Springtime Sabbatical!

betsey and jane are taking a blog sabbatical for a month or so -- to read, reflect, garden, and grandmother! We'll catch up with you in early June. Blessings!

Easter Blessings from BETSEY:JANE

Openings
Now is the shining fabric of our day
Torn open, flung apart, rent wide by love.
Never again the tight, enclosing sky,
The blue bowl or star-illumined tent.
We are laid open to infinity
For Easter love has burst his tomb and ours.
Now nothing shelters us from God's desire -
Not flesh, not sky, not stars, not even sin.
Now glory waits so He can enter in.
Now does the dance begin.

~Elizabeth Rooney, as collected in A Widening Light: Poems of the Incarnation, edited by

 Luci Shaw, Harold Shaw Publishers (1984.)

Can a Husband Be a Best Friend?

jane: Last week we ended our blog with a question about if one can have too many best friends. But I've been thinking along a slightly line . . . wondering about if a husband can truly be a “best friend.” You know, I always say Rich is my best friend. And, in many, many ways, we ARE each other's best friend. We simply enjoy spending our free time with each other. There's nobody I'd rather do stuff with than Rich.

What about you, Betsey? Do you consider Fritz your best friend?

betsey: It's funny you should bring this up right now, Jane, because I was looking at "husband" birthday cards in the store just last night and was struck by the number that say, "To My Husband, My Best Friend!" So obviously this is a common sentiment. I do think Fritz is my "best friend." Like you, we're very companionable and always have been; we have similar temperaments and values and can spend long chunks of time together without getting on each other's nerves.

jane: While I would consider Rich my best friend, he still doesn't meet all the peculiarities of friendship my “best friend” female friends do. For instance, I can't vent to him about him (not that I do that, anyway). I wouldn't ask him if any offending hairs are visibly sprouting anywhere –- say, a chin! There are male/female differences –- that whole Mars/Venus thing –- that color my friendship with Rich. For instance, he'll grow impatient with the way I analyze a problem (a whole lot of verbal rehashing, along with a dose of hand-wringing and a tad of second-guessing) or fantasize about household projects (he sees “Honey-do” written all over my daydreams; I hate to admit, he's usually right). Rich doesn't pay the kind of attention to the details of a conversation as I would like; he doesn't always capture the nuances of an interaction that a woman is better able to pick up on.

betsey: Amen and amen. And the other side of this is, we shouldn't be everything to our men -- they need guy companionship too. I do think as a rule men are more content with us being their main friend than we are with them as our main friend.

I wonder if this friendship thing is true of all couples, though. I know some husbands and wives who really do not share many of the same interests, but they say it works for them because they aren't living out of each other's pockets all the time so the relationship stays fresh. But I wouldn't like that, living really separate lives. What do you think? Do you think you and Rich have a good balance between togetherness and independence?

jane: Well, as Rich works out of our house, we're together a lot. But there's spatial togetherness and there's emotional togetherness. Sometimes we're thisclose, and other times, it feels as though we're spending time on separate planets. But that's the yin/yang, ebb-and-flow nature to marriage, don't you think? I wonder if balance, while a noble goal, is really possible in real life with real people.

I guess balance involves allowing for independence without losing togetherness.That's a dance! Remember that old .38 Special song, “Hold On Loosely”? I think there's wisdom to its lyrics: “Just hold on loosely, but don't let go/If you cling too tight babe,/you're gonna loose control./Your baby needs someone to believe in/and a whole lot of space to breathe in.” Yeah! That about says it. 

betsey: I think about that balance as I look toward the "next phase" of our lives together as a couple. I guess for me the most rewarding kind of marriage is the "looking out in the same direction" kind of relationship –- involved in interesting things, maybe ministering together in some way.

jane: I like that. But maybe I'd put it this way: Rich and I are moving forward in the same direction together. Together, with our best friend in the world.

What Should You Expect from Your Friends?

betsey: Jane, I want to pursue this idea we brought up a while back about what it takes to actually maintain a friendship, not just “structurally” (e.g. how many times do you see each other) but emotionally. Related to that is, what can we reasonably expect of our friends?

