Fifty Something becomes Sixty Something

     I hit the big 6-0 this year.  Many of my friends had slight depressions leaving their fifties behind. Me not so much.  I earned 60.  I raised my kids to be kind caring adults. I made it through the scouts, drama club, chorus events, sports events, and various other school activities.  We put three kids through college, and have seen them all find jobs, buy homes, and succeed. Kirk and I made good choices over the years so he was able to retire early. 

     I get to spend time with my 82 year old mother and my 7 month old granddaughter.

     I published my first novel, A Gift of Grace, and have been busy marketing.  I am truly blessed.  Were there trials along the way, absolfreakinglutley, but they made me stronger.  

     The old adage, what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger, is so true.  There were nights when I was awake staring at the ceiling wondering if things would work out.  What I came to understand is if it isn’t a health issue, then most things will pass.

So my friends, 60 is here.  We deserve our time.  Enjoy and be blessed.

Photos of My Mind

I love to take pictures. But sometimes, I stop and think about the photographs I didn’t take.

The first one that comes to mind is a new born foal on a misty morning on a back road in Ohio. 

I had cut through Zanesville, turning south from I-70. It was around 8:30 in the morning and as I drove a light fog had settled in the pastures that lined the narrow and curving road. My camera was tucked in the backpack on the passenger’s seat beside me. I came into a straight stretch of road and through the mist I saw about twenty horses huddled together by a fence. About twenty yards away were two men and a young boy. One of the men was pulling a foal out of the mother horse as she laid on the ground. I pulled over and reached for my camera. Then I stopped. If I took the time to get my camera out and get the settings just right, the moment would be gone. As the baby hit the ground, I chose to be in the moment. The picture still exists in my mind. And every time I think of it, I smile.

The same thing happens when I pass an amazing sunset behind rolling hills and silos. Barns, some with Amish paintings displayed on the side, draped in the shadows at the days end. The mountain peaks, vibrant green against the spectacular blue sky. A running river, cutting through the forest, white water churning against the grey rocks. I pull over and just sit there. I blink my eyes and take a mental picture. 

Family members, celebrations, panoramic views, quiet moments. As many actual pictures as I have taken with my camera, there are thousands tucked into the photo album of my mind. They are there where I can take them out at a moment’s notice and marvel in the incredible picture gallery of my life.  

The Move

I recently had the privilege of moving my Mother into her new home.  It was hard.  The home she was leaving had been the family home where gatherings had been celebrated and reunions enjoyed for over 58 years.  All four of my siblings had been brought from the hospital to our home. (Except Jeffrey who had to stay at the grandparents with Mom as the other three of us had the flu.). 

Kirk and I arrived on Tuesday.  Mom had been cleaning out closets and drawers slowly over the last year preparing for the move.  Kirk and I sat Mom on a chair and placed the first box on a stool in the middle of the kitchen.  We handed plates and dishes down.  She told us about each one.  Where it came from; Great Aunt Doris, Mrs. Mechwart, Grandma Sanders, her Mother. Each piece held a wonderful memory, and as she lovingly wrapped and placed each piece in a box we realized how lucky we were to share in these moments.  Many of the other boxes held a plethora of historical papers and pictures documenting a family’s story. We moved throughout the house, each corner held a new memory.  We laughed about how the brothers had memorized how many steps in the entry way and back the hall it took so you could come in late at night.  Or the moments when you thought you had made it but heard a voice from the darkness, “Wendy, we’ll talk in the morning.” Then there’s the wall by the fridge that held markings for the various heights of the kids and grandkids and great grandkids. Or the shed where Dad would paint with the grandkids.

On Friday Mom signed the papers and moved into the new condo.  It was smaller but cozy.  We had the kitchen completely set up by that evening.  Kirk moved several smaller pieces into the house and we watched as the memories moved with her into her new home.  On Saturday my brothers and nephew Matt showed up to move the heavier pieces.  Two truckloads full and she was in. Ali and Nick showed up to help move and assist with furniture placement. Maddie, Emily and the kids gave the place a feeling of home. The cherished crystal and glass pieces were in the antique cupboard.  Drapes were hung, washer and dryer delivered.  By Saturday night the house looked like she’d lived there for a long time. 

People asked if I was okay with the move.  I said yes.  The house had gotten to be too much.  The yard work overwhelming.  As I looked around her new home I realized that the building is not the family, the people are the family.  Wherever my Mom is, that’s my home.  Wherever we gather as a family, that’s my home. And as hard as the move was, it was a privilege to be a part of this new adventure in my Mother's life. 

My Favorite

I was having a discussion with my friends that other night about children.  More specifically about which of our children was the favorite.

