At the end of the blockbuster movie, "Titanic", after the ship sinks, Jack and Rose are hanging onto a piece of wood, hoping for rescue. Rose notices that Jack is slipping into unconsciousness, and vows to him that she will never let go. If you are one of 3 people on the planet who haven't watched the movie, I won't spoil it for you, but today I've been thinking about letting go of people, and it came to mind.
Rose fell fast and furiously for Jack. She gave up the life she knew to be with him, only to have an iceberg change the course of their lives. It was her promise to him not to let go that brings me to this post.
Lately, I've had to let go of several people, and ideas, that were hard to do. I guess Mom was one of the first, but she was relatively easy to let go of, because I'd had a chance to prepare myself and tell her all the things that I wanted her to know while I had a chance. She was ready, and when the time came, she went peacefully into the afterlife. While there was grief - and still is to a certain point - it made sense. Not all are that way.
Marsha was next. Her passing was quick, and I think to a certain extent, merciful. While I grieve for her sons and husband, the letting go for me had happened years ago. Our relationship was damaged by events leading up to our mother's death, and then she left. I didn't see her for 10 years, and we seldom spoke. There were things I HAD to let go of to be at peace with myself. The last conversation we had was nice, and our last visit face to face was comfortable. I think, in time, we may have been closer. But that chance is gone, which is something else I have to let go of and not regret. Sometimes, all the factors in our lives come together and we don't really know how to get past them. I'd like to think we did, to a small degree.
And as I've aged, I've learned that letting go of control of people and situations is one of the hardest things I ever dealt with. When I had my weight-loss surgery, it forced me to deal with feelings and thoughts without food for the first time in my life. While others use alcohol or drugs, I just crammed those things down my throat with another bite of something and moved on. That was no longer and option, and over the past two years, accepting things and making peace with situations has been very hard. Luckily, Andrew has gotten through it with me and let me vent and cry. I've learned that I can face adversity, disappointment and grief without relying on something other than my own strength.
So now, whether I'm standing beside a hospital bed, a coffin, or sitting on my couch, I'm learning to let go.
"Let go, and let God" - it's getting easier.
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Friday, June 21, 2013
Vicarious Dreams
I have never been an athlete. Far from it - my dear old dad once told me that I walked like I was pushing a plow. Thanks.
The closest I ever got to being on a field during a game was dancing in the drill team (now, there's an image for you!) in High School. Can't throw, or run, or jump (Erin has proof on video if you'd like to see it!) or even see a travel when they call one.
So, why am I so obsessed with the San Antonio Spurs?!?!? It has nothing to do with the game. Yeah, I can tell when they mess up - most of the time - and I can get REAL excited when they do something great. But that is the vehicle through which I became a fan.
Every sports fan thinks their guys are the best. Ask 'em, and they'll tell you. My favorite fan outside of SA is my cousin, Deeann Wood. Now, that girl is a Rangers' fanatic. Lately, we have bonded closer than ever over our respective teams and their players. It's been great to get texts from her during Spurs games to encourage, praise, and comfort when I needed it the most. Got one this morning, in fact, as I sat gloomily watching Press Conference sadness. That is part of the bond you make when you "share" a team. When one of our group last night starting saying "it's over", he was almost run out of the house. No place for that, even if it was true....
No, my allegiance - yes, allegiance - is not to the entity of the Spurs, but to the individuals. Pop, Tim, Tony, Manu.... and on and on. You want to know them personally, while knowing if the chance came, you'd be so dumbfounded that you would not be able to speak a word. You feel for them when their lives go badly, which in San Antonio is a closely guarded secret. You hope for their happiness and success.
And you want them to reach their dreams and goals. When I was reminded by a lady this week at one of the games that "it's only a game", I responded that, no, it's the chasing of a dream. And it's sad when a dream goes unfulfilled. Even if they are mega-millionaires, they are men, with dreams. If that sounds silly, then I guess I am silly.
So, for now, the games are done. The Spurs will get away and put this season in perspective in preparation for the next time. How many "next times" does Tim have left? Will Manu return, or was this the end? That is why this season, after coming so, so close to the realization of a 5th Championship is so hard to let go of.
So - Go, Spurs, Go!
The closest I ever got to being on a field during a game was dancing in the drill team (now, there's an image for you!) in High School. Can't throw, or run, or jump (Erin has proof on video if you'd like to see it!) or even see a travel when they call one.
So, why am I so obsessed with the San Antonio Spurs?!?!? It has nothing to do with the game. Yeah, I can tell when they mess up - most of the time - and I can get REAL excited when they do something great. But that is the vehicle through which I became a fan.
Every sports fan thinks their guys are the best. Ask 'em, and they'll tell you. My favorite fan outside of SA is my cousin, Deeann Wood. Now, that girl is a Rangers' fanatic. Lately, we have bonded closer than ever over our respective teams and their players. It's been great to get texts from her during Spurs games to encourage, praise, and comfort when I needed it the most. Got one this morning, in fact, as I sat gloomily watching Press Conference sadness. That is part of the bond you make when you "share" a team. When one of our group last night starting saying "it's over", he was almost run out of the house. No place for that, even if it was true....
No, my allegiance - yes, allegiance - is not to the entity of the Spurs, but to the individuals. Pop, Tim, Tony, Manu.... and on and on. You want to know them personally, while knowing if the chance came, you'd be so dumbfounded that you would not be able to speak a word. You feel for them when their lives go badly, which in San Antonio is a closely guarded secret. You hope for their happiness and success.
And you want them to reach their dreams and goals. When I was reminded by a lady this week at one of the games that "it's only a game", I responded that, no, it's the chasing of a dream. And it's sad when a dream goes unfulfilled. Even if they are mega-millionaires, they are men, with dreams. If that sounds silly, then I guess I am silly.
So, for now, the games are done. The Spurs will get away and put this season in perspective in preparation for the next time. How many "next times" does Tim have left? Will Manu return, or was this the end? That is why this season, after coming so, so close to the realization of a 5th Championship is so hard to let go of.
So - Go, Spurs, Go!
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Rest, in peace.
Up front, I will tell you that is post is personal, and intimate. I apologize to anyone who thinks I tell too much....
Death brings so many different emotions. The last few months, I've dealt with each and every one. Time to put those emotions on paper.
With Elaine, death was a shock and a deep, mean feeling. Shock, because we really didn't see it coming, and mean because, well, we just weren't ready to face losing her. In some ways, she was closer to me than a sister, even though I didn't see her regularly. She knew my history, watched me grow, kept me grounded. Now there are only 3 of us girl cousins left, and that dwindling of a group so influential to my life brings a certain amount of dread. "Who is next?" creeps into your mind, and you fear the answer. Elaine was sweet and hard all in the same woman; no one loved more fiercely and loyally, and yet her experiences had made her see the reality of what life can be up close and personal. As I stood beside her, I stroked her hands, once so very painful and frustrating, now quiet and - well, at peace. No more hurting - no more needing help for the most minute daily chores. But she never let it stop her, and her acceptance of what she had to deal with made her even more impressive. Her love for her brothers was a big responsibility, and her nieces and nephews knew of her unconditional love for both them and their fathers. Now they face their lives without her help....
I knew and lived alongside my mother-in-law for 40 years. I met her as a freshman in college, and became her first daughter-in-law. I learned so much about courage and steadfastness and living with commitment through her. And the most important thing I learned is how to live your life doing the right thing. I know that sounds simplistic, and I knew it going into my adulthood, but to see her life unfold as it did cemented that knowledge. All through the years, she made it clear as to how she wanted her life to be; what her fears and wishes were. And while a large part of it she had no control over, because of the fact that she had made her wishes so clear, in the end it went the way she wanted it. My respect for her children grows continually because of that determination to follow through with what she expected them to do, never putting what they wanted over her desires. She was ready to put her old self to rest, and did it without fear or regret. Death came as a friend, to take her out of a life that she never wanted. As she wished, there was no maudlin viewing for our "closure", but respect for the intimacy of the type of death she felt so strongly about. Her peace in complete.
And lastly, my sister. Nine years apart in age, we grew apart and never really regained what my mother hoped so desperately we would become. Lifestyles so drastically different, miles lived so very far apart, and past memories often too hard to overcome; we did end her life on peaceful terms. Her life was not one I would say was full of peace - but when she died, she was in a good marriage with loving sons who mourn her. It is what I wished for her, and I am glad. As we stood on the beach, and I watched them pour her into the ocean, I was able to put to rest whatever anxious feelings I still carried. Her life was her own, and while it ended too soon, I know that she loved many and was loved by many. Death came for her unexpectedly, just as it had for our mother.
As a Christian, I should not fear death. I should anticipate an eternity in Heaven, and I do. It's the process of the dying, and the mourning of those left behind that I dread. Not just for me, but for those I love. Elaine. Mom. Marsha. They are gone.
I know that they all rest. In peace.
Death brings so many different emotions. The last few months, I've dealt with each and every one. Time to put those emotions on paper.
With Elaine, death was a shock and a deep, mean feeling. Shock, because we really didn't see it coming, and mean because, well, we just weren't ready to face losing her. In some ways, she was closer to me than a sister, even though I didn't see her regularly. She knew my history, watched me grow, kept me grounded. Now there are only 3 of us girl cousins left, and that dwindling of a group so influential to my life brings a certain amount of dread. "Who is next?" creeps into your mind, and you fear the answer. Elaine was sweet and hard all in the same woman; no one loved more fiercely and loyally, and yet her experiences had made her see the reality of what life can be up close and personal. As I stood beside her, I stroked her hands, once so very painful and frustrating, now quiet and - well, at peace. No more hurting - no more needing help for the most minute daily chores. But she never let it stop her, and her acceptance of what she had to deal with made her even more impressive. Her love for her brothers was a big responsibility, and her nieces and nephews knew of her unconditional love for both them and their fathers. Now they face their lives without her help....
I knew and lived alongside my mother-in-law for 40 years. I met her as a freshman in college, and became her first daughter-in-law. I learned so much about courage and steadfastness and living with commitment through her. And the most important thing I learned is how to live your life doing the right thing. I know that sounds simplistic, and I knew it going into my adulthood, but to see her life unfold as it did cemented that knowledge. All through the years, she made it clear as to how she wanted her life to be; what her fears and wishes were. And while a large part of it she had no control over, because of the fact that she had made her wishes so clear, in the end it went the way she wanted it. My respect for her children grows continually because of that determination to follow through with what she expected them to do, never putting what they wanted over her desires. She was ready to put her old self to rest, and did it without fear or regret. Death came as a friend, to take her out of a life that she never wanted. As she wished, there was no maudlin viewing for our "closure", but respect for the intimacy of the type of death she felt so strongly about. Her peace in complete.
And lastly, my sister. Nine years apart in age, we grew apart and never really regained what my mother hoped so desperately we would become. Lifestyles so drastically different, miles lived so very far apart, and past memories often too hard to overcome; we did end her life on peaceful terms. Her life was not one I would say was full of peace - but when she died, she was in a good marriage with loving sons who mourn her. It is what I wished for her, and I am glad. As we stood on the beach, and I watched them pour her into the ocean, I was able to put to rest whatever anxious feelings I still carried. Her life was her own, and while it ended too soon, I know that she loved many and was loved by many. Death came for her unexpectedly, just as it had for our mother.
