Dying to Decorate

by Cyndy Salzmann

  “Mom, we need to talk. Dad made hamburgers for dinner last night.”

  “Great. I know you like—”

  “Mom, you’re not getting it. That’s all he made. Hamburgers.”

  “I thought you liked—,” I try again.

  “You’re not listening, Mom. The whole dinner was a hamburger on a bun. Not even a bag of chips. I’m thinking I oughta take an extra vitamin or something.”

  Before I can respond, I hear the voice of my elder daughter, Katie.

  “Is that Mom?” she shouts from the second floor in an earsplitting outdoor voice.

  I cover my ears. “I just got home, Kate. Come on down. I want to give you a hug.”

  When she obliges quickly, I know something’s up. After a two-second embrace, Katie fills me in on the real reason for her concern.

  “Mom, you have to talk to Dad. He bought this dog food at the grocery store from some guy pretending to be a vet. Dad said it was cheaper than the stuff you usually buy for Daisy, and it’s supposed to leave ‘less residue,’ whatever that means.”

  “If it’s made by a vet, I’m sure—”

  “Mom, it looks like little worms, and it made Daisy sick. She threw up all over the family room again. It was disgusting, and Dad made me clean it up. I know he just bought that dog food because it was cheap.”

  “Katie, you should be happy your dad is frugal because—”

  “Hi, Mommy!” shouts Hannah, popping up like a jack-in-the-box from behind the sofa.

  I guess there’s no hope of finishing a conversation tonight. So I simply open my arms for a hug. “Hi, sweetheart, did you miss me?”

  “Um, yes, but . . .” Hannah takes a deep breath, as if deciding whether to continue.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  Another long breath. This time a little shaky.

  “I’m quitting my volleyball team.”

  I’m puzzled. “But, Hannah, you love volleyball. Why would—”

  “I can’t go back! It’s too embarrassing!”

  “What happened, honey?”

  “It was my turn for treats and . . .”

  “I know. Your dad said he would pick up the treats before the game. Did he forget?”

  “I wish.”

  “Hannah, what—,” I attempt.

  “Mommy, he got the most embarrassing treats! He bought those little drink boxes that have a picture of Winnie the Pooh on them. And each girl didn’t even get her own brownie.”

  “I heard that,” says my husband, who’s just coming in from the garage. “I’ve already told you, Hannah, the box said it contained ten brownies. How would I know they put two in a package?”

  Hannah rolls her eyes in response.

  “We obviously missed you, Liz.” John gives me a long hug.

  “I missed all of you too. A lot.” And I surprise myself—I really mean it.

  “About that new dog food.” John hesitates. “I guess it didn’t agree with Daisy. I’ve looked all over for the carpet cleaner, but . . .” He shrugs in a silent apology.

  As I head to the laundry room to retrieve the carpet cleaner, I smile. While I may not be a June Cleaver–type mom, my family actually missed my mothering. While being proficient in the areas of volleyball treats, meal planning, and canine care may not be valued in all circles, these skills are valued in the circle I care about most. My family circle. And that feels good.

  Maybe it’s the country air . . . or maybe I’m losing my mind, but I have a little spring in my step as I toss the carpet cleaner to John and head upstairs to unpack.

  Loving Life!

  By Elizabeth Harris

  You may have noticed, faithful readers, that my column has a new title. The purpose of this bold move is to reflect a new, and hopefully exciting, direction. Instead of “The Lovely Life,” my prose will hence be known as “Loving Life!”

  I beg your indulgence as I explain my thinking behind this title. According to the dictionary, the adjective lovely is used to describe a person or object that appears attractive to others, whereas the verb loving means “to cherish or hold dear.” Faithful readers, I have come to realize that it is ultimately unfulfilling to pursue a life that merely appears attractive to the outside world. In this quest for external perfection, we often miss the inherent beauty of the life with which we have been blessed. I encourage you, precious reader, to join me in LOVING LIFE—by embracing your unique personality and present situation.

