Little Drummer Boy

Of my three children, Matt is the one who always loved Christmas the most. He loved Christmas music. He loved Christmas lights. He loved Christmas trees. He loved ... well, for a couple of years, he dressed like Santa almost every day, even when we lived in hot and sunny south Florida. My mom used to enjoy telling the story of Matt and her electric Christmas candles that she put in the windows each year. Throughout the year, Matt would find those candles in the closet and he would play with them for hours ... taking the bulbs in and out, plugging the candles in without the bulbs and saying, "Poor candles," then plugging them in with the bulbs in place and exclaiming, "Happy, happy candles!" And he would perform this festive ritual over and over again while the song Little Drummer Boy (his favorite at the time) played loudly on his Fisher-Price cassette player. Don't worry ... I've told him what a weird little kid he was when it came to Christmas so he can be prepared should his future daughter inherit his Christmas genes.

In my previous post, I spoke about how I haven't slept well for several nights because of my over-the-top worry and fear about my basement. So last night, I decided that I absolutely HAD to get some sleep. I took a couple of "sleepy" pills and climbed into bed with my dogs around 9:30, snuggled in under the covers because it was a cold and blustery night, and closed my eyes praying that sleep would come to me quickly. I had taken Julie and Ollie out to potty before I went to bed and discovered that it was raining/sleeting ... which meant liquid on the already soaked ground ... which meant my basement ... well, you know. For the last few days, every little sound in my house has made me panic thinking that the walls in the basement were disintegrating right before my ears. I had no more than closed my eyes until I heard a steady, rhythmic "thump, thump, thump." Well, that doesn't sound good, I thought. That doesn't sound good at all. I climbed out of bed, grabbed my flashlight and headed to the basement.

I was beginning to feel a bit groggy from the medication I had taken, so as I stood in the basement swaying like a tree in the wind, I inched around the walls placing my hand on them to see if I felt any vibration ... yes, yes, I did. By the time I had worked my way all around the room, I was getting sleepy ... really sleepy. After I stumbled on the first step leading back upstairs, I decided that I should crawl the rest of the way up, crawl into my room, and crawl into bed. I remember quite vividly the prayer that ran through my mind as I drifted off to sleep ... So, God, if the house caves in or explodes while I'm asleep, please don't let Julie and Ollie get hurt. Seriously, that was my prayer as I finally faded into the land of slumber ... a prayer for the safety of my beloved hounds.

Now I need to back up here a little and tell you that the house to the left of mine is a rental house, and the family that currently resides there is Native American, Cherokee I believe the father told me. During the summer months, they often build a fire in the back yard, play drums, chant and dance (in full Native American dress, I might add ... it's actually very cool to watch them). In my rational mind ... not the irrational one I seem to possess these days ... I know that I often hear the sound of drums coming from the inside of their house when I am in my bedroom. Yep ... drums ... as in a steady, rhythmic "thump, thump, thump." So this morning when I was outside with the dogs before I left for work, my neighbor was outside as well. The minute I saw him, I thought about the sounds I had heard last night, and I asked him if they had been drumming the night before. As he apologetically said yes and that he was sorry they disturbed me, I assured him that it didn't bother me. I then went on to explain to him why I asked, and he, like all the other folks I've talked to about my super freakdom over my basement, got a hearty laugh out of my description of me creeping around touching all the walls in my basement last night.

Those of you who read along with me in this blog know that I try to look for God's teaching or lesson or truth in the events and situations that come into my life. So here's the thing about my basement predicament ... I just don't see it, the teaching or lesson or truth that probably lies within it. Oh, I'm sure there is at least one that will eventually present itself to me, but for now all I can picture is caving walls and exploding furnaces and costly repairs. I'm sure that the hidden "God thing" will probably involve a lesson or two in trust and faith and resting in Him. I'm sure that when it's all said and done, He will speak to me in ways that I simply cannot see while I'm drowning in the middle of the super freak ocean I find myself in.

I did sleep a little last night, and for those of you keeping score ... I was only in the basement and the garage with my flashlight twice during the night, which is a definite improvement. I must admit that I did get the heebie-jeebies in the shower this morning, though ... the whole tub falling through the floor thing is definitely a legitimate fear ... whether you'll admit it or not, you've thought about it happening to you ... you know you have. Drum on little drummer boy ... thump, thump, thump.