In spite of it all

In spite of it all ... all of the mistakes ... all of the problems ... all of the times I have let him down ... (and there are many, believe me) ... he still brought me flowers today.  I am still his Valentine. 

I am blessed to be loved ... after all.

 And that's all I've got today ... all.

In the comfort zone for me

So ... do you do Facebook?  I have loved it ... reconnecting with old friends.  But there's always a decision you have to make when it comes to posting online.

Fortunately, Facebook allows you to choose how you interact with a friend.  Do you limit the connection ... to where your posts won't go on his timeline?  How will and how much will you post?  Do you only post to select groups you establish?  Do you post much personal stuff?

A while back, I realized that I didn't like posting more personal things much anymore because my friends started including a ton of people I really didn't know - people who found me, for instance, because of the work I do with Veterans.  Suddenly, my list of friends had increased.  I started looking at the list and couldn't really identify a hundred or more.  Or I could identify them, but had never met them, shared conversation or a Coke or a meal ... or real feelings.  Actually, I didn't want them to know my real feelings.  I became uncomfortable.  Everything I started to post, I had to consider ole Jimmy Joe or Mark or Bertha Lou ... what would they think?  Did I really want them to know about this?

That's when I opened a new Facebook page that was geared toward my workplace.  It has really heightened my comfort level, as I also manage a Facebook page for work which allows me to switch back and forth.  Sometimes, the things I've posted on the work page, I also share on my work Facebook.

The people I interact with on a weekly basis when I am at work are the "friends" on that new page.  At first, it was slightly awkward - removing them from my Facebook - then inviting them to be friends elsewhere.  A couple seemed to take offense at it, but I think they understand now.

One person I used to work with has almost 2000 "friends" now.  I see that as over the top.  What's the point?  You might as well run for President!  I guess it all boils down to why you are using Facebook.  For me, it was reconnecting. 

Now, when I've met someone over the phone via work, and they ask me to be a friend on Facebook, it's so much easier.  Everything on my new site is safe.  No "family".  Mostly Veteran-related posts.  In the comfort zone for me. 

I love the work I do.  I love helping Veterans.  But I like having a personal life as well, and posting with ease to those who know and love me on that level.

And that's all I've got to say today.

But tonight I'm on a train track going nowhere

It actually sleeted and snowed here today. One learns from experience not to trust the weatherman, for what he predicts more than likely will not happen. But today, it did.  And for some reason, I have not been able to warm up. It seems so cold.

Today I haven't much to say, but at least I wanted to say something.  So I will say this ...

I get very frustrated with technology.  We are in the process of dropping Suddenlink and going to Clear; dropping Suddenlink and going to DISH.  And in the interim, my Acer computer got a hiccup, and I am frustrated with it.  I don't know if it's the switch-over, or if it's my little computer.

So I'm even colder, sitting here in the office, rather than on my cushy couch underneath a warm throw with computer in lap. This will be short tonight.  I am frustrated with technology, and with the cold that is stiffening my bones.  Growing up, I never dreamed of the immediacy of computers and e-mail and cell phones.  Now, when something slows it down, I get frustrated.  I'm being ridiculous to feel so impatient.

But ... at least, I wrote.  As I promised myself that I would.  Perhaps tomorrow will be better.  Perhaps tomorrow my computer will be healed.  Perhaps tomorrow I will warm up enough to write.  But tonight, I'm on a train track going nowhere.

And that's all I've got for today.

I loved seeing her again last night, even though it made me weep

It is Saturday, at last, and I was determined this morning - first thing - to get the Valentine's for nine (9) grandchildren into the mail.

I had asked hubby to pick up some Valentine cards, not predicting that the kind he would get were tiny, came without envelopes, but included itsy-bitsy stickers, sweet tarts, fake tattoos, and so forth.

So once I arose this morning, I dove into the task of getting all of those little things sorted out, labeled, stuck, filled with a dollar and a love note, and then into envelopes.  I couldn't believe I had envelopes that would work!  Well, believe it or not, the envelopes were from 1995 - the inside envelope of wedding invitations never used ... Then came the task of figuring out the ever-rising postage and how much weight will a "Liberty stamp" ("Forever" stamp) cover ...

Last night's dreams were filled with the past.  More than once, I drifted awake thinking of my children as little kids, especially I saw the face of my middle one, first born son, Scotty (of course, no longer called that!).

Then I saw my mother, tall and slender, leaning against a split-rail fence, smiling her huge, beautiful smile, then throwing back her head and laughing.

This memory, of course, was from way before time and disease ravaged her 5' 9" body, crumpling her over into a height shorter than mine ... took away her dignity, causing her to to look with uncertainty and fear at the faces around her and ask, "Where is Mother?" the last time we sat down to eat at the table together.  She was 80 years old; the next day, she went into Hospice where she lived five more days.

