Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Startling Thought
My last blog just prompted the most startling thought! What if McKinley has her Daddy's big ole head with a Honey-sized body? She'll never be able to walk! Great....now I'll be biting my fingernails 'til she's born....
Fly Sandwiches
For me one of life's greatest pleasures is knowing exactly who I came from and feeling the connection that binds all of us together. I love to look in the mirror and see the shape and color of Granny's eyes, Grandad's nose, and most especially PawPaw's dark, wavy hair. These traits remind me of them every day. They remind me not only of who I came from, but how I am the link that binds them to the ones who will follow. I didn't mention MawMaw in there. Of all four grandparents, she is the one that I look absolutely nothing like. But genetics are funny in that they don't just show up in our eye color and facial features, but in our personalities as well. I have always found genetics fascinating. Like how I'm tempered like PawPaw and Granny in terms of being happy pretty much all the time, but didn't get an ounce of PawPaw's nature to worry (thank heavens!). Honey and J got the giant doses of that, poor ole souls. I'm tempered like all four in the aspect that they all had a great sense of humor and were fun loving. I failed to get Grandad's temper, and I failed to inherit MawMaw's pouting abilities, but I did inherit the great love of music that Grandad, PawPaw, and MawMaw all shared. I can still hear Grandad's and PawPaw's voices singing and it always makes me smile. When I think of MawMaw singing I never fail to remember the first Christmas home from college that Honey, MawMaw, and I were sitting together in church and MawMaw came in a full measure ahead of everyone else in "O Little Town of Bethlehem". The "Oooooooooooooooh" still rings loud in my ears and still makes me bust out laughing just like it did then. In fact, I had to get up and leave I was laughing so hard. Honey was about 2 seconds behind me. I believe it took about 20 minutes to compose ourselves enough to go back in only to have MawMaw say to the lady next to her (in her most somber voice), "I'm sorry they acted that way." The lady's response (in her most somber voice) was, "We just raise them the best we can". Those comments naturally did nothing but get us going again. One of the best things I got from MawMaw, aside from a definite and pretty serious mischevious streak, are her crazy dream genetics. She dreams the craziest stuff I've ever heard aside from the crazy stuff I dream. In fact, a couple of years ago she and I died laughing on the phone as she told me about one dream in particular that I've never forgotten. She dreamed that Honey and Uncle Bud were little, they were hungry, and she only had one rotten tomato left to make a sandwich out of. So, she cut off as much of the bad parts as she could to make them a rotten tomato sandwich when someone showed up at the door and she felt that she needed to give them the sandwich instead. But that left her with nothing to feed her poor little youngins with, so she saw a fly buzzing around, caught it, and made them a fly sandwich to eat. The best part to any of the descriptions she gives of her dreams is when she finishes the story and ends with, "Now ain't that crazy?" Ha ha ha. That's exactly why I love them! They are crazy just like mine! The other night I dreamed a big ole black bear was coming after me and the kids and I got the kids behind me, picked up a giant rock and waited to see what the bear would do. It ate some sort of dead animal about ten feet from us and when it finished it turned our direction, stood up on it's hind legs and roared. I knew that with black bears if there is no way of getting away, then you should get to higher ground, make yourself as big as you can, and make as much noise as possible, so I lifted the giant rock over my head and roared back. It roared again, so I roared back. It roared a third time, and in my dream I let out the loudest, deepest, most inhuman roar back and it turned and ran off. The next morning I wasn't the least bit suprised to learn that I had, alas, roared out loud in my sleep. Oh the things poor Clint has to put up with! Fortunately after all these years he's used to it. I broke him in quick the second night we were married when I dreamed I was fighting somebody and kneed him right in the butt cheek as hard as I could while I was asleep. I hit him so hard I woke myself up just to find him jumping around the motel room (lit only by the dim light coming through the drapes from the street lamps below) with a cramp in his butt. Needless to say for some reason he has always slept with his back to me since and I can't for the life of me figure out why. I guess it's a good thing, otherwise we might not have ever had children. So far, none of my youngins have exhibited any signs that they might also carry this gene. Who knows, maybe it's one that skips generations. I sure hope not. I'd really hate for them to miss out on the joys of waking up after a full nights sleep of crazy dreams. I also failed to pass practically any of those good Lail/Scott/Whaley/Sutton genes on to them since in appearances I did nothing but incubate them. The only evidence that they are mine are in the shape of Erika's eyes, which are shaped like mine and Granny's. I'm hoping that at least maybe they'll have inherited some of those characteristics passed down to me that don't just show up on the outside. I guess only time will tell. I'd hate to be a complete recessive gene. After all, it would be a terrible shame for them not to inherit any of the good stuff coming from my side of the family, because there is a whole big fat pile of a lot of good. I've always known I was super blessed to be born to the family I was, and the older I get the more I realize how rare and wonderful of a gift it was. I'm one of the few people who's very first emotion when thinking about their family as a whole is pure, undiluted happiness and love followed instantaneoulsy by laughter. Lots and lots of laughter. Most people are embarrassed by their "weird" family. Hogwash I say! Every family is weird. I'm just grateful I was sent to mine...face-making, prank-pulling, song-singing, laughter-loving, hard working, adventuresome, giant-hearted, bug-eyeing, parable-speaking, sunny-side-of life, loyal, loving lot that they are.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
One Last Treasure
It didn't take very long at all after discovering that we were expecting another baby that our thoughts turned to Nana accompanied by the sense of hollowness at not being able to tell her the news, of knowing that she won't be here to hold this little one and cuddle her in her quiet, unassuming, unobtrusive way. This baby will only know her from the photos and stories that we'll share with her. We've talked several times about how even though McKinley won't have her Nana here with her in person, she is getting some great one on one time with her right now while she's waiting to make her appearance, and we've laughed about how if Nana has anything to do with it, McKinley will have a few tricks up her sleeves and a mischeivious twinkle in her eye too. Among those thoughts and others, we both recognized that one of the things she won't have is a blanket made for her by her Nana. Fast forward to last Monday, the day after Mother's Day. I opened a box we got in the mail from Rebecca to find this blanket inside with a short note about it being a blanket for a girl grandbaby made by Nana. It's a good thing the note was so short because I couldn't have read any further anyway. I stood in the kitchen in shock with big ole fat tears running down my face, grateful for a sister-in-law so selfless to share one last treasure from her mother with us. The story goes something like this: Last summer while Rebecca was cleaning out the house she was going through a stack of quilts that Nana had made and came across this baby blanket. She said she knew it wasn't for her, Jessica said she knew it wasn't for her, and Rebecca said she knew Nana had meant if for somebody and it must be meant for us. So, she decided to put it in our box of things, but felt like she should take it home with her instead because she didn't know when we would be able to come get it. None of us had an inkling last summer that a miracle was about to take place, but having been gone already almost two years somehow Nana had known and had made this quilt for our baby girl. So typical of who she was and how in tune she always seemed to be with her family and things that truly mattered. Two and half years after she left us, she is still blessing our lives, still letting us know that even though we cannot see her she is still right here with us. How fortunate I feel to have been blessed with this extraordinary woman as the mother of my husband (whom I can see her reflection in daily), as my mother-in-law, and the grandmother of my children who also remind me of her almost daily in their looks and personalities. I am so reminded by her of the words to the song "A Mother's Eyes Relfect the Love of Heaven" by Steven Jones:
"A mother's eyes reflect the love of heaven.
A love borne long before this life began.
A love which grows each day, which will not fade away,
A love inspired by Heavenly Father's plan.
A mother's hands reflect a life of service,
A life of sacrifice for those she loves,
And with her giving hands she shapes the soul of man,
Prepares him for eternal life above.
A mother's life reflects itself in our life,
Her ways of living are engrained in ours,
And through the changing years and days of joys and tears,
Her love will lead us on."
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Keeping These Things In My Heart
I've got to admit that that little leg looks an awful lot like mine. As inconceivable (get it, inconceivable) as it sounds, it sure looks like mine. Maybe because this baby is mine. I can't even describe the total and utter shock I felt at discovering that once again I was carrying a baby. Just imagine me standing in our room looking at Clint with eyes the size of saucers exclaiming the first thought that came to my reeling mind, "I'm 35!" For seven years we had believed that we couldn't have any more children. I had consigned myself to knowing that I would never again feel the movements marking the growth of life within me again, not with bitterness, but looking forward with faith that God knows all and unspeakably grateful for the children I do have. How could I find reason to complain when I have already been so blessed?!? There has always been the feeling of someone missing, so I just assumed that adoption was the answer, and that once again God would bring whatever baby into our lives that belongs to us, just like he did with Jackson. Thyroid surgery not quite two months past, mid-renovation on the building we bought to open the studio, adoption papers in and literally 2 days away from publishing, learning I was pregnant was literally the LAST thing in the world I expected. How could I thinking it was no longer possible? Days of walking around in a complete stupor ensued. Days that turned to weeks and still I could not fathom the possibility. 12 weeks we hear the heartbeat and I cried at the sound I never expected to hear again. And still the shock remained, the surrealness overwhelming. But amid the daze of those first few months was an incredible pervading sense of absolute wonder that permeated our home. Telling the kids was unimaginable, especially when they had all three been begging me for a couple of years to have another one even though I kept telling them I couldn't. Sometimes kids just know things we don't. I'll never forget as long as I live sitting around the kitchen table that evening after we told them talking about "If it's a girl, what would we name her?, "If it's a boy, what would we name him?" Leave it to Kail to come up with the most perfect name ever. In fact, his exact words as he threw his hands up in the air to stop our conversation were, "Wait! Wait! I've got it! If it's a boy we should name him Shipper Glunky Blaine. It's perfect!" Is it any wonder that after that moment we called the baby nothing but "Shipper" until the ultrasound revealed that they all three got their wish of having a baby sister? Remarkably we asked the kids not to tell anyone and they didn't. Not a soul. We made it five months before anyone besides family and a few very close friends knew a thing. Even six months in some cases. Clint would've shouted it from the rooftops from day one, but me, I couldn't say a word. I had the hardest time finding a way to put into words the reason why I just couldn't share it, but I couldn't. As odd as it sounds, the joy was just too much. The wonder so thick it was palpable. I understood on a level I never comprehended before the words in Luke 2:19 where it talks about how Mary "kept all these things and pondered them in her heart". When you're living part of a miracle talking about it to any and everyone is just too much. So for those who didn't know, I didn't share our joy as soon as usual not out of selfishness, or out of fear, but out of deep marvel and respect for another literal miracle in my life. I was simply just keeping all these things and pondering them in my heart.
(Me and McKinley at six months)
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
The Pinball
Some of my very best memories throughout my life are those where MawMaw has come for a visit. I remember after we moved to Arkansas J and I could hardly bear the anticipation of waiting for her and PawPaw to arrive when we knew they were on their way. I remember one year not long after we moved there she was playing "Come Closer" with us in the back yard and she fell. It made Honey mad, and it made me and MawMaw die laughing. I believe that incident was a couple of years after the visit when we went shopping in Fort Smith, she stepped off the curb, and the next thing we know she was laying on the ground. She didn't even fall, she just sort of rolled gracefully down. I was six at the time. No matter how much Honey threatened me, I COULD NOT stop laughing. MawMaw was laughing too. She seriously looked exactly like a roly poly wollering around on the ground in my six-year-old eyes. I nearly stopped breathing I was laughing so hard. I don't know if it was her laughter or her legs that wouldn't let her get up from there, maybe a combination of both, but somehow I know she eventually did or she'd still be layin' there to this day I guess as much help as I was. Let me reiterate...she was laughing too. I remember that I wouldn't let Honey wash my sheets for at least a week after they left because they smelled like her.