As a Christian, I should not fear death. I should anticipate an eternity in Heaven, and I do. It's the process of the dying, and the mourning of those left behind that I dread. Not just for me, but for those I love. Elaine. Mom. Marsha. They are gone.
I know that they all rest. In peace.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
A boy, a girl, a wedding....
37 years.
Andy and I were 21 years old, and had been dating about 2 1/2 years when we walked down the aisle at the Sam Houston Avenue Church of Christ in Huntsville. I was wearing the first dress I'd tried on; Daddy didn't even have time to park the car, smoke a cigarette and walk in before I was ready to go.
We married in Huntsville because it just felt right; it's where our story so far had played out, and my parents - while I imagine were more than a little disappointed - were accepting. I think we did the whole thing on about $1000. Over half of it was on the pictures, so you get the idea.
Mama was a superb seamstress, but she didn't want to make my dress. "I'll be sitting there, looking at each seam instead of watching you get married." (She was, after all, a perfectionist when it came to that sort of thing!)
We had a quartet of some of our best friends; and my brother, Gary, sent a reel-to-reel recording of some songs. I remember one sweet day when Mama and I sat in the floor of my room at home, going through each of her 78 albums to find a great song. Our final choice was "No arms can ever hold you like these arms of mine." Jon Rhodes sang it in his beautiful tenor voice that I hear in my head today.
Steve was Andy's best man. He was a good one; hid our car in the bus stop across the street, because Andy was adamant that no one put shoe polish on his paint job! As we were driving off, a friend tried to tie something on the bumper, and Steve whipped out his knife at just the perfect moment to snip it off. The photographer caught the moment perfectly; Steve standing there looking all proud as Lynn gasped at his quickness!
Cathy was my maid-of-honor. She was scared to death to be in the spotlight, but she was the obvious choice. She'd been right there with me in every moment of my life to that point, and there was no way I was going down that aisle without her.
Andy didn't want me to cry, so when it came time for me to say my vows, I couldn't look at him and NOT cry. I said my vows with my head bowed, which to some may have looked odd, but it was the only way. Ron Goodman was our minister, and he said the sweetest things about us. We saw them in the Fall on our vacation, and we reflected on that day with lots of good memories.
My uncle Buddy. He was Bohemian to the bone. Showed up at the church in his 70s van that looked straight out of the junk yard, wearing his ever-present overalls. Asked where he could change, and surprised us all in a black velvet tuxedo complete with tophat! (It was May, remember!) No telling what sacrifice he had to make to afford that tux, but he looked sharp! I remember him coming through the receiving line over, and over, and over to congratulate us and give me a kiss. I'm smiling now, just thinking about him.
But one of my sweetest memories was Daddy. All the way down the aisle, he patted my hand, saying "It's all so pretty, Amy." And when we met up with him after the ceremony, he grabbed me and just cried like a baby. Never really saw him like that before or afterwards.
So, here we are, 37 years later. Grayer, wiser, happier than I could have imagined. After too many years of not being able to, I'm wearing my rings today, and I probably could get my dress on if I wanted to. Our daughters have grown into amazing women before our eyes, and our grandchildren bring us immeasurable joy. The Church remains the focus of our lives, and - thankfully - we are healthy. The future looks sweetly bright.
All I knew 37 years ago was that I was in love with Andy. I wanted to spend every moment of my life with him, and I had no doubt that it would be forever.
Did I have a clue as to what was to come; of course not. But I KNEW that we would face it together, until the end. And somehow, all these years later, not knowing what the future holds looks a little different than it did on that Saturday - but I know the outcome will be the same.
And I praise God for that.
Andy and I were 21 years old, and had been dating about 2 1/2 years when we walked down the aisle at the Sam Houston Avenue Church of Christ in Huntsville. I was wearing the first dress I'd tried on; Daddy didn't even have time to park the car, smoke a cigarette and walk in before I was ready to go.
We married in Huntsville because it just felt right; it's where our story so far had played out, and my parents - while I imagine were more than a little disappointed - were accepting. I think we did the whole thing on about $1000. Over half of it was on the pictures, so you get the idea.
Mama was a superb seamstress, but she didn't want to make my dress. "I'll be sitting there, looking at each seam instead of watching you get married." (She was, after all, a perfectionist when it came to that sort of thing!)
We had a quartet of some of our best friends; and my brother, Gary, sent a reel-to-reel recording of some songs. I remember one sweet day when Mama and I sat in the floor of my room at home, going through each of her 78 albums to find a great song. Our final choice was "No arms can ever hold you like these arms of mine." Jon Rhodes sang it in his beautiful tenor voice that I hear in my head today.
Steve was Andy's best man. He was a good one; hid our car in the bus stop across the street, because Andy was adamant that no one put shoe polish on his paint job! As we were driving off, a friend tried to tie something on the bumper, and Steve whipped out his knife at just the perfect moment to snip it off. The photographer caught the moment perfectly; Steve standing there looking all proud as Lynn gasped at his quickness!
Cathy was my maid-of-honor. She was scared to death to be in the spotlight, but she was the obvious choice. She'd been right there with me in every moment of my life to that point, and there was no way I was going down that aisle without her.
Andy didn't want me to cry, so when it came time for me to say my vows, I couldn't look at him and NOT cry. I said my vows with my head bowed, which to some may have looked odd, but it was the only way. Ron Goodman was our minister, and he said the sweetest things about us. We saw them in the Fall on our vacation, and we reflected on that day with lots of good memories.
My uncle Buddy. He was Bohemian to the bone. Showed up at the church in his 70s van that looked straight out of the junk yard, wearing his ever-present overalls. Asked where he could change, and surprised us all in a black velvet tuxedo complete with tophat! (It was May, remember!) No telling what sacrifice he had to make to afford that tux, but he looked sharp! I remember him coming through the receiving line over, and over, and over to congratulate us and give me a kiss. I'm smiling now, just thinking about him.
But one of my sweetest memories was Daddy. All the way down the aisle, he patted my hand, saying "It's all so pretty, Amy." And when we met up with him after the ceremony, he grabbed me and just cried like a baby. Never really saw him like that before or afterwards.
So, here we are, 37 years later. Grayer, wiser, happier than I could have imagined. After too many years of not being able to, I'm wearing my rings today, and I probably could get my dress on if I wanted to. Our daughters have grown into amazing women before our eyes, and our grandchildren bring us immeasurable joy. The Church remains the focus of our lives, and - thankfully - we are healthy. The future looks sweetly bright.
All I knew 37 years ago was that I was in love with Andy. I wanted to spend every moment of my life with him, and I had no doubt that it would be forever.
Did I have a clue as to what was to come; of course not. But I KNEW that we would face it together, until the end. And somehow, all these years later, not knowing what the future holds looks a little different than it did on that Saturday - but I know the outcome will be the same.
And I praise God for that.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Sweet Memories
It's 2 am. Andy is soundly sleeping. I'm not -
We spent the day in Houston with the LaMores yesterday. It was a day planned a couple of months ago - before Mom passed away. Time to go through the house to finish the move that began a couple of years ago, after Mom's last bad fall. Time to move on to the next stage in the house on Hazelhurst.
Mom and Dad bought the house after Albert, the baby, was born. She'd moved into the house on Vilven with Dad, Andy and Bruce after marrying him following Margaret's death. The house was too small, and the bigger house was a neccessity. It was her house, and yesterday was the day in which that part of her life- and theirs- was brought full circle.
Our nephew, Kyle, lives in the house now. As we entered, it was the same, and yet so different. His stuff mixed among the rest. Some rooms the exact same, some vastly different. Most startling to me was the living room; Mom's oasis. Always perfectly in order, always calm and soothing. Always Anne. It was where you almost needed permission to be - one of those "throwback" living room/dining room combos of the 50s. Now, it was ramshackled and picked over - some furniture taken to the Hampton to make it feel more like home, some pieces eerily still in their place. Her clock on the wall, silent. Her scary black sculpture piece from Indonesia that was so "her". The perfectly dusted end tables, now cluttered with things out of place. Where was the organ that sat in the corner? The maps still hung on the wall.... yet it was still the same. I used to quietly sneak into that room for a few moments during each visit, because it was such a place of peaceful calm. Now, it was just a store room of stuff that needed to be sorted through.
The sweet memories came throughout the day, and I want to post them now, while they are fresh on my mind.
Dad sitting at the table, with Albert. Going through box after box of his precious books. Some are going with him to the Hampton; a vast majority of them are destined for Half-Price Books. I see Dad sitting with his son, sharing some memory, with the most beautiful smile on his face. It was the most relaxed I'd seen him in months - laughing at something I was not privy to. Later, after a simple lunch at Mom's table, he sat with Bruce as Bruce read a poem for him from the one book in the thousands that had that particular poem nestled inside it's pages. So private a moment between father and son....
Bruce laughing over a recipe book he'd made in Elementary school and given to his mom; the St. Nicholas figurine he'd given to Mom one Christmas.
Albert laughing with joy at finding Christine's beloved stuffed turtle. So glad she'd have it to take home with her.
Andy, holding onto Mom's silver spoons. And the two volumes (among the thousands) on Winston Churchill that he's looked for.
Learning the story of the small, wooden box found in the back bedroom. Evidently, it was taken to church and coal was put it in. You sat with it under your dress to keep you warm during the winter. It sits here in my home now.
The brass elephants, once belonging to the collection of Aunt Ruth.
A small wooden step stool that they'd all used. Bruce recited from memory the little saying that was once painted on - worn away many years ago by little feet.
The wooden bookshelf Andy made in the garage with his dad. It will come home with us on the next trip.
My treasure of the day; the final remaining pieces of Margaret's Franciscan Apple dishes. As far as I know, they are the last remaining items once touched by her hands. Two plates. A couple of saucers. A sugar bowl. Tangible items that remain of a life lost so young. I wanted them for my girls, to have SOMETHING that was hers.
And the photographs. Taken one by one out if the frame to be scanned and returned to the proper family.
But the memory that shook me to my core was while I was sorting items in the living room. Almost all of Mom's clothing had been gone through a while back, but I came upon a few hidden pieces. I lifted one of the items to my face, and her smell hit me like a brick. I drew in long, deep breaths and smiled - amidst all the confusion of the room, I felt her quiet, serene presence there with me. My first tears since her death.
____________________________________________________
This was an intimate day that on one hand was just something that had to be done. Another thing to check off the list of getting on with life. But it was so much more. It was intimate. It was personal. It was loving. We did it well.
We spent the day in Houston with the LaMores yesterday. It was a day planned a couple of months ago - before Mom passed away. Time to go through the house to finish the move that began a couple of years ago, after Mom's last bad fall. Time to move on to the next stage in the house on Hazelhurst.
Mom and Dad bought the house after Albert, the baby, was born. She'd moved into the house on Vilven with Dad, Andy and Bruce after marrying him following Margaret's death. The house was too small, and the bigger house was a neccessity. It was her house, and yesterday was the day in which that part of her life- and theirs- was brought full circle.