  Not one to offer advice without testing the “proverbial” waters, I recently applied this philosophy to my present situation. Recently it was my turn to host a dinner party, and I found myself with little time for either planning or preparation. I called on my favorite entertaining guru, Lynnette from Campbell Creative Catering, and confessed my dilemma. Without batting an eye, Lynnette suggested I host a “tacky” dinner party.

  Although tempted to end the conversation, fearing Lynnette had suffered her own “lovely life” meltdown, I asked her to explain the concept further. Her ideas are outlined below:

  1. Send simple invitations, instructing guests to wear their “tackiest” party clothes and bring a “tacky” gift to exchange with other guests.

  2. Table settings and decorations may be as tacky as you like. Lynnette suggested using up leftover paper products from past celebrations.

  3. Circulate tacky hors d’oeuvres to guests as they arrive.

  4. After all guests are present, divide them into four teams. Inform each team that members are responsible for shopping, preparing, and serving a portion of the evening’s dinner. Give each team a bag of coins to pay for their assigned course: salad, entrée, side dishes, or dessert.

  5. Relax while guests are busy shopping and preparing dinner.

  6. After dinner, supervise the tacky-gift exchange.

  Although a bit apprehensive—but even more desperate—I decided to go with Lynnette’s tacky theme. I set the table with an eclectic mix of birthday, baby shower, and graduation tableware. For hors d’oeuvres I served slices of ring bologna atop saltine crackers to guests in fabulously tacky attire. The plaid leisure suit and prom dress teamed with a pair of hiking boots were my personal favorites.

  I was relieved to see how my guests eagerly rose to our tacky challenge by preparing a delicious meal. We enjoyed tender Cowpoke Chicken, rice casserole, and Audrey’s Strawberry Spinach Salad—topped off by a creamy Tropical Pie—all simple recipes I will add to my personal file.

  The gift exchange was a big hit. My husband received a secondhand electric nose-hair trimmer. And each guest went home with a remembrance of the evening: a group photo in our tacky attire.

  The party may not have been a “lovely” affair by some standards, but the laughter and camaraderie of our little gathering was genuine.

  And that, precious reader, is a memory to cherish. And another reason to LOVE LIFE!

  Putting the finishing touches on my column, I marvel at my sense of peace with its contents. Just a few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have dared to include such a pedestrian party idea in “The Lovely Life.” After all, what would my readers think?

  As I hit Send to e-mail my work to the newspaper, I hope my readers are beginning to think of me as a real person who is doing her best with the gifts she’s been given—and loving it! (Laundry excluded.)

  LUCY’S BAKED BRIE APPETIZER

  1 sheet frozen puff pastry, defrosted

  1 small, round Brie cheese

  4–5 tablespoons apricot or raspberry preserves

  3 tablespoons nuts (walnuts, pecans, almonds)

  Instructions

  1. Roll pastry on a lightly floured surface into two circles (a little larger than the round of Brie).

  2. Place one circle in a baking pan and center Brie on top of dough.

  3. Top Brie with preserves and nuts.

  4. Bring the dough up the sides of the cheese and press firmly so it will stay. Top with other circle of dough. Press the two edges of the dough together firmly to seal.

/>   5. Bake in a 375-degree oven for 15–20 minutes or until golden brown.

  6. Let stand 10 minutes before transferring to serving dish. Serve with crackers.

  Because of our weekend extravaganza, it’s been two weeks since we’ve had FAC, and my hag is beginning to whine. I was excited to see Lucy’s e-mail in my inbox, alerting me that she was hosting FAC this week.

  As I climb the porch steps to Lucy’s front door, I notice two healthy potted mums now grace the entry. Definitely a good sign. I’m even more encouraged when Lucy answers the door.

  I no longer expected to see her in the ratty nightgown and rubber-band ponytail, but this time she looks really good. A touch of color on her face. Clothes that look like they haven’t been pulled from under the bed. And the pièce dé résistance—earrings. Let’s face it—the last thing a depressed woman is going to think about is putting on earrings.

  “Liz! Come in . . . I’ve missed you,” Lucy says cheerfully.

  “Me too. Am I the first one here?” I ask, looking around at the tidy but apparently empty home.