For example, it used to be a big deal that you should check in by phone with friends. It isn’t as important as it used to be, but I’ve never been a phone person, except with my daughter. I know people who are what I call “pick up the phone” types; they’ll have a spare minute and whip out their phone and just call someone to chat. I’ve never been that way so at times I’ve felt guilty over lack of reciprocity: she calls, I don’t.

jane: Oh my goodness, I didn't realize you aren't a phone person; I've NEVER been one. As a kid, I was intimidated by talking to people on the phone. Of course I had to get over that rather abruptly in the workplace and talked a lot (and conducted many, many interviews) by phone. But somehow, during that initial moment of having to dial, I'll still feel that momentary twinge of aversion . . .

But more about friendship and less about phobias! I guess I find email and texting have supplanted most of what a phone call used to accomplish in friendships. For example, look at us! How many times have we talked by phone? Yet our friendship is strong, forged by times together in person and times interacting over the Internet.

But I'd have to admit, if I'd sent you several emails and didn't hear back from you, I'd feel a tad neglected as a friend and wonder what was up.

betsey: I think we can get stuck on reciprocity. Over time there have been people who have invited me/us over more than I did them. But then I’ve had other friends who never reciprocated. Now, I think as Christians we should resist a “quid pro quo” mentality; still, when you feel like you’re doing more of the giving, it can breed resentment.

Does this happen to you?

jane: A definite yes. And we're getting into what I call my “pet-peeve territory.” I used to (operative word, used to) have a friend who never initiated anything. We'd get together for coffee or for dinner somewhere, and when we said our good-byes, she'd say, “Let's do this again soon.” But I was always the one to follow up and arrange for the next time. Someone out there is thinking, Duh, she just wasn't that into you, but honestly, I don't think that was the case. It's just that for some unknown reason, this woman shied away from initiating. And it made everything about our friendship feel very lopsided. I got irritated enough that I stopped contacting her – and that was that.

betsey: I can also be guilty of simply expecting too much, although I think this is less true as I’ve gotten old and maybe a bit less insecure! But you know how it is, we all read these articles or books about women with their friends who run over all the time and are so available and warmly understanding and not competitive and . . . you know. And we feel hurt when it seems our friends aren’t living up to this standard.

jane: Aw, Betsey, but I'm that way. Aren't I???

betsey: You really are, and I hope I am too, but I do think women can so long for that perfect soul-mate friend that we’re wanting something only God can supply – which gets back to that “idols” issue we were discussing last week.

Another interesting and possibly unanswerable question is, is there a limit on the number of close friends one can have?

jane: Sounds like we have our blog topic for next week. Can't wait to dissect that one!

Furious Love

jane: I was surprised that I felt a twinge of sadness when I heard on March 23 that Elizabeth Taylor passed away. I knew from checkout-aisle tabloid headlines her health was declining, but her death marked for me what I'd call the passing of Old Hollywood, when there were stars, not mere celebrities. I can remember Elizabeth Taylor as the actress, not as the caricature she became, the plumped-up woman with the witchy hair and screechy voice who befriended Michael Jackson, married Larry Fortensky, and peddled White Diamonds perfume.

Years ago I plowed through Elizabeth: The Life of Elizabeth Taylor. What a fascinating read about Taylor's early life and the lengths to which MGM went to create and promote her. Then, last summer, I read Furious Love: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and the Marriage of a Century. Let's just say, before “Brangelina,” it was all about Liz and Dick. In the '60s, their torrid affair was scandalous, because they were married to others (Taylor had married Eddie Fisher, who left Debbie Reynolds for Taylor -- that in itself a scandal). Taylor and Burton eventually married -- twice. And after reading this biography, I went away convinced they truly did love each other -- only just too much. Their relationship became obsessive, jealous, self-destructive; it flamed out in ruins.