In September 2007, I got to go on a grand adventure with her in Colorado and New Mexico for Uncle Bud's wedding. Driving Ms. Lail around in the Jeep Liberty I had rented on those New Mexico dirt back roads was nothing short of awesome. There had been a rare rain storm the day before the wedding, so there were some really nice mud puddles I made sure to hit going about 30 just to hear her holler when the water would go up over the vehicle. There just so happens to be a tie between the best moment of that trip though, both involving her and her control-top pantyhose. We pulled, and we pulled, and we pulled trying to get them things on. However it wasn't until AFTER she got sick from dehydration (Ms. Lail is notoriously stubborn and REFUSED to drink water) and we got her back to the room that we discovered that she had a girdle on too. (Apparently at 81 years old she had decided unbeknownst to us that she needed to not only wear support hose, but a girdle as well). We pulled, and we pulled, and we pulled gettin' them suckers off. At one point I had one leg of the hose stretched pert near all the way across the room. I think any human being that had squeezed themselves into a girdle AND a pair of control-top panty hose on a typical hot-in-the-desert-day would be woozy. Imagine the consternation of feeing terrible for her because she was so sick, and recognizing the hilarity of the circumstances surrounding the situation all at the same time. That's one of those memories that is forever burned into my brain.
At 83 years and 11 months, I am so happy that she is still wants to, and is still able to come spend time with me. So, last week I took off to North Carolina to get her and bring her back home with me for a two week visit.
(Me and MawMaw 3/8/2011)
Now when it comes to MawMaw, we have discovered a few tricks to keeping her happy. It is widely known that MawMaw is almost always affable as long as you stick to these "tricks". First, is the "feed and water" method. You do not EVER let her get hungry. She gets ill as a hornet if she is hungry, and if you let her go too long without taking care of her dietary needs you WILL get stung. Chinese food will get you bonus points. Second, as long as you take her on some kind of little "field trip" almost every day she will be as content as can be. This can be as simple as a trip to Dollar General, Dollar Tree, etc. It is this second trick, combined with the third (do not get between her and candy if you don't want to get run over) that has earned her her latest name, "The Pinball". This trip I have discovered what I should have seen for years, but never seemed to be enlightened enough to grasp. I don't know, maybe it's the hormones from carrying this baby that have helped me gain it, but I have come to the conclusion that alas, MawMaw is a pinball. She moves as slow as molasses (which at practically 84 she has earned the right to do), but take her to a store and she can move as quick as lightnin'! It's just like drawing back the spring on a pinball machine...getting her to the store is the draw back, walking through the front door is letting the spring go. I say pinball, because when Ms. Lail shops there is no rhyme or reason to her scurrying. She goes from the back left of the store to the front right, from the front right to the middle, from the middle back to the back left, to the front, to the back right, to the middle, to the front left. And you know how on a pinball machine up at the top there are usually two or three bumpers that if your pinball gets between those it bounces back and forth really really fast and gets all kinds of points, well that's the candy and cookie isle in the store. DO NOT get in her way or you will be peeling yourself off the floor. Ding! Da-da-ding! D-d-d-d-d-d-Ding! Da-Ding! Da-Ding! Mr. Goodbar! SCORE!
(MawMaw checkin' out the shams to the new bedspread she bought...she'll chatter all the way home now. I love it!)
Now, just for clarification, I am in no way making fun of or picking on my MawMaw. I couldn't ask for a better one, and can't imagine why in the world I would want to! I have always appreciated her sense of humor and how fun she can be, and treasure the adventures I have had with her. All these years I have looked forward to our visits together, knowing that we will always find something to die laughing about. And first thing tomorrow morning I expect to be woken by the sound of her little scuffles on her way to make her coffee, I expect to find her sneaking cookies for breakfast, and I expect to watch her doze most of the afternoon in the chair next to me. Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to get some of her good tales about working at the "asylum", or tying PawPaw's big toe to the bed post while he was asleep and laughing about him falling on the floor when he tried to get up, or about the time she put a baby mouse down her older sister's dress, etc. Needless to say, she has always been a mischevious one, and that's one of the things I love the most about her. My little Pinball MawMaw. Spit-doing! Watch her go!
(Contents from her cart today.... 1 box of moon pies, 1 pack of mini hershey chocolate bars, oreos, apple fritter bread, dentyne fire, and a prescription of Actose for her blood sugar....Ha ha ha ha)
In September 2007, I got to go on a grand adventure with her in Colorado and New Mexico for Uncle Bud's wedding. Driving Ms. Lail around in the Jeep Liberty I had rented on those New Mexico dirt back roads was nothing short of awesome. There had been a rare rain storm the day before the wedding, so there were some really nice mud puddles I made sure to hit going about 30 just to hear her holler when the water would go up over the vehicle. There just so happens to be a tie between the best moment of that trip though, both involving her and her control-top pantyhose. We pulled, and we pulled, and we pulled trying to get them things on. However it wasn't until AFTER she got sick from dehydration (Ms. Lail is notoriously stubborn and REFUSED to drink water) and we got her back to the room that we discovered that she had a girdle on too. (Apparently at 81 years old she had decided unbeknownst to us that she needed to not only wear support hose, but a girdle as well). We pulled, and we pulled, and we pulled gettin' them suckers off. At one point I had one leg of the hose stretched pert near all the way across the room. I think any human being that had squeezed themselves into a girdle AND a pair of control-top panty hose on a typical hot-in-the-desert-day would be woozy. Imagine the consternation of feeing terrible for her because she was so sick, and recognizing the hilarity of the circumstances surrounding the situation all at the same time. That's one of those memories that is forever burned into my brain.
At 83 years and 11 months, I am so happy that she is still wants to, and is still able to come spend time with me. So, last week I took off to North Carolina to get her and bring her back home with me for a two week visit.
Now when it comes to MawMaw, we have discovered a few tricks to keeping her happy. It is widely known that MawMaw is almost always affable as long as you stick to these "tricks". First, is the "feed and water" method. You do not EVER let her get hungry. She gets ill as a hornet if she is hungry, and if you let her go too long without taking care of her dietary needs you WILL get stung. Chinese food will get you bonus points. Second, as long as you take her on some kind of little "field trip" almost every day she will be as content as can be. This can be as simple as a trip to Dollar General, Dollar Tree, etc. It is this second trick, combined with the third (do not get between her and candy if you don't want to get run over) that has earned her her latest name, "The Pinball". This trip I have discovered what I should have seen for years, but never seemed to be enlightened enough to grasp. I don't know, maybe it's the hormones from carrying this baby that have helped me gain it, but I have come to the conclusion that alas, MawMaw is a pinball. She moves as slow as molasses (which at practically 84 she has earned the right to do), but take her to a store and she can move as quick as lightnin'! It's just like drawing back the spring on a pinball machine...getting her to the store is the draw back, walking through the front door is letting the spring go. I say pinball, because when Ms. Lail shops there is no rhyme or reason to her scurrying. She goes from the back left of the store to the front right, from the front right to the middle, from the middle back to the back left, to the front, to the back right, to the middle, to the front left. And you know how on a pinball machine up at the top there are usually two or three bumpers that if your pinball gets between those it bounces back and forth really really fast and gets all kinds of points, well that's the candy and cookie isle in the store. DO NOT get in her way or you will be peeling yourself off the floor. Ding! Da-da-ding! D-d-d-d-d-d-Ding! Da-Ding! Da-Ding! Mr. Goodbar! SCORE!
Now, just for clarification, I am in no way making fun of or picking on my MawMaw. I couldn't ask for a better one, and can't imagine why in the world I would want to! I have always appreciated her sense of humor and how fun she can be, and treasure the adventures I have had with her. All these years I have looked forward to our visits together, knowing that we will always find something to die laughing about. And first thing tomorrow morning I expect to be woken by the sound of her little scuffles on her way to make her coffee, I expect to find her sneaking cookies for breakfast, and I expect to watch her doze most of the afternoon in the chair next to me. Maybe I'll be fortunate enough to get some of her good tales about working at the "asylum", or tying PawPaw's big toe to the bed post while he was asleep and laughing about him falling on the floor when he tried to get up, or about the time she put a baby mouse down her older sister's dress, etc. Needless to say, she has always been a mischevious one, and that's one of the things I love the most about her. My little Pinball MawMaw. Spit-doing! Watch her go!
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Through the Deep Waters
Roughly two months ago I had two seperate conversations, one with Clint and one with Honey. In each I talked with them about my experiences, most especially my experiences with my mother-in-law, and how they so permanently changed me. Changed me for the better. I even blogged about writing my bucket list, a direct result of those experiences. What I didn't include in that blog, but was the basis of these two conversations, was how very much I had come to understand that I am not afraid to die. What I am afraid of is wasting my time doing things that don't matter while I'm here instead. I can't help but laugh at the irony of a week after talking about that very thing I discover the tumor in my neck. Looking back I can see that coming to that understanding before I found it was all part of God's preparation for me for what was to come.
I write pretty freely in my blogs, what is going through my crazy head, and often what is in my heart. Yet, there is always a part of me that holds back, tentative I guess, maybe a little worried of offending, and always, always, always fearful of being misunderstood. Being misunderstood could be the theme song of my life. So I hope you'll forgive the missing filter of this particular blog, but I can't deny the almost need to write of my experiences of late.