Our nephew, Kyle, lives in the house now. As we entered, it was the same, and yet so different. His stuff mixed among the rest. Some rooms the exact same, some vastly different. Most startling to me was the living room; Mom's oasis. Always perfectly in order, always calm and soothing. Always Anne. It was where you almost needed permission to be - one of those "throwback" living room/dining room combos of the 50s. Now, it was ramshackled and picked over - some furniture taken to the Hampton to make it feel more like home, some pieces eerily still in their place. Her clock on the wall, silent. Her scary black sculpture piece from Indonesia that was so "her". The perfectly dusted end tables, now cluttered with things out of place. Where was the organ that sat in the corner? The maps still hung on the wall.... yet it was still the same. I used to quietly sneak into that room for a few moments during each visit, because it was such a place of peaceful calm. Now, it was just a store room of stuff that needed to be sorted through.
The sweet memories came throughout the day, and I want to post them now, while they are fresh on my mind.
Dad sitting at the table, with Albert. Going through box after box of his precious books. Some are going with him to the Hampton; a vast majority of them are destined for Half-Price Books. I see Dad sitting with his son, sharing some memory, with the most beautiful smile on his face. It was the most relaxed I'd seen him in months - laughing at something I was not privy to. Later, after a simple lunch at Mom's table, he sat with Bruce as Bruce read a poem for him from the one book in the thousands that had that particular poem nestled inside it's pages. So private a moment between father and son....
Bruce laughing over a recipe book he'd made in Elementary school and given to his mom; the St. Nicholas figurine he'd given to Mom one Christmas.
Albert laughing with joy at finding Christine's beloved stuffed turtle. So glad she'd have it to take home with her.
Andy, holding onto Mom's silver spoons. And the two volumes (among the thousands) on Winston Churchill that he's looked for.
Learning the story of the small, wooden box found in the back bedroom. Evidently, it was taken to church and coal was put it in. You sat with it under your dress to keep you warm during the winter. It sits here in my home now.
The brass elephants, once belonging to the collection of Aunt Ruth.
A small wooden step stool that they'd all used. Bruce recited from memory the little saying that was once painted on - worn away many years ago by little feet.
The wooden bookshelf Andy made in the garage with his dad. It will come home with us on the next trip.
My treasure of the day; the final remaining pieces of Margaret's Franciscan Apple dishes. As far as I know, they are the last remaining items once touched by her hands. Two plates. A couple of saucers. A sugar bowl. Tangible items that remain of a life lost so young. I wanted them for my girls, to have SOMETHING that was hers.
And the photographs. Taken one by one out if the frame to be scanned and returned to the proper family.
But the memory that shook me to my core was while I was sorting items in the living room. Almost all of Mom's clothing had been gone through a while back, but I came upon a few hidden pieces. I lifted one of the items to my face, and her smell hit me like a brick. I drew in long, deep breaths and smiled - amidst all the confusion of the room, I felt her quiet, serene presence there with me. My first tears since her death.
____________________________________________________
This was an intimate day that on one hand was just something that had to be done. Another thing to check off the list of getting on with life. But it was so much more. It was intimate. It was personal. It was loving. We did it well.
Thursday, May 09, 2013
Roland Roosevelt May, Sr. - Papaw
I'm really not good with dates. Andy is. Just ask him when anything happened, and he will be able to tell you 90% of the time.
But it never fails that on May 8, I remember that is it Papaw's birthday. Don't do that for any of the other 3 of my grandparents; I know that Grandma Annie was in July sometime, and my beloved Mamaw (Papaw's wife) was in May also. Grandpa Graves (Young) - I have no idea. But Papaw's for some reason is burnt into my brain.
I want my girls and my grandkids to know him; he was (and I'm shaking my head as I think of how I want to put this!) a rascal. Yep; that's it. A rascal.
In these days of the Eagle Ford Shale play down here in South Texas, where oil field workers fill our streets and stores and restaurants, my Papaw walks among them in spirit. Nothing they do, or say, or think would surprise him. Refineries in South Texas that he helped build in the 40s,50s and 60s have been refurbished and given new life.
______
Papaw was not one of those doting grandfathers who took you on his lap to tell you stories or read you a book. Most of the times, actually, we ran from him because he had some prank to pull or a quick jab or tickle to aggravate you. I remember so much of him being on the fringe of all the activity, chawing on that ever-present unlit cigar, with his hawaiian-patterned shirt unbuttoned over a white t-shirt.
It was said that our Mamaw married "beneath" herself when she married him. Her beloved brothers were not happy with her choice, and many times had to help support her and the never-ending stream of children they had while "Curly" was off working on a rig. "Curly" came from the almost nappy hair that was snow white all the years I remember him. But one look at a picture of him in his early years, with that broad smile and those crisp, blue eyes would make it obvious that Mamaw was powerless over his charm. Mamaw had a teaching degree; Papaw had oil field dirt under his nails.
Together, they had 5 girls; Lenora, Mary, Joyce, Margaret, and Myrna. Then came the twins - Roland, Jr. (another rascal!) and Robert. All not two years apart. Robert died in infancy. Mama told me that when the twins were born, Papaw announced: "That's enough, 'Nez." (Mamaw was Inez, and she evidently planned on more babies.) They never really lived together as a family for long stretches, sometimes traveling with him to a job, but often living in Poteet around the Davidsons. Mamaw held down the fort and raised the kids; my mama would tell me that that made be married harder for her; she'd never lived with a man around. Poor, but happy. Bonded and made strong by adversity.
I remember going down to Alice, where they settled, for Easters with the cousins. I remember seeing all the sons-in-laws hanging out at the cars with Papaw, laughing and smoking and telling jokes. It was easy. It was sweet. It was safe. We all ran amok around them, never really seeking attention from them, but wanting to just be around.
The place in Alice was like a wonderland. There was the old school bus, grown up in weeds that we played in for hours, the cage of the never-ending wild animal catch (oppossums were the most fun to antagonize!), the outdoor bathroom with the shower filled with frogs, and, of course, the roundhouse. Papaw built it out of concrete to withstand hurricanes, and later it branched out into a bigger house. When the state widened Hwy. 281 after they'd died, they had to use TNT to blow up the round house, it was so strongly build. When hurricanes threatened the coast, Papaw would make a hand-lettered sign "safe house, stop here". Cars of people would pull into the yard and hunker down on pallets in the "big room" to ride out the storm. Safe harbor for anyone needing it. Probably nothing to eat but beans and cornbread, but you didn't have to worry about your safety.
And then, there was "the red thing" on the patio. an odd, polygon of concrete about seat high, painted this maroonish color. Gathered around it, it was either a place to sit and visit or a place for hordes of wild cousins to run and jump off. Sharp corners scraped the skin off your legs when you ran past it. Whatever paint he used on the top of it, it came off on your clothes. Ruined many a shorts on that thing. It was also blown up along with the house, and somehow, I got a piece of it. It sits on my back porch right now; a testament to great times.
Papaw had his own house. Guess it came from too many years of living apart - it sat behind the house just a bit. One big room, made of tin. Filled with his fishing stuff and those cheesy magazine pictures of models in bikinis leaning on cars. I only stuck my head in a couple of times; the area was kind of creepy to a young girl. He was happy there; just close enough to 'Nez, yet with his own space. The area around it was grown up in a controlled sort of way, which nestled him cozily in to his world.
In later years, Papaw came to live in Poteet down the road from my house. He thrived in the nursing home; it was close enough for him to walk down for a visit or dinner, and yet he still was on his own. He had a girlfriend. He was happy. One day, after he'd helped her with her lunch, we pushed her back to her room, and fell dead in the doorway. Alive, then dead.
___________________________
A bunch of us cousins loaded up in Randall's car and followed the hearse down to Alice for his burial next to Mamaw. Together now, for eternity. Afterwards, we stopped by the house. The woman who lived there then knew the family, and was gracious to let us walk among the place that had been so pivotal to our lives. As we walked out to Papaw's house, my cousin Deeann found a concrete stepping stone with her tiny foot and hand prints set in it. The owner let us dig it up and bring it back with us. What a precious memory that is to me; that day of recollection and joy, even following death.
Too many times, we want people to conform. We want people to "behave" in socially acceptable ways. We want adults to be adults. Papaw was a rascal; you never knew what mysterious meat he'd cooked and brought to the table - literally. Those eyes twinkled into his 80s, and that spirit lived fully in his children.
Sometimes I miss that spirit, and wonder if I ever had it in me at all.
But it never fails that on May 8, I remember that is it Papaw's birthday. Don't do that for any of the other 3 of my grandparents; I know that Grandma Annie was in July sometime, and my beloved Mamaw (Papaw's wife) was in May also. Grandpa Graves (Young) - I have no idea. But Papaw's for some reason is burnt into my brain.
I want my girls and my grandkids to know him; he was (and I'm shaking my head as I think of how I want to put this!) a rascal. Yep; that's it. A rascal.
In these days of the Eagle Ford Shale play down here in South Texas, where oil field workers fill our streets and stores and restaurants, my Papaw walks among them in spirit. Nothing they do, or say, or think would surprise him. Refineries in South Texas that he helped build in the 40s,50s and 60s have been refurbished and given new life.
______
Papaw was not one of those doting grandfathers who took you on his lap to tell you stories or read you a book. Most of the times, actually, we ran from him because he had some prank to pull or a quick jab or tickle to aggravate you. I remember so much of him being on the fringe of all the activity, chawing on that ever-present unlit cigar, with his hawaiian-patterned shirt unbuttoned over a white t-shirt.
It was said that our Mamaw married "beneath" herself when she married him. Her beloved brothers were not happy with her choice, and many times had to help support her and the never-ending stream of children they had while "Curly" was off working on a rig. "Curly" came from the almost nappy hair that was snow white all the years I remember him. But one look at a picture of him in his early years, with that broad smile and those crisp, blue eyes would make it obvious that Mamaw was powerless over his charm. Mamaw had a teaching degree; Papaw had oil field dirt under his nails.
Together, they had 5 girls; Lenora, Mary, Joyce, Margaret, and Myrna. Then came the twins - Roland, Jr. (another rascal!) and Robert. All not two years apart. Robert died in infancy. Mama told me that when the twins were born, Papaw announced: "That's enough, 'Nez." (Mamaw was Inez, and she evidently planned on more babies.) They never really lived together as a family for long stretches, sometimes traveling with him to a job, but often living in Poteet around the Davidsons. Mamaw held down the fort and raised the kids; my mama would tell me that that made be married harder for her; she'd never lived with a man around. Poor, but happy. Bonded and made strong by adversity.
I remember going down to Alice, where they settled, for Easters with the cousins. I remember seeing all the sons-in-laws hanging out at the cars with Papaw, laughing and smoking and telling jokes. It was easy. It was sweet. It was safe. We all ran amok around them, never really seeking attention from them, but wanting to just be around.
The place in Alice was like a wonderland. There was the old school bus, grown up in weeds that we played in for hours, the cage of the never-ending wild animal catch (oppossums were the most fun to antagonize!), the outdoor bathroom with the shower filled with frogs, and, of course, the roundhouse. Papaw built it out of concrete to withstand hurricanes, and later it branched out into a bigger house. When the state widened Hwy. 281 after they'd died, they had to use TNT to blow up the round house, it was so strongly build. When hurricanes threatened the coast, Papaw would make a hand-lettered sign "safe house, stop here". Cars of people would pull into the yard and hunker down on pallets in the "big room" to ride out the storm. Safe harbor for anyone needing it. Probably nothing to eat but beans and cornbread, but you didn't have to worry about your safety.
