Category Archives: Family

From Silver to Gold

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Earlier in the day I’d had trouble seeing the inside of a beautiful, unusually shaped ring that I’d recently found in a local schoolyard while detecting. Rather than being flat, it was almost tubular with the inside wall of the tube cut away so that it could rest on a finger. I mentioned to hubby that I thought there was something written or stamped inside but that I couldn’t tell exactly what it was. 

A few minutes later, as I stood in the shower, he popped into the bathroom to say that he’d managed to view the questionable mark with his tiny magnifying glass and that it was “925.” That’s the mark indicating that the metal is actually silver. 

“Silver!” My mind raced back to the time when Mom embarrassed my first husband. It hadn’t been intentional on her part but, in retrospect, I must admit that she tended toward the unusual in many ways. Time would prove that he didn’t handle “unusual” very well.  

Sadly, I don’t remember the exact set of circumstances, but I think that Mom was picking us up from the airport for some reason. We were riding the train system from point A to point B. As you’d expect, there were a few other people around. That failed to stop Mom’s somewhat strange, spontaneous sense of humor, however. 

Suddenly, she began looking right…then left…then right again. Her expression was one of both wide-eyed excitement and determination. Quickly standing, she crouched and moved conspicuously down the aisle — attracting a bit more attention. (She tended to be very dramatic when given the opportunity.) Once she reached her objective, she stopped and again looked around excitedly. Without saying a word, she slowly reached toward something that was on the floor. By this time, I was wondering, “Oh no! What-in-the-heck are you up to!” and, like me, he was watching every move. 

Moving quickly, she pulled a bright metal object to her breast then, after examining her “prize,” as though in triumph, she raised a shiny stainless steel spoon above her head and declared in a loud, clear voice, “SILLLVERRR!” 

Ah, yes, it was obvious that my husband had seen nothing that he considered to be funny. As a matter of fact, his five-o’clock-shadowed chin quivered though he didn’t even acknowledge that anything had happened. That should have spoken volumes to me but, at the time, I didn’t see it. This was likely the exact point in time at which husband #1 decided that he could never like…much less love the eccentric, outspoken woman who was my Mom. She had just forced him to experience one of those “I-want-to-crawl-in-a-hole” type moments. 

Mom’s been dead for almost thirty years so I relished the time spent standing in the shower being pelted with thoughts of her and the unusual woman she had been. It was that single memory which put the smile on my face as the hot water washed over me. Even today, I can’t help but smile when I think of that…and her many other idiosyncratic antics and behaviors. Thank you, Lord!

Priorities Are Situational

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It’s true that we aren’t ever too old to learn. In a sense, I’ve known this to be true for years (as is evidenced by the fact that I really enjoy learning new things even at the “ripe old age” of sixty-four).

We go through life thinking,” What I want is what’s important!” “Our own lives are our priority!” And that’s true…if we live with our head in a hole; if we’re living lives that don’t touch the lives of others; if we’re not grandparents; and lastly, if we’re not children of God.

When did this revelation occur? Actually, it was more of a reminder. Probably when we were keeping Jesse and Benjamin for several days. Then it was confirmed when Daniel came for his visit. Quite simply, our priorities need to change depending on what is going on with other people. Perhaps I’ve achieved the epitome of flemsibility? Wrong! It was just a little reality check. Call it a reminder that, if there other people within our sphere of influence, space or circle, those very people should become our priority…even though it’s our life!

After all…What if Jesus had walked through life without changing His priorities to lift up or include the people around Him?

Sometimes Two Really Are Better Than One!

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Sometimes two really are better than one. As you can see, Sammi seems to share that philosophy (especially when it involves “bones”). At the time I snagged the photo, she’d carried the bones around the room a couple of times. It was as though she knew that her “cuteness” would call to me in a way that I simply couldn’t resist. She was right!

My Words Bounced Back and Hit Me In the Heart!

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Columbia
Image via Wikipedia

Once you throw something out, there’s a chance that it will come back to you. That very thing happened to me not to long ago.