Surgery was, of course, a great success. And, as I have come to rely so heavily on, I had Clint and Honey here caring for all of us. Again, there is such beauty in family, and again I am so grateful for the one I have. I was doing well enough Thursday that Honey felt comfortable to head back to Bama, and Clint was back at work. I was sore, but I was doing great. I began running a little fever Saturday night, but felt well enough to insist on Clint taking me to church Sunday morning. Sunday afternoon I sneezed and thought I would die (I had busted apart the muscle that had been sewn back together during surgery). Sunday evening Clint started me on antibiotics. Monday, I was determined that I was just fine and I was not going to stay in bed (I am a little famous for being stubborn). It was Labor Day and I was going to play no matter what, and so naturally Tuesday I tanked and tanked hard. I had redness and swelling all the way up my throat and three inches down from my collarbone. I had excruciating pain in my neck. I was running a nasty fever. I felt so bad I even cried, that in itself being astonishing. I've only felt that sick one other time. I prayed so hard that evening. Since I had found the lump, as I described in my earlier blog, I had felt myself being carried. Through the whole process, even through surgery, I never doubted, I never worried because I knew I was going to be just fine. But that evening, I felt the pricklings of fear for the first and only time. I knew I was sick, I knew I seriously needed God's help, and I prayed hard. Exhausted and feverish I fell asleep praying. Being stubborn, I had refused to let Clint take me to the ER. Apparently he didn't sleep that night. He laid awake staring at my neck and watching my breathing ready to force me to go, saying his own prayers. Wednesday I woke up a tiny bit better. Clint was off from work for the day, but called in and told them to clear his schedule for Thursday and Friday anticipating at the very least I would be admitted for IV antibiotics. But by Thursday morning the rednesss had receded to just an area about the size of an egg and the swelling was all but gone. Enough that when I went to the doctor he felt the antibiotics were working well enough I could stay on them at home. He also let us know that all the cancer was gone. We both cried tears of relief, but I found that my tears of relief only lasted a milisecond before they turned into some serious tears of gratitude. I recognized instantly the miracle that had been worked in my body. Not just the tumor and surgery, but the fight against the infection! Surgery had been a cakewalk, it was the infection that had become so dangerous. Suffice it to say, I should have been in the hospital Tuesday evening. If I had gone they would have taken me back to the O.R. and opened me back up to clean out the infection it was so bad. Then I would have spent a lovely few days in the hospital on IV antibiotics. There is no logical explanation for why I didn't continue to get worse. I am certain that two things saw me through, divine intervention, and Clint not hesitating to put me on antibiotics the minute he saw that I might be getting an infection. If he had waited until Monday morning to start them it would've been too late. However, I also recognize that having Clint here to take care of me was one of the ways God took care of me. And yet, he still wasn't through. I continuted to run a fever through Monday morning, all the while watching my little girl come home from school and without being asked and without telling us what she was doing, quietly gather the laundry and do it, help her brother do his homework, unload the dishwasher and try to keep the kitchen clean. I watched my husband, who has only missed work once when he had his achilles tendon repaired after he ruptured it, take days off work and completely take care of all of us. While they were busy being angels, I was laying in bed having a life-altering experience learning some serious things I needed to know but had been too wrapped up in life to see. It was one of those times in life when God allowed me to go through adversity to teach me things I otherwise may never have understood or taken the time to see until it was too late. Powerful enough that I feel years older on the inside, in a very, very good way. Isn't that what adversity and challenges are all about? Opportunities to learn and grow by leaps and bounds. We can either lose ourselves in despair when we are bowed down under the weight of heartache or tragedy or (in this case) sickness, or we can listen to the quiet teachings we learn from that moment that inevitably (though sometimes hard to believe at that time) give us more strength than we ever had before. That in the end help us become by far better than we were. In essence, grief (in all forms) does one of two things. It makes us hard, or it makes us tender. The choice is entirely up to us.
I may not be able to walk across the house yet without having it sap all the strength I have, but for once in my life I'm okay with that. The time down has been like a deep, cleansing, settling breath. A chance to reset the compass to a better heading. I can't wait for the journey to come! And I recognize the miracle that God has again worked in my life. Seriously, a miracle. I cannot understand why he blesses me so, it unequivocably humbles me, but meager as the words are I am grateful beyond description. And the words still echo...
'When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.'
Thank you, in ways that only my heart can feel but can't express, every single one of you that offered prayers for me. I needed them, I felt them, and I know they were heard.
I write pretty freely in my blogs, what is going through my crazy head, and often what is in my heart. Yet, there is always a part of me that holds back, tentative I guess, maybe a little worried of offending, and always, always, always fearful of being misunderstood. Being misunderstood could be the theme song of my life. So I hope you'll forgive the missing filter of this particular blog, but I can't deny the almost need to write of my experiences of late.
Surgery was, of course, a great success. And, as I have come to rely so heavily on, I had Clint and Honey here caring for all of us. Again, there is such beauty in family, and again I am so grateful for the one I have. I was doing well enough Thursday that Honey felt comfortable to head back to Bama, and Clint was back at work. I was sore, but I was doing great. I began running a little fever Saturday night, but felt well enough to insist on Clint taking me to church Sunday morning. Sunday afternoon I sneezed and thought I would die (I had busted apart the muscle that had been sewn back together during surgery). Sunday evening Clint started me on antibiotics. Monday, I was determined that I was just fine and I was not going to stay in bed (I am a little famous for being stubborn). It was Labor Day and I was going to play no matter what, and so naturally Tuesday I tanked and tanked hard. I had redness and swelling all the way up my throat and three inches down from my collarbone. I had excruciating pain in my neck. I was running a nasty fever. I felt so bad I even cried, that in itself being astonishing. I've only felt that sick one other time. I prayed so hard that evening. Since I had found the lump, as I described in my earlier blog, I had felt myself being carried. Through the whole process, even through surgery, I never doubted, I never worried because I knew I was going to be just fine. But that evening, I felt the pricklings of fear for the first and only time. I knew I was sick, I knew I seriously needed God's help, and I prayed hard. Exhausted and feverish I fell asleep praying. Being stubborn, I had refused to let Clint take me to the ER. Apparently he didn't sleep that night. He laid awake staring at my neck and watching my breathing ready to force me to go, saying his own prayers. Wednesday I woke up a tiny bit better. Clint was off from work for the day, but called in and told them to clear his schedule for Thursday and Friday anticipating at the very least I would be admitted for IV antibiotics. But by Thursday morning the rednesss had receded to just an area about the size of an egg and the swelling was all but gone. Enough that when I went to the doctor he felt the antibiotics were working well enough I could stay on them at home. He also let us know that all the cancer was gone. We both cried tears of relief, but I found that my tears of relief only lasted a milisecond before they turned into some serious tears of gratitude. I recognized instantly the miracle that had been worked in my body. Not just the tumor and surgery, but the fight against the infection! Surgery had been a cakewalk, it was the infection that had become so dangerous. Suffice it to say, I should have been in the hospital Tuesday evening. If I had gone they would have taken me back to the O.R. and opened me back up to clean out the infection it was so bad. Then I would have spent a lovely few days in the hospital on IV antibiotics. There is no logical explanation for why I didn't continue to get worse. I am certain that two things saw me through, divine intervention, and Clint not hesitating to put me on antibiotics the minute he saw that I might be getting an infection. If he had waited until Monday morning to start them it would've been too late. However, I also recognize that having Clint here to take care of me was one of the ways God took care of me. And yet, he still wasn't through. I continuted to run a fever through Monday morning, all the while watching my little girl come home from school and without being asked and without telling us what she was doing, quietly gather the laundry and do it, help her brother do his homework, unload the dishwasher and try to keep the kitchen clean. I watched my husband, who has only missed work once when he had his achilles tendon repaired after he ruptured it, take days off work and completely take care of all of us. While they were busy being angels, I was laying in bed having a life-altering experience learning some serious things I needed to know but had been too wrapped up in life to see. It was one of those times in life when God allowed me to go through adversity to teach me things I otherwise may never have understood or taken the time to see until it was too late. Powerful enough that I feel years older on the inside, in a very, very good way. Isn't that what adversity and challenges are all about? Opportunities to learn and grow by leaps and bounds. We can either lose ourselves in despair when we are bowed down under the weight of heartache or tragedy or (in this case) sickness, or we can listen to the quiet teachings we learn from that moment that inevitably (though sometimes hard to believe at that time) give us more strength than we ever had before. That in the end help us become by far better than we were. In essence, grief (in all forms) does one of two things. It makes us hard, or it makes us tender. The choice is entirely up to us.
I may not be able to walk across the house yet without having it sap all the strength I have, but for once in my life I'm okay with that. The time down has been like a deep, cleansing, settling breath. A chance to reset the compass to a better heading. I can't wait for the journey to come! And I recognize the miracle that God has again worked in my life. Seriously, a miracle. I cannot understand why he blesses me so, it unequivocably humbles me, but meager as the words are I am grateful beyond description. And the words still echo...
'When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow,
For I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless,
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.'
Thank you, in ways that only my heart can feel but can't express, every single one of you that offered prayers for me. I needed them, I felt them, and I know they were heard.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Bell of Hope
September 11, 2001. There isn't one of us old enough to remember that day that can't tell another just exactly where they were, what they were doing, or how they first heard the news of the planes being flown into the World Trade Towers. Just like in New York City, it was a beautiful morning with crystal clear blue skies here in Tennessee. I didn't have the television on that morning to know what was happening. I wouldn't have had it on anyway, I never watch the morning news having washed my hands of news in general just three years before, right before Erika was born. Watching the news of suffering in Kosovo and bringing a brand new baby into this stark-raving mad world were just two things I couldn't reconcile, so I had stopped watching the news altogether. Clint was at work, Erika was running around playing, and Cletus and I were packing up the paint and supplies getting ready to head to Honey and D's house to work, standing in the driveway to be exact, when his cell phone rang. One of his friends had called to ask him if he had heard from another friend who was at the moment unaccounted for on an airplane somewhere. It snowballed from there. I remember talking to Clint on the phone after we got to Honey and D's house and sat with MawMaw and watched the events play out but we couldn't say anything, just sat with phone in hand in silence and watched. I don't even remember hanging up. The third plane into the Pentagon, the collapse of the first tower, the collapse of the second, the crash of Flight 93. And like the rest of the country we couldn't move. Couldn't pull our eyes away from the TV screen. Couldn't wrap our heads around what we were seeing. Unable to think. Barely able to breathe. Stunned. Furious. Disbelieving. Mortified. Outraged. Mourning. Feeling like we had been punched in the gut multiplied by who knows what. The day seemed to last a week. I walked around in a fog for at least that long afterwards. And yet all these descriptions of how it felt just don't seem to do it justice. That's okay. You know exaclty what I'm talking about because if you remember that day at all, you felt it too.
Fast forward: Sunday morning July 18, 2010. New York City. Clint and I woke up to the alarm at 7:00am. We got dressed and were on the subway headed to Ground Zero by 8:00. The prettiest morning of our four day trip. We walked several blocks, turned the corner, and stood by ourselves at the southeast corner of the site. Not another person on the sidewalk on either side of the street. New York City was still sleeping, and we had the place to ourselves. A peaceful stillness hung in the air accompanied by that feeling. The one that is present at any hallowed place. The second thing we noticed were the numerous cranes (eight that we could see, maybe more) sitting idle in the hole that is nearly filled, each one with an American flag hanging from it, fence wrapped in vinyl keeping the view of the the ground itself obstructed. I instinctively smiled at the flags and again felt proud to be an American.
We walked slowly past and crossed the street to where the temporary 9/11 Memorial is only to discover that we were too early. They weren't open yet. And so we crossed back over and entered in the west gate that surrounds the church, having no idea as we entered that this place would hold for us an experience that would reach down and profoundly touch our souls. Still alone (in the middle of downtown New York City!!!) we meandered through the tombstones reading the names and dates and wondering at the people who rested there, noticing chunks of stone missing off the tops from the debri and rubble that blew through the yard as the towers came crashing down. As we drew closer to the church we came upon a little blue sign which told a very brief history of the church and revealed to us just exactly where we were: St. Paul's Chapel. The oldest public building in continuous use and the only remaining colonial-era church in Manhattan. In 1789 George Washington prayed at St. Paul's after his inauguration as the first President of the United States. We continued up the sidewalk and hidden from the view of the street or the lower edges of the cemetery on the west side hung a large bell, sitting off to the left outside the chapel doors. The Bell of Hope.
Inscribed on the upper portion of the Bell: To the Greater Glory of God, And in Recognition of the Enduring Links Between the City of London and the City of New York. Inscribed on the lower portion: Forged in Adversity - 11 September 2001.
A gift presented to the people of New York by the Lord Mayor of London and the Archbishop of Canterbury on September 11, 2002. The Bell of Hope was created by England's renowned Whitechapel Foundry, which also cast the Liberty Bell and London's Big Ben. Inlaid in the pedestal, directly beneath the bell, is a brass footprint of the World Trade Center Towers. It is rung every September 11, and was rung on March 11, 2004, when trains were bombed in Madrid, Spain and on July 7, 2005, after the London subway and bus attacks. The ringing of the bell symbolizes the triumph of hope over tragedy. Like the majority of people in the country and the world we had no idea the bell was even there. I couldn't resist the overwhelming urge to lightly run my fingers across the words "Forged in Adversity".