So I've been pondering the destructive nature of loving something too much -- loving a person, a possession, even a position. I know that the thought of losing my husband, or my children, and now my newborn granddaughter, terrifies me. I can't imagine life without them. Could I love them too much? What do you think about all this, Betsey? Do you ever think you love “too much”?

betsey: I probably do, but I think for me it’s more an attachment to my style of life, if that makes sense. I watch young couples from our church departing for the mission field, leaving family and friends and comforts behind, and I think, I could never do that. I don’t hold things lightly enough. You know me -- I adore my dog, my home, our cozy little village surrounded by green space. I think about things like buying new Fiesta Ware pieces and who we should entertain next. I have a certain fear of all this being taken away. As to the dear ones in my life, yes, I deeply fear losing them, but I don’t think it’s in a destructive, Liz-and-Dick kind of way.

jane: This reminds me of what C.S. Lewis talks about in The Four Loves . . . how romantic love can become so demanding that it replaces God and becomes a religion in itself. Lewis would suggest that unless this romantic love, or Eros, is ruled by God's love, it can become almost a demonic force in our lives. That's a pretty good definition of idolatry, when you think of it. Our idols aren't necessarily golden calves; they're the possessions and even perhaps the people who replace God in our lives.

I hate to admit it, but I think sometimes I've made an idol out of my marriage and my home. The amount of time I spend obsessed about aspects of my house convicts me. And I often think of Rich as my “rock” and “my shelter from the storm,” which he is. But God is to be all those things to me, supremely so.

betsey: I’ve thought of that with single people I know -- where do they turn? Not to fall into that cliché about the single who walks more closely with God, but I can see in some instances how God would become more urgently real to you. At the same time, I am convinced that if you and your spouse, or you and your child, or you and your dear friend, are together “rooted and established in love,” as Paul says in Ephesians, your love can look outward with generosity and be used to bless others.

Liz with Richard Burton

jane: Liz and Dick modeled an obsessive passion unsubdued or controlled by God's love. So how do you remain passionately in love without straying into Liz-and-Dick territory?

betsey: I think it begins with the sense of the one you love being first and foremost a child of God, someone very dear to Him whom He has entrusted to your care. We do need to have a sense that anything, no matter how good, can become an idol. And we need to see our love as a laboratory for growing in Christ. The best book ever about all this is Walter Wangerin’s book on marriage, As for Me and My House.

Walter Wangerin, Jr. 

jane: Okay, but when scary things threaten someone you love, how do you do that on a practical level? Confession, relinquishment, and worship -- I think these are all part of the process of surrendering idols . . . but it's hard to keep them from making a stronghold in your life. At least, it is for me.

betsey: I guess I think we need to go deeper on exactly what is an “idol” and what is passionate and appropriate attachment. Like, I would hate to lose our beautiful house. But is that because it’s an idol or because it’s a terrible thing to lose one’s home?

jane: That's a really good point, Betsey. But I suppose, in a way, it could be a little of both, too. I wonder how other women keep their spouse or children or the home they love or a job they enjoy from becoming an idol. I'd love to hear from them. 

Friends and "Friends"

betsey: Jane, I was talking with someone recently about Facebook and how it artificially extends “acquaintance” relationships long past their normal shelf life. Say, someone from a former church, or someone you worked with briefly. If you ran into them in Target you might say hi, how’s the family, but you don’t necessarily want to keep up with their daily life.

It’s a small point, but it’s an example of how FB redefines connections, who’s a “friend,” what you share, etc. I’ll admit, I’m not a big fan. I’m on it and drop by every now and then, but if it went away I wouldn’t miss it.

jane: I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. Sometimes I'm on it a lot, and sometimes not so much. It's funny, of the 350+ “friends” in my network, probably only a handful of people -- usually the same ones -- read and respond to my status updates. Speaking of which, Betsey, you're not among that handful!

For those of us somehow related to the publishing industry, Facebook is a way to market ourselves, to keep our names “out there.” Plus, I've found it to be a marvelous method of sharing photos and staying in touch with my adult kids (thank goodness they friended me!).