I don't mean to get onto negative stuff - not at all.  I suppose I had all of these dreams, some which woke me up smiling (the kids), others which awoke me weeping -- because I was talking about Valentines right before we put out the light.  I was recalling the special times when my parents sent the kids Valentines, how it delighted them.  I want to be remembered that way.  I want my kids to know that I at least tried to be a sweet "Mimi" who loved my grandchildren.

The next thing I was determined to do this day, was share with you.  Journal my thoughts.

First, it's nice to be dreaming again.  I've told you about my night frights, problems with sleep.  It's good that there is medication that helps people get the rest they need.  I don't like taking it, but I will because something has caused me, from childhood, to have problems sleeping.

And I loved dreaming about my young children last night.  They were my darlings.  I never dreamed I would be so blessed ...

And I love that I can dream about my beautiful mother ... exactly as she looked standing beside me 42+ years ago on my wedding day ... she was such a loving "Nana" to her grandchildren ... and how she loved life! ...

I loved seeing her again last night, even though it made me weep.

And that's all I've got for today.

I didn't leave of my own accord

Yesterday, quite unexpectedly, I ran into a marvelous lady I used to work with.  I spotted her before she noticed me, and I had to deliberate quickly.  Was I prepared to let her see me?

Quite some time back, say ... 18 months give or take ... I blogged about this.  After a nice, fat Christmas bonus, followed by an awesome trip to D.C. for additional training ... only two weeks later, I was called in and fired without warning by the Chief of Staff.  This was without ever having been reprimanded, and after having invested 2 1/2 years of my life in that environment, becoming family with those I "lived with" from day to day.

It was devastating, absolutely devastating.  On top of that, I was asked specifically not to say anything.  I was simply to hand off my casework within 4 days and clear out my things.  No explanation.  I couldn't call anyone and say good-bye.  I was to just disappear.

You should have seen the look on her face, the tears in her eyes when I walked over to her.  "What happened?" she asked.  "You left so suddenly, I was afraid maybe I had said something.  You were so good; I always called you to help me..." her voice trailed away.

At the time this took place, I worked in a political environment as a liaison, helping constituents work through daunting bureaucracies, such as the VA, the Social Security Administration, the Internal Revenue Service.  I loved helping people.  I didn't care about "politics" at all ... or power trips.  I simply loved helping people, and I was good at it.

The first night after I was fired, a Wednesday, I didn't sleep at all.  On Thursday morning, I was sick to my stomach. How could I be expected to come in Thursday, Friday, Monday, and Tuesday and act like nothing had happened?  Somehow I got through those four days and simply left, after slowly removing a few more of my belongings each day.

Today, I learned that not one word had been said about my departure, no explanation, and no one dared ask.  Isn't that amazing?  The fear in politics.  Back to this special lady I saw ... I had traveled with her to D.C. in April - and disappeared the next month.  Oh, she had emailed me to my home address, and I had responded, but never answered her question.  Until today.

I finally leaned toward her, after she kept pressing for answers, and said, "I didn't leave of my own accord.  I thought you should know."

"It happened suddenly," I continued the purge, carefully watching her shocked face, "... late in the afternoon right before I was to go on vacation four days later.  I was told to leave for vacation and just not come back.  I learned quite by accident the very next day that our nice young intern had already been hired to start work after my last day, which was to be June 18 (when I simply didn't return from my vacation)."

As I wrote months ago on this blog, I was totally unprepared for this, and all I can say is what my uncle said to me when I called him ... 'You serve at the pleasure of the Member...'."

Today, I felt liberated and honest with my old friend who had felt bewildered and had worried that perhaps she had done something!  Imagine!  We had traveled together, shared, laughed, seen the most wonderful things in D.C.  Shared history together ... our nation's ... our own.  We had shed tears at the Vietnam memorial wall.  We were friends.

Politics - it's nasty.  It's cutthroat.  I'll be glad when the next political season has ended.  When I don't have to see those blasted signs everywhere, cluttering, littering the roadways.  When I don't have to hear all the lying promises they make.  Politics isn't really about helping people, as I loved doing; it's about power.

And that's all I've got for today.

She's got enough bad for all of us

Interesting developments at work.  For the record, names in this post have been changed to protect ... blah, blah, blah. You get the picture.

I work with a talented young lady named ... we'll call her "Mandy" ... who recently, due to life experiences, got a service dog.  Frankly, I'd never been up "close and personal" to one until now.  And I think I'm in love.

For as long as I remember ... I have suffered night terrors.  Why? ...  I do not know.  I have jumped out of bed in the middle of a deep sleep, launched in mid air, taking part in a dream ... rescuing, running, fighting ... almost killing myself jumping over the foot board and landing on the floor.  I've gone flying off the high king bed we live in at night multiple times, and have been caught by hubby most of those times.  When I wake up, because he's hanging on to me, I'm always shocked.  It's very unsettling.  It makes one not want to go to sleep.

