plants. They are probably past their prime. There were also some roses and my hypericum berries have revived. The annuals aren't gone yet, and I made another nice bouquet to put on the kitchen counter. I always do my best thinking when I'm in the garden, and today my thoughts wandered to the quote "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. (Ecclesiastes 3) For the past couple of years my awareness of my own time coming to an end has rattled around in my heart and brain, as it must for many of us over eighty. This was not a new thought, I began planning my own funeral long ago when I faced a serious surgery. Well, I made it through that surgery, and several more, and I'm still kind of kicking. I don't think this awareness of my mortality is changing who I am or what I want to do, only sometimes what I'm able to do. I just went through a barrage of tests and the results were that I'm in pretty good shape, especially for my age, but I have become accustomed to performing above my class for quite some time! It seems that I've fallen a bit behind in some areas, and that there's not much I can do to escape the natural aging that we all face. With aging comes some decisions to make, and I'm absolutely aware that my desires might not mesh with reality at some point in the future. For now, though, I am absolutely, sublimely content living as we always have in a house I love, with friends who hold me up when I'm down. We manage the house with some devoted yard and household help, to whom I am eternally grateful. I wasn't always so contented, though. The last house we lived in was also one we built, and was essentially the same house we live in now, with afew tweaks we made in building the second time. That house was built at a rocky time in my life and marriage, and was supposed to be a fresh start. Shortly after we moved in, though, I came down with breast cancer which was fairly easily cured, but managing the treatment from our distant home was difficult, and the aftermath took a long time to equalize my hormones and my body. I remember almost falling asleep while driving home from one of the latter treatments, and looking in my rear view mirror and seeing Walker pulling up behind me on his way home from a flight. I knew I could make it then. That experience was one of the deciding factors that convinced me that living in the country was the worst decision ever! I had thought that living out from town on seven acres would be a fabulous life. We built a playhouse in the back, mostly for Walker III and Sarah, thinking the neighbor children would stop by to play. They never did. And suddenly, the children were suddenly no longer children, and we had a married daughter and a granddchild. We were meeting our daughter in parking lots to hand off Baby Robert when we baby sat him. I seldom saw the girls in person, except when Katie came home for short visits or Sarah was breezing in and out of her busy high school life and then college life. My friends popped in to see the new house, but seldom visited the longer we lived there. I made no new friends, or met many people I really wanted to be friends with. This was foreign to me as I had had no trouble making friends back "in town". I also had had no idea how isolated I would be, or how conservative our new town would be or how that huge lot would separate me from my neighbors. We didn't even feel welcome at the local Episcopal Church where the only person who ever spoke to us was the priest upon our exit from services. That church now has a priest that I'm so fond of that had he been there, things might have been different. I had always been active in the church, teaching Sunday School, leading fund raisers, participating in a "Guild" which introduced me to my most devoted lifelong friends. I was even one of the first women elected to the vestry. Losing "church" left a hole in my heart, but not one enough to give me the determination to travel the thirty or forty minutes into Memphis on Sundays. Our lives had changed, and not for the better. When Sarah was about to graduate from high school she came home and found me on the sofa in my nightclothes. "Mom, you'd better find something to do or you're going to lose your mind out here when I'm gone." My teen aged daughter knew what I was afraid to face. We just didn't belong there. I had planted myself on infertile ground. My one attempt to have a small garden outside the side door resulted in all the plants frying in the heat from the gravel driveway. They knew what I didn't, that we needed to make a change. I tried going to graduate school and for two years I drove back and forth to classes, enjoying the interaction with my classmates and the intellectual stimulation. I tried out a "small group" experience at my old church, and I eventually took a course in Education for Ministry, but all these things were just too difficult from where we lived.Finally, one day, I had had enough, and I told Walker that we were going to have ot move back to town. As usual, he yeilded to my decision, especially when we sold the house for a nice profit. I had become spoiled by all the pleasures of living in a brand new house, and I didn't think we could afford a comparable house built by a builder, so I began looking for a lot in town for us to build on again. I felt like we could find the right place to build because a number of older neighborhoods were bulldozing the older, small houses and allowing new construction. I told every realtor friend I could think of that we were looking for a lot, or even a house, so we could move back, but had zero results until one day I ran into someone I had not seen in a long time. Mary Ann and I had been in a carpool for our Special Needs kids for several years, and I stood blocking the door to the grocery store telling her my needs. The very next day she called with a lot for me to look at. Walker was out on a flight, but I called him to meet me that afternoon at the lot, which was already vacant. I knew we had to move fast on the purchase, because I had barely missed buying a different lot in the same neighborhood. Walker agreed that the lot was workable, although not perfect. The back yard would be a steep slope, and challenging to landscape and deal with the drainage, but we agreed to make an offer on it. We truly built this house together, with me calling sub-contractors and suppliers daily, sometimes in tears, trying to get the house underway at a time when there was a building boom. The last house took roughly ten months to build, this one took half again as long, and it was a painful birth, over budget a little, but by June, almost in time for Katie's wedding, we celebrated