But I've also been surprised by a social-network serendipity; some unexpected connections have turned into sources of true encouragement. I've “met” a few women I sense I could become good friends with, if only we had the opportunity to spend time together face-to-face to cultivate those things we share in common. These are women who tickle my funny bone or have similar taste in music, books, or movies. I can tell we share a common spiritual commitment, a similar life season, and certain experiences. That aspect of social networking has been really cool!

betsey: I think that sounds great -- a little like when I was a kid and had all these pen pals. And I see the professional usefulness of both Facebook and, in particular, LinkedIn to keep your name out there. But the ubiquity of social networks has made me realize anew the power of simply being in person with someone. I’m even wondering if we might get so saturated with all this “virtual reality,” as it were, that running over to shoot the breeze with a neighbor might make a comeback.

jane: There's nothing wrong with that! In my grandparents' day, folks used to take that “Sunday drive” to visit other families. You expected people would drop over, so you always had the coffee pot perking and bars or cookies ready to serve. That just doesn't happen nowadays -- at least, Rich and I don't make a habit of that, nor does anyone we know. People are too busy with their own agendas, or too worried about how their house looks, or if they have anything to serve. Betsey, I'm thinking we should re-institute “Sunday afternoon visits”! You guys live close enough for us to just pop over . . .

betsey: I think so too -- as long as it’s after my nap!

Where Do You Find Friends?

jane: Betsey, I'm mulling over last week's discussion on friendship, and thinking about how I revealed I'd been feeling a bit lonely lately. I asked a friend who transferred her family out of state several years ago how she dealt with the loneliness of a long-distance move. I can't imagine pulling myself away from dear friends I've had for years, as well as our book club, my Bible study gals, and various other church- and dog park-related connections that have become part of my "circle." She told me it took her three years to find a truly close friend! That sounds like wandering in the desert, to be honest. I don't feel I'd handle that very well.

Have you ever been transplanted somewhere, with the challenge of cultivating a totally new circle of friends?

betsey: No, and that might be one reason we’ve never moved (out of the area). A few years ago we seriously considered a move to the city. But a man whose opinion both you and I greatly respect said he and his family would never move because of their cherished friendships and because it takes longer when you’re older to build relationships. That gave me serious pause. I wouldn’t handle that “desert wandering” well either.

I did go out of state to college and eventually made wonderful friends there. But the difference there is that everyone is in the same boat; you’re not on the outside looking in.

jane: I sense that what bonds you with others is when you go through a major life transition together. I made close friends in college because, as you said, we were all "in the same boat" -- thrown together with no friends. When I had Sarah, I became friends with a group of fellow first-time moms. We all needed that adult connection badly; we compared mothering notes and kvetched about thickened waistlines, sleepless nights, and colicky babies. But I'm concerned that as we age, we go through fewer life transitions that knit us with others -- well, unless you count issues such as becoming a first-time grandparent, parenting an adult child, or navigating the shoals of elder-care.

betsey: And I also think the simple fact of being a woman on the “what’s next” journey can forge a connection. However, in my experience most friendships are formed by being on the same “path,” as a woman of my acquaintance once put it. Your kids are in school together; you work together; you go to the same church; you’re neighbors. Usually at least one of these has to be present to form the basis for a friendship.  The virtue of sinking deep roots in a place is that these “paths” increase exponentially.

jane: I agree. So what does one do when that path changes,  either by choice or by unwelcome circumstance? Suppose your husband gets a job offer he can't refuse (or you do!), and the only downside is the loss of your friends. Do you pass it up? How do you negotiate that kind of thing? If the move's for the man's career, he's likely going to have a built-in pool of potential friends through his colleagues. But the wife is left to start over. 

Or what if you simply decide to retire somewhere, away from everything familiar? I recently heard about some friends of friends who decided to downsize and simplify, so they sold most of their stuff, including their large home, and up and moved out West into a small condo. Wow! That takes guts. 

If you're more homebody than party person, where on earth do you begin? Especially if your personality is the type that finds it more difficult to make friends readily? That's the way I am: at first somewhat guarded, somewhat awkward, somewhat fearful of rejection. 

I'd love to hear what women who've had to pull up stakes and start over with friendships have done. I suspect many will say: "find a church"; "join a Bible study"; or "pursue a hobby." That's solid advice. But let's face it, haven't most of us tried those approaches in search of friends only to find everyone already has their friends, the women are cliquey, or you get rebuffed or ignored? Kind of the wallflower syndrome.