I opened an envelope from my precious Aunt Mary (who really isn’t my aunt…but my second cousin). She had kept an email that I’d written in 2003 and wanted me to have it back. Her words, though simple, were priceless to me. She told me that she had been inspired by what I’d written as much now (upon re-reading it) as she had been when I’d sent it to her so many years ago.

Sometimes I’m a writer — but most often I’m not. But, after reading my own email which was returned to me on April 5, 2011, I can say that on February 3, 2003…I might actually have been a writer. That really isn’t for me to say so I’ll let you be the judge.

It’s subject was: My thoughts on Columbia

“When I’m depressed I tend to go to bed way earlier than my norm. Yesterday was one of those days.

I’d awakened the previous beautiful morning to bright blue cloudless sky and a couple of computer-related things to do so, as was my custom, I came in, sat down, then turned on my little TV…mostly for the noise I suppose. Sadly, it presented me with much more than ‘just noise.’ The shuttle Columbia was breaking up.

My heart sank into a hole and I called my kids in Arlington (just southwest of Dallas) to warn them not to touch anything unusual that might be a part of the fallen bird. As I suspected, they knew nothing…living in their own world of sleeping as much as possible. I cried as we spoke about the catastrophe.

Yesterday was but one day past and still it lingered in my mind. There was something about that flight patch which had been found in perfect condition… Perhaps it was a symbol, left quietly in a patch of grass, of the seven souls whose lives, now with God, are NOW in perfect condition?

They were blessed…for each was doing what he or she WANTED to do! How many of us can say that? The decisions that led them to that day were ones that they didn’t regret…for they were on a mission! They had a goal! And, in their taking off…they had accomplished that goal! How elated they must have been!

The devastating event which happened was only a bump in their road for, even today…they fly on! It is their families and friends who now have gaping holes in their hearts and lives. My prayers are with them.

Our country is a better place for having had them here with us for some 40+ years and, though their bodies have been ripped from the fabric of our country, we will mend. Some will become stronger, even more dedicated people as a result of what we, as a people, experienced the morning they fell. HE will work wonders…for through this grief, there will be miracles…and lives and hearts will change!

Praise God!”

Have You Ever Heard a Plastic Bag Scream?

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Today is one of both necessity and fun. I’ve decided, instead of going to my Weight Watcher’s meeting, to head to my friendly Subaru dealer to get the required 7,500 mile maintenance checked off my list. That’s the “necessity” part. After getting that taken care of, I’ll head out to do a little metal detecting. (Yup, that’s the fun part of the plan.)

Around our house we have certain responsibilities before we can leave. Be sure that the doggie door is closed so that the girls will be safely confined. Then there’s the act of locking the back door which leads to the back yard and deck. It was then that something screamed at me.

I’d noticed this a couple of days ago but took it with the proverbial grain of salt. After all, the next day was garbage day so there was a reasonable rationale for it. Today, though, things were different. Today, garbage day had come…and gone and yet the bags were still on the windowsill. Not only were they still there…but they have reproduced??

My hubby has a tendency to save things. It’s even to the point of collecting. And that wouldn’t be so bad. After all, they are usually HIS things. He calls them his “boy toys” and they’re squirreled away in his highboy chest. (He calls it “the holy of holies.”) I find that to be odd — but not shocking. He is, after all, quite a bit older than I so he often does things differently. This NEW collection, however, borders on being scary.

By now, you may be curious about the aforementioned bags. You may even wonder why they “screamed” at me. Well, it has something to do with the fact that the bags are filled with dog poop! Yeah, that’s pretty disgusting. And you haven’t lived until bags of feces start accumulating on your deck!

I was thrilled to hear him tell me tonight, however, that putting the bags into the outgoing trash would be tomorrow mornings first job. Whew! Needless to say I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It’s a great feeling knowing that my hubby hasn’t started collecting THAT stuff. It’s bad enough that we scoop it up, usually, before it has a chance to get cold. There’s nothin’ worse than stepping into a fresh pile (unless, of course, one of us had decided to let it accumulate on the deck,  that is).

Gramma’s Drinking Thick Water! Will It Kill Her?