Emotions already close to the surface just from being on hallowed ground, then discovering this treasure, we noticed the doors to the chapel were open. We tentatively stepped through, afraid of disturbing or trespassing, and discovered a welcome haven, a beautiful sanctuary, a museum piece itself housing displays around the edges of events of September 11th and the days and weeks that followed. Still we were alone except for a priest standing quietly off in the corner. We quietly walked around looking at the pictures of the dirty and exhausted firemen and rescue workers and medical personnel sleeping in the pews, the photos of missing loved ones and ribbons and memorabilia hanging from the iron fence that surround the Chapel, the small cross forged out of metal from the rubble of the towers, each small display telling a story of those haunting days. The small collection of the photos of those missing they have left up making it more than a nightmarish display witnessed on TV nine years prior. The displays also telling the story of how in the middle of the chaos and tragedy there arose from those working there day in and day out a brotherly love, and hope. It made it real. As we made our way to the other side a man came in and began to play the piano, the acoustics of the old church being perfect. And then, a woman came and began to sing. No microphone. Just her voice and the piano echoing perfectly in that chapel. And it struck me to the very core and I could not keep the tears I had been choking back from coming and I wept. There, in that chapel, on that quiet Sunday morning while New York City still slept, across the street from Ground Zero, I stood next to and on sacred ground. It took me the rest of the day to compose myself. I didn't take a single picture inside that chapel that day. It would have been too irreverant. But no picture could have ever captured the experience and the feelings that had been burned inside me. We eventually made it across the street to the temporary 9/11 Memorial. It was nothing after being in St. Paul's.
Today as I have thought about those events nine years ago that burned themselves into my memory, I have also thought of the ringing of the Bell of Hope at St. Paul's Chapel. I have longed to be there to bow my head in silence and reverance and respect for all those that died that day in New York, in D.C., and in rural Pennsylvania. I have, as I do every year, thought of the families left behind, thought of those that worked so feverishly and diligently that day and the days and weeks that followed, thought of those who of their own volition serve our country as soldiers and the families that support them. And I have longed to hear the toll as it sounds for the triumph of hope over tragedy. Forged in adversity. I remember, and I hope.
Fast forward: Sunday morning July 18, 2010. New York City. Clint and I woke up to the alarm at 7:00am. We got dressed and were on the subway headed to Ground Zero by 8:00. The prettiest morning of our four day trip. We walked several blocks, turned the corner, and stood by ourselves at the southeast corner of the site. Not another person on the sidewalk on either side of the street. New York City was still sleeping, and we had the place to ourselves. A peaceful stillness hung in the air accompanied by that feeling. The one that is present at any hallowed place. The second thing we noticed were the numerous cranes (eight that we could see, maybe more) sitting idle in the hole that is nearly filled, each one with an American flag hanging from it, fence wrapped in vinyl keeping the view of the the ground itself obstructed. I instinctively smiled at the flags and again felt proud to be an American.
We walked down the length of the sidewalk and I was immediately drawn to a breathtaking cemetery nestled in the churchyard of an old church surrounded by a black iron fence that sits directly across the street from where the World Trade Center Towers once stood. I haven't felt that drawn to a place in a long, long time and I remember thinking at the time how odd it was that I was drawn more to that cemetery and church than I was to Ground Zero itself. I had such a longing to go in the gate and sit on one of the benches in the churchyard.
We walked slowly past and crossed the street to where the temporary 9/11 Memorial is only to discover that we were too early. They weren't open yet. And so we crossed back over and entered in the west gate that surrounds the church, having no idea as we entered that this place would hold for us an experience that would reach down and profoundly touch our souls. Still alone (in the middle of downtown New York City!!!) we meandered through the tombstones reading the names and dates and wondering at the people who rested there, noticing chunks of stone missing off the tops from the debri and rubble that blew through the yard as the towers came crashing down. As we drew closer to the church we came upon a little blue sign which told a very brief history of the church and revealed to us just exactly where we were: St. Paul's Chapel. The oldest public building in continuous use and the only remaining colonial-era church in Manhattan. In 1789 George Washington prayed at St. Paul's after his inauguration as the first President of the United States. We continued up the sidewalk and hidden from the view of the street or the lower edges of the cemetery on the west side hung a large bell, sitting off to the left outside the chapel doors. The Bell of Hope.
Emotions already close to the surface just from being on hallowed ground, then discovering this treasure, we noticed the doors to the chapel were open. We tentatively stepped through, afraid of disturbing or trespassing, and discovered a welcome haven, a beautiful sanctuary, a museum piece itself housing displays around the edges of events of September 11th and the days and weeks that followed. Still we were alone except for a priest standing quietly off in the corner. We quietly walked around looking at the pictures of the dirty and exhausted firemen and rescue workers and medical personnel sleeping in the pews, the photos of missing loved ones and ribbons and memorabilia hanging from the iron fence that surround the Chapel, the small cross forged out of metal from the rubble of the towers, each small display telling a story of those haunting days. The small collection of the photos of those missing they have left up making it more than a nightmarish display witnessed on TV nine years prior. The displays also telling the story of how in the middle of the chaos and tragedy there arose from those working there day in and day out a brotherly love, and hope. It made it real. As we made our way to the other side a man came in and began to play the piano, the acoustics of the old church being perfect. And then, a woman came and began to sing. No microphone. Just her voice and the piano echoing perfectly in that chapel. And it struck me to the very core and I could not keep the tears I had been choking back from coming and I wept. There, in that chapel, on that quiet Sunday morning while New York City still slept, across the street from Ground Zero, I stood next to and on sacred ground. It took me the rest of the day to compose myself. I didn't take a single picture inside that chapel that day. It would have been too irreverant. But no picture could have ever captured the experience and the feelings that had been burned inside me. We eventually made it across the street to the temporary 9/11 Memorial. It was nothing after being in St. Paul's.
Today as I have thought about those events nine years ago that burned themselves into my memory, I have also thought of the ringing of the Bell of Hope at St. Paul's Chapel. I have longed to be there to bow my head in silence and reverance and respect for all those that died that day in New York, in D.C., and in rural Pennsylvania. I have, as I do every year, thought of the families left behind, thought of those that worked so feverishly and diligently that day and the days and weeks that followed, thought of those who of their own volition serve our country as soldiers and the families that support them. And I have longed to hear the toll as it sounds for the triumph of hope over tragedy. Forged in adversity. I remember, and I hope.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Ridin' the Coaster
Have you ever had one of those moments where you have your hands thrown up in the air, you're laughing hard through a wide-open mouth, you're feeling the thrill of the ride and suddenly realize you're the only one? As a very little girl I remember watching D climb onto "White Lightning", a doozy of a rollercoaster at Carowinds. I remember he was grinning when he went up and had white knuckles when he came down. I remember being so disappointed I was too little to go too. Since then I have never missed an opportunity to ride a rollercoaster. They don't come around as often as I'd like, so I try to take full advantage when they do. Fortunately, my life is often just like a rollercoaster (as is everyone's). Just when I think I'm going left I'm slung hard to the right. Just when I think I'm on top of the world I go plumeting at cheek-flapping speed, oftentimes spiraling, down the other side. Man I love rollercoasters!
I think part of the reason I have always been able to let go and enjoy the ride without fear is the trust I have. I always trusted D to catch me when he'd throw me in the air. I always trusted him to land the motorcycle safely when he'd pop wheelies across the road with me when I was little. I trusted that he'd take care of business when that one boy was fool enough to come knock on my door after I'd just run in the house and said "I don't want to see him!" ("Uh, uh, uh, Sir, is Kelly home?" "Yep." "Can I see her?" "Nope.".....hahaha I love that memory!) To this day, he has never, ever, ever let me down. I always trusted Honey would take care of me no matter what, I have always known her softest hands in the world would be there to soothe me when I don't feel so good. I have always trusted that when no one else will listen to, or laugh with me she'll always be the exception to the rule. I trust that Clint will always make me die laughing when I least expect it, will always be an incredible provider, and I will always find my safe haven, my home, my center of gravity in his hugs. And most of all, I have always trusted that God will take care of me. No matter what. I just don't worry. Three weeks ago when I found the lump in my neck and began the ride through bloodwork, ultrasound, CT, biopsy and diagnosis (thyroid cancer) I was comforted along the way and since with a deep, bottomless well of assurance that no matter what, I'm going to be okay. I just wish everyone else could feel that constant wave of peace and assurance I am being provided with on an hourly and daily basis, and be able to experience this ride without fear as I am. I feel so BLESSED! As Dr. Studtman apologetically described the scar I will be left with on my neck when he rips that sucker OUT, I was able to calmly and sincerely tell him I'm just not worried about it. I get to have a reminder every day of what a gift I have been given. And I get to make up the coolest stories about how I got it! I do believe that what goes around comes around...I have always known that I'm a pain in the neck, I just didn't realize how much of one I've been! Ha!
It has been terribly hard to not be annoyed with "sympathy" looks and somber voices, but I'm just trying to remember some dang good advice I was given last week....Just because I'm okay with this, doesn't mean other people aren't having an "aha" moment themselves. Thanks Cletus. I needed that. One small request? Hurry up with the "Aha" and get back to dying laughing with me please. Now, who'll give me a "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE"?
I think part of the reason I have always been able to let go and enjoy the ride without fear is the trust I have. I always trusted D to catch me when he'd throw me in the air. I always trusted him to land the motorcycle safely when he'd pop wheelies across the road with me when I was little. I trusted that he'd take care of business when that one boy was fool enough to come knock on my door after I'd just run in the house and said "I don't want to see him!" ("Uh, uh, uh, Sir, is Kelly home?" "Yep." "Can I see her?" "Nope.".....hahaha I love that memory!) To this day, he has never, ever, ever let me down. I always trusted Honey would take care of me no matter what, I have always known her softest hands in the world would be there to soothe me when I don't feel so good. I have always trusted that when no one else will listen to, or laugh with me she'll always be the exception to the rule. I trust that Clint will always make me die laughing when I least expect it, will always be an incredible provider, and I will always find my safe haven, my home, my center of gravity in his hugs. And most of all, I have always trusted that God will take care of me. No matter what. I just don't worry. Three weeks ago when I found the lump in my neck and began the ride through bloodwork, ultrasound, CT, biopsy and diagnosis (thyroid cancer) I was comforted along the way and since with a deep, bottomless well of assurance that no matter what, I'm going to be okay. I just wish everyone else could feel that constant wave of peace and assurance I am being provided with on an hourly and daily basis, and be able to experience this ride without fear as I am. I feel so BLESSED! As Dr. Studtman apologetically described the scar I will be left with on my neck when he rips that sucker OUT, I was able to calmly and sincerely tell him I'm just not worried about it. I get to have a reminder every day of what a gift I have been given. And I get to make up the coolest stories about how I got it! I do believe that what goes around comes around...I have always known that I'm a pain in the neck, I just didn't realize how much of one I've been! Ha!