 I told them this story.  I was sitting at a bar one time at PF Changs.  My daughter Brooke was bartending, my daughter Lauren and I were doing shots of Patron.  It had been a rough day.  And it was only 3:00.  The other bartender says, “So who’s the favorite child?”  Without missing a beat the girl’s both said, “Dan.”

Not true, I scoffed. But, I don’t love them equally.  They have three VERY different personalities.  You can’t love dissimilar things the same.  It’s like Pizza, Steak, and chocolate.   Love them all.  But differently.

Daniel has a tough exterior, but soft inside.  If something is bothering me he sees it before the others.  He also is the first to call me out when I am going in the wrong direction.  His loyalty, honesty and integrity amaze me.

Lauren is a people pleaser as well as a creative soul.  She is the first to try to make things better, also the first to be hurt.  When she was traveling around Europe my grandmother died and she called constantly to make sure I was all right. Her sensitive and creative soul amazes me.

Brooke is strong, independent and loving.  When she was two a friend of mine who was visiting asked if Brooke wanted to go home with her.  Brooke looked over at me and said, “Bye, bye.”  But she is fiercely protective of family.  Her artistic abilities and loving soul amaze me.

So my answer to my friends was this - My favorite is the one that needs me.  My favorite is each one, for I hold them in my heart, where I cherish the moments from their childhood, rejoicing in the exceptional people they have become.  I embrace their differences and appreciate their similarities. 

They all love animals.  Probably more than most people.  They all are appalled by injustice.  All are involved in some form of fundraising for various charities.

So I said to my friend, how, how do you choose.  The simple answer…You don’t. 

You embrace.

Poof

We all have moments in our life that come back to us as brief flashbacks.  Not the major milestones, but those small moments that make up a lifetime.  I have noticed lately that they happen at the weirdest time and are usually brought on by some outside influence. 

The other day I was at a friend’s home and she was using Dove dish soap.  The aroma of that detergent set off a memory.  POOF - I was taken back to my Grandmother’s kitchen, a sink full of dishes after a family meal.  The kitchen, my Grandmother standing next to me, the soap smell combined with the grease aroma from the fried chicken all hit me as if I were actually taken back to that time.  Snapshots of the family gathered together for a holiday, the men going off to hunt, the women congregating in the kitchen.

On the back of our property in Georgia stands a grove of Hemlocks.  On a breezy day, if I stand there and close my eyes, POOF - I am taken back to my Grandparents farm in Southern Ohio.  I am taken to the grove of Hemlocks on a neighboring ridge, the sweet smell of the pines hanging in the air as my sister, cousins and I climb the trees and play the day away.

When I am close to a lake and a breeze comes across, as I feel the warmth of the day and hear the lapping of the waves on the shore, POOF - I am immediately transported to Lake Erie.  The summers of my youth were spent on the Lake.  Quick snapshots of us fishing, running through the park, eating ice cream at Tony’s. 

Sometimes these memories bring to mind simple moments like a picnic in the yard or helping my Dad work on a car.  Sometimes it’s a quick flash of sitting at a brother’s sporting event or holiday surrounded by family. 

The other day I was in the dentist’s office and he had a small fan aimed in my direction.  I closed my eyes and POOF- I was transported to the top of a hill behind my Grandparents farmhouse.  I sat on the tree stump out back and looked out over the back hills.   A cacophony of color shouted out, deep reds, bright yellows and vibrant oranges, the colors of fall.  In my mind, I tilted my head back and felt the cool air tickle my face. 

It seems these glimpses of my youth come more frequently as I get older.  Maybe they are the gifts God gives us to remind us of this wonderful thing we experience called life.  Sometimes…it’s the little things.

To See If I Can

Five little words.  Just five.  I uttered them last week when I felt the need to photograph the full moon out back that was so incredibly beautiful. 

The words?  To see if I can. 

It was nine o’clock at night.  I sat out back with my camera hoisted on my tripod and tried different shutter speeds, iso settings and apertures.  It was incredibly frustrating.  But I kept on.  I would stop and head into the house every once in awhile to take a break and re-group.  I studied my owner’s manual; I went online to see if there was any information that might lead me in the right direction to capture that one perfect shot. 

One site suggested I buy a telescope and adapter to get the best picture.  I googled.  $1500 and up.   I made the practical decision to try to get the picture with the equipment I already possessed. 

Back outside and tried a few suggestions I had found online.  Manual focus, ISO 100, Aperture F11, Shutter speed 125 and lens set to infinity.  (I shouted, “To infinity and beyond” to see if that would help.) With these settings in place at 11:53 pm I got the shots I wanted.  250 shots of the moon over 3 1/2 hours and I kept 7.  But they were a good 7.

I had experienced an  “to see if I can” moment.  And even though it was sitting in my backyard shooting picture after picture of the beautiful full moon, I thought of something; when I was younger I had so many of those wonderful moments where I stepped outside my comfort zone and stretched the boundaries of my somewhat safe existence. 

