I watch Hallmark’s tv series, Cedar Cove. I download it on my Kindle after Hallmark has aired it on Saturday night. Nothing bad  happens in Cedar Cove. The worst conundrum is a love triangle, and I mean of the platonic kind. Who will love who? The characters are all gorgeous and smart, the scenery worth the hour viewing time, and the town idyllic. Right after mom died, I curled up in my bed, under her blanket, and watched 6 episodes. Soothing my brain with 6 hours of daily life in Cedar Cove where the climatic question hanging over the Pacific Coast rock outcroppings was if Grace would mess up her relationship with Cliff (it seems rather inevitable).

One thing strikes me, though, about Cedar Cove. There is always this pull toward Seattle, a ferry ride away. Job offers, girlfriends, ex-wives, children, all are a boat’s journey across the water. Often the characters must decide whether to stay put in Cedar Cove, or answer the call of money and possible fame in the big city. Making the sacrifice to stay in Cedar Cove requires they give up their sure success, their big dreams, the one thing that has always propelled them, be it career or great love. No big fish, big pond for them if they stay. In Cedar Cove all the fish are pretty much equal. And, that seems to be the charm of the series–everyone is included–and no one is regarded as less than or more than anyone else, with the exception of the few antagonists.

I have a huge desire to escape to Cedar Cove (and I mean literally, not just on my Kindle), but I am forced to consider if I haven’t already found it in my quaint life. How closely does my life resemble that of the characters of Cedar Cove? Pretty darn. My scenery is no less stunning. I am surrounded by mountains, and trees. I live in a rain forest and the county I live in is called the Land of the Waterfalls. Beautiful sunsets and sunrises accompany me on my drive to work. I walk everywhere I need to go–the grocery store, the coffee shop, the movies, restaurants, clothing stores, church. It has a wonderful sense of community and privacy. Not to mention, aside from an outrageous water bill, the cost of living is low. The downside? So far, I haven’t met the Cliffs or the Jacks of Cedar Cove, but let’s be honest, sitting at home doing jigsaw puzzles or playing rounds of SET alone, isn’t exactly trying. But, who knows? Maybe my town is overrun with good looking single guys with tortured pasts. In the words of the kid from Angels in the Outfield, “It could happen.” .

My point, in all this estrogen run-on sentence structuring is this: Perhaps my Cedar Cove is right where I am. Perhaps your’s is too. Cliche obviously, but cliches are cliches for a reason. They’re often true.

Recently, a man who is a pretty big deal in the horticulture world stumbled across my blog and contacted me. I suppose finding his name in a garden post inspired him to say hello. It was unexpected, and a nice surprise. I admire his work. He is the big fish in the big pond. To use the metaphor, he’s in Seattle. His email caused me to wonder if Seattle wasn’t the place for me too. If I am, to quote an old friend’s mother, “withering on the grape vine of life?” (She used that little cliche when we were hitting 30 and still not married.)  As for the characters of Cedar Cove, the lure of Seattle is there for me too. Am I missing something by staying put in this small place of plants and mountains?

My two years in Brevard have allowed me ample time to get to know the dog care lady, the bakery owner, the coffee shop owner, my neighbor with the hot dog truck (Aggie introduced us!), the priest of the Episcopal church and his wife, the owner of the two women’s clothing stores in town (of course), and the owner of the real estate company, and two restaurants. I know the town architect, most of my neighbors and the all the local cats and dogs. I am also well acquainted with our neighborhood pet bunny rabbit  (that I am desperately trying to get a picture of). I placed my fall mums on the porch today (Cascade orange, if you’re wondering). I am headed after the pumpkins next week. My neighbors notice when I am gone. They know Evil Kitty and Aggie (the pets). They know what time my College Son comes home (long after I’m asleep). And they know when my grandchildren are here I am unavailable. .

My boss thinks I’d be happier if I moved back to Asheville (our Seattle), a good 45 minute drive over a mountain and through a valley from me. But, he’s an extrovert, and his social calendar (of which I have happily been a part) is forever full. But, for this INFJ girl (www.16personalities.com) the solitude and the personal connections that are forming in my mountain town are compelling. Heck, my landlady is my best friend in this sleepy place, and in case you’re interested, the neighbor behind me is having a time of it with her oldest son. (We discuss this situation while I water my containers in the evenings, both of us convinced he went off to Seattle when he should have stayed in Cedar Cove. She’s a fan too. Knowing thyself is forewarned and forearmed.)

I circle back around after traveling in my mind’s eye over the mountains to the place where I’m told success lies. I find I am compelled to stay put. The connections that are forming in the shadow of mountains and waterfalls hold more interest for me than whatever it is a place like Seattle can claim.  All my life, I did think I wanted Seattle, but I have discovered I really wanted Cedar Cove. How lovely to have ended up here while on my way to the Big City/Big Lights.

Since, it’s been a post of cliches, I’ll throw out another one. Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans. Thank the Lord for traveling mercies.

Exactly two years ago this month, my mother told me she loved me for the first time in my adult life. Maybe for the first time ever. I  have no memory of her saying it when I was a child. But, when I moved to Brevard, on the day of actually, she called me up and we chatted a bit, and I could tell she had something important to say but was struggling to do so. She finally got her courage, and told me she loved me. It was a bit uncomfortable for both of us honestly, yet a precious moment for both of us, too.