 

betsey: This is a hard one, because obviously people sometimes have no choice about moving. I know families who’ve left our area who admit they’ve had a hard time with it for a host of reasons -- difficult to find a comparable church, hard to break into established circles, etc. It can happen when people retire, too. This may be where long-distance friends come more into play, even though it’s not the same.

 

Obviously I’m showing my bias; I think moving out of an area, especially past a certain age, has to be considered very carefully. Even factors like the availability of good medical care need consideration. And I do know that we as Americans are moving less than we used to. Boomers are “aging in place,” according to the experts.

 

But this isn’t about moving, it’s about friends. And while moving makes it harder, I’m sure that staying put isn’t necessarily a recipe for wonderful lifelong relationships either. I would really like to hear how others have dealt with this.

jane: I would, too. I'd love to hear some friendship secrets -- so let us in on what has (or hasn't) worked for you!

 

 

The Friendship Factor

betsey: Jane, do you think women are ever satisfied with their "friendship life"? The reason I ask is, a while back I got into a conversation with a woman I know, a very competent professional, a wife and mom, strong Christian, AND someone who comes across as "popular," if you know what I mean -- and she shared a few things with me about some of her relational struggles. I've had conversations like this before; in fact, I've written and spoken about it and have been surprised at the women who told me they were lonely or felt disconnected from their church or were too busy for friends.

For me, as I've moved past the childrearing years and generally into a surer sense of myself, I've really been trying to pay attention to friendships, make them a priority, both couple friendships for Fritz and me and relationships with other women. But even then, there are questions: how often do you get together? Does emailing count? What about mutuality, or lack thereof? I thought I'd have all this figured out by now.

jane: Friendships can be so fluid. You think you've got your nice little circle of friends all set, and then something upsets the apple cart. Someone moves away or makes a newer "best friend." Or perhaps you move, or you change jobs or stop working, and the friendships you counted on fizzle out or fade away. Then you're back to Square One. And I think (and other women have told me this as well) that the older you get, the more difficult it is to make new friends.

Two years ago, I wrote about the "feast or famine" nature of friendship. I was riding high on a surfeit of friends, even though I recognized the pendulum could (and probably would) swing in the other direction. Now it has begun to. I'm starting to grapple with a touch of loneliness right now, as circumstances in my life are shifting.

betsey: Right now I wouldn't exactly say I was lonely, but I think I would be if Amanda wasn't around. Not just because she's my kid, but because she provides the warm, fun companionship of a young woman; she fills a hole. I remember the feeling of emptiness when she was in college.

jane: I WISH my daughters were close by, because I would love to enjoy that warm, fun companionship with them, too. But I do have a concern about that. I wouldn't want to lean too much on my daughters to fill a friendship void in my life, because I'm not sure that would be totally fair to them. They're at that stage of life where they're forging their own friends. I wouldn't want to be overly dependent on them, making them feel as though they "have to" spend time with dear old mom. 

Do you ever worry about that with Amanda?

betsey: Yes, that has crossed my mind. I think that used to be more of an issue when she was single. If I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of days I would call and say “what are you up to?” and then be annoyed at myself because I sounded so needy. Now that she’s married we try to take our cue from them. You’re exactly right about not making our girls fill our “girlfriend” needs.

I think the idea of "friends as family" is powerful, and as society changes, this may assume more resonance. I know some single people who take this very seriously. So you always share holidays, or you cook a meal together, or even just hang out watching TV together, and maybe one of you dozes off and it's all very sweet. You're not just getting together on "state occasions."

But for any of this to happen, you have to somehow signal to others: I need you. And that isn't always so easy.

jane: Sometimes you just have to be brave and come out with it. I remember a woman who lived across the street from me. She and her husband and children had transferred into the Midwest from Baltimore. She struggled to make friends and to get her bearings in an unfamiliar area. What she started to do on holidays was invite over a family from our Sunday school class who were also from the East -- Boston, I believe. These two families became fast friends and spent every holiday together that they were in town. Together they created their own tradition, their own extended "family."