  “Actually, Kelly and Mary Alice are out back.”

  “I wondered because I didn’t see a car.”

  “They walked over. Kelly says she’s getting a jump on her New Year’s resolution to exercise more.”

  “Come on! It’s not even Thanksgiving!”

  “Well, you know how goal-oriented Kelly is . . . and this sort of thing is right up M.A.’s alley. She loves being early.”

  Figures. Just when I’ve declared the rest of the year a “Back to Carbs Extravaganza.”

  “Let’s go.” I head toward the back door. “I don’t want to put off my walk through the valley of guilt.”

  “Before we join the others, I wanted to let you know how much I appreciate all you’ve done for me these last few weeks.”

  “Lucy, I didn’t—,” I begin.

  “Liz, I know you’ve found yourself out of your comfort zone more times than you care to remember, but you’ve been there for me. And I’ll never forget it.”

  “Lucy, I’ve felt bad for not calling you more and—”

  She frowns. “Stop it. One thing I’m finally beginning to realize through this process—which is far from over—is to go to the ‘throne’ before I go to the ‘phone.’”

  Before I could ask what she meant with all this “throne/phone” business, Jess and Marina arrive at the front door.

  “Nothin’ says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven,” sings Marina through the screen door. “What is that great smell?”

  “I made Baked Brie Appetizer. It should be just about done.”

  “Let me help,” Jess offers. “I brought some fruit along. I heard Kelly’s going healthy on us again.”

  Our conversation is relaxed as we sit on Lucy’s back deck, enjoying the unusually warm November day. Most likely one of the last.

  “It’s so peaceful out here,” says Mary Alice.

  “Not as peaceful as Locust Hill,” Lucy replies.

  “Won’t be able to hear worms chewing on the tomatoes here,” I add.

  My friends turn to me with puzzled expressions—wondering if my return to carbs is adversely affecting my brain.

  I attempt a weak grin. “Never mind. Long story.”

  “Speaking of long stories,” says Lucy, “are you in the mood to hear one? In a way, you all play a part in it.”

  “I’m always up for stories where I’m the star,” Marina jokes.

  “I didn’t say ‘starring’ role, but you all have played an important part. This little drama was between me and God.”

  “We’re waiting,” says Kelly.

  “Well, as you can imagine, the weekend at Locust Hill gave me a lot to think about. There were many times I wanted to call one—or all—of you to help me process all of it.”

  “Lucy, you know we would have—,” begins Jess.

  “That’s just it. This time, as I was explaining to Liz earlier, I needed to go to the throne before I went to the phone.”

  “Don’t I know it, girlfriend,” Marina blusters. “There are times when we need to deal directly with the Big Guy.”

  “Well put, Rina,” continues Lucy. “When I came home and looked around at this place, it hit me that I’d been at what my mother used to refer to as a ‘pity party’ much too long. The only problem was that, other than the dirty dishes, I was getting pretty comfortable at the party. Even starting to enjoy it.”

  “No!” Kelly covers her ears in mock horror. “Don’t tell me you were going to order the Lifetime Movie Network, too!”

  “Very funny. To be honest, I realized that if I didn’t get a life, Alli would never have the chance to live her own. She’d be too worried about me.”

  “Either that . . . or she would begin to resent you,” Kelly clarifies. “I see it all the time in therapy.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Kelly. I knew I needed to deal with my grief and bitterness,” continues Lucy, “but I didn’t know where to start.”

  “I know lots of great therapists,” says Kelly.

  “I know therapy is great, and I may take you up on your offer later. But as I said, this was one battle that needed to be taken to the throne.”

  Jess smiles. “I’m so proud of you, Lucy.”

  “You may take that back when you hear how I went about it.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I felt stuck. Unable to make a decision or sort out my feelings. So I did what Kelly always suggests and put it down on paper.”

  “Lucy, you know you are creating a monster here,” I caution.

  “Hey!” says Kelly, fists on her hips.