And then, there was "the red thing" on the patio. an odd, polygon of concrete about seat high, painted this maroonish color. Gathered around it, it was either a place to sit and visit or a place for hordes of wild cousins to run and jump off. Sharp corners scraped the skin off your legs when you ran past it. Whatever paint he used on the top of it, it came off on your clothes. Ruined many a shorts on that thing. It was also blown up along with the house, and somehow, I got a piece of it. It sits on my back porch right now; a testament to great times.
Papaw had his own house. Guess it came from too many years of living apart - it sat behind the house just a bit. One big room, made of tin. Filled with his fishing stuff and those cheesy magazine pictures of models in bikinis leaning on cars. I only stuck my head in a couple of times; the area was kind of creepy to a young girl. He was happy there; just close enough to 'Nez, yet with his own space. The area around it was grown up in a controlled sort of way, which nestled him cozily in to his world.
In later years, Papaw came to live in Poteet down the road from my house. He thrived in the nursing home; it was close enough for him to walk down for a visit or dinner, and yet he still was on his own. He had a girlfriend. He was happy. One day, after he'd helped her with her lunch, we pushed her back to her room, and fell dead in the doorway. Alive, then dead.
___________________________
A bunch of us cousins loaded up in Randall's car and followed the hearse down to Alice for his burial next to Mamaw. Together now, for eternity. Afterwards, we stopped by the house. The woman who lived there then knew the family, and was gracious to let us walk among the place that had been so pivotal to our lives. As we walked out to Papaw's house, my cousin Deeann found a concrete stepping stone with her tiny foot and hand prints set in it. The owner let us dig it up and bring it back with us. What a precious memory that is to me; that day of recollection and joy, even following death.
Too many times, we want people to conform. We want people to "behave" in socially acceptable ways. We want adults to be adults. Papaw was a rascal; you never knew what mysterious meat he'd cooked and brought to the table - literally. Those eyes twinkled into his 80s, and that spirit lived fully in his children.
Sometimes I miss that spirit, and wonder if I ever had it in me at all.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Death comes in threes....
Just a silly old wives' tale, right??
Elaine.
Mom.
Marsha.
All in three weeks.
It was the first thing that went through my mind when I found out that Marsha had died..."Death comes in threes."
Each one has affected me differently, and yet, together, they bind together to form one, unmistakeable feeling: when our time comes, what will be left behind of our lives?
Elaine's death left me calm, serene, and happy for the end of her suffering. She'd been in a lot of pain for many, many years, and at last her body could feel "normal." As I stood beside her, I stroked those arthritic hands and felt peace. Her old body was not her captive any longer. She was free. Her burial site is on a quiet little slope near the baby she lost so many years ago. She had come full circle.
Mom was laid to rest in a plot that she and dad had chosen in the 70s. Arrangements had been made and her desires made very clear, and all that was left to do was honor her life in the best way we could. Orange tulips were everywhere; in case you don't know, Mom was Dutch, and orange is the national color of Holland. Tulips - well, no need to explain that symbol. In the fellowship room where we were served lunch and greeted visitors, her wooden shoes, needlework, pictures, and the Christmas stockings she made each and every family member were on display. It was one of the most personal funerals I've ever been to, and while I agree with Andy that she would not have liked all the attention, it was perfect.
I had a chance to say all the things I wanted to say to her 3 years ago, when the big fall took away the Mom we all knew, so I was good. Nothing left unsaid,
no regrets.
No so with Marsha. Families come with a lot of history, and mine with Marsha was a work in progress. I was 9 when she was born, and she was my own living baby doll. She was a blond, blue-eyed pixie, where I was a brown haired, brown eyed statue in height. She was Mama, I was Daddy. She was still a little girl when I went to college, and that gap in our ages came back to haunt us as adults.
I have unsaid things I should have told her. I will deal with those in my own time and way. The past few months have left me with good memories of our phone calls, so that gives me comfort. I will do what I can to honor her, just as I did Mama and Daddy.
Enough of death. Enough of grieving. Enough of dwelling on the "what-ifs" of life and pain.
Now, it is time to make the most of the days. To make sure that every person that I love knows it and feels it to their core. To honor them while they are alive instead of after the phone call comes in the night.
Hopefully, with Marsha's passing, death can take a break for a while.
I'm exhausted.
Elaine.
Mom.
Marsha.
All in three weeks.
It was the first thing that went through my mind when I found out that Marsha had died..."Death comes in threes."
Each one has affected me differently, and yet, together, they bind together to form one, unmistakeable feeling: when our time comes, what will be left behind of our lives?
Elaine's death left me calm, serene, and happy for the end of her suffering. She'd been in a lot of pain for many, many years, and at last her body could feel "normal." As I stood beside her, I stroked those arthritic hands and felt peace. Her old body was not her captive any longer. She was free. Her burial site is on a quiet little slope near the baby she lost so many years ago. She had come full circle.
Mom was laid to rest in a plot that she and dad had chosen in the 70s. Arrangements had been made and her desires made very clear, and all that was left to do was honor her life in the best way we could. Orange tulips were everywhere; in case you don't know, Mom was Dutch, and orange is the national color of Holland. Tulips - well, no need to explain that symbol. In the fellowship room where we were served lunch and greeted visitors, her wooden shoes, needlework, pictures, and the Christmas stockings she made each and every family member were on display. It was one of the most personal funerals I've ever been to, and while I agree with Andy that she would not have liked all the attention, it was perfect.
I had a chance to say all the things I wanted to say to her 3 years ago, when the big fall took away the Mom we all knew, so I was good. Nothing left unsaid,
no regrets.
No so with Marsha. Families come with a lot of history, and mine with Marsha was a work in progress. I was 9 when she was born, and she was my own living baby doll. She was a blond, blue-eyed pixie, where I was a brown haired, brown eyed statue in height. She was Mama, I was Daddy. She was still a little girl when I went to college, and that gap in our ages came back to haunt us as adults.
I have unsaid things I should have told her. I will deal with those in my own time and way. The past few months have left me with good memories of our phone calls, so that gives me comfort. I will do what I can to honor her, just as I did Mama and Daddy.
Enough of death. Enough of grieving. Enough of dwelling on the "what-ifs" of life and pain.
Now, it is time to make the most of the days. To make sure that every person that I love knows it and feels it to their core. To honor them while they are alive instead of after the phone call comes in the night.
Hopefully, with Marsha's passing, death can take a break for a while.
I'm exhausted.
Wednesday, April 03, 2013
When you need to be fed -
Man. I am hungry. I am weak. I am empty.
For the past few years, I've had the joy of planning (along with a lot of help!) our annual Ladies' Retreat. Once a year we journey to the beauty of the Texas Hill Country and spend time along the Frio River. We study, we sing, we relax, we have fun. It's something I wish each of our sisters could do just once! Last year was one of our best - who could forget out impromptu "hayride" to the new section of the camp and personal tour of the facilities?!? We giggled like school girls and lapped up the wonder of our relationships.
Our retreat this year feels different. While I was on the committee to get it going, now that we are about to leave on Friday, I feel very disconnected. Elaine's death, along with other personal things, have taken me out of the mood and the loop. Ladies are questioning me about things I just don't have a clue about, even though they are things we do each year; what time are we meeting to leave, what do I need to bring, when will we be home on Sunday...?
I feel foggy... and I feel empty.
This year, I need to be fed. I need to just sit quietly and let the Lord work through my Sisters to give my soul and spirit what I need. I never want to NOT go, but this year is different.
The Hill Country is my go-to place for emotional healing. Andy has been known to put me in the car and just drive me around the hills on a Saturday. I usually come home at peace and revived... and I'm banking on that again this weekend. I know once I get there, it will "click in" and I'll love it... but today, something's off.
I need to be fed.
For the past few years, I've had the joy of planning (along with a lot of help!) our annual Ladies' Retreat. Once a year we journey to the beauty of the Texas Hill Country and spend time along the Frio River. We study, we sing, we relax, we have fun. It's something I wish each of our sisters could do just once! Last year was one of our best - who could forget out impromptu "hayride" to the new section of the camp and personal tour of the facilities?!? We giggled like school girls and lapped up the wonder of our relationships.
Our retreat this year feels different. While I was on the committee to get it going, now that we are about to leave on Friday, I feel very disconnected. Elaine's death, along with other personal things, have taken me out of the mood and the loop. Ladies are questioning me about things I just don't have a clue about, even though they are things we do each year; what time are we meeting to leave, what do I need to bring, when will we be home on Sunday...?
I feel foggy... and I feel empty.
This year, I need to be fed. I need to just sit quietly and let the Lord work through my Sisters to give my soul and spirit what I need. I never want to NOT go, but this year is different.
The Hill Country is my go-to place for emotional healing. Andy has been known to put me in the car and just drive me around the hills on a Saturday. I usually come home at peace and revived... and I'm banking on that again this weekend. I know once I get there, it will "click in" and I'll love it... but today, something's off.
I need to be fed.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
My stuff
I just read an interesting blog about "stuff". The point of the blog was that we spend a lot of time accumulating things that have meaning and sentiment to us - a "story" if you will. The author of the blog makes the point that it is hard for us to face the fact that our children will not necessarily feel the same attachment to the things that are meaningful to us, and we need to find a measure of understanding as to what that will mean.
My curio cabinet that Uncle Buddy refurnished.
My Grandma Annie's rooster cookie jar.
The rag doll my beloved Mamaw made for me.
Margaret's few remaining pieces of pottery.
Daddy's christening gown.
Andy's ticket stub collection.
His albums... oh, his albums.
the list goes on....
Two things along with this blog really hit home with me. One was the move of my in-laws to Assisted Living a couple of years ago. My father-in-laws books bought with so much anticipation listed and boxed up. My mother-in-laws teacup set donated to the Ladies' ministry at their church.
And this week, walking through Elaine's house. She was everywhere, but she was gone. Her dolls, her owls. Her paintings. Her photographs. When I got home, I walked through my own home with new eyes. Someday - hopefully not TOO soon - my things that I love will be left behind for Dana and Erin to sort through. The reality makes me both happy and sad. I am sure there are things they will treasure, and I am sure there are things that, while they mean a lot to me, will not mean so much to them. Just as it was with my own parents....
Let's just say, it was a blog that spoke volumes to my heart.
My curio cabinet that Uncle Buddy refurnished.
My Grandma Annie's rooster cookie jar.
The rag doll my beloved Mamaw made for me.
Margaret's few remaining pieces of pottery.
Daddy's christening gown.
Andy's ticket stub collection.
His albums... oh, his albums.
the list goes on....
Two things along with this blog really hit home with me. One was the move of my in-laws to Assisted Living a couple of years ago. My father-in-laws books bought with so much anticipation listed and boxed up. My mother-in-laws teacup set donated to the Ladies' ministry at their church.
And this week, walking through Elaine's house. She was everywhere, but she was gone. Her dolls, her owls. Her paintings. Her photographs. When I got home, I walked through my own home with new eyes. Someday - hopefully not TOO soon - my things that I love will be left behind for Dana and Erin to sort through. The reality makes me both happy and sad. I am sure there are things they will treasure, and I am sure there are things that, while they mean a lot to me, will not mean so much to them. Just as it was with my own parents....