So for now, I take medicine to put me down and keep me down.

Night terrors, sleep problems, are only one symptom of PTSD.  I'm not saying I have PTSD.  I only exhibit symptoms of it.  Mandy has also experienced trauma of some kind in her life.  So her doctor prescribed the dog.  Sweet and new to our workplace, he helps with coping.  Honestly, he (let's call him "Awesome") brings a calm to my world ... totally unexpected! He's a beautiful golden Lab, so quiet ... and the opposite of what you might expect from a Lab.

I am 5' 61/2" tall.  To give you an idea of his size, he walks over to me as I sit at my desk, and lays his head in my lap while he's standing up.  Before now, I literally feared big dogs.  I do not fear Awesome.

I snidely announce to Mandy that Awesome knows who his real 'Mama" is - who really needs him.

However, there are others who work in our building who have grumbled.  Who have stomped out of the room. Who have referred to Awesome as a "damn dog" and who called him "stinking."

Wow!  All I can say is ... Mandy is not one to be messed with.  She knows her rights.  She knows the law.  Wise or not, she has filed a claim against the uninformed bozos who messed with her.

Between you, me and the gatepost ... she's got enough bad for all of us.  She's one to be reckoned with.

I don't know how this will end, but I just wish we could all get along.  You know, life is short.  If I went back to school for a Masters, I've always thought it would be in Mediation.  I believe that communication, calm and deliberate, can solve so much more than going to war.  And communication involves listening.

Not just talking.

And that's all I've got for today.

If you want something to talk about, I'll give it to you

Over the past several days, I've been working on what I wanted to say here: first, that regardless of good or bad, I want to start posting something every day.  Where I am.  What I'm thinking. Where I want to be. What I shouldn't have thought about. What I shouldn't have done.

Most who come here don't know me, and that's very good. Those who do, may find surprises from time to time, especially when I get real.  But I really need to be honest.  I need to quit pretending.

I've used Facebook for some time now, because it's fast. Because I don't have to say much there.  But I have got to start getting it down. The path I've been crawling. 

The past 18 months or so have included some very rough spots in my life, some healing, and lots of change.  I grew up as a PK.  Despite the fact that PKs get a bad wrap in life, I was a good PK.  Oh, I pulled pranks and had fun, but I was brought up to respect my preacher dad and not bring any reproach to his name.  So I walked the straight and narrow.  Always aware of the fish bowl that I swam in. 

But deep inside me there was brewing a rebel, who - though she couldn't dare express herself because of 'what others might think' - still felt it.  When the 30's hit, the rebel emerged. 

"If you want something to talk about," she thought to herself, "I'll give it to you."

And so she did.  She tested the love of those in her circle of faith.  And she was disappointed.  It seems that many enjoy seeing people fall off the pedestal.  They like to talk about it.  They like to stir it around.  Examine it.  They like it because it makes them feel better.

We all, even the holy ones, have our demons.  I have many that I fight.  What about you?

The 30's have come and gone.  I still fight the demons, as was proven over the past 18 months.  I do not like being submissive, for one.  I do not care for those who gossip.  I can't stand laziness.  I have a difficult time turning the other cheek (Bible talk for responding to hatred with kindness).

Some of my posts may be negative, but here is where I will lay it all out from time to time.  If you don't like it, don't come back.

And that's all I've got for today.

Excited & Antsy ... that would be me

Thank goodness, there are family and friends who will "hold down the fort" (the home-front) while we travel.  And that's what we are preparing to do:  travel.

But, while I am excited about getting to see our little ones who live so far away ... (19-hour road trip) ...

... I am antsy at the same time.  This hasn't been the greatest month when it comes to my being in the car.

It started out earlier this month when I was leaving a parking lot after making a short presentation at a local VFW.  It was dark when I was leaving, and I was the only one out there.  So ... naturally ... I was in a hurry to get into the vehicle and get moving.  I started backing ... alas!  What was that grinding noise?

I suddenly realized it was a pickup truck that had parked beside me after I'd already gone into the VFW.  Cringing, I jumped out of the car thinking there was probably nothing to it.  We've all had those initial thoughts. Nothing to it.  That would be wrong.

And I was horrified.  I'd just spoken to a group of Veterans.  Whose was the pickup?  Which one would I have to bring back out to see the damage?  Honestly, I thought I might faint.  Or run.  Or run, then faint.  But no.  I was brought up better than that, and by parents who were ethical and Christian.  I have tried to follow in that same path.