the new house with an "Empty House Party" for friends in town for the wedding. My dreams had finally come true. The profit from the sale of the last house allowed me to hire a decorator and add some touches that made it special. We really worked at all the finishing touches, travelling to New Orleans to purchase a few vintage things and antiques. We put in a swimming pool, something I'd wanted since I was a teenager. When it was finally finished, I knew it was where I was meant to be. Of course, I'm going to leave this house in the not too distant future, but hopefully not until I'm ready. Right now, as much as I dread making dinner most nights of the week, I don't want anyone else deciding what I'll have to eat or drink, or anything else about my life and habits. I want to walk around the property in my bathrobe picking flowers in the early morning. I want to have gatherings for my friends on occasion, without worrying about the house being ready. This house hides imperfections well, thank goodness, just like I do! We finished out part of the large attic a while back, creating a nice guest suite, and at the same time gave Walker a nice office, leaving the downstairs one to me and the dog. I have grandiose plans for a second cutting garden this comng Spring; an 80th Birthday gift from my husband, who thinks I'm a little batty, but indulges me with minimal complaint. I'll keep my little zinnia and tomato garden, but this will give me more sun-loving flowers for bouquets to enjoy and share with friends. We might have to put in a railing to make it safe for me to go down to the "lower forty", but I'm doing well with the current situation for now. I also adopted the upstairs "play room" that Walker III rarely used, for an art studio on one end of it. My art has become a big part of my life, and recovering my ablity to go up an down stairs gave me a new appreciation for how fortunate we are to have this house. When I walk into the "Art Room" the smell of it is different from the rest of the house. A true escape. Now I'm not pretending that all is going to work out for me to "go out of here in a box", as I tell realtors who call wanting to list my house. For now, as long as we have a little help with the house and the yard, we're dong fine. I certainly don't, however, mean to infer that my choice should be yours choice. I know plenty of people who have moved to retirement homes who are sublimely happy. Some even find happiness and comfort in nursing homes, and I'm happy to see them where they will bloom, but I believe that here is where I have blossomed and finally bloomed, and with God's mercy I will continue to do so. If you're reading this long treatise, I hope it will inspire you to plant yourself where you will bloom. I know people that have moved to a totally new state to find that spot,others just downsize or upgrade their current homes to meet their needs. Whatever works for you is what truly matters. Blessings, Janie

The Story behind my Obcession with the Baptisms at Moon Lake and other things I paint

About twenty years ago our family bought a rickety old lake house at Moon Lake, a quiet little lake a little over an hour's drive from Memphis. It has a great history, including Tennessee Williams writing about it and some well known artists living there and finding inspiration, Sophie Coors being my favorite. One day in 2007, my dear friend, Cheryl McCormack gave me a copy of Delta Magazine she thought I'd like because there was an article in it about Moon Lake, specifically the Baptisms that take place there every Summer. Cheryl is an artist and I had admired her work, and I think she thought it would be fun if I took lessons with her, so eventually I did. What I really wanted to paint was the girls getting baptized at Moon Lake, and I had tried unsuccessfully on my own, So I signed up for watercolor lessons with Fred Rawlinson, Cheryl's teacher. Some two years later, Fred's lessons moved to a new date and time that didn't work for me, so I was on my own again, and I still hadn't painted those girls, but I had learned a lot about painting watercolors. So, I started trying again, and I eventually joined two art leagues, and to my surprise I sold one of my Baptism paintings, and people began to ask to buy them. I also gave some away to charity auctions, and one to a priest who eventually became a bishop. I'm so honored to know that my painting hangs in the office or home of Bishop Dorothy Wells of Mississippi! The original article was photographed by a famous photographer named Jack Spencer, who now lives in Nashville. I have never copied his photos exactly, so I hope I'm not going to get in trouble for being inspired by them! As time went on I found out that the Baptisms were no more. The little church no longer had access to the lake front as the property had been sold. One weekend my little Mah Jongg group, which included my good friend Cheryl McCormack, and our husbands spent the weekend at Moon Lake, and after a nice dinner at Kathryn's, we decided to go find the Baptism site. It was almost Summer, and it didn't get dark until late. We pulled up to the site, and while overgrown, we found that they had built a latice work bench seat and steps down to the water. The girls and I took a look, and I headed down the stairs to the water, and my girlfriends followed, probably to protect their crazy friend from her folly! Our husbands stood up by the road and chattind, apparently unconcerned for our safety, and we went all the way down to the water. Now this was not nice calm Summertime water, it was early Spring churning angry water, and I had serious doubts about being on that rickety stair case with a bunch of older ladies, all in their seventies and with various infirmities, including myself, but what a rush to realize that we were treading where those girls had trod. I couldn't wait to get home and start painting! And that is the story of how my obcession with the Baptisms at Moon Lake began. My painting has taken a few twists and turns. I also paint dragon flies after learning that they represent the transition to life ever after in many cultures. I paint trees reflectomg on water, just for fun, and I've painted College buildings, a man on a horse, and the Flat Iron Mountains for my grandchildren. I'm now experimenting with my zinnias in still lifes with no real success yet, but I'll keep trying because they are fun also. By the way, I just noticed that all my old Blogger posts are a MESS! They have messed up the syntax. I fixed a couple, but I doubt whether my opinions from long ago are worth my time and energy at this point. Maybe someday if I run out of things to do, I might fix them!