It has been terribly hard to not be annoyed with "sympathy" looks and somber voices, but I'm just trying to remember some dang good advice I was given last week....Just because I'm okay with this, doesn't mean other people aren't having an "aha" moment themselves. Thanks Cletus. I needed that. One small request? Hurry up with the "Aha" and get back to dying laughing with me please. Now, who'll give me a "WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE"?
Friday, June 25, 2010
The Cat's Meow
Today has been one of those days where events have led me to fall back on my long-time belief that if I'm going to laugh about it later I might as well laugh about it now.
The morning started early with Clint's beeper going off (4:12am), and me never really falling back asleep. Mostly because I was laying in bed trying to plan how in the world I was going to catch our wild cat Harley (thus her name) in order to take her to the Vet for some surgery. As in not a diamond, but spade. She showed up here about one day away from dead and still a kitten late last fall. She was wilder than wild then and she has tamed down to just plain wild since. Aside from her brief stint of "niceness" while she was caring for her new kittens, she has always been markedly averse to any pats on the head or ear scratching or anything closely resembling affection. She's more of a "give me your dang food and leave me the heck alone" kinda girl. More than one expletive has been murmured in our dealings with her. Well, from me, not Clint. She won't come within a mile of him.
Knowing our history I dreaded the hunt down but thought that once I got her in the car she'd settle down like she did on her first visit to get her shots. At 7:40 I put my wallet in the car, the keys in the ignition, and opened the garage door so that when I caught her I could just get in the car and go. At 7:42 I opened the front door and to my great astonishment Harley was sitting right there by the door looking at me. "Wow! What luck!", I naively thought. I picked her up (still amazed at my further good fortune because picking her up just doesn't happen) and managed to make it into the vehicle and close the door thinking I was home free. She fought a little but I had her by the nape of the neck and thought she'd settle down once we got going. At 7:45am we had made it almost to the end of the driveway alright, but right about there is when all hell just plum broke loose. I'm not exactly sure which I noticed first, the simultaneous clawing of my arms and chest and face and legs, or the overwhelming, eye-watering, nostril incinerating smell of cat feces that threatened to knock me out cold. I jerked her up to find a nice large piece of evidence of her love for me, threw the FJ into reverse and slung back up to the house where I honked the horn until Erika came out to see what was the matter. All it took was for her to walk up to the rolled down window...she didn't even have to ask. Poor girl got a crash course in clorox wipes, wal-mart sacks, and cleaning up messes (I figure someday it'll be good experience for her when she has children). All this time I still have a death grip on the nape of Harley's neck not daring to let go....our 8:15 appointment is fast approaching. Before I began driving again I made a monumental mistake and rolled the window back up so there was less temptation for her to jump out. I start back down the driveway, this time with a towel in my lap (like that was going to do any good...the damage had already been done!) I guess I figured it would catch anything else that came flying out of her body on the ride to the clinic. As if all of that wasn't excitement enough, I spent the next 20 minutes driving with one hand, and holding her suspended body in the air by the nape of the neck with the other because every time a paw landed anywhere she started clawing for dear life. To make matters worse I had rolled the dang window up. Which meant the stench of her love for me had no way of escaping. If I let go with one hand to roll the window down I would crash, if I let go with the other I would literally have my eyeballs clawed out. I began to wonder if anyone had ever died from toxic levels of inhaled ammonia. I also began to wonder what it would look like if I really did crash...they'd open the door to a possessed cat and a soiled and bloody driver. Needless to say, I have never in my life been so tempted to drop an animal out on the side of the road. In fact, at one point I even started to slow down and pull off. And then, I don't know if it was the toxic levels coming off the remains of the poop, or the adrenaline, or just my plain warped sense of humor, I began to laugh hysterically because everytime I turned the wheel the cat would swing to one side and as I corrected she'd swing back to the other. So there I was, passing cars while holding a crazed, swinging cat up in the air, tears rolling down my face from the odor and dying laughing while trying to keep my mouth closed so I can't taste the smell all at the same time. 8:10am I arrive at the clinic, soiled clothes, bloody arms, and crazed cat in tow. Sit one seat over from a lady who has the fattest cat I've ever seen in my life curled up in a ball dead asleep on her lap. I still have Harley suspended in air. Lady looks at me with eyes as big as saucers and says "What happened to it?!?" I reply with a perfectly calm and straight face "I have no idea." Fast forward to 8:30am: Return home and scrub the daylights out of the seatbelt where half of her present landed. 9:20am: Leave for Erika's cello lesson 35 minutes away. Go approximately to the end of the driveway before we realize we have to ride with the windows down because it still smells as potent as ever. 11:00am: Leave cello lesson and once again drive 35 minutes home with the windows rolled down (87 degrees and humid as all get out) back home. 11:30am: Pick up poor stranded puppy on the side of the road. Wondered at the irony. 11:35am: Go back out to reclean the seatbelt and perform a more thorough check which lead to the discovery of another present under the driver's seat. Cleaned daylights out of vehicle for second time. 3:00pm, Take Dog to the Vet for recheck and to pick up Harley. 3:30pm Drove home with Biggun in the front, and Harley in the back seat. In a box. With the lid taped shut. Dog was happy. Harley was playing pinball in the box attempting to escape. And once again, I was dying laughing. Moral: Go right ahead. Crap on me. I guarantee I'll have the last laugh.
The morning started early with Clint's beeper going off (4:12am), and me never really falling back asleep. Mostly because I was laying in bed trying to plan how in the world I was going to catch our wild cat Harley (thus her name) in order to take her to the Vet for some surgery. As in not a diamond, but spade. She showed up here about one day away from dead and still a kitten late last fall. She was wilder than wild then and she has tamed down to just plain wild since. Aside from her brief stint of "niceness" while she was caring for her new kittens, she has always been markedly averse to any pats on the head or ear scratching or anything closely resembling affection. She's more of a "give me your dang food and leave me the heck alone" kinda girl. More than one expletive has been murmured in our dealings with her. Well, from me, not Clint. She won't come within a mile of him.
Knowing our history I dreaded the hunt down but thought that once I got her in the car she'd settle down like she did on her first visit to get her shots. At 7:40 I put my wallet in the car, the keys in the ignition, and opened the garage door so that when I caught her I could just get in the car and go. At 7:42 I opened the front door and to my great astonishment Harley was sitting right there by the door looking at me. "Wow! What luck!", I naively thought. I picked her up (still amazed at my further good fortune because picking her up just doesn't happen) and managed to make it into the vehicle and close the door thinking I was home free. She fought a little but I had her by the nape of the neck and thought she'd settle down once we got going. At 7:45am we had made it almost to the end of the driveway alright, but right about there is when all hell just plum broke loose. I'm not exactly sure which I noticed first, the simultaneous clawing of my arms and chest and face and legs, or the overwhelming, eye-watering, nostril incinerating smell of cat feces that threatened to knock me out cold. I jerked her up to find a nice large piece of evidence of her love for me, threw the FJ into reverse and slung back up to the house where I honked the horn until Erika came out to see what was the matter. All it took was for her to walk up to the rolled down window...she didn't even have to ask. Poor girl got a crash course in clorox wipes, wal-mart sacks, and cleaning up messes (I figure someday it'll be good experience for her when she has children). All this time I still have a death grip on the nape of Harley's neck not daring to let go....our 8:15 appointment is fast approaching. Before I began driving again I made a monumental mistake and rolled the window back up so there was less temptation for her to jump out. I start back down the driveway, this time with a towel in my lap (like that was going to do any good...the damage had already been done!) I guess I figured it would catch anything else that came flying out of her body on the ride to the clinic. As if all of that wasn't excitement enough, I spent the next 20 minutes driving with one hand, and holding her suspended body in the air by the nape of the neck with the other because every time a paw landed anywhere she started clawing for dear life. To make matters worse I had rolled the dang window up. Which meant the stench of her love for me had no way of escaping. If I let go with one hand to roll the window down I would crash, if I let go with the other I would literally have my eyeballs clawed out. I began to wonder if anyone had ever died from toxic levels of inhaled ammonia. I also began to wonder what it would look like if I really did crash...they'd open the door to a possessed cat and a soiled and bloody driver. Needless to say, I have never in my life been so tempted to drop an animal out on the side of the road. In fact, at one point I even started to slow down and pull off. And then, I don't know if it was the toxic levels coming off the remains of the poop, or the adrenaline, or just my plain warped sense of humor, I began to laugh hysterically because everytime I turned the wheel the cat would swing to one side and as I corrected she'd swing back to the other. So there I was, passing cars while holding a crazed, swinging cat up in the air, tears rolling down my face from the odor and dying laughing while trying to keep my mouth closed so I can't taste the smell all at the same time. 8:10am I arrive at the clinic, soiled clothes, bloody arms, and crazed cat in tow. Sit one seat over from a lady who has the fattest cat I've ever seen in my life curled up in a ball dead asleep on her lap. I still have Harley suspended in air. Lady looks at me with eyes as big as saucers and says "What happened to it?!?" I reply with a perfectly calm and straight face "I have no idea." Fast forward to 8:30am: Return home and scrub the daylights out of the seatbelt where half of her present landed. 9:20am: Leave for Erika's cello lesson 35 minutes away. Go approximately to the end of the driveway before we realize we have to ride with the windows down because it still smells as potent as ever. 11:00am: Leave cello lesson and once again drive 35 minutes home with the windows rolled down (87 degrees and humid as all get out) back home. 11:30am: Pick up poor stranded puppy on the side of the road. Wondered at the irony. 11:35am: Go back out to reclean the seatbelt and perform a more thorough check which lead to the discovery of another present under the driver's seat. Cleaned daylights out of vehicle for second time. 3:00pm, Take Dog to the Vet for recheck and to pick up Harley. 3:30pm Drove home with Biggun in the front, and Harley in the back seat. In a box. With the lid taped shut. Dog was happy. Harley was playing pinball in the box attempting to escape. And once again, I was dying laughing. Moral: Go right ahead. Crap on me. I guarantee I'll have the last laugh.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Writing "The List"
I got an email about two years ago that left me sitting absolutely stunned in my chair (it was titled "3900 Saturdays"). I remember at the time it echoed exactly how I wanted to be living my life, and the only thing that has changed is that I feel that way more strongly than ever. It talked about how if we live to be 75, the average life span, we will have 3900 Saturdays. (I still have it saved on my computer if anyone wants a copy). Three years from now I will have lived through half of my Saturdays, leaving me with 1950. To tell the truth I feel like every single one of them are a bonus. I received that email four days before the phone call that would take us to Idaho to be with Nana for the last time.
Nana's death and the weeks leading up to it that I spent there with her I very rarely speak of. It remains a very sacred experience to me, and one that unquestionably and irrevocably changed me forever. In the year and a half since, that experience has caused me to gauge and re-gauge over and over again who I have become and where I am headed. It is also what led me about two or three months ago to begin to write "The List". You know, the one that lists all of the things I want to do before I die. Writing and carrying out the first on the list wasn't so bad. The rest has not been so easy.
Not wanting to live another minute with regret the first one on the list was "Apologize". It suprised me how quickly I got through that sub-list, and even more how it seemed to really freak some people out. (Seriously people! I really and truly just wanted to say "sorry". No ulterior motives! Geez!) Having made this my first goal I waited to write the rest of my list until I had accomplished this, so if I missed anyone in the process I now say, "Please, excuse me for being a pompous butt/ inconsiderate oaf/knucklehead/forgetting your birthday (or other special something)/'insert appropriate title here'." However, I do not apologize for giving that boy a fat lip on the playground when he wouldn't stop picking on that other boy, or for throwing that girl across the desk when she wouldn't stop talking so ugly about my brother. I do most sincerely apologize to that wife whose husband I made look like a fool in front of half the mall because of his unbelievable cruelty to her in public, but only because I'm afraid he went home and took it out on you.