“Sure I can jump off that cliff into the water below.”

“Let’s climb up the steel trusses of the ranger tower.”

I won’t go into some of the other “to see if I can” moments of my life as some were just too stupid and I would prefer you all think of me as that “grown up” you all know and love. 

These moments might change as we age, maybe they’re not as  physically demanding.  But that wonderful moment when you see that you can learn something new, conquer some fear or just step outside your comfort zone and try, well these moments are priceless.

I Love It!!!

Something has been bothering me for some time now.  It has to do with words.  Not the overuse of the word “literally.”  Not the overuse of the words “whatever” or “awesome.”  Not people who say “irregardless.”  Actually, those things really annoy me.  But what really drives me crazy is the overuse of the words “love” and “hate.” 

I was talking to a friend about a new movie and she said, “Oh, I won’t see it. I hate Tom Cruise.”  You HATE Tom Cruise?  I may dislike an actor’s acting style, or their role choices, but hate?  No.  I save that emotion for more serious matters.

Let me give you an idea of what I mean. 

I hate that my Father died so young.

I hate Cheetos.

Do you see the difference?  Can the feelings in these two sentences even compare?

I dislike Cheetos.  I can’t stand Cheetos.   Cheetos are not my thing.

I think maybe this all boils down to my love of words and their true meanings.  We throw love and hate around so casually that they lose their meaning. 

I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you.

I love spaghetti. 

I love my children.

I love lattes.

Overuse of the words tends to make the sentiment less.  Less meaningful, less important. 

We need to respect the words.  We need to allow them to express their true meaning.  Because if you stop to think about it there are no two words as powerful as Love and Hate.

I Cry

I just finished a book called The Weird Sisters.  At the end, I cried.  It was a happy ending, but still…I have always been a crier.  Happy, sad, anything moving can bring tears to my eyes.  I have to admit that as I have gotten older I cry easier but it’s always been there.  I used to cry at commercials.  The Kodak one with the little kid being licked by golden retriever puppies or the Folgers one where the young man comes home and his sister says, “You’re the only gift I need.”

It used to bother me.  When a movie I was watching with the kids hit the happy/sad moment, I would casually wipe the tears before the kids could say, “Are you crying?”  It was a Sesame Street movie, but Big Bird was just so sad.  Don’t get me started on Old Yeller.

As I’ve gotten older I have embraced my tears of joy or sadness.  I rejoice when a book or movie moves me to tears.  In this day and age it is so easy to become hardened to emotions.    

Yesterday, I was curled up on the couch with a good book and my husband was watching golf... (no surprise there!)  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a short commercial with a returning soldier surprising his son at school.  The tears started.   Three Kleenexes and several minutes of a perplexed husband’s quizzical look later I returned to my reading. 

I noted several things:

1.  My eyes and nose get a good cleaning.

2.  I somehow feel as if I have had a therapeutic moment, very Zen, cleansing if you will.

3. The smile after can bring about a momentary change in an otherwise tedious day.

So, bring on that new baby, emotional homecomings, heart tugging commercials and poignant family moments.  My Kleenex and I embrace you!!!!

Cudda

There she sat.  I called her “she” because I considered her to be an extension of myself.

She was a 1972 Plymouth Barracuda, Moss Green with a black leather top.  It was my dad’s dream car that he had bought to drive when he gave my sister and me his old 1968 Chevy II after we had successfully obtained our drivers licenses.  The Chevy II was a tank.  A tan, squared up, four door piece of machinery whose only job was to protect us in our early days behind the wheel. 

But I wanted the power.  I wanted the speed.  And I was the bad one.

I would wait until my sister would ask to use the car on a Friday night before stating that I too had plans and needed wheels. 

“Okay you can have the Barracuda, just be careful.”

“Careful, sure.  You know me, always careful.”

Friday night, Headly Road.  We would all meet and race; the guy with the GTO, the guy with the Pontiac 2x2 and even the guy with the souped up Volkswagen.

Looking back I can’t get over the chances I took on the dangerous winding roads.  I just knew I loved the speed.  I lived for the exhilarating feel of the force that threw you left to right as you took the corners, perilously close to the deep ditches that ran alongside the narrow country roads. 

There were a few minor collisions between some of the other vehicles, but I was lucky enough to come away unscathed.  The worst that happened to me was one winter’s night when I was running against my friend in his Pontiac 2x2.  I knew I didn’t stand a chance, he was fast and a little crazy.  When I pulled his name, I knew I would sit back and race just for the fun of it.  No expectations. 

The road had been salted and was nice and dry.  I sat revving my motor beside the Pontiac, waiting until we got the all clear from the guys that stood along the road at half mile intervals.  The flag flew and we were off.  Tires screeching, the smell of rubber burning mixed with the stench of exhaust fumes. 