Because I always spent holidays with my extended family -- even if it's only been my mom and dad -- I used to think this somewhat strange. I wondered if it would feel uncomfortable to be with “strangers.” But I now see the wisdom in this approach -- it definitely meets a need! And it's in line with biblical hospitality.

betsey: It really is. And others -- Rodney Clapp among them -- have written eloquently about what it means to be “family” and looking beyond just our own blood kin, so to speak. I love that idea of creating traditions in the family of God.

Which raises the question: What would it look like to extend the arms of that “family” further outward?

Wondering and Wrestling

jane: Betsey, I've been wondering how you handle your questions for God. Lately -- well, specifically since my sister-in-law Terry passed away two months ago -- I've been distancing myself a bit from God during worship at church. When we sing praise songs, I find they trigger questions about why God allowed her to die despite her powerful faith and reliance on his promises, promises contained in Jeremiah and Isaiah and particularly Psalms. Terry trusted in God and she wanted to live. Yet God took her even as she claimed his protection and deliverance from cancer and its debilitating treatments. I chew on these thoughts, ponder them, turn them over and over in my mind. Meanwhile, I'm worshiping with a little less enthusiasm; my heart feels somewhat bruised and guarded toward God.

betsey: Jane, hundreds of people out there, perhaps, just silently thanked you for your honesty. I know of young people who have walked away from their faith over this issue -- why did God allow my friend to die? It’s important not to lose the raw, almost desperate edge of these questions. I truly believe they draw us closer to the heart of the Father.

jane: I brought up these feelings at my weekly Bible Study Fellowship class, where we're deep into the study of Isaiah. One woman in my discussion group bluntly remarked, “Why, what's wrong with death? It's no big deal for a Christian.” I was rather shocked at her insensitive words, true as they might be. I felt from her no compassion for my loss and especially that of my brother and their kids. Even though we know Terry's in heaven and no longer suffering, we all wish she hadn't died!

betsey: Oh, my dear. I wish that too. And I think of responses like the woman in the group and it’s like, no wonder people are turned off by Christians. As you know, I didn’t “grow up born again.” So when I entered the evangelical fold, one of the things that really bothered me -- and still does -- was a tendency to brush aside simple human feeling, to deny the power of human experience. “God doesn’t care if we’re happy.” That kind of thing.

jane: Oh, that bugs me too. I don't question that death brings us into the presence of our Lord, that death can be the ultimate healing, that God is God and that his ways are not ours. I know all that, I believe all that. And yet . . . right now, in my grief, I'm questioning. Not in a rebellious, shake-my-fist-in-God's-face kind of way. No, it's more a why, God, do you place certain promises in your Word, and then seemingly ignore them? How did these promises apply to my sister-in-law? What about all the faith and hope displayed in your ability to deliver her?

betsey: Well, obviously many forests have been felled to answer these questions of what smart people call theodicy. But to me, one of the most powerful answers comes from Scripture itself, Scripture and the “lover’s quarrel” sort of relationship so many biblical personages had with God. Abraham, Jacob, David, Peter. I wonder about Mary herself, her private wrestlings with the Almighty.

Honestly, there are these questions you can’t explain away. You and I have talked before about how sometimes it seems good church folk try to “let God off the hook” by coming up with some tidy explanation.

jane: We like to couch our prayers with “if it's your will, Lord.” Just in case the person doesn't get healed, just in case a situation turns out badly. We end up tending to pray less boldly and more tentatively.

betsey: It’s really important to be able to say two things: We don’t know; and, We’re not alone in the not knowing. Whether it’s the loss of a wonderful wife and mom, or the inability of a gifted person to find work they’re fitted for, or someone who longs for a mate—not to mention the sorrow and tragedy that seems to be the lot of the world—when we draw together with all our unanswered questions and offer one another “comfort and joy,” that can be answer enough.

jane: I suspect one purpose of pain and grief is to present a clear reminder that we were not meant for death. Our nature screams and kicks against it. I suspect memories of Eden are imprinted into our collective psyche. This disconnect between what is and what ought not to be should become a signpost pointing us to -- not away from -- God.