So I did the bravest thing a wife can do:  call the husband, the man who has (seriously) put up with my nonsense and mishaps for 43+ years.  I remember another time I called him in an emergency:  when I had fallen and split open the back of my head.  This parking lot situation wasn't quite as bad, but I've had to evaluate which time was worse ...

Down to the VFW he came, ready to shield me from any flying anger.  We went inside and faced the music together.  It was really quite okay, though I shed a few tears (call me a baby - I don't care) ... The truck belonged to a National Guardsman, and GEICO took care of the problem without a hitch!

Less than three weeks later, in the same vehicle, we are driving down a country road that leads into our neighborhood.  Sidebar: I never go the speed limit on that road because it is a two-lane road and has woods on both sides.  But the husband is not as fearful as I.

Suddenly, a deer leaped out of the woods and across the road; we struck it full force on my side.  I screamed at the horrible, sickening smack and the jolt we felt.  I cried at the thought of that deer who'd survived a horrible summer, trying to get out of the heat, find water, and find living plants to eat ... only to get stuck down by a Toyota Hylander.

GEICO again ... but this time, a $500 deductible but no time to fix the car before we leave on our LONG road trip.  The front bumper torn off almost; the grill broken ... car repair place said we can use duct tape, which husband suggested.  He put tie-bands on the bumper to the steel, then covered with duct tape.  We are charming.

Then the daughter called.  They are expecting a huge snow storm in Nebraska, with up to 12".

I'm just hoping that duct tape will keep us together; that my one-eyed Pomeranian will keep me warm; and that the old metal potty we carried on trips when the kids were little will not have to serve its purpose again because of snow drifts ...

Keep Your Band-Aid Dry

I blogged about this accident in 2008, but tonight, I decided to take it a step further and share some photos.  The reason?  Several times since this happened to me, I have felt compelled to share the huge lesson I learned.  Every time people heard it, they expressed gratitude - immediately going home to "change the band-aid" or call their friend and make sure the wound was dry.

***PLEASE READ NO FURTHER IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, BECAUSE I AM GOING TO SHARE SOME PHOTOS.***

The story (below) is true and I'm hoping, with the holidays coming, that it might help someone to be a little smarter than I was!
December 24, 2007. We had enjoyed a wonderful time at the park, feeding the ducks with the "little men" ... 

12-24-07 - Just a little while after this was taken, the incident happened.

A while later, I was working alone in the kitchen, excited to be using my new Pampered Chef knife, anticipating all of the family coming in and the fun we had planned.  
Younger son and his wife were out running a quick errand while their little boys (ages 1 and almost 3) were taking a nap in the back bedroom; hubby was running an errand ... Brother and his wife driving in from Dallas ... Dad and his wife would also be joining us for dinner.  
I was chopping chicken and onions for a wonderful chicken enchilada dish, a great Christmas Eve meal. Oops. A small nick on the right forefinger. Happens all the time, doesn't it?  
I ran cold water over the cut, wiped it with a paper towel, noticed it wouldn't stop bleeding, so ran to the bathroom and grabbed a band-aid. Wrapped the finger. It was a great band-aid. Stuck extremely well (didn't want to fall off like so many want to).  
December 25. Christmas Day arrived. A wonderful day! ... though I did notice that my finger was sure sore. But the band-aid was holding up well. 

That evening, bathing the boys was a bit painful. I remember talking with the older one about "Mimi's" hurt finger with the band-aid...

One of those wonderful Christmas mornings, 12-25-07.  Excitement of little ones and joy in the air.

December 26. Everyone was scheduled to leave, which is always sad. Lots of hugs ... more eating ...  more hugging.  
My older son who had been out of state with his fiancee came in to visit for a while. Right after lunch, cars were being packed, and I was holding on to my little guys for as long as I could.

12-26-07 - I can't help but notice the exhaustion and pain on my face. Infection had set in, and I didn't know it.

When the last car pulled out, I lay down on the couch and called to my Hubby, telling him, finally, how much pain I was in. He was shocked when we removed the band-aid. We called the doctor.  
You know how difficult it is to get a doctor on a holiday? Right. Long story short, we headed for ER.  
An hour later, I'm on morphine, pumping all night long to keep it coming in. I do not, cannot go to sleep. The pain is excruciating.  
December 27. The doctor comes into my room and I throw up before I can even talk to him.  Morphine does that to me.  He tells me he has to operate.  He has to try and get the poison out.  I do not argue.  He puts me out and cuts my finger open; cuts open the palm of my hand; runs a tube through.  I wake up hours later discovering my whole hand up to the wrist is wrapped.  
December 28. It is agony having to run saline and medicine through my finger and hand. I literally scream during the procedure. I learned that the heart patient next door to me got to go home. I don't.