  “Well, it worked. The more I wrote, the more I began to realize that the real problem was that I was angry with God. After all, what had I done to deserve Judd’s awful death? And my mom dying? And Alli’s going away to school when I was so lonely? The more I railed at God, the more ridiculous I sounded. Even to myself. As if Alli going away to college were some sort of punishment.”

  “Lucy, it’s natural to feel—,” Jess starts.

  “That’s just it,” Lucy interrupts. “These may be natural feelings, but the bitterness was hurting not only me but also the person I love the most. Alli. It’s not how I want to live.”

  Lucy takes a deep breath. “So I prayed. Asked for a miracle. I asked God to take away my bitterness, because I knew it was not going to go away on its own.”

  “So? What happened?” I ask. “You look better than I’ve seen you in a long time . . . uh, no offense.”

  Lucy grins. “No offense taken. But to answer your question, not much for a while. Then one day I woke up thinking about Big Henry and the inscription on his gravestone.”

  “What did it say, Lucy?” asks Mary Alice. “Remember, Kelly and I didn’t go out to the cemetery.”

  “I remember,” says Jess. “It said: ‘The sun never shone so brightly in the heart of a man as it did in the heart of Henry Miller.’”

  “That’s it,” continues Lucy. “I began to think how wonderful it would be to have such a spirit. And then it dawned on me. Henry had been through much more than I have . . . and probably ever will. He overcame hardship, slavery, discrimination, homelessness, war, illness—and even gave up his dream of moving West so he could help Emily and Anna. If anyone deserved a full blown pity party, it was Big Henry.”

  “And yet . . .,” I say. Lucy’s point is finally beginning to dawn on me.

  “That’s right, Liz. And yet, ‘The sun never shone so brightly in the heart of a man as it did in the heart of Henry Miller.’ Ladies, I want to live like Big Henry, and the first step was letting go of my bitterness.”

  “Lucy, that’s so great,” says Jess gently.

  “Just what I would have advised,” teased Kelly.

  “I warned you, Luce,” I say. “One stray comment . . . and we’re going to live with this for years.”

  “I know what you’re thinking, Marina.” Lucy looks directly at our uncharacterist
ically quiet friend.

  “I doubt it.”

  “You’re thinking that this is easier said than done. That letting go is a process. That you’re not sure you’re buying all this.”

  “That may be some of it.”

  “I agree. But as you said in Tredway, I come from strong stock. Emily and Joseph Simmons. Anna. Aunt Bette. My mother. And this time I’m not walking alone. I’ve teamed up with the Big Guy.” Lucy winks at Marina.

  Marina laughs, breaking the tension. “So what’s the next step?”

  “Are you ready for this?” Lucy looks around the table, like a little girl who can’t wait to tell a secret. “I haven’t been so excited about anything for as long as I can remember.”

  “Come on, Lucy, tell us!” I scoot to the edge of my seat.

  “Maybe next FAC . . . just kidding.” Lucy laughs. “The idea came to me after looking up the Scripture reference on Emily’s grave marker.”

  “I have to get to that cemetery,” Kelly mutters.

  “The reference was Micah 6:8. I’ve already memorized it. It says, ‘And what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?’ Isn’t that beautiful?”

  “Yes, but what . . . ?” I ask.

  “That’s what’s so exciting.” Lucy’s blue eyes are sparkling. “I’ve decided to continue Emily’s work.”

  Jess looks confused. “I’m not following you, Lucy.”

  “Me neither,” chimes in Kelly.

  “What better way to use Locust Hill than to open it up as a shelter for homeless women and their children? I mean, it’s a beautiful house in a wonderful setting.”

  “And with your background in social work, you are just the person to run it,” says Jess, clapping her hands in excitement.

  “What a great idea!” Kelly declares.

  “I agree,” I say, “as long as you address the bathroom issue. There’s no way more than a couple of women could live there now with just one bathroom.”

  Lucy nods. “Of course, it will need a lot of work to bring it up to code.”

  “You know you can count on me—on us,” says Mary Alice.

  “Maybe Marina can convince Jeff to move up the schedule,” Jess suggests. “She seems to have the most sway with him.”