It’s a time of celebration for me – National Park Week.  National Park Week offers everyone the chance to experience any National Park of their choice fee-free.  With fees for vehicles around $25 at some of the major parks, some visitors may find National Park fees too expensive, especially when you may have to travel a long distance to reach some of the more remote parks.

With 401 parks to choose from across the United States, there are an amazing amount of protected spaces that we should be exploring.  With having just told the boy, while watching a documentary about drifting down the Yellowstone River, that I want to figure out a way to not work and just explore special places like that, I realize that we need to figure out a way to enjoy these protected places everyday.  Not just on special occasions, not just once in a lifetime, but in each day.

National Park Week brings awareness to all of the unique parks across the States – including desert, wetlands, mountains, volcanoes, historic sites, rivers, frozen tundra, and ocean.  If you wish to experience a different type of landscape, you can be sure that somewhere in the U.S. you will be able to find it in a National Park.

Where do you want to explore?

Here’s some of the places I’ve been….

Saguaro National Park – AZ

Gettysburg National Military Park – PA

Hopewell Furnace NHS – PA

Great Smoky Mountains – TN

Delaware Water Gap – NJ/PA (also encompasses Appalachian Trail)

Harpers Ferry National Historic Park – WV

Assateague Island National Seashore – MD

Badlands – SD

Mount Rushmore – SD

Yellowstone – WY

Grand Canyon – AZ

Glacier National Park – MT

Yosemite – CA

On April 5, I married the boy.  Big, big step.  Big, big move forward.

The month prior to the wedding, I also finalized my book proposal to send off for a non fiction writing contest (didn’t win).  Finishing the proposal helped me to feel some closure in my life before the boy, but it also raised a lot of thoughts about what it would mean to no longer be a Boitson, to enter a new life with someone else, a new forever.

I’ll admit, it was scary.  Some days, it still is.  But mostly, it’s wonderful. 

I think a lot about Kevin, and what our life was supposed to be.  Let me rephrase that: what I thought it was to be.  The reality of life is that it doesn’t happen as I expect it to.  Life happens as was planned out for me.  That’s still a tough adjustment some days.

I haven’t given much thought to long term, to future.  That sounds weird coming from a woman who just married someone, doesn’t it?  But we are happy, and we compliment each other well, and I love him so very much.  I think my love with the boy is practical, is adult.  Wow, this doesn’t sound very romantic at all does it?  But it is.  I’ve been able to move forward, to see a future.  Even if I haven’t been able to fill a dream book with all the things I want us to do together, I have those hopes and expectations of our life together.  I think that part of me is just still a bit afraid to think too far ahead.  I know what can happen, and that part still scares me.

Remarrying after widowhood isn’t just planning a wedding, writing some vows, and marrying the man that you love.  It involves a much more complicated thought process than I ever expected.  I’m not quite ready to delve into all of that yet, publicly, but it’s been scary and wonderful, and comforting, and satisfying, and joyful and tearful, and lovely, and exciting, and thrilling.  It’s been all that.  Here’s to forever, however long that will be.

Upon sending my near final draft of my book proposal to my editor, I posted this on Facebook:
As self involved as.it sounds, writing that query letter was fun. It’s nice to see how many awards and writing accomplishments I’ve achieved the past 4 years. I.always said I couldn’t write anything lengthy because I didn’t have a story to tell. Kevin gave me one, and then asked me to share it with the world. All of you encouraged me to continue, and here I am, 4.5 years after first diving into writing this emotional memoir, and Thursday I will submit it for competition. Whatever the outcome, publisher or not, it will be published, printed, ebooked, distributed and marketed. It’s time to take this baby out into the world.  Now, 24 hours until I declare a self deadline to title the darned thing!  No wonder people have trouble picking their kid’s names

I’m looking forward to returning to blogging soon. I hope you’ll join me as a reader, encourager, and promoter

Tonight I told my editor that I’m committing to a publishing contest and together we are going to put together a book proposal for my memoir.

I committed.

The biggest fear I have is commitment.  Not really in people, as evidenced by my recent engagement, but to things, time, goals, dreams, hopes, faith.  I have trouble committing to these items since I really have no clue what the outcome might provide (goes back to my control problem).  A contest is just as intimidating as sending it through traditional publishing channels; experts will be reviewing and critiquing my work and they may say no.  But, I tend to be good at contests, and besides having a very passionate story to share with the world, my writing has come quite a long way from the first days of my Boitsons blog in 2008.