December 29. I can't believe the pain one small finger is causing me. I'm trying to walk in the hallways a little as my doctor ordered. People stop me, visitors, patients, other nurses; they've heard it was a 'knife accident', but they can't figure out how a middle-aged lady and knife accident go together.  
December 30. The doctor will not let me out of the hospital. I'm on two heavy-hitter antibiotics to stop the bad-boy infection. I'm finally starting to realize that I am very lucky to still have my finger, my hand, my life.

December 31. I am at last allowed to go home.  It is so odd. The last time I was home, I was waving good-bye to my kids, hugging my grandsons, my brother, my dad ...  
Everything is exactly where it was when we tore out of the house for the ER. Scattered wrapping paper; fruit cake; cups and saucers ... Hubby, who had been scared to death, had stayed by my side most of the horrid time in the hospital.

I walk around my home feeling a bit dazed -- like where did time go?  What kind of time warp was I in?  Usually by this time of year, I'm wrapping up my New Year's list, marking things off, writing thank-you's.  Often by this time, the tree is already back in the attic.  
I can't bear to look at my finger during the horrible cleaning and band-aid changing Hubby has to do for me. I am weak-kneed and giddy during the procedure.  And I still can't believe the holidays came and went .... 
The moral to this story ... KEEP YOUR BAND-AID DRY. It wasn't a dirty knife, or salmonella. Truth is, I didn't keep the band-aid dry. It was a great band-aid that stuck so well. But the minute it got wet, I should have removed it, dried the cut, and started over again with a dry band-aid. You would think I would have known that. But I had a house full of company, and I was just happy I'd found a band-aid that would stick.

I softly said, "Thank You"

Just quick note here tonight.  Our trip to Aledo this afternoon was long.  We took the back roads because they are so beautiful, smothered with trees and countryside and quaint towns.  But only 35 minutes from Aledo, the traffic literally stopped.  For a long while.

One suddenly feels vulnerable on the dark roadway, lanes full of impatient people.  You grow to anticipate behavior -- yelling, thunderous stereos playing, "important" people pulling into the middle turn-lane and speeding down the road determined to get ahead.


Then ... we saw Starflight from a distance, lifting up into the sky.  Minutes later, a firetruck flew by.  Finally, we started moving.  Slowly.


When we got to the bridge up ahead, we realized that someone had crashed through the guardrail, down the hillside, into the lake.  It was a terrible mess.

I softly said thank you.  Thank you for keeping us safe tonight, Lord. Only a handful of minutes from seeing our little grandsons who anxiously waited.  Thank you, Lord, for your mercy.


In the morning 'little men' will wake me, and we will play.  
And I am grateful that I will live another day.

Friends ~ Sunday Citar

I met her when I was in the 3rd grade; she was a year older - taller - smarter - wiser.  She knew my faults, but chose to ignore them.

A man's growth is seen in the successive choirs of his friends. ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


They moved away four years later.  I was heartbroken.  A heartbroken 7th-grader.


But somehow ... through the years ... we remained friends.  First, by letter. Snail mail, they call it today.  Graduating to E-mail when the computer age began.


Then visits.  She would fly in to see me, and we would always start our conversations right where we left off ... as if no time had passed by.  


After I had my three kiddos, she started her family.  


Today, I am awaiting the birth of my 9th grandchild. She still awaits her first ... "one day."


Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence.  ~ George Washington

Friends.  Hard to come by.  


Harder to keep.  


Today, she stood beside me on my front porch.  She is still taller than I am!  She knows my faults, except more of them ... she chooses to ignore them ... all of them ... and she still loves me "in spite."   Tomorrow, she flies out again.  I don't know when I'll see her next.

But this I do know.  I know that lifelong friends come few and far between.  So I figured "Sunday Citar" this week was worth two quotes today...

If you'd like to know more about "Sunday Citar" and what it's all about, visit freshmommyblog.com. It's fun to find a photo and a quote to go along.

Wordless Wednesday

Till All Men Learn to Live As Brothers - Sunday Citar

Ten years.  Can it possibly be?  Do you remember where you were?  I was in my living room, preparing to leave for work.  I froze.  Eyes glued to Good Morning America.  Was I seeing what I was seeing?


We had become so desensitized, calloused. We loved those awesome Bruce Willis movies, Die Hard ... Die Hard with a Vengeance ... etc.  Action-packed.  Thrilling.  But this ... not so much.


Life changed forever that morning.  


Forever.  


Every year, we remember.  EVERY year.


I had no grand babies then.  


My mother was still alive.


The economy flourished.  Hubby had an awesome job.


My nephew had not gone off to war ...


And so as we walk into tomorrow, the tenth 9/11 since that day, this old English prayer comes to mind ...
... a prayer that I pray ...
... for all mankind:

An Old English Prayer

Give us, Lord, a bit o' sun
a bit o' work and a bit o' fun;
give us all in th' struggle and splutter
our daily bread and a bit o' butter.