As quickly as I finished with the first on my list, I naturally assumed it would be easy to write the rest. What I have discovered as I have slowly compiled my list is that though there are things I really, really want to do, and places I really, really want to visit, I'm having a very difficult time even coming up with more than 13 real things. It made me question my gumption, made me think I was losing my zeal for adventure and for experiencing life. But what I have realized is that the things that really matter to me are things that I can't just do once and check off. They will take the rest of my life to do and experience. Things that I won't be able to check off my list until I'm gone. Like sitting on the porch swing wrapped up in tangled arms and legs and hands with my family laughing/meditating/listening/being with them as often as I can. Like raising kind, faithful, strong, courageous, children who see their unique and incredible potential and aren't afraid to recognize, embrace, and fulfill it. Like volunteering for Hospice. Like always keeping my heart and eyes open to see who might need an encouraging word or gentle touch. In essence I could have just one thing on my list that would encompass it all....REALLY LIVE.
What I came to understand as I wrote my list is that yes, there are still things I want to do/see/accomplish, but by and large I have the happiest life I know. So absolutely overwhelmingly rich. My first half of the journey, though definately not easy, has been so blessed. I think recognizing that is a large part of what will continue to make the rest so sweet. The other variable is knowing that I have a family (including all my "adopted" family) who have always stood in front of me plowing the way, beside me holding me hand, and behind me encouraging me on, always seeming to know exactly when to do which. All of my adventures, both large and small, have been and are grand because of them. (I just hope Honey will remember that when she finds out that my list includes flying in a bi-plane complete with as many "loop-d-loops" as possible, and sky-diving. I give her approximately 2.1 seconds to call me just a fussin' when she reads this. I bet I can talk D into going with me.)
Refusing to drive a vehicle that isn't 4-wheel drive has for a number of years been my last lifeline to the adventure junky that lives inside of me, leaving that door open to go down any untraveled road (the funnest are the dirt/muddy ones) I come across. While I fully relish and actively safeguard the contentment and peace of home, the curiosity to know what is over the next ridge, or state line, or ocean very rarely eludes me. So my list most definately includes a few adventures. Having said all that, three years ago my Aunt Jeannie and I helped my then 83-year-old Granny climb onto the Tilt-a-Whirl and boy did we ever go for a ride! The tears from the laughter were probably splattering every bystander within 40 feet of the ride with every twirl we made. That experience, among a plethera of others, has taught me that the list of things to check off before I go are more moments to experience, often unplanned, that will really be the joyous stitches in time weaving the extraordinary life I want to live.
Life is the adventure, and the adventures and those we share them with are what make a life. So, I guess now the question simply is, I'm checking off my list...anyone up for a ride?
Nana's death and the weeks leading up to it that I spent there with her I very rarely speak of. It remains a very sacred experience to me, and one that unquestionably and irrevocably changed me forever. In the year and a half since, that experience has caused me to gauge and re-gauge over and over again who I have become and where I am headed. It is also what led me about two or three months ago to begin to write "The List". You know, the one that lists all of the things I want to do before I die. Writing and carrying out the first on the list wasn't so bad. The rest has not been so easy.
Not wanting to live another minute with regret the first one on the list was "Apologize". It suprised me how quickly I got through that sub-list, and even more how it seemed to really freak some people out. (Seriously people! I really and truly just wanted to say "sorry". No ulterior motives! Geez!) Having made this my first goal I waited to write the rest of my list until I had accomplished this, so if I missed anyone in the process I now say, "Please, excuse me for being a pompous butt/ inconsiderate oaf/knucklehead/forgetting your birthday (or other special something)/'insert appropriate title here'." However, I do not apologize for giving that boy a fat lip on the playground when he wouldn't stop picking on that other boy, or for throwing that girl across the desk when she wouldn't stop talking so ugly about my brother. I do most sincerely apologize to that wife whose husband I made look like a fool in front of half the mall because of his unbelievable cruelty to her in public, but only because I'm afraid he went home and took it out on you.
As quickly as I finished with the first on my list, I naturally assumed it would be easy to write the rest. What I have discovered as I have slowly compiled my list is that though there are things I really, really want to do, and places I really, really want to visit, I'm having a very difficult time even coming up with more than 13 real things. It made me question my gumption, made me think I was losing my zeal for adventure and for experiencing life. But what I have realized is that the things that really matter to me are things that I can't just do once and check off. They will take the rest of my life to do and experience. Things that I won't be able to check off my list until I'm gone. Like sitting on the porch swing wrapped up in tangled arms and legs and hands with my family laughing/meditating/listening/being with them as often as I can. Like raising kind, faithful, strong, courageous, children who see their unique and incredible potential and aren't afraid to recognize, embrace, and fulfill it. Like volunteering for Hospice. Like always keeping my heart and eyes open to see who might need an encouraging word or gentle touch. In essence I could have just one thing on my list that would encompass it all....REALLY LIVE.
What I came to understand as I wrote my list is that yes, there are still things I want to do/see/accomplish, but by and large I have the happiest life I know. So absolutely overwhelmingly rich. My first half of the journey, though definately not easy, has been so blessed. I think recognizing that is a large part of what will continue to make the rest so sweet. The other variable is knowing that I have a family (including all my "adopted" family) who have always stood in front of me plowing the way, beside me holding me hand, and behind me encouraging me on, always seeming to know exactly when to do which. All of my adventures, both large and small, have been and are grand because of them. (I just hope Honey will remember that when she finds out that my list includes flying in a bi-plane complete with as many "loop-d-loops" as possible, and sky-diving. I give her approximately 2.1 seconds to call me just a fussin' when she reads this. I bet I can talk D into going with me.)
Refusing to drive a vehicle that isn't 4-wheel drive has for a number of years been my last lifeline to the adventure junky that lives inside of me, leaving that door open to go down any untraveled road (the funnest are the dirt/muddy ones) I come across. While I fully relish and actively safeguard the contentment and peace of home, the curiosity to know what is over the next ridge, or state line, or ocean very rarely eludes me. So my list most definately includes a few adventures. Having said all that, three years ago my Aunt Jeannie and I helped my then 83-year-old Granny climb onto the Tilt-a-Whirl and boy did we ever go for a ride! The tears from the laughter were probably splattering every bystander within 40 feet of the ride with every twirl we made. That experience, among a plethera of others, has taught me that the list of things to check off before I go are more moments to experience, often unplanned, that will really be the joyous stitches in time weaving the extraordinary life I want to live.
Life is the adventure, and the adventures and those we share them with are what make a life. So, I guess now the question simply is, I'm checking off my list...anyone up for a ride?
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Sailing Through the Sea of Anger
Life really never, and never really stops...even when you run away for a day, or sleep an extra 30 minutes in the morning, or work on a different project for a change of scenery, or try with all your heart to convince yourself that everything is okay. Reality, duty, sunrises and sunsets, they just don't cease.
I have never been an angry person. I have a very long "fuse" (unless you bully someone or lie to me, then I have no fuse at all...hence Clint's favorite story to tell about me involving 2 punk bullies and an incident in McDonalds shortly after we were married). Actually, I can count on one and a half hands the number of times I have been truly angry during the course of my lifetime, and they have always involved bullies and lies. Old Lady Anger just isn't a regular friend of mine that comes over for tea and crumpets every Thursday at 2:00.
So imagine my astonishment and consternation at discovering that part of the biting, harsh reality of the grief process really is "anger". Just feeling so angry all the time. Not directed at God, or any one person, just anger. Oh, my head already knew this, but my soul had never tasted the bitterness of the anger that comes after so much grief and loss. Such a different angry than the few times I have experienced before! I thought I was in the clear, that I had made it through the worst and was on my way, but the compounding factors of losing loved ones, and all the other "turmoil" I have experienced over the last four years have finally caught up and hit me all at once, and hard. I guess you can only live in survival mode for so long. And so I have found myself sailing for the first time through the Sea of Anger. Just like the sunrise and sunset, I have found that there is no escape, no hiding, no shore to take me around it. The only way is through it. It is a journey that, much like the cause of it, I have had no choice but to take. And I admit it, I have really struggled! I do not like feeling mad!
I recognize that this is a journey that we all must make at some point in our lives. I am neither the first nor the last to feel it. My causes have been nothing compared to the grief others have experienced, I would never assume that or wish others to believe it to be so. By talking about it I am not negating the miraculous ways God has soothed my heart and taken such care of me. The truth is that that is precisely why I know that this trip, like all the others before that have been the precipitating factors for it, has been and will be navigated by his gentle, soothing, understanding hand. The stormy sea has been filled with buoys and lighthouses that have guided me from drowning in the depths of despair, have kept me on my course, and now I can finally see the safe harbor on the horizon and know I'll be there soon.
The clouds of sorrow are beginning to lift, the biting cold wind of hurt is abating, and the blisters from the oars of adveristy are starting to heal. My journey through the Sea of Anger during this season of winter in my life is finally drawing to a close, but has left me with more hope, courage, determination, and most of all gratitude than ever before. And an understanding far beyond anything I ever could have dreamed of. (Not to mention how buff I am now from all that rowing!)
I last wrote of the jonquils bloom in the spring and the feelings of warmth and peace they bring and why. Spring this year has been far more than just flowers blooming, the sweetness associated with them, and leaves budding out my window. They are also blooming for the first time in years in my heart. And again I say that I find myself breathing deeper, and longer, and easier. The sweet is sweeter. The brightness of the rising sun is brighter. I look around and see more richness and beauty in my life than ever before. And I know that I am immensely, profoundly, extraordinarly blessed.
I've just got to keep looking for the buoys of angels (both figurative and literal), the lighthouses of hope sent to guide me, and the feel of gentle, soothing, understanding hands that have already walked on water and calmed the angry seas, far more capable than I at navigating my course. I'm almost there...
I have never been an angry person. I have a very long "fuse" (unless you bully someone or lie to me, then I have no fuse at all...hence Clint's favorite story to tell about me involving 2 punk bullies and an incident in McDonalds shortly after we were married). Actually, I can count on one and a half hands the number of times I have been truly angry during the course of my lifetime, and they have always involved bullies and lies. Old Lady Anger just isn't a regular friend of mine that comes over for tea and crumpets every Thursday at 2:00.
So imagine my astonishment and consternation at discovering that part of the biting, harsh reality of the grief process really is "anger". Just feeling so angry all the time. Not directed at God, or any one person, just anger. Oh, my head already knew this, but my soul had never tasted the bitterness of the anger that comes after so much grief and loss. Such a different angry than the few times I have experienced before! I thought I was in the clear, that I had made it through the worst and was on my way, but the compounding factors of losing loved ones, and all the other "turmoil" I have experienced over the last four years have finally caught up and hit me all at once, and hard. I guess you can only live in survival mode for so long. And so I have found myself sailing for the first time through the Sea of Anger. Just like the sunrise and sunset, I have found that there is no escape, no hiding, no shore to take me around it. The only way is through it. It is a journey that, much like the cause of it, I have had no choice but to take. And I admit it, I have really struggled! I do not like feeling mad!