Let's just say, it was a blog that spoke volumes to my heart.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Holding God's hand
Today we will bury my cousin Elaine. She is the third cousin to die in recent years way too soon. I'm not ready....
"Time is filled with swift transition...
naught of earth unmoved can stand
build your hopes on things eternal-
Hold to God's unchanging hand.
Trust in Him who will not leave you
whatsoever years may bring
if by earthly friends forsaken
still more closely to Him cling.
When your journey is completed
If to God you have been true
Fair and bright the home in Glory
Your enraptured soul will view."
Earlier this week, I was in Tomball with Erin. We went to the outlet mall, and Bladen wanted me to "hold you" - carry him. Now, he is a big boy, and Nana usually doesn't carry him, but he was feeling hesitant and not secure so finally we talked him into walking alongside me and holding my hand. As we made our way through all the stores, I noticed he felt safe and relaxed. Nana had him.
God has Elaine's hand. Today she is reunited with her son lost in 1970 in his infancy, with her parents and many other loved ones who made the journey before her. And she will wait for us to join her
"Trust Me, Amy. Hold onto My hand and I will make you safe and secure. When you are lonely or sad or you lose someone you love I will be there. Hold to My unchanging hand. "
"Time is filled with swift transition...
naught of earth unmoved can stand
build your hopes on things eternal-
Hold to God's unchanging hand.
Trust in Him who will not leave you
whatsoever years may bring
if by earthly friends forsaken
still more closely to Him cling.
When your journey is completed
If to God you have been true
Fair and bright the home in Glory
Your enraptured soul will view."
Earlier this week, I was in Tomball with Erin. We went to the outlet mall, and Bladen wanted me to "hold you" - carry him. Now, he is a big boy, and Nana usually doesn't carry him, but he was feeling hesitant and not secure so finally we talked him into walking alongside me and holding my hand. As we made our way through all the stores, I noticed he felt safe and relaxed. Nana had him.
God has Elaine's hand. Today she is reunited with her son lost in 1970 in his infancy, with her parents and many other loved ones who made the journey before her. And she will wait for us to join her
"Trust Me, Amy. Hold onto My hand and I will make you safe and secure. When you are lonely or sad or you lose someone you love I will be there. Hold to My unchanging hand. "
Monday, March 04, 2013
A new take on Monday mornings
Mondays.
For 29 school years, it was - for the most part - a day I dreaded. Coming off a busy weekend, it was going back to work. Some weeks I was prepared, some - not. It signaled to me the starting line of another race to Friday, full of hustle and bustle until I would again be given a chance to be at home with my family and relax.
What a difference retirement makes!
Here I am, at my computer, blogging. In my robe. After catching up on the Spurs activites of the weekend on Sports Center and NBA Gametime. The house is quiet, the pace is slow.
Most Monday mornings, now, I wake up in time to tell Andy "bye" as he leaves to begin his week at the office. He will tell you that he is not ready to be retired, that he still enjoys his job. I'm glad for him. But I am not a morning person, and I do not get up with him - he has his routine, and my getting up with him is not "fun". So, in my own time, I get up and begin my own Monday.
At home.
Alone.
My mom was such a hermit. She loved her time alone in her house. She told me that she would have been just fine living in a hut off somewhere where she could be creative and come into town if there was something she needed. I never got that. Now, in this place in my life, I do.
I feed my birds. I write notes and cards. I water my plants. I check email and Facebook. I read. Sometimes, I do errands, like I will later this morning. But not right away.
After raising the girls to be the strong women that they are, this is "my time." That's something else I never got when women would say that. But the freedom to spend my Mondays as I like is one of my favorite things.
Our weekends are full of things I love. My time with Andy when he is away from his work is something I would never trade. And someday, he'll be retired at home with me. I'm not sure what that will be like, but I'm sure it will be something we enjoy together.
But, for now, I am relishing in the fact that after all those years of being the best mom and teacher that I could, I have come to a place in my life where a lot of the pressure is off. I have no one to answer to as far as my time other than God and what Andy needs me to do. Having never considered that, I find it is at times its own best reward. My spirit is at peace, my body calm. I am flexible in that I can do things as I am called on to do without working about a schedule. And it is glorious.
I'm loving my life right now!
For 29 school years, it was - for the most part - a day I dreaded. Coming off a busy weekend, it was going back to work. Some weeks I was prepared, some - not. It signaled to me the starting line of another race to Friday, full of hustle and bustle until I would again be given a chance to be at home with my family and relax.
What a difference retirement makes!
Here I am, at my computer, blogging. In my robe. After catching up on the Spurs activites of the weekend on Sports Center and NBA Gametime. The house is quiet, the pace is slow.
Most Monday mornings, now, I wake up in time to tell Andy "bye" as he leaves to begin his week at the office. He will tell you that he is not ready to be retired, that he still enjoys his job. I'm glad for him. But I am not a morning person, and I do not get up with him - he has his routine, and my getting up with him is not "fun". So, in my own time, I get up and begin my own Monday.
At home.
Alone.
My mom was such a hermit. She loved her time alone in her house. She told me that she would have been just fine living in a hut off somewhere where she could be creative and come into town if there was something she needed. I never got that. Now, in this place in my life, I do.
I feed my birds. I write notes and cards. I water my plants. I check email and Facebook. I read. Sometimes, I do errands, like I will later this morning. But not right away.
After raising the girls to be the strong women that they are, this is "my time." That's something else I never got when women would say that. But the freedom to spend my Mondays as I like is one of my favorite things.
Our weekends are full of things I love. My time with Andy when he is away from his work is something I would never trade. And someday, he'll be retired at home with me. I'm not sure what that will be like, but I'm sure it will be something we enjoy together.
But, for now, I am relishing in the fact that after all those years of being the best mom and teacher that I could, I have come to a place in my life where a lot of the pressure is off. I have no one to answer to as far as my time other than God and what Andy needs me to do. Having never considered that, I find it is at times its own best reward. My spirit is at peace, my body calm. I am flexible in that I can do things as I am called on to do without working about a schedule. And it is glorious.
I'm loving my life right now!
Wednesday, February 27, 2013
Reflecting on the forks in my road...
I'm not a big "what-if"er, but sometimes I do consider the choices in my life -
Now, let me say that I have always known that God was at the center of my life; guarding me, leading me, preparing me for His purpose - but I also know that I am a free agent to make my own decisions and choose my own paths. So here are the top 4 path choices that I feel made my life what it is today.
This first one was not so much a choice, but just a circumstance. My brother was about 6 years old, and my mama tells me that things were not going good in the Young household. So "not good" that she and my dad separated, and were in the process of divorcing. Literally two weeks before the divorce became final, they reconcilled. I, evidently, am the result of that "reunion". I truly could not be here if they had not decided to give their marriage a go a second time. Talk about sobering...
My Junior year in High School, I had a summer romance with a college guy that came to Poteet to work with his uncle and live with his grandparents. Let's just say that JP was not like anyone I had EVER known; he was fun, adventurous, daring, kind, and he made me feel very special. Now, he was very up-front about the fact that he'd left his girl in Georgia - but we spent lots and lots of time together. My heart was careful, but also smitten. In the back of my mind, I always knew that he would return to both college and his girl when the summer ended. Another school year passed, and one day, I learned that JP (and his now fiancee!) were back for a visit. As plainly as I could, I told mama that I did NOT want to see him. Even though I had nothing to be ashamed of, I just felt it would be a little wierd.... well, mama being mama, one afternoon as I sat in the swing under the cotton wood, she drives up with him in the front seat. I don't know that I was ever madder at her up to that point. We had a little visit, and then mama took him home. Two days later, as I drove home from school, we met on the road as he headed back to his grandparents. After we passed, we each pulled over, and he got out of his car. I looked in the mirror, and drove off. I never saw him again. It is one of those moments that is frozen in my mind - and while I'm sure the entire course of my life would not have changed, I've always wondered how that meeting would have gone had I gotten out of my car.
But the most obvious fork in the road came on Sunday, Oct. 28, 1973. Two days before, I'd gotten glass in my eye and had had to have it removed. When Sunday came, I really didn't feel like going to church looking like a pirate with a big giant patch covering my eye. But I went. That is the day I met Andy. Now, Steve tells us both that we'd met a few times before on campus, but neither of us remember that being the case. (I guess we made really good impressions on each other those previous times!) But on that Sunday, in that place, with a big old patch on my eye - I saw him. And he saw me. A fork in the road that we both would never regret....
Just a couple more.
In 1987, Andy had been working for Shell Oil, and decided that it was time to get into Probation and use his degree. He set up some interviews in our area, and unknown to either sets of our parents, he began interviewing. One day, while he was at work, my mom called him to tell him of a position in Probation here in Atascosa County. Now, we'd been in Poteet over Christmas, and someone had asked us when we'd be moving down here. Andy - being a Houstonian - assured them that there was no way he was going to come here; no jobs available, and he did not want to drive into San Antonio to work. So, here in February, the fork made itself known in a big way. We decided to check into it, and we've been here ever since. The girls grew up here, the church has nurtured and challenged us, and it is our home. God had provided for us in a huge way, and we'd been smart enough to see His hand in the process.
And then, I guess, is this one. When Erin hit about age 4, I got
"baby fever" really badly. Andy was convinced that our family was fine just as it was, and so it never happened. But over the years, at certain times, I've calculated how old that baby would be, and what our lives would be like had Andy relented. Would our family be 3 girls, or 2 girls and a boy? Would we have been blessed with another healthy child, or would there have been difficulties to deal with?
Now, as we approach our "retirement years" (odd, to think about that already being here!), I see another fork in our road coming at us. Will we stay and live our years out here in Pleasanton, in our home that we built from the ground up? Will be join many of our friends, who move to be near their kids and grandkids? Will we travel? Will we be healthy? Will we? Part of the adventure is to see what happens. All of the adventure is to make the most of those choices.
But we will do it together - Lord willing.
Now, let me say that I have always known that God was at the center of my life; guarding me, leading me, preparing me for His purpose - but I also know that I am a free agent to make my own decisions and choose my own paths. So here are the top 4 path choices that I feel made my life what it is today.
This first one was not so much a choice, but just a circumstance. My brother was about 6 years old, and my mama tells me that things were not going good in the Young household. So "not good" that she and my dad separated, and were in the process of divorcing. Literally two weeks before the divorce became final, they reconcilled. I, evidently, am the result of that "reunion". I truly could not be here if they had not decided to give their marriage a go a second time. Talk about sobering...
My Junior year in High School, I had a summer romance with a college guy that came to Poteet to work with his uncle and live with his grandparents. Let's just say that JP was not like anyone I had EVER known; he was fun, adventurous, daring, kind, and he made me feel very special. Now, he was very up-front about the fact that he'd left his girl in Georgia - but we spent lots and lots of time together. My heart was careful, but also smitten. In the back of my mind, I always knew that he would return to both college and his girl when the summer ended. Another school year passed, and one day, I learned that JP (and his now fiancee!) were back for a visit. As plainly as I could, I told mama that I did NOT want to see him. Even though I had nothing to be ashamed of, I just felt it would be a little wierd.... well, mama being mama, one afternoon as I sat in the swing under the cotton wood, she drives up with him in the front seat. I don't know that I was ever madder at her up to that point. We had a little visit, and then mama took him home. Two days later, as I drove home from school, we met on the road as he headed back to his grandparents. After we passed, we each pulled over, and he got out of his car. I looked in the mirror, and drove off. I never saw him again. It is one of those moments that is frozen in my mind - and while I'm sure the entire course of my life would not have changed, I've always wondered how that meeting would have gone had I gotten out of my car.