Give us health, our keep to make
an' a bit to spare for poor folks sake;
give us sense, for we're some of us duffers,
an' a heart to feel for all that suffers.

Give us, too, a bit of a song,
an' a tale, and a book to help us along,
an' give us our share o' sorrow's lesson
that we may prove how grief's a blessing.

Give us, Lord, a chance to be
our goodly best, brave, wise and free,
our goodly best for ourselves and others
till all men learn to live as brothers.

Amen.

Cousins - a Sunday Citar!

Cousins are those childhood playmates who grow up to be forever friends.

~ Anonymous

Yes, time again for Sunday Citar!!!!!  Time to share a special photo with a quote to go along. Then go and visit http://tabithablue.blogspot.com/ and share!  It's so much fun!

Saying Good-Bye

I'm not good at losing people.  The most special uncle in the world is in the hospital right now.  I can't even begin to tell you what he has done for me and my family ... for my children ... for just about everyone who has ever needed a shoulder to lean on ... or has ever been in need of help.

He has always been a very private person, though, when it comes to HIS needs.  If he were ever sick, he didn't want you to know.  If he were ever in the hospital or having surgery, he made sure you knew that he did not want you to come in to see him.  He was very serious about this.  I had to respect his wishes.

When he would talk about the possibility of people praying for him, he almost made me laugh.  He said we could certainly pray -- but he didn't want to show up on a prayer list somewhere.  Or on a prayer chain.  I understand exactly what he's talking about.

If you've ever been involved in a spiritual family, you've probably heard the interminable lists of people needing prayers.  Worse than that -- you've heard people ask for prayers for the sister of the uncle of the best friend ... on and on ...  Recently in a class, someone even asked for prayers for the friend of their friend, but they couldn't remember their name ...

I hate to write this, but a majority of the time, once you walk out the door, the prayer list is tossed.  You don't think about "that list" because you didn't even know "those people" anyway.  He doesn't want to be on that prayer list.

Several weeks ago, my uncle finally shared with my Dad, who is 90 years old, that he has cancer in his hip.  He's actually been fighting cancer here and there for 20 years ... and it finally moved in to stay.  Chemo, radiation, big-time medicines.  He's done all of that.  And last Friday night, three days after he visited my family, he fell and fractured that hip.  On Monday, he had surgery.  For the past four days since ... nothing but sheer agony.  Infection has set in, pneumonia, and spreading cancer.

I have done a lot of crying over the past couple of days.  But I do know one thing:  my uncle is ready to go.  He does not want to be dependent on anyone.  He wants to go home.  His faith is unbelievably strong.  As my cousin, his only son wrote to me yesterday, my uncle is at peace.

How would I have imagined that Tuesday a week ago, when he drove out to my home (an hour away from his) to visit with my family, to share his faith in God, to state his belief in the afterlife and in the importance of living this life as close to God as possible ... to put that first, above your job, your education, your 'stuff'... How would I have imagined that when he drove off that evening after opening up his heart and putting it out on the table, that might be the last time I would see him?

Tonight he is in terrible pain.  No visitors are allowed on his floor in the hospital.  My dad is so torn up.  His brother, the stronghold, is leaving us.  The lump in my throat is swelling.  I cannot fathom not having this uncle at the other end of the line.  I cannot fathom the rest of the Sundays in my life without him at my table, playing his harmonica, but I know that I may not see him again.

"Shall We Gather at the River" was one of his favorite hymns he would play on his harmonica.  "Yes, we'll gather at the river," he would play and tap his foot, "... the beautiful, the beautiful river ... Gather with the Saints at the river that flows by the throne of God ..."

Yes, he'll be gathering there with all of the loved ones who have gone before, who chose to love the Lord and put Him first.

He told my dad the other day, "When it's my time to go, I won't fight it.  I've had a fabulous life."

Those were the exact words of my uncle who will be 89 on August 18 ... if he makes it.  But he would much rather gather at the river.

♥ Mother ♥

Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together.  ~Pearl S. Buck

I am "greening" this post for my Sunday Citar, in celebration of my mother's 9th year of INDEPENDENCE from pain.

May 26, 1922 ~ July 3, 2002

Mary Margaret - High School graduation

Writer, poet, artist, historian, musician, an avid reader, Magna Cum Laude graduate from Abilene Christian University, focusing on English Literature ... my mother.

My grandmother with my mother soon after her birth.
I still have this basket...

Wife of almost 60 years, mother of three, grandmother of five, great-grandmother of six, friend to all, and one who adored her God.

While another Independence Day was celebrated seven years ago, I sat in disbelief on the curb with my daughter, who reminds me so much of Mother ... her cheekbones, the curve of her mouth ... her love of books and stories and words ... her poetic nature ... her sense of humor.