So, fear of commitment to my writing, fear of rejection, fear of financial commitment, I’m kicking you to the curb.  We’re doing this.  Mid-March is the deadline, so this is where you, the reader, come in: make sure I’m writing, check in and ask how it’s coming along, and feel free to kick me off Facebook and Twitter when necessary.

Wed morning my Great Uncle John was found dead in a field.  It sounds solemn, but the way he was found there, makes me wish, hope, pray, that he thought he was going to sleep.

After hearing the news that he had gone missing Tuesday afternoon all kinds of worry consumed me.  As a man in the beginning stages of Alzheimer’s, I knew his wits were not about him.  I remembered my late Grandfather’s battle with the disease, and how confused he could be about his surroundings.

When the search resumed Wed morning at 8 am, I wanted to help however I could, so I took off work to volunteer to search.  Our team of 6 volunteers and 2 Fireman searched neighbors’ barns and hidden places until we got word that another team had found John.

When I looked around at all the folks I knew, from second and third cousins, to great aunts/uncles, to fireman and EMTs that had volunteered when my Dad was an active fireman and EMT, to my high school prom date who now serves a great organization, I felt the deep sense of community and my Mennonite roots.

For the past 5+ years I’ve struggled to find peace with religion, particularly my Mennonite heritage.  I think I’ve been holding a grudge against my Mennonite upbringing and I’m not sure why.  Maybe it’s because in adulthood, I’ve been forced to face some deep and dark questions that were not posed to me in my youth (widowhood, death, sex, other religions/beliefs, acceptance).  I feel blame because I felt unable to ask some of these questions for fear of being judged.  I don’t know where that fear came from. Religion, God, Authority?

The blame, though, is misplaced.  There is nothing wrong with asking or raising questions, especially about religion and faith.  I am seeing that now.  I also find that my upbringing has helped me find a deep appreciation of community, moreso even than my appreciation of faith.  I see the strong ties of being a part of a deep roots community and the way that community steps up in times of need; as they did this week, and as they did 4 years ago when Kevin was ill.

This past week also unveiled life to me again.  Being outside in nature sometimes does that for me; being invigorated by the Sun and the Wind, elements that help to sustain life.  I had a similar feeling a couple of years ago when I was driving past a cornfield and saw the Sun in its brilliance for the first time in the months since Kevin had died.  The unveiling of grief.

Yesterday could have clouded me again, with the loss of life, of family.  Instead it made me look at where I am heading in life and how I am getting there.  Fretting over my disorganized life living between 2 homes; worrying about cleaning up and staying organized after the holidays; thinking about entering the publishing contest for my memoir; wishing my wedding plans would just be set so I could enjoy the present moments.  I’m forgetting to live in the now and thinking too much about what “needs” to be done in the future, completely forgetting to live in the present.

It’s hard to relax, to soak in what I have now.  After all I’ve been through, all I’ve been shown, you would think living in the now would come the easiest to me, but that’s the furthest from the truth.  It’s sad to me that the death of my great Uncle is what causes this refocus, but sometimes that’s what it takes.  I hope my restlessness can find peace just as I hope John is finding peace above at this time.

_ _ _

How do you strive to live in the now?  How do you embrace what’s in your life now?  How do you put off worrying about the future?

Twas the day before Christmas, tears dripping on blouse,

Many hearts and souls breaking, yearning for their spouse;

Stockings were missing from where they hung last year,

In their place was a silence that brought on tears.

Lay down beside the empty spot in the bed,

The grief came upon them and filled up their head.

She snuggled in his sweatshirt and he in her knit,

The emptiness upon them felt like a pit.

The next morning they rose and what did they hear,

Their favorite carol which brought such endear;

The family they came and gave hugs and their cheer,

Wasn’t Christmas without them but family was near.

I went through the motions as thought was expected,

To recall the memories we had collected;

I missed them so, no celebration was wanted,

My home, my heart, and my soul all were haunted;

I pulled over twice on the way to Grandma’s,

I could not hold it together, felt so raw.

When I arrived at her house I felt no better,

Tried to hide my tears in the sleeve of my sweater.

They hugged me as if I would break into pieces,

Avoiding the mascara pooled in my eye creases.

I plastered on a smile as best as I knew how,

Not thinking of future only here and now.

Present in body but spirit gone missing,

Up with my husband eternity wishing.

I got home that evening and sunk in his chair,

Wondering why I was left of our wonderful pair.

I prayed in my soul that I would find solace,

My grief go away and he be made flawless.