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We were visiting our “kids” (who aren’t really kids) and their kids (who really are) for Christmas. That’s always an experience in and of itself. And, I love every minute of it! For as long as I can remember, though, I’ve had kind of a target on my back…and front (so far as my son and his wife are concerned, that is). Some of the pleasure in their lives is found in teasing “Mom.” Yeah, they harass, throw verbal barbs, and generally make fun of my many idiosyncrasies.

These two lovable nut-bars seem to enjoy finding things about me that are strange (and there’s quite a selection, to be honest). There are plenty of areas in which I fall short (like memory when we play UNO, etc.). My senior citizenship has provided them with plenty of material most recently, and that was the case here.

As a Weight Watcher, I have to focus on drinking a minimum of six cups of water every day. Sadly, I’ve found that, if left to my own yearnings, I wouldn’t drink that much because I only drink when I’m thirsty. I’ve never awakened from a sound night’s sleep thinking about how great it would be to guzzle water cup after cup. So, I have to make a deliberate attempt to drink water. One 2-cup bottle gets me started in the morning. At least that’s my intent. Then, I usually fill my 32-ounce bottle with the rest of my requirement.

Sadly, some maladies of old age have recently struck! One attack of diverticulitis was plenty! I’ve read (and heard from my doctor) that the best way to fight the reoccurrence of diverticulitis symptoms, is to increase fiber intake. So, fiber has now become my friend! (Yeah, right!) But, it seems that the fiber in the food I eat isn’t enough! I’ve been forced to start supplementing it with the powdery white stuff that stirs into liquids without adding either taste or grit. Sounds delicious, huh?

When I first get up in the mornings, I add about one and a half teaspoons of the white stuff to a bottle of water and give it a shake. Naturally my son was aware of all this preparation so when Jesse (grandson #2) reached for my first bottle of the day in hopes of snagging a sip or two, his dad said, “Jess, you don’t really want any of that. Gramma is drinking thick water.”

At that point, I filled in with a bit of explanation. At least it was enough to wipe the confused expression off of Jesse’s face. Just the thought of “thick water” truly is sort of disgusting I must admit but, in the end, instead of killing me, it’s my hope to both lengthen and enhance the quality of my life. We won’t discuss the “jet propulsion” which the increased fiber inevitably provides for THAT is always quite embarrassing.

“Mom’s Room”

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Display Table in Current Spot

It’s only fair to admit that it’s never been Mom’s Room at all. Regardless of what you call it, though, as I sit in my “office” (originally a formal dining room), from my chair, I look through the foyer and into what used to be the formal living room of the home that Guy T and I bought two decades ago. (Wow! Though I find it hard to imagine, that makes me pretty old.)

So, if it’s never actually been Mom’s room, why-in-the-heck…?

It’s sort of a long story so, I’ll likely be forced to tell it in pieces. The truth of the matter is that my original intent this morning had been to talk about…dusting, of all things! Well, not really dusting-but that’s where my thoughts headed before they were diverted?

I’ll work backwards, since memories are, in a sense, life lived backwards. Just before she left this earth, Mom had asked me to promise that, when she died and we got official “custody” of their home, we’d sell it and use the money for a new home. Being an obedient daughter, that’s exactly what we did.

When we found our lovely new nest, it seemed only fair to name one of the rooms “Mom’s Room”. So, the formal living room in the front of the house, was filled with some of her favorite furniture and “Mom’s Room” was born!

Picture the huge, long, blue, three-cushion couch against the far wall accented by an antique glass display table in the corner. Then, throw a lamp and sundry artistic items in the mix. Her curvaceous, wooden free-formed coffee table served as a lovely footstool. In the corner diagonal to the couch was a stately, modernish lime green chair which she’d reupholstered a couple of times. Tossed throughout the room were pillows and afghans in combinations of bright blue and lime green. Those were, you must understand, her favorite colors.

In 2002, when I received the diagnosis of ductile carcinoma, it was in Mom’s room that I suddenly found myself on my knees. No, I wasn’t talking to her but, it was much like kneeling beside her and resting my head on her lap…as I talked to God about my fears, inadequacy to carry the load, and to seek His guidance. In a sense, both were there with me. But that’s another story…for yet another time.