It was all going well.  He was ahead by two car lengths at the first bend.  As I came out of the turn my wheels skidded on the salt that had accumulated by the edge of the road.  As abruptly as my tires had slid they just as suddenly caught in the gravel throwing the car into the ditch.  Slushy snow and mud flew over the front of the sleek car.  The exact moment of the loss of control remains a blur to this day but my seat belt held me securely in place.  I sat stunned for a few moments.   Friends ran to my car. 

“Are you okay?”

“Holy shit!”

I heard the mumbling s of my friends but still wasn't piecing it together.

I got out of the car and sat on the ground.  My friend Scott walked around the car.  “No damage.  Just a bunch of mud and grass smashed up in the front fender.

Did I think about the possible outcome of being injured?  Did I worry about my own safety? 

No. I was worried that I had wrecked my Dad’s car and I was going to get killed when I got home.

I pulled myself together, helped pull the car out of the ditch with my friend’s truck and went to his house to hose down the car, wiping off any remnants of the dirt and debris.  There was only a small scratch in the chrome on the front bumper. 

For years after it wasn’t the danger or the wreck that would bother me.   I would see that little scratch and it was a constant reminder that I had let my father down.   

Time Keeps on Slipping...

           My husband and I just took a 17 day vacation to my childhood home in Ohio. While there, Kirk played in a three day member guest golf tournament with his brother Scott, brother-in-law Doug and friend Brian.  

          The first week was a whirlwind of family gatherings, shopping and relaxing by the pool. 

          The second week, my Mom and I attended the Ohio State Fair, went to a concert on the river and watched Fire on the Water.  We went to the small town of Utica for peaches, had dinner and lunch at several new restaurants, visited with every family member in town and attended Sunday church services. 

         It was a lovely, typical vacation spent at the home of my youth.

         Halfway through, things changed.  I was reading the paper and saw that a classmate had died.  I’d met up with her recently at a reunion of sorts and she was smiling and laughing with the rest of us.  Her demise had been quick and heartbreaking. 

         Once again, I was hit with the reality that the time we have on earth is fleeting.  I was happy I had seen her in May, but wondered how someone could be there one minute and gone the next.  As I was dealing with this unexpected loss the news came that we had lost a family member in a very tragic way. 

          Both were around my same age.  Both enjoyed life and were loved by their families.

          So, I question.  Sitting in the chair at the service for my family member, I kept looking around, wondering what we were doing here.  How could we lose someone so young?

          I didn’t question when my 99 year old Grandmother passed.  She’d survived breast cancer and lived with diabetes.  Her last months were spent in a nursing home and she hated lying in a bed hooked up to machines.  I understand that.

          But the shock of these two losses still haunts me. 

          It makes me want to spend a little more time with family.  Doing things I love.  Write a little more.  Garden a little more.  Buy that Jeep I want, no matter how impractical.  Take those trips, walk the dog, hug everyone.  Stop spending my time worrying about things I can’t change and putting time into things I can.  Say yes instead of no.  Yes, I will go to that concert, even though I hate crowds.  Yes, I will meet you for lunch or dinner even though I don’t feel like going out. 

         If I see someone that needs help and think I should step up and help them, instead of waiting for someone else to step up, I will move.  I will be a better me.  Patient with my family and friends and letting all the insignificant disputes fall by the wayside. 

         I want to celebrate this life and hope that someday, someone will say, “She lived a splendid life and had no regrets.”

Carnival

A short story I wrote recently...................

The clanging of the gears sliding through the complex contraption screech as they rub metal on metal.  I glance up at the mammoth amusement ride they call The Monster. 

The man running the machine nods in my direction.  “You’re next.  Just stand on the platform and sit back when the seat swings forward.”

My five-year-old daughter stands next to me on her tiptoes, arms reaching towards the sky.  “Momma, I want to go this high.”

We step on the platform as the scoop like chair sweeps us off our feet.  As we sail past, the man reaches over and locks the bar in place as we make the turn heading upward.  My daughter keeps her hands in the air.  I grip tightly to the bar and close my eyes.

The large wheel starts and stops as he locks other riders firmly in place.  Finally, we begin our trip.  Up and up, round and round.  I look out over the festive scene below.  Bright lights, a myriad of brilliant colors dot the scenery.  The aroma of popcorn, mixed with the burnt sugar smell of cotton candy wafts through the air. 

Below us, a man shouts at carnival goers as they walk passed. “Guess your age, guess your weight.”

In the background bells ring, horns blare.

The seat we are riding in stops abruptly at the top.  It swings in the air, finally settling in position high above the chaos below.  My daughter leans forward, causing the bucket to sway.  She wants to experience the view by looking straight down.  I grab the back of her pants as she leans farther forward, the bar digging into her tiny stomach below the Hello Kitty tee. 