I cried and I cried, no miracle happened,

Tissues thrown out with the ripped Christmas wrapping.

I drove to a place so I could feel more near him,

But felt farther away and memory dim.

The first Christmas without my dear husband was hard,

My heart felt of rubble, my dreams were all charred.

I walked and I walked and in time I grew weary,

My life seemed so empty, of toil and such dreary,

5 Christmases now and I still think upon,

But colors are back and each day a new dawn.

I miss him and cherish those times we created,

He left much too early, God could have waited.

But it is what it is, and I hate saying that,

Just this past week I tossed his favorite hat.

I make way in my life for new and for old,

Wondering what Christmases ahead will hold.

To each of you on this Christmas of empty,

Of this grief and this sorrow we will never be free.

Look one step ahead it may just be better,

You are on a journey that will cause quite a stir.

In your heart and your soul, restless now for sure,

This journey must be walked, for their is no cure.

Walk ahead as you’re able, with a friend if you can,

Kick out the demons that haunt you, entering banned.

Lets tears fall when they call and don’t be ashamed,

You’re a widow of love, for that you are named.

~B.L. Boitson 12/24/12

It’s easier not to take myself back there.  Back to the first time I saw our Nation face tragedy.  I remember sitting on the carpet in front of the old cabinet TV in my bedroom and watching Oprah as images and information streamed in about the Columbine shooting.  I remember watching the twin towers burning on the TV just minutes after the second plane hit and I had just entered my pre-calculus class in agonizing awe.  I remember sitting at work watching the news pour in about the Amish school shooting that had just happened about 40 minutes from my home.  I remember the reports of Virginia Tech.  I remember the lack of understanding.

I remember my grief at losing Kevin, but it’s easier not to take myself back there.  I remember knowing it was coming, thinking we had weeks, and then spending the night next to his hospital bed hearing his labored breathing and realizing that tomorrow would be the bitter end.  I felt like I had no time to say goodbye, but even I had more time than any of these other tragedies.  Yet, saying goodbye felt stolen from me as Kevin slipped in and out of consciousness that night.  I said goodbye and prayed over him hoping he could hear me releasing him into the unknown, what I hoped was a glorious light and a heavenly Savior welcoming him.  I hoped.

These family members probably hoped the same thing when they heard of losing their loved ones in the Sandy Hook elementary shooting.

It’s easier for me to not imagine what they felt.  That deep ache, that numb disbelief that this can’t really be happening to them.  Just as I watched Kevin’s body being taken from him by cancer, his body never really looking like himself.  But even as important as saying goodbye can be, remembering them for what they were, is more so.  At least, the longer I grieved, the easier it was for me to remember him as he was, before his illness.

It is easier for me to not remember planning a funeral for a life lost too early.  It’s just easier.

Until I read this: http://news.yahoo.com/blogs/lookout/first-person-harsh-reality-reporting-young-lives-lost-161206457.html

Reading this just sort of snapped something when I, for one brief second, allowed myself to imagine their grief, like my own.  And I felt that jolt, the hysteria, the breath being taken away at that moment of loss.

It’s just easier for me not to remember.  Because that pain is still palpable.  There’s enough of those feelings going around without me feeling that too.

So I will sympathize and shake my head and continue to ask “why”, knowing I will never truly understand, just like they never will.  I will feel empathy.  But it’s just easier for me to not remember.

The boy and i had  a discussion the other night about our upcoming nuptuals and the honeymoon.  For the past 6 months we’ve been racking up points on a cruise card hoping to score a free cruise.  While we have oodles of points, it’s no free cruise.  So, he suggested we just sit on that for a while, and see if we can accumulate more points and maybe take a delayed honeymoon.

I have limited vacation time since I’ve been at my job less than a year, and I was less than thrilled at the thought of marrying him, and heading back to work the following Monday.  The word delay has never sat highly in my vocabulary.  Nor has patience.  By the end of the night, after I had sulked around the house for a bit, he had another idea.

What about those last minute deals that we see across our email feeds all the time?  Could we take a last minute cruise for much cheaper, could we go somewhere else we might enjoy more?  This morning I got to dreaming about all the interesting places we could go.  National Parks are always on the tops of my travel list, so what about somewhere out West where we could honeymoon and squeeze in a couple of days at a NP?  He liked the idea too!

I used to be very spontaneous.  I would wake up in the morning and decide to drive to another state just for the heck of it.  I’m not sure what put the kaibosh on that but somewhere in my mid-20′s I decided I need to be more responsible, especially financially, and I slowly stopped going on those last minute adventures.  But I miss them!