But the most obvious fork in the road came on Sunday, Oct. 28, 1973. Two days before, I'd gotten glass in my eye and had had to have it removed. When Sunday came, I really didn't feel like going to church looking like a pirate with a big giant patch covering my eye. But I went. That is the day I met Andy. Now, Steve tells us both that we'd met a few times before on campus, but neither of us remember that being the case. (I guess we made really good impressions on each other those previous times!) But on that Sunday, in that place, with a big old patch on my eye - I saw him. And he saw me. A fork in the road that we both would never regret....
Just a couple more.
In 1987, Andy had been working for Shell Oil, and decided that it was time to get into Probation and use his degree. He set up some interviews in our area, and unknown to either sets of our parents, he began interviewing. One day, while he was at work, my mom called him to tell him of a position in Probation here in Atascosa County. Now, we'd been in Poteet over Christmas, and someone had asked us when we'd be moving down here. Andy - being a Houstonian - assured them that there was no way he was going to come here; no jobs available, and he did not want to drive into San Antonio to work. So, here in February, the fork made itself known in a big way. We decided to check into it, and we've been here ever since. The girls grew up here, the church has nurtured and challenged us, and it is our home. God had provided for us in a huge way, and we'd been smart enough to see His hand in the process.
And then, I guess, is this one. When Erin hit about age 4, I got
"baby fever" really badly. Andy was convinced that our family was fine just as it was, and so it never happened. But over the years, at certain times, I've calculated how old that baby would be, and what our lives would be like had Andy relented. Would our family be 3 girls, or 2 girls and a boy? Would we have been blessed with another healthy child, or would there have been difficulties to deal with?
Now, as we approach our "retirement years" (odd, to think about that already being here!), I see another fork in our road coming at us. Will we stay and live our years out here in Pleasanton, in our home that we built from the ground up? Will be join many of our friends, who move to be near their kids and grandkids? Will we travel? Will we be healthy? Will we? Part of the adventure is to see what happens. All of the adventure is to make the most of those choices.
But we will do it together - Lord willing.
Friday, February 22, 2013
What began as a dream....
Today marks the second anniversary of my gastric bypass surgery.
What began as a passing dream of a better life almost didn't happen. My teaching career ended in a swift decision, and my insurance changed - simple as that. A friend informed me that my new insurance would cover the surgery, and that was that. She referred me to a doctor she's heard of, and my new life began with the decision to see him.
I recently came across the one old pair of pants that I kept from my Pre-surgery wardrobe. I shook them out, and held them up in front of me at my bedroom mirror. The image of the "new me" behind the "old me pants" shook me to the core. I haven't shown them to anyone, and I told Andy that I am torn between wanting everyone to see the difference and no-one seeing it. Part of me is too ashamed for the past to come crashing back in. I do keep pictures around of the old Amy, but not many, and they are carefully selected. Many have been shredded.
The biggest thing about this is that it is so private. The memories I have of things, the thoughts I thought, the feelings I stuffed down, the looks.... while I share everything pretty easily, I can't share these things - even with Andy. And the times come when I am so mad at myself about wasting so many years that I just have to give myself Grace and acceptance, and not focus on what is behind, but what is ahead.
What is ahead??? Life. Fun. Laughter. Playing. Walking. Enjoying food in it's proper place. Not burying feelings any more. Ever.
I saw myself in HEB yesterday. My old self. She was about my age, riding in that awful motorized cart because walking the store was too much for her. Struggling to get out of the seat to reach for items up high. Not looking at people she met. I smiled at her as I walked by, and buried the desire to "witness" to her about my surgery. She didn't know that I'd been where she is....
So - today is my second birthday. I catch myself in the mirror or my shadow as I walk in the sun, or in a store window, and I am happy. I like how I look in my clothes, which I buy too often now. I can fit anywhere I want to fit, and most of all, I "look" normal. I am happy.
What began as a passing dream of a better life almost didn't happen. My teaching career ended in a swift decision, and my insurance changed - simple as that. A friend informed me that my new insurance would cover the surgery, and that was that. She referred me to a doctor she's heard of, and my new life began with the decision to see him.
I recently came across the one old pair of pants that I kept from my Pre-surgery wardrobe. I shook them out, and held them up in front of me at my bedroom mirror. The image of the "new me" behind the "old me pants" shook me to the core. I haven't shown them to anyone, and I told Andy that I am torn between wanting everyone to see the difference and no-one seeing it. Part of me is too ashamed for the past to come crashing back in. I do keep pictures around of the old Amy, but not many, and they are carefully selected. Many have been shredded.
The biggest thing about this is that it is so private. The memories I have of things, the thoughts I thought, the feelings I stuffed down, the looks.... while I share everything pretty easily, I can't share these things - even with Andy. And the times come when I am so mad at myself about wasting so many years that I just have to give myself Grace and acceptance, and not focus on what is behind, but what is ahead.
What is ahead??? Life. Fun. Laughter. Playing. Walking. Enjoying food in it's proper place. Not burying feelings any more. Ever.
I saw myself in HEB yesterday. My old self. She was about my age, riding in that awful motorized cart because walking the store was too much for her. Struggling to get out of the seat to reach for items up high. Not looking at people she met. I smiled at her as I walked by, and buried the desire to "witness" to her about my surgery. She didn't know that I'd been where she is....
So - today is my second birthday. I catch myself in the mirror or my shadow as I walk in the sun, or in a store window, and I am happy. I like how I look in my clothes, which I buy too often now. I can fit anywhere I want to fit, and most of all, I "look" normal. I am happy.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
What I've learned about love
Today is Valentine's Day. Like you didn't know that -
When I stumbled out of bed, after Andy'd left for breakfast with a friend, I found a card and Sugar-free candy waiting for me. It HAS to be one of my all-time favorite cards; I've read it numerous times already, and it's not noon yet....
I am a wife that needs constant validation from my husband... and he is a man that, while he loves deeply, hasn't always been a doter. He's committed, he's devoted, he's faithful, he's almost corny in his affection at times, and he's steadfast. He's "it" to me, and has been since I first kissed him all those years ago. But, while knowing that, in the past I haven't KNOWN that. Confused?
The last couple of years have grown us both into new people; me - more confident and knowledgeable about myself, and him - more and more open in his undying, total love for me as his wife. In this area alone, I kick myself for waiting so long for my surgery. Through it, we have both seen a new level of what our marriage and love have grown to become to each other.
I've learned from Andrew and our life together that marriage is at it's best when there is something real sticking you together. While we've always had the bond of our marriage, the raising of our girls, and our devotion to our Lord, it's times of - for lack of a better word - stress that pulls out the stops. It's times of transition and change, and it's times of facing certain realities that force us to re-evaluate where we are. Watching my parents both die, and watching his age into their 80's, watching our girls face adversity and watching other marriages that we thought would survive fail has made our union more precious to us as the years have passed. It almost takes on a "Survivor" mentality - that nothing dare come between us.
In 1973 , when I met him, I thought I knew what it meant to love him. Silly me - so, to those of you wondering what I've learned about love, here goes -
When you find it, take care of it. Grow it, laugh in it, treat it with kid gloves, and most of all - DON'T let go of it. You will reap the rewards immeasurably in the end.
When I stumbled out of bed, after Andy'd left for breakfast with a friend, I found a card and Sugar-free candy waiting for me. It HAS to be one of my all-time favorite cards; I've read it numerous times already, and it's not noon yet....
I am a wife that needs constant validation from my husband... and he is a man that, while he loves deeply, hasn't always been a doter. He's committed, he's devoted, he's faithful, he's almost corny in his affection at times, and he's steadfast. He's "it" to me, and has been since I first kissed him all those years ago. But, while knowing that, in the past I haven't KNOWN that. Confused?
The last couple of years have grown us both into new people; me - more confident and knowledgeable about myself, and him - more and more open in his undying, total love for me as his wife. In this area alone, I kick myself for waiting so long for my surgery. Through it, we have both seen a new level of what our marriage and love have grown to become to each other.
I've learned from Andrew and our life together that marriage is at it's best when there is something real sticking you together. While we've always had the bond of our marriage, the raising of our girls, and our devotion to our Lord, it's times of - for lack of a better word - stress that pulls out the stops. It's times of transition and change, and it's times of facing certain realities that force us to re-evaluate where we are. Watching my parents both die, and watching his age into their 80's, watching our girls face adversity and watching other marriages that we thought would survive fail has made our union more precious to us as the years have passed. It almost takes on a "Survivor" mentality - that nothing dare come between us.
In 1973 , when I met him, I thought I knew what it meant to love him. Silly me - so, to those of you wondering what I've learned about love, here goes -
When you find it, take care of it. Grow it, laugh in it, treat it with kid gloves, and most of all - DON'T let go of it. You will reap the rewards immeasurably in the end.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
My Wednesday night Oasis
Decades ago, the leaders of the church set aside an hour during the week for Bible Study. To get home from work, feed the family and then sit for an hour while someone teaches was often a chore, but these days I find that hour one of my favorites....
Susie started the class I am in several years ago, and through the years we have gone from 3 of us a week to over 30. We've done topical studies, video series -changed teachers a few times, and moved from one room to another.
But one thing stays the same; we are deeply bonded to each other - some of us are new to the faith, some (like me!) are "old-timers". Doesn't matter - we join together weekly in unashamed love for each other, seeking only encouragement, knowledge, and acceptance.
My, that sounds idyllic!
Our current class is in one half of the Fellowship room. The other class is "mixed", and the coffee pot is on our side of the room, so men and women pass by us as they make their way to their class. Sweet Sylvia goes by, with her encouraging words and hugs, some of the men make funny comments about "us women" and asking to join our class. Then, the door is closed, and off we go.
The majority of our time is spent in prayer requests, sharing updates, and affirmations. Last night, we spent some time giving specific praise to the Father for the answering of our prayers, and some time comforting a sweet sister whose heart was breaking. There's no rush, and the time is well spent.
I noticed last night that we had 4 mother/daughter combos. The "passing on" of the faith was so evident, and the chance for everyone to witness their bonds was awesome.
So, this is my mid-week oasis; a place of rejuvenation, love, and worship. We laugh, we cry, we plan, we study, we encourage. We love getting to know each other on a different level than you would if you just pass by someone in the center aisle on Sunday morning. It makes life real, in every sense of the word.
Is this what those men long ago intended? Did they have any idea how pivotal it would be to us in 2013 to have that "breather" during a hectic work/school week? That those lonely due to being widowed or single would be supported by the fellowship of brothers and sisters?
Whatever their plan was, I reap the benefits of their decision. And I thank them, with all my heart!
"Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another...." Heb. 10:25
Susie started the class I am in several years ago, and through the years we have gone from 3 of us a week to over 30. We've done topical studies, video series -changed teachers a few times, and moved from one room to another.
But one thing stays the same; we are deeply bonded to each other - some of us are new to the faith, some (like me!) are "old-timers". Doesn't matter - we join together weekly in unashamed love for each other, seeking only encouragement, knowledge, and acceptance.
My, that sounds idyllic!
Our current class is in one half of the Fellowship room. The other class is "mixed", and the coffee pot is on our side of the room, so men and women pass by us as they make their way to their class. Sweet Sylvia goes by, with her encouraging words and hugs, some of the men make funny comments about "us women" and asking to join our class. Then, the door is closed, and off we go.
The majority of our time is spent in prayer requests, sharing updates, and affirmations. Last night, we spent some time giving specific praise to the Father for the answering of our prayers, and some time comforting a sweet sister whose heart was breaking. There's no rush, and the time is well spent.
I noticed last night that we had 4 mother/daughter combos. The "passing on" of the faith was so evident, and the chance for everyone to witness their bonds was awesome.
So, this is my mid-week oasis; a place of rejuvenation, love, and worship. We laugh, we cry, we plan, we study, we encourage. We love getting to know each other on a different level than you would if you just pass by someone in the center aisle on Sunday morning. It makes life real, in every sense of the word.
Is this what those men long ago intended? Did they have any idea how pivotal it would be to us in 2013 to have that "breather" during a hectic work/school week? That those lonely due to being widowed or single would be supported by the fellowship of brothers and sisters?
Whatever their plan was, I reap the benefits of their decision. And I thank them, with all my heart!
"Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another...." Heb. 10:25
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
When your daughters are grown....
January 30, 2013
Today is Dana's birthday.
When Andy and I got married, there was a wedding right after ours that had the song, "Sunrise, Sunset" as part of the ceremony. I'm sure it was included for the parents, as a reminder of how fast their daughter had gone from infant to bride. It was poignant, to say the least.
Oh, man... the lyrics say, "one season following another, laden with happiness and tears" - or something like that. Little did I know later as a young mom with two little girls how that song would mean so much to me now.
Dana. Christian woman. Teacher. Sister. Friend. Traveler. Independent thinker. Daughter. And so much more.
Erin. Christian woman. Wife. Mother. Friend. Sister. Daughter. Giver. The list goes on.
When your daughters are grown, there's a whole new wonderful side of them that you could not forsee when they were little; when they were grumpy, or stubborn, or timid, or worried. You just hoped that each day, you'd make the right choices and tell them all the right things. You just didn't want to "mess them up." Somedays, you sure wished you had a crystal ball, so see how the story was going to play out, but then the surprises wouldn't be so amazing, and the outcomes so fulfilling. I'm sure there are things I would do differently if I could, but since that isn't the case, I'll just give myself some grace that the good way outdid the bad. That's all you can do when your daughters are grown.
Anyone who knows my girls knows that they are beyond exceeding any expectations I could have had, and that is giving all the glory to God; for He is theirs, and they are His.
So, on this reflective day of Dana's birth, I'll just relive some fun "Mom memories", and look forward to the years to come. Because when your daughters are grown, it's what you do.
Today is Dana's birthday.
When Andy and I got married, there was a wedding right after ours that had the song, "Sunrise, Sunset" as part of the ceremony. I'm sure it was included for the parents, as a reminder of how fast their daughter had gone from infant to bride. It was poignant, to say the least.
Oh, man... the lyrics say, "one season following another, laden with happiness and tears" - or something like that. Little did I know later as a young mom with two little girls how that song would mean so much to me now.
Dana. Christian woman. Teacher. Sister. Friend. Traveler. Independent thinker. Daughter. And so much more.
Erin. Christian woman. Wife. Mother. Friend. Sister. Daughter. Giver. The list goes on.
When your daughters are grown, there's a whole new wonderful side of them that you could not forsee when they were little; when they were grumpy, or stubborn, or timid, or worried. You just hoped that each day, you'd make the right choices and tell them all the right things. You just didn't want to "mess them up." Somedays, you sure wished you had a crystal ball, so see how the story was going to play out, but then the surprises wouldn't be so amazing, and the outcomes so fulfilling. I'm sure there are things I would do differently if I could, but since that isn't the case, I'll just give myself some grace that the good way outdid the bad. That's all you can do when your daughters are grown.
Anyone who knows my girls knows that they are beyond exceeding any expectations I could have had, and that is giving all the glory to God; for He is theirs, and they are His.
So, on this reflective day of Dana's birth, I'll just relive some fun "Mom memories", and look forward to the years to come. Because when your daughters are grown, it's what you do.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Maurine Perkins loved my hands. Every single time I saw her, she'd hold them in her own, stroke them from top to bottom, and tell me how pretty they were. Didn't matter if the nails were manicured - or even filed or painted for that matter, she told me how soft and lovely my hands were. I thought about that a lot recently, as I had my very first manicure. The manicurist was a long-time employee, so I'm sure she'd held a lot of hands, but she made no comment about how extraordinary MY hands were, as Maurine always did. Maurine died yesterday, at 93. The last time I saw her was too long ago, when a friend and I visited her at the nursing home where she'd moved. She was still Maurine, although a little "less" her... if you get it. And since I'm not the best at visiting nursing homes, that's the last memory I have of her. Sad....
Maurine never made excuses for her hard life; one of an alcoholic husband, 5 children, and great faith. In my early years, I remember stories about her husband - how he was known as the "town drunk", and how Maurine stood by him and raised their children. She could tell you stories that would make most of us wives run for the hills, but she didn't. She stayed. His own funeral was full of folks he'd helped in his later years, as I'm sure her's will be. It spoke of learning from your demons, of making peace in all situations, and of taking where you'd been and helping others with that knowledge. It was quite a testimony of commitment in life.
And that's what I take from Maurine. Her innate faith in God and His Word; His Church as a support in life's hardest times, and the knowledge that He will take us to Him after we draw our last breath. Because of Maurine and many like her, when things get rough in my life, or I question God's will, I can stand firm. I will not run, I will not falter, I will not quit.
Rest in peace, my dear sister, Maurine.
Maurine never made excuses for her hard life; one of an alcoholic husband, 5 children, and great faith. In my early years, I remember stories about her husband - how he was known as the "town drunk", and how Maurine stood by him and raised their children. She could tell you stories that would make most of us wives run for the hills, but she didn't. She stayed. His own funeral was full of folks he'd helped in his later years, as I'm sure her's will be. It spoke of learning from your demons, of making peace in all situations, and of taking where you'd been and helping others with that knowledge. It was quite a testimony of commitment in life.
And that's what I take from Maurine. Her innate faith in God and His Word; His Church as a support in life's hardest times, and the knowledge that He will take us to Him after we draw our last breath. Because of Maurine and many like her, when things get rough in my life, or I question God's will, I can stand firm. I will not run, I will not falter, I will not quit.
Rest in peace, my dear sister, Maurine.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Saying "Goodby" to Christmas
So, today I packed up Christmas. Been meaning to, just haven't. For me, putting Christmas away is sweeter than putting it all out to begin with. Usually, you are in a rush; people are coming over, or family is coming in, or - well, you know. In years past, the girls hovered over my shoulder wanting to help (which I LOVED, in case you doubted!), and so the dishing out of "stuff" takes on more of a hurried feel.
But putting Christmas away is more settled, for me anyway. Today, the house is quiet, and I'm alone. It's my birthday, so I'm feeling introspective anyway, and the handling and wrapping of each item is both sad and memorable.
I decided to write this post as I was wrapping up a Jim Shore snowman that Erin's mother in law gave me several Christmases ago. They are wonderful, and over the years, I have recieved several. For some reason, I thought - "someday, these will all be Erin's, and she'll have a really nice collection!" While that is a lovely, warm feeling, I really hope it isn't too soon!! :)
So, in an effort to keep this from rambling too much, I'll just relate some of the thoughts that crossed my mind today -
Mom's ceramic carolers - she loved working with her hands, and since I've always loved singing, they are tops on my list! Each one delicately done, with mouths wide open in joyous singing...
The "Yule Log" candle holder - one of my favorites; I think Erin's already claimed that one for later. Each year, I enjoy the intricate work on the berries and holly leaves. It was one of my best "finds" ever!
Dana's aluminum Christmas Bell - done in 4th grade when she had Pauline Williams for her teacher. Back when days could be spent on fun things like gifts for parents instead of preparing for the next Benchmark test. It sits in the same frame she brought it home in. Sweet memories.
Mr. and Mrs. Santa and Frosty are not in their place this year; they've gone to live at the Johnsons. I painted them years ago, and haven't taken them out of the cabinet for a few years, so I offered them to the girls. Dana's in Cairo, and Erin has 3 children, so there's one for each of them. A nice symetry, and a future memory of something Nana once did for them to enjoy.
My aunt Joyce and uncle Curtis always shopped at the Dollar Store. One year, they gave us a little plastic red and green train that spells out "Merry Christmas". I used to take it to school for my desk, because the kids loved it. I love it, too.
I have an old, fragile string of beads that Mama had on her tree. It finds a different place each year; this year, it was on a shelf with some family pictures; kind of a heritage thing, I guess.
Jackie's quilt; just received last Christmas. Lots of love and hours of work in that - the warmth of the fabric is nothing compared to the warmth of the idea that she made it for me.
Andy and I have our stockings that my mother in law, Anne made. She knitted each and every family member their own, with Bladen receiving the last one two years ago, before she was no longer able to do them. (Andy's being the first, he'll tell you that each one got bigger and bigger... to his chagrin!)
And lastly, our Christmas tree skirt. I see in my mind's eye Andy sitting on the floor our first Christmas together, latch-hooking to his heart's content. It has stains from when Smudge, our late son-cat, used it for a litter box, and Latch-hook went out of style decades ago, but it is ours. The girls' first - and every- Santa gift sat on that skirt, and will for the rest of my life.
While I could go on, I won't. You get the idea - So, Christmas is over and put away for another year. Lord willing, we'll drag it all out in November 2013, and enjoy another season together. Who knows what that will be!!
So, today I packed up Christmas. Been meaning to, just haven't. For me, putting Christmas away is sweeter than putting it all out to begin with. Usually, you are in a rush; people are coming over, or family is coming in, or - well, you know. In years past, the girls hovered over my shoulder wanting to help (which I LOVED, in case you doubted!), and so the dishing out of "stuff" takes on more of a hurried feel.
But putting Christmas away is more settled, for me anyway. Today, the house is quiet, and I'm alone. It's my birthday, so I'm feeling introspective anyway, and the handling and wrapping of each item is both sad and memorable.
I decided to write this post as I was wrapping up a Jim Shore snowman that Erin's mother in law gave me several Christmases ago. They are wonderful, and over the years, I have recieved several. For some reason, I thought - "someday, these will all be Erin's, and she'll have a really nice collection!" While that is a lovely, warm feeling, I really hope it isn't too soon!! :)
So, in an effort to keep this from rambling too much, I'll just relate some of the thoughts that crossed my mind today -
Mom's ceramic carolers - she loved working with her hands, and since I've always loved singing, they are tops on my list! Each one delicately done, with mouths wide open in joyous singing...