“Sit back,” I yell above the machine and the chorus of noise from the carnival below.

My daughter looks back at me over her shoulder, “I’m not scared.”

“It’s dangerous,” I plead. “Please sit back.”

She sits back, smiles up at me and then pats my hand.  “I’m okay, Momma. Don’t be afraid.”

Thirteen years later. 

Two weeks ago, my daughter graduated from high school.  Due to an early admission to college she is packed and ready to drive with her best friend the four hours to her dormitory.

We stand in the drive.  My husband is snapping pictures for her memory book I started when she was born.

I hug her close.

“It’s okay, Mom.  I’m not scared.”

“It’s just dangerous out there.”  I hold her close, imagining that if I don’t let go, she can’t move on.

“I’m not five.”

As I let her go, I want to tell her that to me she will always be that five-year-old, staring down from the top of the Ferris wheel, unafraid.  I want to tell her that her independence and fearlessness scares the hell out of me.  I want her to know that no matter where she goes or what she does, she will always be that small child reaching for the sky and my love and my fears will always be with her.

You Clean, I Clean

I call it the Bum clean effect and it goes like this. You are walking by a side table and notice there is some dust on the picture frame. You pick up said frame and give it a quick polish on your back side. You know you’ve done it. It’s one of those cleaning secrets no one talks about.

There are other variations of this cleaning process.

One I call the I already have on an old flannel shirt, why not use the sleeve to wipe down the dresser as I walk by.

Another I call the I’m on my way to the laundry room and have an old sock, why not stick it on your hand and wipe down that mirror in the hallway.

These are not things I have always done. They are the little shortcuts I have come up with over the years to allow me those few extra moments of down time I so deserve.

If I had to walk all the way up to the closet where I keep my cleaning products, then to the laundry room for my cleaning towels, I would waste around ten minutes I could be writing, gardening or reading.

I figure if I add up my bum cleaning, flannel shirt wiping, old sock shinning minutes, I have probably saved almost a week of extra free time.

Again I say…it’s the little things.

It Was Wonderful to See You!

It was the fourth of three outfits I’d tried on.

“That’s cute,” my mom said.

“I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”

She smiled.

“Should I wear my hair straight? Or curly?”

“Curly,” Mom said. 

“I wish I didn’t have to wear these damn glasses.”

“I’m sure most people your age have them.”

Outfit on, hair and make-up done.  One last check of Facebook on my friend Mel’s page to make sure the event was still on, then head out to the impromptu class reunion.

I walked in not knowing what to expect.  It had been over 35 years since I had last seen many of the people who had RSVP’d to the event.    I stepped up to the bar and looked around and recognized NO ONE!!! 

“Are you with the class reunion?” The bartender asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, ready to turn and run.

“They are on the other side.”

A deep breath escapes my body.  I round the bar and there they are, the faces from my past.  We’ve changed, but in their eyes I see the boys and girls of my youth.

I make the rounds.  I hear the stories; the marriages, the kids, the divorces and the deaths.  We reminisce about the good times and the bad.  We talk about the classmates we’ve lost, all too young.

Each person had a story, the story of their life.  Each was unique, but there was always that underlying similarity.  We’d grown older.  We’d lived our lives.  We’d struggled, we’d failed, we’d succeeded and we’d survived. 

It was wonderful catching up, but so hard to get around to everyone.  My best friend from childhood was there with her new husband, as was my favorite cousin who was a year behind me all through school.  Close friends and passing acquaintances filled the outdoor area.  

Someone thought to bring a yearbook and a couple of times I had to put the name to the face from the pages of the chronicles of our youth.

Laughter filled the night as we reminisced about our past and chatted about our future. 

It was late when I got home after dropping two of the girl’s at their hotel. 

“So did you have fun?” A voice came from the darkness of my mother’s room.

“I did,” I said.  “You know how sometimes you don’t see someone for years and then when you get together it feels like yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“That’s how it was.”

I’m so glad we took the opportunity to gather together. 

Life is short and every aspect of our life is important. 

We can’t have a future without celebrating our past.

 So, to all my friends that came out, it was wonderful seeing you and let’s not make it so long between get-together’s.  

Does It Have To Be Either Or ???

I have been reading lately about the stay at home Mom vs. the working Mom. Since I’ve been both I felt I might be able to help with the discussion.   

Both are hard work. 

When the kids were little, I stayed home and it was like I was a freaking day camp counselor.  Monday was library story hour, Tuesdays and Thursdays we’d head to the pool for swim lessons, Wednesday was Dreher Zoo for kids’ days and Fridays we went to the beach.  Occasionally we would head out to one of the many parks in the area and have a picnic. 