I recognize that this is a journey that we all must make at some point in our lives. I am neither the first nor the last to feel it. My causes have been nothing compared to the grief others have experienced, I would never assume that or wish others to believe it to be so. By talking about it I am not negating the miraculous ways God has soothed my heart and taken such care of me. The truth is that that is precisely why I know that this trip, like all the others before that have been the precipitating factors for it, has been and will be navigated by his gentle, soothing, understanding hand. The stormy sea has been filled with buoys and lighthouses that have guided me from drowning in the depths of despair, have kept me on my course, and now I can finally see the safe harbor on the horizon and know I'll be there soon.
The clouds of sorrow are beginning to lift, the biting cold wind of hurt is abating, and the blisters from the oars of adveristy are starting to heal. My journey through the Sea of Anger during this season of winter in my life is finally drawing to a close, but has left me with more hope, courage, determination, and most of all gratitude than ever before. And an understanding far beyond anything I ever could have dreamed of. (Not to mention how buff I am now from all that rowing!)
I last wrote of the jonquils bloom in the spring and the feelings of warmth and peace they bring and why. Spring this year has been far more than just flowers blooming, the sweetness associated with them, and leaves budding out my window. They are also blooming for the first time in years in my heart. And again I say that I find myself breathing deeper, and longer, and easier. The sweet is sweeter. The brightness of the rising sun is brighter. I look around and see more richness and beauty in my life than ever before. And I know that I am immensely, profoundly, extraordinarly blessed.
I've just got to keep looking for the buoys of angels (both figurative and literal), the lighthouses of hope sent to guide me, and the feel of gentle, soothing, understanding hands that have already walked on water and calmed the angry seas, far more capable than I at navigating my course. I'm almost there...
Monday, March 29, 2010
"Earth Laughs in Flowers" (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
Every spring I look forward with great anticipation to seeing the first daffodils bloom, specifically the jonquils. The first day I see them bloom is the official first day of spring for me. (Most years this is sometime around the end of February...the only good thing about February in my opinion). It marks the beginning of warm sunny days that begin to melt the frosty, shriveling, winter cold that always seems to take up residence in my soul. I find myself breathing deeper, longer, easier.
As much as I enjoy what the blooming flowers usher in, I enjoy what they symbolize to me much more. Jonquils are my favorite flower. Yes, they're pretty, yes, they smell heavenly, but these are not the characteristics that make them my favorite. It is the memories associated with them that remind me of a truth that has been an anchor, an example, an ideal to me for as long as I can remember.
Every year, at least as long as I have been in existence (and probably longer), there has come a knock at the front door on any random spring afternoon. Having lived out in the country for the vast majority of my life growing up, a knock at the door was always unexpected, inevitably invoking a "Who in the world could that be?" And year after year, spring after spring, the door opens and D is standing there with his hand behind his back with a bouquet of the first jonquils of spring that he has stopped and picked for Honey, his sweetheart.
I know that as a little girl I just thought it was nice to have pretty flowers in the house. As I grew older I began to appreciate that he was doing something nice for Honey. And as the years have passed I have grown to appreciate the profound beauty in an act so simple and all that it represents. Is it any wonder that the bloom of the jonquils in the spring evoke feelings of warmth, and happiness, and peace in me? The same warmth, and happiness, and peace that I experience when I think of how much my parents love each other.
Throughout the years there were other quiet tokens of affection that would randomly appear. A letter in the mail (mailed from his office) for Honey that would read, "I love you. Do you love me? Mark Yes or No." And there would be drawn on the paper two little boxes, one for yes, one for no. I remember one year he sent her a giant heart-shaped balloon to school for her on Valentine's Day. It was so big she could put it over her head, and there is even a picture of her in my yearbook with this heart balloon resting on her shoulders. These "little" gifts ultimately represented to me the best gifts in the world. Most often costing nothing, or at most a stamp, they were heartfelt, and watching from the sidelines my heart felt!
It has been said that the greatest gift a father can give his children is to love their mother. And so it has been for me. The love D has shown Honey, and continues to show her, teaches me more than I think he could ever realize. And the love she reciprocates is just as divine. As the years continue to pass, their relationship continues to be filled with so much laughter, and so much love, and the love I feel for them continues to grow even when I think I couldn't possibly love and appreciate them any more than I already do. Rarely a day goes by that I don't include in my prayers my deep, abiding gratitude for the opportunity and blessing to be their daughter.
Do I realize what a rarity they are? Without question. An anchor, an example, an ideal. A profound source of warmth, happiness, and peace.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Mileage
January 2nd of this new year I found myself driving across the barren landscape of Wyoming (again) with two children in the back seats reading, one child looking out the window, Clint snoozing after driving through hours and hours of snow and ice covered roads, and Papa joining him in sweet la la land. The sun was piercingly beautiful against the backdrop of a cloudless deep blue sky and the snow covered Medicine Bow National Forest we were driving through. And as usual I was enjoying just letting my mind wander and wonder. Driving can be so therapeutic. I started thinking about how many miles we had driven and would drive over a span of 14days alone (4390 to be exact), and began to wonder how many thousands of miles my children had traveled since they each had become a part of our family. I chuckled as I thought about how many times Honey has said to me "Their poor little butts have GOT to be wore completely out!" Needless to say, when I tell people my kids are the world's best travelers I am in no way, shape, or form exagerrating. They truly are the best! It is often asked, "How did you get them to do that?". Well the blaring truth is we've never really thought about it, just put them in the car and gone. So I guess it's called the "get in the car and go" method. Ha ha ha.
A lot of our very best memories are from the road trips we've taken together. I'm not just speaking of the destinations, I'm talking about the journeys to get there. With as hectic as life can get, pulling us in so many different directions, spending time together in a car (for us at least) is a way to reconnect without interruption or distraction. We talk and share and bust out in song and joke and make faces and laugh our heads off. We have spans of sweet comfortable silence, off in each of our own worlds, yet close enough to reach out and hold a hand all at the same time. We have quality time together and the all too often overlooked and underated quantity time to go with it. And the five of us are among the rare people on the planet to know what a serious case of the "Weegie Weegies" is...travel far enough and you'll know what I'm talking about. Of course you'll have to have our warped sense of humor to recognize it when it happens.
As amazing as the journeys themselves are, having stood in some of the most beautiful places in the world and sharing it with each other is, well, priceless. A treasure. The joy of experiencing it together is what takes something awe-inspiring and transforms it into something even more. A beautiful waterfall is just a beautiful waterfall until you have a hand wrapped in yours to share it with. To witness the awe and wonder on three little faces, to hear the gasps and oohs and wows and the "that is so cools" is, well, I guess you just have to be there. I wouldn't trade our big adventures together for anything.
I came home from our latest trip with a mission to total the number of miles Erika, Kail, and Jackson have traveled. I narrowed it down to only trips to destinations 200 miles away or more, and even then these are very conservative estimates. I also divided the mileage into driven vs. flown.
After quite a few hours, a fair amount of memory jogging, and a lot of figuring and number crunching later I have the estimates in miles that my three little troopers have gone. Erika: Driven - 83,824 Flown - 24,942 Total - 108,266
Kail: Driven - 46,259 Flown - 15,306 Total - 61,565
Jackson: Driven - 38,429 Flown - 9296 Total - 47,691
To put those miles into perspective, Erika has traveled far enough to go around the earth 4 1/2 times, Kail 2 1/2, and Jackson nearly 2.
Simply put, I cherish all the roads we have traveled together, and can hardly wait to see where the ones left unexplored will lead us to next.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
I Still Believe
Tonight I drove home watching the sun set in a heavenly display of beauty and feeling as close to not being as empty as I have in five years. I watched the golden rays deepen to flaming orange and then into a burning red and my thoughts bounced from my beautiful family to things left unfinished to the most recent white hair I found on my head and back again. From the trivial thoughts of needing a ham as well as a turkey on Thanksgiving to exploring the deepest quiet corners of my soul. I thought about how as a little girl I never dreamed of being a princess or having a knight in shining armor come to rescue me. My dreams were always of being a good and kind queen with my own sword and my own horse fighting just as hard alongside the knight. Needless to say I had a very vivid imagination, I just don't think I was ever very vocal about it. I thought about all the things I believed in then, and all the things that in spite of the turbulence that life brings I still believe in. I still believe in dreaming big. I still believe that good will ultimately prevail over evil. I still believe that age is a state of mind and that laughter is definately the best medicine. I still believe that potato cakes are one of the worst foods ever and is only trumped by asparagus. I still believe that all the countless hours I spent just holding my babies and memorizing their faces was worth every unwashed dish and pile of dirty laundry. I still believe that the smallest actions can have the most profound effects. That taking a spare 10 seconds to pick up something that someone else has dropped for them is still a necessary kindness. I still believe that taking the time to wave to that one boy who looks pretty rough sitting outside waiting on the van that will take him to alternative school every morning is worth it. It may be the only friendly gesture he receives that day. I still believe that every sincere smile given may be just that one little boost someone might need to carry on for one more step. Every pat on the back doesn't necessarily have to be earned, but may be enough to propel someone on to do just that. And in a world where we are fast becoming more disconnected with each other, more afraid of our actions being "misconstrued", I still believe in taking someone's hand, an arm around the shoulder, a warm hug, and I still believe in the power of a gentle touch. I still believe in believing in others, even when they have failed a thousand times, but that you don't have to be stupid about it. I still believe that it is almost never too late. I still believe in letting go of hurt and forgiving, even when those who hurt don't want it. And I still believe that one good heart can make a profound difference in the world if it is put into action, whether through tiny acts or big ones or both. I still believe in not being too afraid to believe. I still believe that opening my heart even knowing that there's a pretty good chance it might get hurt is worth the risk. I still believe I could do so much more.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
No Coincidence
About six years ago I was in the kitchen one evening cleaning up from supper when the phone rang. When I answered a man on the other end asked for me, I replied, and then he said very excitedly "It's your brother, Blaine!" I immediately thought somebody was trying to play a joke on me (first and foremost on my list was of course my real brother John). I vaguely remember laughing and calling him "Sonny Boy" (John's nickname), but the further the conversation went the more it became clear to me that this guy 1)wasn't playing a joke and 2)really believed I was his sister...his long lost sister whose name in fact is also my own, Kelly Sutton. It took me about 20 minutes to convince him that I really was not the Kelly Sutton he was looking for, while he asked over and over "Are you sure?" By the time our conversation ended I wanted to be able to say "I'll be your sister!" I don't think he was entirely convinced that I wasn't her when we hung up and the sorrow and disappointment in his voice haunted me for months afterwards. I tried every way in the world I could think of to help this man find his sister. I even thought of calling Oprah! (Maybe I should have!) Eventually the phone call was pushed to my long-term memory bank and filed way in the back under a few other things I can no longer recall. About a month ago I logged on to check my email and noticed I had a message on Facebook titled "Set Me Back a Little" from a girl named "Kelly Sutton Baur". It said: "I am trying to find my half brother and when I typed in his name several people came up one of which was you. What set me back a little is my name is Kelly Sutton Baur and my half brothers name is Blaine. Maybe its a sign that I will find him someday. Just wanted to share the name info. Thank you." I was absolutely stunned. Speechless. And the conversation I had with her brother six years ago flooded back to me instantly. And I stood rooted to the square of tile I was standing on with my mouth gaping open. I finally managed to get my wits about me enough to send her a message back telling her about my experience with her brother on the phone, tell her that I thought I remembered that he was somewhere in Illinois, offer my help to find him, and last but clearly not least, let her know that he's looking for her too. What are the odds that they would both contact me in their search for each other? Astronomical? Yes. Coincidental? I don't think so. Just one more evidence that God is so in control, so aware of our every single tiny need. Who knows, maybe I remembered wrong about the state, but I know for certain the sorrow in his voice at not finding her, and the realness of the reassurance I was able to give her that he's looking for her too. I received a message back from her a few days later saying that my response had given her new hope and encouragement, and quite a few tears as well. To say that I've been touched by this experience is an understatement. All I know is that I hope with all of my heart that this long lost brother and sister find each other! Kelly consented to let me tell her story on this blog in hopes that someone out there might know how to help. Anybody have Oprah's cell on speed dial or has access to that kind of info?