The "Yule Log" candle holder - one of my favorites; I think Erin's already claimed that one for later. Each year, I enjoy the intricate work on the berries and holly leaves. It was one of my best "finds" ever!
Dana's aluminum Christmas Bell - done in 4th grade when she had Pauline Williams for her teacher. Back when days could be spent on fun things like gifts for parents instead of preparing for the next Benchmark test. It sits in the same frame she brought it home in. Sweet memories.
Mr. and Mrs. Santa and Frosty are not in their place this year; they've gone to live at the Johnsons. I painted them years ago, and haven't taken them out of the cabinet for a few years, so I offered them to the girls. Dana's in Cairo, and Erin has 3 children, so there's one for each of them. A nice symetry, and a future memory of something Nana once did for them to enjoy.
My aunt Joyce and uncle Curtis always shopped at the Dollar Store. One year, they gave us a little plastic red and green train that spells out "Merry Christmas". I used to take it to school for my desk, because the kids loved it. I love it, too.
I have an old, fragile string of beads that Mama had on her tree. It finds a different place each year; this year, it was on a shelf with some family pictures; kind of a heritage thing, I guess.
Jackie's quilt; just received last Christmas. Lots of love and hours of work in that - the warmth of the fabric is nothing compared to the warmth of the idea that she made it for me.
Andy and I have our stockings that my mother in law, Anne made. She knitted each and every family member their own, with Bladen receiving the last one two years ago, before she was no longer able to do them. (Andy's being the first, he'll tell you that each one got bigger and bigger... to his chagrin!)
And lastly, our Christmas tree skirt. I see in my mind's eye Andy sitting on the floor our first Christmas together, latch-hooking to his heart's content. It has stains from when Smudge, our late son-cat, used it for a litter box, and Latch-hook went out of style decades ago, but it is ours. The girls' first - and every- Santa gift sat on that skirt, and will for the rest of my life.
While I could go on, I won't. You get the idea - So, Christmas is over and put away for another year. Lord willing, we'll drag it all out in November 2013, and enjoy another season together. Who knows what that will be!!
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Christmas with my girls -
Wow - two months without posting on this site; I have to confess that I have considered writing in the meantime as well as just shutting the site down, but obviously neither one very seriously. I've had such fun over the past two weeks, however, and decided that I wanted to document the time with my daughters before it fades from my middle-aged memory. So -
I've been so blessed to spend extended time with Erin and her family ever since the birthday party for the kids in early November. In the LaMore family, from early August to March is one birthday/holiday after another, and this time of year is typically crazy. Add Gregg's surgery for his ACL, and I basically moved into the Johnson house. Let me say that I always feel welcome and valued while I am there, even when other sons-in-law would be praying for my return home. Thanks, Gregg!!
So, Dana flew in on Christmas Eve. Andy and I had driven over on the Sunday before, and were able to enjoy some quality Christmas cooking time with Liz and Bladen. We had to get them ready to leave for Santa, and he really enjoyed them. The kids did really good with the sprinkles and choosing the color of icing for their specific cookies, and the tasting was enjoyed by all! Andy was helpful in putting together some of Santa's treasures, and then it was time to head to the airport for our biggest delivery! I expected the airport to be crazy on Christmas Eve, but we had no trouble meeting up with Dana, and were soon on our way back to the house.
Christmas Day was so fun. The kids, of course, were the focus, but we adults waited patiently and enjoyed our time of gifts while they relished in toys galore. Erin and Gregg are savvy parents and know that the kids would do better entertaining themselves while we opened our gifts, so we waited .... Dana brought treasures from across the sea, and Erin and Gregg thoughtfully considered what our hearts would enjoy - and for the first time in many, many years, I gave them matching tops! It was fun to see them hold them up together; I actually have the same top as well! Later in the day, we drove over the Albert's house and met up with the rest of the LaMores for dinner and a gift-card exchange. Seeing the kids all growing up into wonderful adults adds to the enjoyment of the Season.
Andy left the next day to return to work, but I got to stay. We tried to go over the Santa's Wonderland in College Station, but were rained out. Instead, we found a Dairy Queen in Navasota and treated ourselves to some yummy ice cream. It was fun to see the kids dive into their cones, even Ginny!
I don't have to always be going somewhere or "doing something" to enjoy my girls. It's like I'm storing up just the sight and feel of them in my heart, so the rest of that visit was quiet. Dana drove me over on Saturday to Schulenberg, where Andy met us to bring me home.
Then, on Friday, we drove BACK to Houston, and the girls took me on my first spa adventure. They tried to get me to get a massage, but I held out; not ready. Once we got into our robes, we sat in the quiet waiting area, enjoying the atmosphere and some delicious juice drinks. I have to confess being a little awkward in my slippers.... but it was a nice, relaxing place. My manicure was awesome, and in no time we met up again to enjoy some time in another relaxation room. Yummy treats and delicious hot tea alongside a lovely fire in a darkened room relaxed us further. Soon, it was time to move on back for more fun -
Back at the house, we joined one of Dana's friends and former roommate from Cairo and her new husband to watch the Cotton Bowl. Jenn - the roommate- came ready for a "Fry Fest", fried cheeses, pickles, and - yes, Oreos! Oh, man. We also had dip, wings, sausages, and peanut butter bars. I enjoyed them one and all, thank you! The Aggies gave us a great game - Dana's first to watch in two years!
On Saturday, I made Dana's birthday cake, as we will not be together on her special day, and then she had some shopping to complete. While at the mall getting her birthday gift from Erin and Gregg, they surprised me with a shopping trip for MY birthday! Liz was along, and she was so good! The time could not have been more fun - and I loved that they pampered me so lovingly.... Back at the house, we ate cake and gave Dana and Gregg their gifts after eating some delicious Mexican food. (So glad I don't have to see my surgeon anytime soon!!)
So, Sunday was departure day. I did well; didn't get too emotional, and soon Erin and I were driving back to the house by ourselves. Right now, the thing I am most grateful for is their relationship with each other. They are such a blessing to me, and to each other, in their pure love and respect. We had a quiet night with the Johnsons while we waited to hear that Dana was once again in Cairo, and suddenly; Christmas was over.
It was hard to leave the next moring, beause I've become so comfortable in that house! But, it was time, and leave we did. Now, routine can resume, and fun, fun times can be reflected on. The best thing for me to hear is Liz saying, "But I don't want you to go home, Nana!" Me, too, Liz - me, too....
Dana reminded me this trip that I raised them both to be independent. I'm eternally glad that they both have their own minds and ideas - even when the mom in me still wants to sometimes call the shots. It IS what I raised them to be, and it makes seeing their lives so beautifully lived all the sweeter.
It WAS truly a Merry Christmas!!
Wow - two months without posting on this site; I have to confess that I have considered writing in the meantime as well as just shutting the site down, but obviously neither one very seriously. I've had such fun over the past two weeks, however, and decided that I wanted to document the time with my daughters before it fades from my middle-aged memory. So -
I've been so blessed to spend extended time with Erin and her family ever since the birthday party for the kids in early November. In the LaMore family, from early August to March is one birthday/holiday after another, and this time of year is typically crazy. Add Gregg's surgery for his ACL, and I basically moved into the Johnson house. Let me say that I always feel welcome and valued while I am there, even when other sons-in-law would be praying for my return home. Thanks, Gregg!!
So, Dana flew in on Christmas Eve. Andy and I had driven over on the Sunday before, and were able to enjoy some quality Christmas cooking time with Liz and Bladen. We had to get them ready to leave for Santa, and he really enjoyed them. The kids did really good with the sprinkles and choosing the color of icing for their specific cookies, and the tasting was enjoyed by all! Andy was helpful in putting together some of Santa's treasures, and then it was time to head to the airport for our biggest delivery! I expected the airport to be crazy on Christmas Eve, but we had no trouble meeting up with Dana, and were soon on our way back to the house.
Christmas Day was so fun. The kids, of course, were the focus, but we adults waited patiently and enjoyed our time of gifts while they relished in toys galore. Erin and Gregg are savvy parents and know that the kids would do better entertaining themselves while we opened our gifts, so we waited .... Dana brought treasures from across the sea, and Erin and Gregg thoughtfully considered what our hearts would enjoy - and for the first time in many, many years, I gave them matching tops! It was fun to see them hold them up together; I actually have the same top as well! Later in the day, we drove over the Albert's house and met up with the rest of the LaMores for dinner and a gift-card exchange. Seeing the kids all growing up into wonderful adults adds to the enjoyment of the Season.
Andy left the next day to return to work, but I got to stay. We tried to go over the Santa's Wonderland in College Station, but were rained out. Instead, we found a Dairy Queen in Navasota and treated ourselves to some yummy ice cream. It was fun to see the kids dive into their cones, even Ginny!
I don't have to always be going somewhere or "doing something" to enjoy my girls. It's like I'm storing up just the sight and feel of them in my heart, so the rest of that visit was quiet. Dana drove me over on Saturday to Schulenberg, where Andy met us to bring me home.
Then, on Friday, we drove BACK to Houston, and the girls took me on my first spa adventure. They tried to get me to get a massage, but I held out; not ready. Once we got into our robes, we sat in the quiet waiting area, enjoying the atmosphere and some delicious juice drinks. I have to confess being a little awkward in my slippers.... but it was a nice, relaxing place. My manicure was awesome, and in no time we met up again to enjoy some time in another relaxation room. Yummy treats and delicious hot tea alongside a lovely fire in a darkened room relaxed us further. Soon, it was time to move on back for more fun -
Back at the house, we joined one of Dana's friends and former roommate from Cairo and her new husband to watch the Cotton Bowl. Jenn - the roommate- came ready for a "Fry Fest", fried cheeses, pickles, and - yes, Oreos! Oh, man. We also had dip, wings, sausages, and peanut butter bars. I enjoyed them one and all, thank you! The Aggies gave us a great game - Dana's first to watch in two years!
On Saturday, I made Dana's birthday cake, as we will not be together on her special day, and then she had some shopping to complete. While at the mall getting her birthday gift from Erin and Gregg, they surprised me with a shopping trip for MY birthday! Liz was along, and she was so good! The time could not have been more fun - and I loved that they pampered me so lovingly.... Back at the house, we ate cake and gave Dana and Gregg their gifts after eating some delicious Mexican food. (So glad I don't have to see my surgeon anytime soon!!)
So, Sunday was departure day. I did well; didn't get too emotional, and soon Erin and I were driving back to the house by ourselves. Right now, the thing I am most grateful for is their relationship with each other. They are such a blessing to me, and to each other, in their pure love and respect. We had a quiet night with the Johnsons while we waited to hear that Dana was once again in Cairo, and suddenly; Christmas was over.
It was hard to leave the next moring, beause I've become so comfortable in that house! But, it was time, and leave we did. Now, routine can resume, and fun, fun times can be reflected on. The best thing for me to hear is Liz saying, "But I don't want you to go home, Nana!" Me, too, Liz - me, too....
Dana reminded me this trip that I raised them both to be independent. I'm eternally glad that they both have their own minds and ideas - even when the mom in me still wants to sometimes call the shots. It IS what I raised them to be, and it makes seeing their lives so beautifully lived all the sweeter.
It WAS truly a Merry Christmas!!
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