We’d head home for lunch and the kids would nap while I did the needed house work.  My sister once gave me a plaque that said, ‘My house is clean enough to be healthy, but dirty enough to be happy.’  Then came play time. Daniel would play computer games and the girls usually played dress up or Barbie.  At 4:00, I would start supper.  I always had family dinners at 5:30 just like Mom.  I loved those times, with Kirk listening as the kids told about their day.

As each kid went off to school, the schedules changed a little, but it was basically busy mornings and working afternoons.  I got involved in PTA, was a room Mom, and volunteered for field tips.  It was my job.  I didn’t get performance assessments, I didn’t get raises or bonuses, but I got hugs and kisses and I was there to kiss boo boos and hug hurts away.

When the kids went to middle school, I went to work.  I worked at a Barnes and Noble in the morning so I would be home in the afternoon for dinner and bedtime.  The juggling involved was sometimes overwhelming.  Get home, make dinner, spend time with family while doing household chores, read the kids a book before bed and then hugs and kisses before falling into my own bed, completely exhausted.

High school came and they needed me less so I took a job at an unfurnished furniture store.  It was small and family run; I felt it was a great fit.  I still rushed out the door at 4 to be home in time for dinner and evenings with family.  With an early quitting time, I was able to make the tennis matches, drama productions and softball games followed by family dinner at the local sports bar.

When the older kids went to college, I quit working and decided to volunteer at Quantum House in West Palm Beach.  It is much like a Ronald McDonald House, where families stay while their children are hospitalized.  I was there for six months when they offered me a job.  And I loved it.  Helping families in need somehow fulfilled that part of being a Mother that I missed.  I set the routine.  Sundays I would cook meals for the week.  Spaghetti sauce and stews would be put into the freezer.  Laundry, ironing and outfits were hung for the week. 

Then we lost four children in one month.  They ranged in age from 2 to 16 years of age.  I would come home crying.  By this time each of our kids had graduated from college and Kirk said we didn’t need the extra money so if I wanted to stay home we’d be okay.  I thought long and hard before deciding to once again work at home. 

Someone once asked me what I do all day.    I say I write every morning and then I make sure everything is taken care of so when Kirk gets home we can just enjoy our life.  Lawn care, deliveries, dinner, laundry, family gatherings, and a whole assortment of jobs and chores make up my day. 

I have lived both sides of this issue and each is equally hard.  We women live with enough guilt about our decisions to have to defend them constantly to the press, to our families and to each other.  We need to support one another, stop pointing fingers, and stop reading those ridiculous studies that say one way is better than the other. 

 Maybe the men who execute these studies should take the money they invested in them and divide it up among women with families so they can take a two week all expenses paid vacation. It would be a better use of the money, because seriously we women don’t care; we are all working and are just too damn tired.

It’s the Little Things

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog about all those singular moments that make up a life time.  The birth of your children, marriage, or losing a parent.  When you look back over your life these are the things that jump out, they are like the peaks on an echocardiogram…straight line, blip, straight line, blip. 

But recently on one long drive from my home in South Florida to my mother’s home in Ohio I came across some events that made me realize, sometimes it’s the little things.

It started when I was driving the first leg of my journey from West Palm to Greensboro to meet Kirk at the Georgia house.  (I drove up a couple days early and he flew in later.  It saves on his vacation days and hey, it works). 

 I decided to take the back roads up through northern Florida and southern Georgia.  Me, Kenny Chesney, Tim McGraw, Rascal Flatts and various other country friends.  My boys and I were cruising up 441 and I drove by acres of tobacco fields.  But there, right in the middle of the sea of green was about an acre of sunflowers.  They were tall and as the bright afternoon sun hit the yellow of the flowers, a brilliant glow reflected off.  It was an amazing sight.  I pulled my car over and sat and enjoyed the wonderful gift. 

A few hours later I made the final turn towards the lake.  I came up over a ridge and looked out over the vast rolling hills that lay in the valley below me.  The sun was on the horizon and there was a light mist rising from the trees.  Again I pulled over and just sat, enjoying the beauty that nature provides.  

A couple days later, Kirk and I were sitting on the back deck, watching a heard of deer cross the golf course behind the cottage and stroll down to a small clover field just at the edge of the woods.  We sat watching, quietly enjoying the view when a humming bird flew up next to where we were sitting and fluttered stationary for what seemed like twenty seconds.

On my trip from Georgia to Ohio I saw acres of farmland, farmers out on tractors, working their fields.  I saw a horse running full out across a pasture, the wind blowing it’s mane up in the air.   I giggled like a school girl imaging it’s joy at just running free.

As I turned into my old neighborhood, I saw my parents home, the one we’ve lived in for over 57 years.  The familiarity always makes me stop and smile. 

I sat by my father’s grave and chatted for awhile.

And as I got into the car to drive the 18 hours back home, I was excited about what wonderful sights I might see and I realized sometimes it’s the little things that make up a lifetime.