While the timeline of this will be planned, the location will be based on cost and where we feel called to be the week after we wed.  I’m pumped to be spontaneous with the boy, just like we were when we first started dating nearly 3 years ago when I spontaneous flagged him over to me from across the nearly empty room at the end of a benefit concert.

Congratulations to Jon Stolpe, who was chosen as the random book winner for Shawn & Maile Smucker’s new book, “How to Use a Runaway Truck Ramp”!  You can read about Jon’s own adventures here: http://www.jonstolpe.com/

7 days of analyzing your day-to-day life and suddenly you start to see the unhealthy patterns highlighted in not too pleasant ways.  You’re welcome to read my lengthy journal entries below but here’s the summary of this week’s Project: Unleashed – Letting Go of Expectations and Control challenge:

Friday – Lady cut me off, had to choose not to smash into her rear bumper

Saturday – Major cooking fail, had to give up and go to the store.

Sunday – Chose to be lazy and give up control of planning every minute of my life

Monday – Dress that came in the mail was not meant to be my wedding dress, had to give up that expectation.

Tuesday – Raising the question of giving up control of my memoir and submitting it for a contest – still working on this one

Wednesday – I cannot make my dog poop on command.  Yep, let’s leave it at that.

Thursday – I do not always get what I want, and it’s a good thing.

I’ve had to learn this week that I’m not always *gasp* right.  That Kevin’s death was not the only disappointment in my life.  That bad things are still going to happen.  That life is uncontrollable.  That no matter what I plan, things can, will, and do go in a different direction.  Control is ellusive.  I’m softening, or at least, acknowledging these issues is helping me to see how I need to soften.  It’s either give this up, or people get hurt.  It’s time.  Control, our relationship is unhealthy.  Bye bye.

_ _

Week 3 Should be Fear.  This is so broad for me.  SOOOO broad.  I want to take this next week to dwell on the fear challenges I want to conquer in the next year.  The one big one that I can think of is my motorcycle.  I’m going to blog next week about my fears and what I can put in place to get over some of them, or accepting the valid ones but moving forward from them.  Check back next week to see where I’m at.

_ _

Journal Entries from the past week:

On my drive home from work I realized I hadn’t yet given up control of really anything that Friday.  Until she pulled out in front of me at a stop sign.  I hit my horn and continued on it, furious, cursing.  She knew I had the right away, but she didn’t care.  And then I dawned on me – I cannot control someone else’s actions.  So while it pained me to back off of her rear bumper, to not continue to curse, yell and honk my horn, I did.  I drove like a “normal” person the entire distance that I followed her, letting it go.

Saturday, my strive to hold onto control tested me.  We had a Christmas party to attend, and I had 2 recipes that I found on Pinterest in mind.  As I prepped the one for baking, I substituted applesauce for oil in the Pumpkin Chocolate Chip recipe.  But I didn’t read about it first.  I baked it for 2 hours and the inside of the bread was still raw.  It wasn’t until the next day that I realized the stove was not indeed broken, as Dave and I had thought, I had just screwed up the recipe.  And the Avocado Cream Cheese and Salsa pastry puffs that were burnt on the bottom?  Also my error.  When it was time to walk out the door to the party, both recipes were ruined and we were off to Darrenkamps to pick up another treat to bring.  I had to let it go.  It was hard to admit defeat the next day, and admit that maybe, just maybe, the error had been my fault and we no longer had to go oven shopping.

Sunday I did nothing.  Meaning, I didn’t walk the dog.  I didn’t help with the laundry.  Cooking consisted of Joe Corbi’s frozen pizza, a broccoli omelette, bologna sammies, and way too many pretzels and brie (reading this now, and I wonder why the scale was 5 pounds heftier today, ugh).  I wanted to go shopping, pick up that gift card to cross another present off the list, go to look at ovens before I admitted we didn’t need one, take the dog to the dog park.  The only productive thing I did all day was give Molly a bath; necessary for her mild skin infection.  I gave  up control of all the woulda, coulda, shouldas and I did nothing.  It was blissful and wonderful to lounge around in my comfies all day long, and sit by my boy on the couch watching movies and countless episodes of ‘How I Met Your Mother’.  So this is what laziness is like?  I could get used to this!