I'm thankful God understands and respects my distance right now. I imagine him patiently waiting to embrace me once I let down my guard. I'm grateful no wondering, no wrestling can ever separate any of us from his love. 

Digging and Mucking and Eternal Hope

betsey: Jane, help. It’s snowing again. Make it stop.

I can remember years when in late February I could go out in my yard and see shoots coming up in the garden. Well, after the snow from the Blizzard of 2011 (20 inches!) finally melted a few days ago, we had a semi-nice Saturday, so of course we took Lucy for a good walk and then I traversed our manor, surveying the grounds, hoping for a sign of life. But all the crocuses and scylla, first bulbs to come up, were wisely hiding underground going, “You kidding? If it’s good enough for the groundhog, it’s good enough for us. We’re staying in.”

Still, it was enough to see bare ground -- and start thinking about this year’s garden.

jane: We don't start thinking about our garden until Rich has torched our ornamental grasses, especially our silberfeder. Please don't report us, but every spring Rich does an unofficial "controlled" burn of those things -- over the years they've gotten HUGE -- so the new growth can start. (I hide out in the house, cell phone in hand, ready to punch in the fire department's number, just in case.) Before Rich took matters into his own hands, so to speak, we used to go out mid-March on a  mild Saturday to hack those things down with hedge clippers. (We really need machetes.) It took forever, not to mention too many yard waste bags to count.

betsey: We got our Burpee’s catalog last week, and I love sitting and salivating over the heirloom tomatoes -- the ruby-like strawberries -- even the golden beets. I love golden beets, but in our clayey soil I have a hard time with root crops. Still, a girl can dream. It’s like baseball, which I’m also excited about as the Sox report to spring training. Everything is quivering with possibility and potential. This could be the year!

jane: I say that every year. But the problem is, I daydream about what to change but I forget to record my ideas or even what we've already planted. Once upon a time we did have a plan and I kept a garden journal that listed what we'd planted, but that was about, um, 13 years ago.

My sister-in-law was an avid gardener, and her plants always thrived. She gave me a wonderful trumpet vine cutting last summer, and I'm hopeful it takes off by the arbor near my front door this year. Anyway, Terry once suggested taking photos of the same garden spot during different times of day to obtain an accurate handle on how much sun an area really gets. I've discovered it's easy for me to over- or underestimate whether a particular corner is full or partial sun. And in spring, everything is full sun anyway!

betsey: There is absolutely nothing like that first mild day late in March when you get outdoors, maybe rake out some beds, trim the dead stalks . . . the wind is soft, the soil is redolent with earthy fragrance (and isn’t that a great word, “redolent”). Maybe an earthworm squiggles out of a hole. And by then the crocus are in full bloom.

But here’s the tension: when are you “done”? I’m already thinking about this one hidden corner . . . a path, a bench, clematis twining up the arbor . . . For the gardener, there’s always more. You never rest on your laurels. Or your lavender.

jane: You're right about that, Betsey. You can never rest on your previous year's accomplishments -- or your achillea, either. What I love most about gardening is how it's a process. With perennials, you can always mix things up, experiment, try new combinations. What fun would it be to have the garden all set and never change a thing? There's something invigorating about getting out there, mucking around, digging plants up with a spade and dividing them, then plopping them somewhere new, just for the heck of it.

betsey: You know, right now, even “mucking” sounds inviting. And thanks for the reminder about dividing perennials. That’s something I always forget about. And can we come over and watch the “controlled burn”?

jane: We could let you, but first we'd have to force you to fill out a nondisclosure form! 

betsey: I have an idea. We should, from time to time, right here in this space, report how things are going in our respective patches of God’s green earth. And I would love to hear about what’s worked for others!

Baby, It's Cold Outside

betsey:jane is taking a Snow Day! Keep warm, keep safe, and we'll see you next Wednesday, February 23.