My relationship with my mother was tumultuous when I lived at home. Let’s just say, I brought her no joy. When I left home, I left for good. Oh, I still saw my parents, but my connection to them was surface level. Whatever interaction I had with mom was strictly obligatory, and I was good with that. But Mom was not, and she set about the hard work of changing it. She initiated a relationship with me again, beyond the expected holidays and birthdays. My mother bridged the gap between us when she still did not understand her introverted, question-asking, boundary-pushing daughter. Mom, ever the socialite, that person who never met a stranger, was dumbfounded by my lack of interest in being “like her.” That was the wedge between us, really. She wanted her daughter to live life the way she did. I wanted to live it my way. Admittedly, mom had a great life, but it was her life, not mine. She came to understand that, and began to create, slowly but with perseverance, a relationship with me as an adult, based on the respect one adult pays another–not running their lives for them, but enjoying life with them. A hard won battle for my mom. A hard won battle for any of us. Who do you need to stop controlling? .Who do I need to stop controlling?

On the day she told me she loved me, our relationship had been thriving for many years. Gone was the anger, and bitter root. In its place were two women, mother and daughter, who enjoyed a beautiful relationship in spite of differences and preferences. We’d learn to celebrate the uniqueness of one another, and I am proud of the woman who did what a good parent does–listen to her child and validate her. Mom made a choice to forget who was right or wrong (a hard choice for her or for anyone!) and determined to love her daughter as is. No small feat when I see parents daily who are content with sweeping issues under the rug, or pretending that nothing is wrong, or demanding children live their lives as they do. Mom knew something was wrong between us, and she set about fixing it. That sentence, that 13 word strung-together sentence is astonishing, and something so evolved that it requires respect.

I am proud to call a woman mother, who was that brave, the kind of bravery that soldiers yearn for. On the heels of her death, as we pack up her house and make decisions about what we’d like to keep, well, I’d like to have of her humility to acknowledge what she wanted to change, and her courage to do so. They say love is an action verb. My mother took 53 years to say I love you to me, but I did not notice it, because she practiced love every time she put her understanding of life aside, and listened to mine..

In a world that screams at one another, I am right and you are wrong, my mother let go of  her “right to be right” and connected with me. I could pay her no greater tribute than to simply say, “Mom thank you for letting me be me, and for loving that me. I love that you.”

Wow.

I just did this exercise as part of my morning Bible Study, where I was asked to write down the date of 18 months ago. Then, I was to write down, from that date, everything that has happened in my life. Here’s my list.

1. A new granddaughter was born.
2. My son got married to a beautiful woman.
3. I moved from my home and garden of 20 plus years.
4. My divorce was finalized.
5. My ex started referring to his girlfriend (ex-mistress) by name in our conversations, as in, “Cruella and I were in such-n-such over the weekend.” (Cruella is my blog name for her, if you’re wondering, that is not really her name.)
6. I was hired for a great job.
7. Six months later, I was laid off from that great job.
8. I went on a wonderful trip to California and Oregon to study plants.
9. I finally got settled into my quaint, rental house, and got all storage units unpacked.
10. I got a dog???????? (Why did I do that? What was I thinking?)
11. My mother passed away very suddenly and very unexpectedly. She was healthy, fun, and my best friend.
12. I started living alone.
13. I started another job, which I love, but it is seasonal, so…
14. Gainful employment must be found.
15. I lost weight.
16. I lost a ton of money.

I encourage you to do this exercise too. I mean what craziness. Joy, pain, anxiety, grief, celebration, resentment, fear, contentment, insanity (the dog, I love her, but NOW WAS NOT THE TIME), wealth, no wealth. What would your life show you if you did the same? Go ahead. Write down the date of 18 months ago, and then compile the major and minor stuff of those months. Feel free to show it to your friends so they’ll stop insisting you go get meds. It put a lot in perspective for me, and answered the question of why getting home, curling up in bed, and watching all episodes of Cedar Cove on the Hallmark Channel on my Kindle Fire is a good thing. I’m not crazy but my life has been.

I’m not sure every season of life is this packed with transition, but I can attest to the 50’s being the decade of acceleration.When my children were growing up, time flew. It went much faster than I wanted because I loved being their mom. But this is different. Time isn’t just skipping by. It is a rocket ship headed for who knows where? Perhaps, I’ve just reached that age where children marry, have children of their own, parents die, divorces happen, and that creates a sensation of life flying by at warp speed. Does anyone else feel this way at 50?

A few mornings ago, I got up to take Aggie for her morning walk (the dog does get you out of the bed), and when I got outside the Episcopal church bells were playing “How Great Thou Art.” I live one block from the church, so I could hear the bells clearly. They played for our whole walk. What a joy!

I am sure some non-Christian person will come along, sooner rather than later, and ask that they stop playing something that offends them (I do hope they’ll at least play Bach or something when that happens), but for that moment, God was reminding me that all time is his and all events during time are his too.

The last 18 months have been cray-cray as the kids say, but on my walk I understood that time doesn’t belong to me. I don’t actually own it. It is God’s creation, and hence, belongs to him. How Great Thou truly Art. Only the Lord knows what is ahead and really, what is behind. And, what today holds. I do not. In fact, I’ve been so busy, I didn’t even realize all that had happened in the last 18 months. My jaw is still dropped from reading the list. But, the Lord knew.

So, here’s what I’m thinking. If time belongs to the Lord, and he knows all that will happen to me in the time he’s given me, then why not just give him my day-timer? Why not take my hands off the calendar, and let him determine, not only the length of my days, but the activities of them too, and even more importantly, my response to them? Perhaps the 60s will different, slower, a decade of leisure? But until then, I think I better hold on tight for the next 18 months. I have a feeling we’re just getting started.