As we watched the glorious fireworks together on the evening following the day my mother died, my insides were numb; my emotions, raw.

Brightness flashed across the sky, lighting our faces; and then shadows crawled; lighting up, darkening again, as fire and rocket spinners whistled in the night air only to fizzle into darkness again. It was the first of the many holidays we would go through without her; it was the first July 4th that I didn't scream and clap and cheer at the display.

My mother was named Mary after her grandmother, and Margaret, after her aunt who was Lucile Margaret. Mother and Lucile were only 14 years apart; Lucile was Mother's first school teacher.

Lucile, age 14, holding Mother, 1 month old

They enjoyed so many things together. History, the arts, dominoes, antiquing ... On the day we followed the ambulance to take my mother to hospice ~ my great aunt Lucile, 95 years of age, drove in the rain on an errand and was hit by a pick-up truck. I am sure that the news of my mother had reached her, and that Mother was in her thoughts and prayers, and on her heart.

On that day, while my family gathered together to keep vigil over Mother ... my great aunt, unknown to us, was flown by helicopter to the hospital. My aunt and cousins kept vigil over Lucile.

While my mother slept peacefully for five days in hospice, Lucile lived in a coma in a hospital room only two hours away.

On the fifth day, Lucile awoke from her coma and said that chocolate ice cream sounded good.

On the fifth day, moments after I finished playing Beethoven's Farewell to the Piano on the old upright piano in the hospice foyer, my mother's spirit left her ... with that tune in her heart, I would like to think. It had been my last piano recital piece 35 years before, and Mother loved to hear me play it.

On the fifth day, approximately two hours following Mother's death, Lucile, having enjoyed her small bowl of chocolate ice cream, abruptly and without warning, joined my mother.

My mother's memorial service was standing room only. The following day, our shattered family drove two hours away to Lucile's funeral, standing room only.

The ones who remembered all of the stories ~ our family historians and matriarchs ~ were gone. But they were together still.

I shall never forget what the Minister said at Lucile's funeral. He referenced the unusual closeness which the aunt and her niece had enjoyed ...

"It was as if," he said, "Mary Margaret had said that she was going shopping ... and Lucile said, 'Wait a minute! Let me grab my jacket, and I'll tag along'."

Mother, her health failing, with her aunt Lucile and her sweet sister Sue

This weekend, I will be keeping some great-grand-babies of Mother's ... she never saw or got to hold them. I will be busy.

There will be no moment to mourn. I will rejoice. I will celebrate the lifeline of my mother, her blood which flows through my veins and through my children and grandchildren.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote:

Take this sorrow to thy heart,
and make it a part of thee,
and it shall nourish thee
till thou art strong again.

My mother always had the biggest smile. She never met a stranger. You know, I hope that people will remember me that way.

What we have once enjoyed and deeply loved
we can never lose,
for all that we love deeply
becomes a part of us.

- Helen Keller -

Sunday Citar ♥ Sisters

She is your mirror, shining back at you with a world of possibilities. She is your witness, who sees you at your worst and best, and loves you anyway. She is your partner in crime, your midnight companion, someone who knows when you are smiling, even in the dark. She is your teacher, your defense attorney, your personal press agent, even your shrink. Some days, she's the reason you wish you were an only child.

-- Barbara Alpert

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Above is my sister and I; we are five years apart. She, of course, must remind me of that quite often ~ that I am the 'older' sister. Yep, she was a brat then; she's still a brat.

And it probably takes a brat to know a brat! ♥

She Wanted Out, Where Doggies Roamed and the Swing Awaited Her

Better keep yourself clean and bright; you are the window through which you must see the world.

~ George Bernard Shaw

May 26, 1970 ♥ 41 Years

It's time to post this again -- first posted this two years ago -- and here we are, survivors of two more years!  Here's the story of 'us' --






It all started with two dumb kids ...

We met in an English class in Abilene, Texas, during summer school.
I had just returned to Abilene Christian from Australia a few months earlier.

When WannabeHubby called my parents in Australia to ask 'permission' to marry me, he said something to my dad like, "With your permission I would like to marry your daughter..."

I figure that was probably not the choicest way to begin a conversation with Dad ... for the very first time.

My dad said, "May I speak with my daughter?"

So ... several months later, my parents and sister Sarah came home on 'furlough' from Sydney.

Sarah, five years younger (she always brags) and who had inherited our great grandmother's wedding band, gave me 'something borrowed' to wear ... it also doubled as 'something old' ...

My foster sister Barbara who had come to live with our family when I was 13, helped me with make-up and all that other girl-fluff-stuff.

My mother wanted to make sure my veil was just right.

After all, I was her first child to marry.

It had to be perfect.
But, read on ... it wasn't.

Mother always needed to make sure she had plenty of tissues ...

or was she, perhaps, praying??