Something You Never Knew

There is something that most of my friends from my childhood and possibly throughout my later years don’t know about me.  I am a nerd.  In fact, I always have been.  When I was little I loved comic books.  My favorite was the Archie series with Veronica and Betty always vying for Archie’s affections, while Reggie, Jughead and the rest of the gang filled in the storylines with all the angst driven times of high school. 

I also have the complete Johnny Quest series. It was about a boy named Johnny Quest, who along with his friend Hadji, dog Bandit, Johnny’s scientist father Dr. Benton Quest, and bodyguard/pilot Race Bannon, investigated strange occurrences throughout the world. 

Add to the comic books an early interest in reading and musicals and you have my early nerdom well in hand.  To this day, if you look at my favorite TV shows you’ll see Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, Torchwood and NCIS.  Okay maybe NCIS isn’t a nerd show, but I do love me the forensic science they use, oh to be Abby Sciuto. 

Seriously, ask me anything.  Fantastic.  Allons-y, Allonso.  Geronimo.  Bow ties are cool.  What?  What?  The game is afoot. 

See Nerd.

The other day a friend said she didn’t like playing on line games with me because I always win.   That’s because while you all were out at the disco’s I was playing Dungeons and Dragons.  And while you were out playing toss with your kids I was playing Intellivision and Atari with my son. 

A couple years ago when Daniel moved home for awhile the new Uncharted Drake’s Fortune game came out.  Kirk would come home and I would be curled up on the bed as my son sat at his desk playing and I would be yelling, “Behind you, a treasure, right there behind you.”

It’s a standing joke among the immediate family members that we embrace our nerdom. 

So, as much as I would like to come up with a big finish for this article, there is a book calling my name. I told Kirk I was taking a personal day, no laundry or toilet cleaning today. The crusades, secret order and mystery calls as I will be revisiting Raymond Khoury’s The Last Templar.  

Will It Ever be Better/Worse Than This?

It was 1973. We had just finished the Gahanna Relays. The group I was with headed to the Drive-in movies in Whitehall. Two cars parked next to each other. In mine, myself and my three best friends, in the other a guy I had a serious crush on and his friend. We all got out and mingled. A few other cars showed up and soon the group grew to around thirty fellow students. I remember it like it was yesterday. I was leaning against the front of my car when my crush came over. We started talking and when the movie began, he lifted me onto the hood of my car, sat beside me and draped an arm around my shoulder. It was amazing. It was the first time I remember thinking, ‘Nothing will ever be better than this moment.’ We ended up dating for over a year until he went away to college. When he left, I cried and thought, ‘Nothing will ever be worse than this.’

The next year I met Kirk. We dated for five years before we got married and there were too many, 'Nothing will be better than this' moments to write in this short blog. I do remember walking with my father down the aisle and looking at the man I was marrying and thinking, ‘Nothing will be better than this.’

A year later, I had my first child. It was late one night, during the 2 am feeding. I was sitting in a big over sized rocking chair, my son had just finished his bottle and his eyes were fighting sleep. I knew I should put him back to bed, but I just sat there, rocking and holding him, sharing that special moment between parent and child. I thought, ‘Nothing will ever be better than this.’

Then came the next two additions and I wondered, ‘Can a person love another child as much as they love the first?’ And I did. The love, as well as our family, grew. And I would sit with each of those wonderful babies, memorizing each tiny feature from eyelash to their sweet heart shaped lips. I sat gently holding the tiny hands, nibbling on the miniature toes and I thought, ‘Nothing will ever be better than this.’

They grew and so did the wonderful moments. School, sports, plays, graduations, college; all moments were I’d sit with tears in my eyes and wonder if any moment could be better than this.

SO… we went along. Then one day 17 years ago, I was called home. My Father had gone into hospice. As I lay my head on his chest and said, “I love you” for the last time, I wondered, ‘Will there be any moment in my life worse than this?’

Then I remembered one of my favorite parts of a movie I loved. It was called Parenthood. The grandmother was explaining that some people get on the merry-go-round of life, going round and round, no ups, no downs and their lives are the same day in and day out.

Others get on the roller coaster. Their lives go around sharp corners, through the loop-de-loop, up the high peaks and then down into the deep valleys. They laugh, they cry and in the end they come off a wonderful ride.

So I’ll take those moments of better and worse. Because they are all part of that wonderful ride we call life.

What We Do Makes a Difference

Oh these wonderful women that I call friends. On a day to day basis you step out there and make the world a better place.

Yesterday I was reading over some of the past posts from friend’s walls. You see, I’ve kind of been in a funk lately. I have always been the eternal optimist, looking for the good wherever I can find it. If a person is mean then I always think there must be something going on in their lives, some hurt or trial that propels them to act out. But lately the meanness seems to be escalating.