Friday, August 14, 2009
First Day of School
I love first day of school pictures. I love to see how much Erika grows from year to year as I look back through them. It was such fun to take two sets of first day of school pictures this year. I think this is the first picture I've gotten of Kail where he hasn't been making a face since he was about two. (You'll notice he didn't make it through the photo session without needing to make at least one face...he's too much like his Daddy and Uncle Son for that) Erika and Kail were busting at the seams with grins and excitement...what a fun morning! But I saved my favorite picture for last. I wanted a picture of Kail with his teacher "Miss" Tracy...but he was so embarassed I barely got him to stand next to her! It was hilarious. I absolutely love the look on his face!
Standing in line waiting to meet her our conversation went something like this...
Kail: "Mom, my teacher's name is Miss Lacy."
Me: "No, it's Miss Tracy."
Kail: "Yeah, Miss Tracy."
30 seconds pass
Kail: "Mom, my teacher's name is Miss Macy."
Me: "No bud, it's Miss Tracy."
Kail: "Yeah, Miss Tracy."
30 more seconds pass
Kail: "Mom, my teacher's name is Miss Lacy."
Me: "No buddy, it's Miss Tracy."
Kail: "Yeah, Miss Tracy."
30 more seconds
Kail: "Mom! My teacher's name is MISS TRACY!"
Me: "Yes! It's Miss Tracy!"
I can hardly wait for all the tales of Fifth Grade and Kindergarten!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
I Blinked
Friday was a half day back to school for Erika and Kindergarten registration for Kail. They both start full blast tomorrow. Life is funny. One of the things God blessed me with was the ability to enjoy the moment and appreciate it while it is happening. One of the few things I have done right as a mother starting with the day Erika was born was not take a second with her for granted, and as the rest have come along with them either. When Erika started Kindergarten I missed her terribly. She had been my side-kick for five years. My buddy. But I wasn't sad when she started school. I hadn't missed out on anything with her, and had soaked up every minute spent with her. Though the days were too quiet, and I missed her, I was okay with her starting school. It was because I hadn't missed out on anything with her. I had zero regrets. This time around has been a completely different story. Kail's starting Kindergarten has been, while exciting and wonderful for him (and I am excited for him and can't wait to see his little mind explode) I have found that try as I might to blow it off or just downright try to ignore it, I am grieving that the time has come for him to take his first steps out of the nest. I am grieving for the time stolen away with him. I'm grieving for the moments that he asked me to read him a book and I had to turn him away because bigger, louder, angrier, more needy wheels were squeaking. I am grieving for the quiet times on my lap that came to abrupt ends by events that neither he nor I had control over. I am grieving for the moments that I should've been watching him after he called out "Mama! Look at me!", but had to turn my head and watch an entirely different scenario instead. I am grieving that this little boy who has more pure love in his little heart than most people have in a sliver of their little fingernail has not had a hundreth of what he deserves in return. Those years are gone. They cannot be reclaimed. And though I pathetically did the very best I could, I cannot say that I have zero regrets. Though I soaked up and treasured the moments I did have with him, I cannot say that they were enough. As Erika returns to school this year I have a number of the same feelings about her. I am watching my beautiful little girl stand at the very last edge of being a little girl. It leaves me speechless. Even though I had her first seven years with no regrets, she too has had four years of sweet moments stolen away. And I find myself becoming more and more selfish of the time I have with them. And more and more "projects" are shelved that will have to wait. And saying "no" to everyone else is becoming easier and easier. And I cling more and more to my hope in the power of Christ's atonement to fill in where my best has not measured up. And I understand what is to have my heart walking around outside of my body. And I am grateful for the precious moments we have had, and even more for the ones to come that I am determined not to miss. I blinked, and the years are gone.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
June 26, 2009 Journal Entry (California Trip)
This morning we woke up bright and early and took off for Ventura and the ocean. The day started off typically for me...we stopped to get doughnuts and milk for breakfast and naturally I dropped a chocolate milk on the floor where it busted all over everything including my feet and legs. Nothing like having milk between your toes to start the day off right! And as is also typical we had a good laugh about it. Don't cry over spilt milk right? After filling our tanks on the goods we made it to the beach, bolted from the car, dropped our shoes in the sand and took off! Talk about cold! Watching the kids play in the water was an absolute blast. I am so accustomed to the Atlantic and the Gulf that is was almost disorienting to not see the sun rising as we looked out across the ocean but to have it rising at our backs instead.
I can't find the words to describe the feeling of standing at the ocean as the sun began to burn through the morning fog, the salt water lapping at my feet, the sound of my kids squealing with delight as they raced through the waves mingled with the roar of the surf. I never experience something like that without wishing the rest of my family was there with me all wrapped up with feeling gratitude that my immediate one is. Nor can I have my senses flooded with that kind of beauty without thanking God for his creations and the ability and opportunity to experience it. I have a feeling that I will experience that more than once this trip.
We picked up a few beach souvenirs in the form of driftwood and rocks, then headed back towards Santa Clarita on our way up to Shaver Lake. We learned that in California it is "The 5"...not Interstate 5 or Highway 5, but "The 5". Yup, still chuckling about that. The road between Santa Clarita and Ventura is full of orange and lemon orchards, so we made sure to stop at a fresh fruit stand on the side of the road. I bought 3 huge grapefruit, 5 oranges, 4 lemons, and 4 apples for $5.40! It was fun to see the huge truck loads of lemons being hauled down the road. We were suprised to see mile after mile after mile of agriculture as we headed towards Fresno. The vineyards and grove after grove of fruit trees was beautiful. It is something Clint and I have never seen before. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the drastic change in landscape as we make our way up to Shaver Lake. From desert, to desert mountains, and then suddenly to mountains within a few miles is fascinating. I can hardly wait to see Papa, Becky, Ava, Kavae, and Melvin, William and Alison (Arash, Dillon, and Corinne aren't coming dang it!) and can hardly wait to go to Yosemite tomorrow!
June 25, 2009 Journal Entry (California Trip)
We finally crawled in to bed this morning around 1:30am (3:30am our time). We spent the day hanging out with Sherman and Missy and kids in the pool and then went out and stuffed our faces for lunch. I had the best piece of German Chocolate Cake I've ever tasted in my life! It was so hard to leave them after only a few hours. One day is NOT ENOUGH. All I know is that it's an extraordinary thing to have friends that you can entirely be yourself with, and be able to pick right up where you've left off when you've been apart for a while. They're not friends really anyway...they're family. Like the knucklhead I am I didn't even snap a single picture! I'm still shaking my head over that. The boys have gotten so big, and holding baby Micah soothed a few sore spots in my heart. I haven't held a baby that little since Kail was born. Sigh.
The drive across the desert to Santa Clarita was everything I imagined it to be. We got halfway across and finally found a place to stop and GET SOMETHING TO DRINK! We're definately not used to no humidity and all of us were like fish laying in the mud sucking as hard as we could for something WET! Kail was enthralled with the desert mountains, Erika barely looked up from her book long enough to see the vast expanse of nothing, and Jackson was Jackson.
Santa Clarita has ended up being a beautiful spot. Unfortunately we got in too late to visit with Becky and family this evening. Pretty disappointed about that but I seem to be pretty good at disappointing everybody, so why stop now? Tommorrow morning we're getting up early and going to Ventura to the Pacific Ocean, then the kids will have been to both the Atlantic and Pacific. I think I'm nearly as excited as they are!
The drive across the desert to Santa Clarita was everything I imagined it to be. We got halfway across and finally found a place to stop and GET SOMETHING TO DRINK! We're definately not used to no humidity and all of us were like fish laying in the mud sucking as hard as we could for something WET! Kail was enthralled with the desert mountains, Erika barely looked up from her book long enough to see the vast expanse of nothing, and Jackson was Jackson.
Santa Clarita has ended up being a beautiful spot. Unfortunately we got in too late to visit with Becky and family this evening. Pretty disappointed about that but I seem to be pretty good at disappointing everybody, so why stop now? Tommorrow morning we're getting up early and going to Ventura to the Pacific Ocean, then the kids will have been to both the Atlantic and Pacific. I think I'm nearly as excited as they are!
June 24, 2009 Journal Entry (California Trip)
Today we began our six day trip. We managed to leave the house on time without forgetting anything, and make it to the airport and on the plane without incident. Miracles never cease! I can hardly wait to go on yet another one of our big adventures. Jackson has managed to throw a pretty good fit on the flight from Denver in to Las Vegas, hopefully he'll chill out before we land. Can't wait to see Sherman and Missy and family when we get in! It's already been a year since we've seen them and that's way too long!
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Down Time
I continually find myself struggling with the demands of life in general. Not the keeping up part (although that can be a pain in the rear), but with the why are we trying to part. I think back frequently to how when J and I were growing up we spent our summer days exploring the woods or the field and old shooting range across the road or at the pool or playing something. We didn't come in to the house except to eat, check in with Honey, or to ask permission to stay out later to play. We enjoyed all the benefits of lazy summer days. Sure we had chores, but by and large we were blessed to spend time just being kids. Aside from school during the other seasons of the year, we still spent our leisure time in quest of the ultimate fun thing to do and playing our guts out. I guess the key words here would be "leisure time". I find myself boycotting more and more things that pull my kids away from them having leisure time. There are so many opportunities out there, don't get me wrong, I want them to be able to experience all that life can offer, but in balance. I am the mean mom a lot of days (only x amout of game/tv time!) This summer I've said no to a lot of things including soccer camp and cello camp and I'm sure there are a whole bunch more "camps" we've missed out on. Plays and summer exploration classes and the list goes on and on. But being a mean mom pays off when I look around and see all three of my children at various spots curled up engrossed in a book, listening to Erika say "I'll race you outside to ride bikes!" and then hearing the stampede out the front door, watching them play in the rain, hearing them laughing while they run through the sprinkler, shooting water at them through the end of the noodles at the pool, or hanging out in the art room with my three little monkeys while they are hard at work creating something. When I walk by and smell the scent of pine needles and find myself instantly transported back to childhood memories of hiding in the pine trees while we played I find myself longing for my children to have the chance to build the same kind of memories with each other, to have the chance to be children, to understand that more often than not the best things in life truly are free, and to know how to experience the silence at the dusk of a summer evening, take a long, deep breath, and be comfortable in themselves when they do. Yes, we're busy traveling visiting with family all summer long, but every single other day we aren't gone is all ready spoken for. They are our lazy summer days and we fully intend to spend them breathing in and breathing out, no schedule needed, imagination required.
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