Sarah was my 'Maid of Honor' ...

My brother Raymon was the 'Best Man' ...

Somehow, while the men were waiting for the music to start, you know ... in that little room at the front of the auditorium ...

Raymon suddenly remembered something important ...
He had not arranged for the ride for Hubby's parents, who had flown in from California, to get to the church building ...

Uh oh.

In the meantime, Hubby's parents had called the church building to say,
"If you want us there for the wedding, someone had better come and get us ..."

Raymon, at 6'4", could not think of a way to get out of that little room without everyone in the auditorium seeing him and knowing something was wrong.
So he crawled (in his tuxedo) out through the small window, ran around the church building, and enlisted my great uncle Marshall to dash to the motel.
And then somehow he got back into the little room.

Fortunately, I did not know about this at the time.

To further complicate matters, the florist did not bring a lighter for the candles.
And no one seemed to have matches.
The florist wound up going up and down the street, knocking on doors, asking for matches...

Fortunately, I did not know about this at the time.

I do remember, however, asking Mother if I was making a mistake.

Perhaps that is what she was digging in her purse for ... a pill!

During the ceremony, my uncle Byron "enjoyed" the privilege of escorting folks down the aisle, including Hubby's mom.

We were thankful that my great uncle was there to pick them up from the motel!

Byron vowed never to be in a wedding again but (of course) he was.

My cousin Bonnie was my "Bridesmaid" ... my little cousin Julie was my "Flower Girl."
Bonnie is now a grandmother, and Julie is a mommy of three growing kids!

Hubby was the only kid of his parents.

He laughs and says people always asked whose kid he was.

His parents were short; yet, he stood right at 6 feet.

I, on the other hand, had tall parents ~ but I was the runt of their three.

My dad, a Minister for the church of Christ, performed our wedding ceremony.

He preached for 45 minutes.

Our feet fell asleep.

But it was pay-back for that phone call ...

We were glad to finally escape the podium.




My aunt, Martha, made my beautiful wedding gown.
In 1974, sister Sarah wore it in her May wedding.
She and her husband celebrated their 35th wedding anniversary earlier this month ...

Twenty-five years after our wedding, daughter Shannon wore that gown.

And that beautiful veil.
My aunt Marilyn (Uncle Byron's wife) altered the sleeves and other things.

After Shannon's wedding, I had the gown cleaned and preserved.
She is saving it for her daughter, Brayla, in case she would like to wear it one day ...

Our family believes in recycling.

Getting back to May 26, 1970 ... our reception was sweet and very simple ...

My great aunt Lucile did most of the planning, for which I will be eternally grateful.

Especially for those wonderful butter-mints!!

We were married in Corpus Christi, Texas, just up the street from the Bay.
It somehow seemed fitting;
I was born in Corpus Christi, across from the Bay.



And there we were ... two dumb kids off to change the world.

You and I know that time doesn't stand still. Not for anyone. And the world changed.

My precious mother has passed. My beautiful aunt Marilyn who re-did the gown has passed. My great aunt Lucile who planned the reception and great uncle Marshall who picked up Hubby's parents have passed. Both of Hubby's parents, who almost missed the wedding, have passed. My foster sister Barbara has passed, taken by cancer when she was only 36.

But I have been blessed. Hubby and I eventually had three little kids who did not stay little. They grew into marvelous adults, all married now. And there are now six grandchildren, gifts from my daughter and younger son.

No, life doesn't stand still. 39 years bring a lot of change. Wars and rumors of war. Death and sadness. Tears. Moves across the country. Adjustments. Good-byes. New life. Joy. And lots of love.

I tell my kids and young adults I meet -- marriage is for life. It's serious business and very hard work. It takes 100% commitment from both. Has our marriage always been blissful? Not on your life! Did we go through a lot of pain and tears? You bet. Did we ever want to give up ... throw in the towel? Of course. Are we thankful we didn't. Absolutely.

Wordless Wednesday

Sunday Citar - The Clock of Life

"The clock of life is wound but once

and no man has the power

to know just when the clock will stop

at late or early hour.

This is the only time we own.

Live, love, work with a will.

Place no faith in tomorrow for

the clock may then be still."

My dad, now 90 years old, used to quote this old poem when he was preaching about the brevity and uncertainty of life.  It truly speaks for itself, without my commentary.  It holds sentimental meaning and deep truth for me.

The old clock, I inherited.  It towers eight feet tall tall.  Of rich walnut wood, it came from England and was made in the late 1700's, early 1800's.  It, too, has sentimental value; I nursed all three babies while its heavy pendulum slowly swung back and forth -- as I sat alone in the home of my parents during quiet, early hours of the morning.  

Life is so short.  My mother is gone.  My babies are grown, with children of their own.  And the clock of life is wound but once ...

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