When You're Done...Close the Cupboard Door

Christmas Eve, Thanksgiving day, family dinners in the summer... have always had one particular element in common in the Blixt household.  This Blixt-element continues to stick with  me even after all these years of being away from home. I think of it most often when I catch myself closing a kitchen cupboard door. -- I open it....I close it.  I grab a bowl from the shelf, the cupboard door is specifically pushed closed. -- Holidays and family meals were memorable in many wonderful ways, but I remember, "Close the cupboard doors when you're done with 'em!," as a key lesson from my dad that continues to resonate even beyond the kitchen on a holiday morning.

Closing a cupboard door seems like such a small thing.  Not that it's a crime to leave a kitchen cupboard open while working between the hot stove and a counter across the way, but typically my mother would leave cupboard doors open simultaneously while whirling around in the kitchen and not bother to close them as she went.  It never failed, on these chaotic holiday occasions  that my dad would make his way into her space and begin demanding she learn how to close the doors, and then some.  It didn't make sense to him why she would haphazardly leave open a cabinet.  What could be so important that you willingly neglect something that is common sense? To this day, it is in the forefront of my mind that if I open a cupboard door, I close it with deliberate discernment: kitchen, closet, or otherwise.

It is for this reason I struggle with the curse of hanging onto things: memories, things I've said, bad decisions I've made, the actions of others; that ironically resemble those annoying open kitchen cupboard doors. I want to close those doors and continue on my way without the distraction.  How can I be so diligent in something as simple and insignificant as making sure a kitchen door is closed and not apply such diligence to decisions that affect my life?  I have made significant gains within the recent years as I've chosen several doors to close. I've embraced the open door of what may make me struggle (or irritated, whichever hits me first,) and learned to let go of doors for the greater good. I've learned to focus on how I use my words with my sons in hope they keep their doors opening and closing at the right times in their lives; an open door still a work in progress.

The real key to figuring out if it's time to close the cupboard door is to take a look around and see who's standing next to you in the kitchen.  Maybe because my mom had all of us there; cooking and baking, dad sometimes cleaning up after her and closing the drawers she'd left open as well; she knew it didn't matter that a couple cabinets were hanging open.  If they needed to be closed, my dad would be there for her, to close the cupboard... he did what needed to be done.  I hope I will continue to be the same in my kitchen of cupboards and do what needs to be done.  Styrka.

Don't Just Stand There, Pick up a Shovel!

When I was younger...the ages 7-13....I remember the summers at 4116 77th Place Circle.  New construction, cul-de-sac home with plenty to do in the yard.  My parents were (are) avid landscapers of their own yard:  vegetable gardens, bushes, trees, flowers of all kinds.  If you drive by this house today, the yard is a variable jungle with a gorgeous canopy of trees and a fence that lines the backyard property line.  I remember watching my father build the 6 foot fence by hand which took him all summer that year.  We, (my sisters and I) in turn, would help where expected and without exception.  "Don't just stand there, pick up a shovel," my dad said. "We need to move this pile of rock out of the driveway."  Delivered rock for flowerbeds sat in the driveway waiting to be transported throughout the yard and there was no one better to do this but the Blixt girls with their father.  (At the time, that was more of a bitter question than a statement.  Really, dad?  You expect us to move rock?)

Did I believe I was the right person for this job at the time?  Um....no. Do I fall back on that memory almost daily at this point in my life - definitely.  The real question I ask myself regularly is why that memory.  Why should I instinctively remember my father telling me to get busy and help shovel rock?  It seemed so unfair that he expected a bunch of little girls to shovel rock, let alone be able to lift it into the wheel barrow.  Maybe he didn't intend this outcome at the time, but I remember that lesson above many others because it taught me how to do what it takes regardless of any ill perceptions I have of myself.  It is important to pitch in, do what is necessary for the greater good, and work hard.  In a world where others are looking for a way out of doing what is right and honorable, my father taught me the desire to work hard.  Lately, working hard has gotten "harder".

I have developed a fear of failure that wasn't there before.  Working harder could mean that I'll fall that much further when the bottom gives out.  And lately, the bottom just won't stay "in".  Doubt, fear, anger, bitterness are constant as of late and I miss the days when it was as easy as picking up a shovel to do a good job for my dad.  Funny how I ended up on my own front walk just last week, shoveling and doing yard work.  I drifted towards doing the mundane work of scooping mulberries but finished up feeling relieved, about myself and my anger.  Something about a wooden handle of a shovel has always been my saving grace.  I did what it took to make my front walk clear, but most importantly I strengthened my spirit when the fear was just too heavy.  I remembered that I AM strong -styrka-....

You Never Know When...

Styrka Girls

Growing up, there's always this assumption that your life will turn out just like you think it should.  There's never a doubt in your mind that all you have planned will turn out:  in order, as imagined, and perfect.  It's not until you hit 30 something that it begins to take a not-so-perfect shape of the life you only wished on your worst enemy.  At this point, the lessons from your father creep into your mind; the ones that you spent your early years trying to ignore. Nevertheless, you're here in the midst of disappointment and faced with the words of your dad,  "What's your alternative! Keep moving."  My father has been the constant in a life of bad choices and weak moves.  He's a strong man, soft heart, and safe harbor.  He's been the "show by example" -good and bad- kind of parent in ways that continue to help me endure. The difference being now than in my early years... I recognize it when I see it.

Endurance. Perseverance. The life-giving strength that is in every cell of my body.  Styrka.....Swedish for strength.  I cannot imagine my life without the styrka that runs through my veins via Blixt fortitude. Now through my thirties and into my forties, I have begun to collect my father's words of styrka to "bless" my sons. These iron clad lessons in life.  The beauty in these lessons?  Each of us will emulate it differently, manipulate it individually, produce it successfully for our own humbling conclusion.

My sisters, who have been my best friends and fellow survivors of Blixt fortitude, and I represent our father's strength in each our own mannerisms. We thrive on what makes our family tick, what makes our family rooted, what makes our core solid.  I believe all of this comes from the life lessons of a Swedish strong man.