Stuffing It

jane: Have you ever seen the History Channel's program American Pickers? I finally tuned in after my mom told me how much she enjoys watching it. And now I do, too! These two guys, Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz, travel country back roads and comb through piles of junk, hoping to uncover that gem of a collectible or antique – such as an old barn sign or rare motorcycle – an art director or interior designer might want. Shows such as American Pickers, Pawn Stars, and Hoarders are fascinating. And they bring home in a very visual way our human propensity to amass stuff.

betsey: I’ve seen Hoarders. It’s kind of like “clutter porn.” You don’t want to look, but you do want to look. It also serves the invaluable “Thank heaven my dear ones and I are not like that!” function (although on bad days some of those dear ones skate perilously close, and you know who you are, young lady). And I admire people who can discover gems in slag heaps of stuff, so I’ll have to check out the “pickers” show. Although, being married to a man who has engaged in Dumpster diving from time to time, I’m not sure I’d let him watch . . .

jane: Dumpster diving! Yes! We had close friends from college who after graduation, when money was tight, dove for expired food items. One night we ate dinner at their house; they served a delicious lasagna, but as we noshed, they described how they'd gotten the mozzarella from the dumpster behind our local Dominicks. I'll never forget that dinner.

But speaking of stuff, right now I'm up to my eyeballs in it. Rich and I are clearing out his parents' large home, and each closet, drawer, or shelf reveals another collection of a lifetime. We're picking through sentimental items, valuable items, and then – well, items you'd simplify classify as clutter, such as countless plastic bags and Glad containers.

betsey: I’ve thought about this, because on one level, the visual, I truly despise clutter and spend inordinate amounts of time picking up, organizing, consolidating, and ensuring no pile has more than three items in it. I’m not really a saver. But there are quirky, personal things I’m attached to. The stuffed frog Fritz won for me at a theme park when we were dating. My yellow metal circa-1950 canisters that remind me of my mom’s kitchen stuff when I was very young. Our room card from when we stayed at Trump International Hotel and Tower in Chicago for my birthday a while back – I have it stuck in my dresser mirror.

jane: My treasures tend to be children's books and family photos. Oh, and dishes. I have a weakness for them. I have two sets of china (one, our wedding china, and one I inherited from my Norwegian grandma), and two sets of everyday dishes (one I also inherited – the Franciscan Rose pattern, which was very popular in the ’40s and’50s. My aunt, my grandmothers, and my mom all owned it, and I have the accumulated leftovers of those collections.

betsey: I adore children’s books. I’ve often said that if I were to seriously collect anything, it would be classic hardcover kids’ books. Johnny Tremain. Caddie Woodlawn. Stuart Little. The first Little Golden Books. The entire Betsy-Tacy series. And if anyone has an extra copy of The Hundred Dresses by Eleanor Estes, I’ll be happy to take it off your hands. Then there are those things that I don’t really enjoy anymore, like vinyl albums I can’t play, but they were such a part of my feckless youth that I can’t bear to callously toss them away. So the Moody Blues sojourn permanently in our basement.

jane: That's how I feel about my collection of Joni Mitchell albums. But this purging process we're in the thick of reminds me how easy it is to store up “treasures” – and proves the adage that one man's treasure is another man's junk.

betsey: It is depressing to ponder the fate of one’s things, like when you go into an antiques shop and see framed photos of some unknown family, people who were important to someone once. Or the endless collections of tchotchkes and old issues of Life that virtually no one wants. Plus, from a sustainability point of view, a lot of it winds up piling up in landfills. I haven’t seen Toy Story 3, but I guess it’s partly about what happens to beloved treasures that you outgrow.

jane: Have you ever seen that classic George Carlin comedy routine called "Stuff"?  Even though Carlin's language is salty, his observational humor is spot on. At one point he says, “That's the whole meaning of life . . . trying to find a place for your stuff. . . . That's what a house is, isn't it, it's a pile of stuff with a cover on it.”

As funny as that is, stuff isn't the whole meaning of life. Before God, stuff becomes meaningless. Moth and rust really do corrupt; I'm seeing that firsthand. And, being reminded daily that my turn will come. One day the stuff I possess, for whatever reason, will end up in banker boxes, waiting to be pitched or donated. The title of a John Ortberg book pretty well sums it up: When the Game Is Over, It All Goes Back in the Box.