My blog has been silent due to my recent overload of negative people bashing, political hatred and nasty attacks via the internet on everything from disagreeing with someone else’s opinions to their religious beliefs. I am overwhelmed by the constant complaining from people who feel they have a right to negatively comment on the most miniscule news, idea or posting. As if sitting behind a computer, spewing hatred, allows them some anonymity and therefore they can hit and run without reprisal.

Seriously, I was in a funk and even sitting down to write caused me to slip even farther into my bad mood.

So yesterday I tried a new exercise. After reading some past posts about friends that have gone to Haiti to help rebuild, spent time on the gulf coast re-habilitating animals hurt after the BP spill and volunteered to help up north with the recent tornado damages I thought I’d try something.

I posted a simple, “What did you do today to make a difference in someone else’s life?”

Some of the answers were -

• Helped my Mother get her computer up and running
• Shopping with Mom for her birthday and made her a cake
• Approved several $$ dollars in business loans
• Got a patient home health care as she lives alone
• Sent 42 boxes of food and magazines to Men serving in Afghanistan
• Got a family with an ill child relief from their electric bill

And then I remembered something I tried to teach my kids. Doing the big things is important. But it’s the everyday differences we make in people’s lives that make the world a better place.

I guess I need to stop letting the poison in and take time to appreciate the positive.

So, to these wonderful women who I call friends, that make differences in the lives of so many people every day.

I salute you and thank you for pulling me back.

Wrap Me Up

I was cleaning out the closet for my annual spring clean when I came across a piece of clothing I’ve had for I don’t know how long. Ladies, you know the one. It started out flannel, but it has been washed so many times it looks like an old cotton shirt. It was my fathers or my grandfathers, I don’t remember, but somehow I inherited it.

It’s navy blue, white and green checked. It’s extra large and when I put it on its baggy in all the right places. I need to roll the sleeves up to keep them from hanging over the end of my hands. It hits perfectly mid thigh for use as a nightshirt or an occasional, “I don’t think I’ll get dressed today” shirt.

It’s the piece of clothing I put on when I’m sick, when I’m tired or achy or just need to have the warmth of my shroud surround me.

It hangs conveniently on the top of the closet door or sometimes when I’ve had one of those weeks; it hangs on the top of one of the posts on my four poster bed.

As a writer there have been times I have counted on the shirt to help me through a brief block. I grab my shirt, a cup of earl grey tea with a shot of Irish whiskey and work through.

As my husband was piling his old golf shirts and workout clothes into the large bag he nodded in my direction. “Does that go?”

“Not in this lifetime,” I replied.

And back it goes, hanging close by, for when I need it to help me through or bring me comfort.

As always it’s the little things……

Today was just a bit different

The day started out like any other. I stretched, got out of bed, and opened the blinds to the new day before setting out to complete my morning tasks. Dog out, check… coffee made, check… newspaper read, check… dishwasher empty, check… upstairs to make bed, check… shower and dress, check… Then I sat down to get some work done. The latest book needs some serious editing. But before that I thought I would check the FB page.

The first post stopped everything. A friend from high school had passed away. He wasn’t a close friend. In fact I’ve only seen him twice since graduation. But he was that one guy that every time you saw him he was smiling. My sister said that she remembered him as being a person that accepted everyone for who they were, not caught up in the crazy hierarchy that makes up most high schools.

But every time we hear about a person in our own age groups, no matter what age, aren’t we all reminded of our own mortality? Doesn’t it make you stop and examine your own life for the briefest moment wondering what this thing we call life is all about?

Oh, you know for a few days we’ll think hard about what changes we can make in our lives. We’ll do more, take a few more chances, say yes instead of no. Yes to life. Yes to those moments where we step outside our safety nets and live. It’ll last a few days, but then we will all slide back into our safe existence. It’s not bad; it’s just what it is.

So…for those of you that knew him, here is my Terry "Jake" Jakeway story.

I can’t remember what year it was so I’ll say I was a freshman. I was in typing class. Yeah I know, easy class, but it filled a credit hour and I thought it would be undemanding. I was late to class, probably due to playing kissy face with the boyfriend. (I won’t put his name ‘because it wasn’t Kirk). So I take one of the last chairs and I happen to be in front of Greg Bates and Terry Jakeway. For those of you that went to Gahanna you know this was not good. I guess the jocks took this class for an easy A. Let’s just say I did better than those two, but not by much. But I do remember the teacher was one of those that phoned it in. You know, “Okay type," then leave the room to get a coffee. Greg and Terry would entertain the class. I’ll never forget the fun we had. So what if I still only type 30 words a minute with typos, the memories made in that classroom where what high school should be about.

We lost Greg when he was way too young, and now Terry. The only thing I can say is God’s heavens just got a little more laughter, but at what price to those of us left behind?

We need the laughter here, we need the joy, we need the smiling face.

Rest in Peace old friend.