Monday I went over to Dave’s after work and found 3 packages on the front step.  A few of the things I do love about the materialist side of Christmas (I love all things religious Christmas; carols, Christ, historical significance) are 1) Having money to buy gifts for people, and 2) packages in the mail.  What was even more exciting was that one of those packages was for me!  It was what I hoped would be my wedding dress.  It was packaged away in a lovely teal box and when I opened it, my heart sank a bit.  The beaded detailing at the top was not gimmery as I had hoped, it was white and teal beading.  The nude color was darker than it looked online.  I tried it on, hoping it would spark.  It fit decently, but not beautifully.  I wanted to will it to work, to be “the dress” simply out of time, money, and not really wanting to try a million dresses on.  But it just wasn’t.  In the past, I would suck it up, use it, and make it work even if it didn’t.  But this time, I knew I had to let it go.  It was not going to be my wedding dress.  It might work for another wedding I am going to attend this year, or even on our honeymoon, but not on the big day.  I packed it back up and put it under the bed.  I’d decide later if I want to return it.

This past week I have been researching some publishing contests to see what’s available for my genre – nonfiction/memoir.  Most of the deadlines had expired and from the ones I did read, they weren’t quite what I was looking for.  When I got home from work on Tuesday night, in my inbox was a first time publishing contract contest.  For women.  For nonfiction.  For me.  I believe in signs, in timing, and this screamed out to me.  The first thing I did was shoot 2 emails out to friends who are familiar with book proposals.  My friend Andi got back to me saying she would work with me on getting it up and ready to send out to them by the March deadline.  There’s a cost involved, not for the contest, but for the book proposal.  I love contests and I’m typically good at them.  I don’t love anything involving my memoir.  It terrifies me, the commitment, the uncertainty, my vulnerability..  But ever since I listened to Ira Wagler at a writer’s breakfast, I’ve known I need to do something with it.  Maybe I just need to polish some chunks of it and see what some professional editors and bookhouses think of it from there.  So, I’m thinking about it.  This means giving up control of my baby, something I’ve worked on/off for, for 4 years, something I haven’t found the effort to return to after its first draft.  This means exposing my vulnerability.  This means investing a good chunk of money into my craft.  This means investing most of my free/spare time into making it a good product to send forth.  It means a lot.  It means I give up control and give into this.  I still need to think about it.  I’m giving myself two weeks to think about it, and decide the feasibility of this investment at this time of my life (a hectic time), then I need to make a decision.

Wednesday morning my dog would not go poo.  She’s a very regular dog.  The boy takes her out first thing in the morning; she pees and poops.  When I get up after she’s been fed, I walk her and she pees and poops.  When I come home from work and walk her again she pees, then eats, and before bed when I let her out, she pees and poops.  It’s a pretty simple routine schedule we have.  But this morning the boy was off on a business trip and it was just me and her.  We got started later than usual, she peed, pooped, ate.  Then we went for our walk and she peed but didn’t poo, so I put her out back.  She did nothing.  I Waited.  I took her back inside.  I waited 10 minutes then I took her back out.  She peed.  Then stared.  We went for a walk a second time.  Nothing.  Finally I just gave up.  If she had to poo, she had her chance.  But when I took her for the second walk of the morning, I had left her gentle leader inside, so we went for a walk with just her leash.  Molly is no small dog.  She’s about 80 pounds of solid pup and she’s stubborn.  When she wants to go, she wants to go.  The hound in her means her nose goes wherever, whenever.  This has gotten her into trouble before (escape, skunk) so the gentle leader has been the best thing to keep her reigned in.  But with just using the leash this morning, she stayed beside me the entire walk.  She barely pulled and when she did and I tugged her, she settled back down.  Normally this is the dog I find at night, when the sun is down and she feels more calm and less anxious about the world that could hurt her (we believe she was abused by her previous owners).  But the sun was out, and there she was, strutting alongside of me with no assistance but the leash.  Even though she didn’t poo like she does every morning walk, she walked like a brand new dog.  I guess giving up control is worth it.

Thursday I wanted to talk about the wedding with the boy.  About the cost.  About the honeymoon.  About the fact that I can only contribute a little here and there.  He was willing to listen, but the problem was, I wasn’t.  I had my mind set, no flexibility.  I get that way about things.  I decide what I want, and that’s just how it is.  It comes from being the youngest of 3, getting my way a lot, and widowhood.  I’ve done things MY way since Kevin died and it’s hard to make room for two again sometimes.  So by the end of the night after some frustrating moments and walking away to give ourselves a break from the intensity, we came to a fun solution.  And it felt ok to give up control.  To be spontaneous together.