only casual observations

2011-12-20T16:30:00.000-06:00

I was asking Walker III for some Christmas gift suggestions, and got limited response from him. I assigned his attendant to take him shopping and provide me with suggestions…still nothing that sounded like much. The list was: A digital coin counter and two videos, both of which he had also asked for from his sisters. Back to the drawing board. I picked at him a bit more, and he finally got fed up with me.
“Mom, you know when we were little and we always got lots of stuff?”

“Um hmm.”

“Well, I’m thirty six now. Don’t do that anymore.”

Lesson learned, although he may still get three packages like the rest of the kids, large and small.

I remember those days, slogging around looking for a Cabbage Patch Kid on Christmas Eve, (which turned out to be perfect, because I found one!), getting up in the middle of the night to stuff stockings, check to see if the rolls were rising, turn on the oven for the turkey, hoping my husband didn't get called out to fly (only happened once)...wanting perfection.

The picture below was the beginning of my feeling like everything must be perfect, especially me, and the knowledge that I had a long way to go. Walker’s birth was probably the end of it. Believe me, I still try to do things well, but now I truly believe that good enough is truly good enough, so when things get to good enough, I relax…a lot.

This year we’ll have Sarah and Ned and Emmett for a whole week. That’s just about good enough for me. The new puppy will add to the fun, and Walker wants to get out the electric train from his childhood. What could possibly go wrong?

Just about everything.

The shopping I haven’t done yet just won’t get done. Dinner will be kid friendly, and perhaps not the sophisticated dinner that I have always started out with a vision of. There may be green beans on the floor and more than a few tears between all the little kids…hopefully none from the big ones! The gifts may not all have wrapping paper on them, or if it is it may be a little crooked like my hands in the picture, (look closely, and you’ll know which one I am) but it will be perfectly perfect.

I hope each of you have a perfect holiday celebration too. Tomorrow means that we’ve made it past the longest night of the year, and things will be brightening up in very short order. What a comforting thought.

Blessings,

Janie

P.S. This picture was taken in about 1948 or '49 at Church of the Ascension. If anyone can identify any of the participants, it would be a gift to me if you'd make a comment or e-mail me with names. The only person I remember for sure was Mary, who was Ann Weisenberg.

Is it Real or is it _____________?

2011-12-01T15:03:00.004-06:00

Most people who watched any television at all in the past thirty years will remember a commercial for a product in which a glass is shattered by a soprano hitting a high note. The ad then cut to “Is it real or is it ______ (Memorex).” We also remember the little lady who confronted the fast food clerk with “Where’s the ____ (beef)”… an ad so memorable that there is discussion of reviving that commercial some twenty or thirty years later.

A walk down memory lane for those over a certain age can be a delightful exercise for most of us as we flip through old annuals and can call the names of most of our classmates, although we might not recognize them today. Even looking at kindergarten pictures, our friends faces and names are linked in a way that no present day friends and acquaintances are. These memories, even painful ones, can prove to be a comfort and a delight as we age, allowing us to burnish the unpleasant ones with a glow that comes from having survived even the hardest times. We’re still here.

But memory can be a tricky thing.

We mostly laugh when we go into a room and wonder what in the world we wanted there. We grasp for a word or especially a name that is right below the surface. We’ve discovered that if we quit chasing it, it usually surfaces with a pop. Then we might blurt out whatever it was to whoever happens to be around, delighted with the retrieval, but confounding our conversation partners with the suddenness and randomness of discovery.

I find it hard to return to once familiar places and find that they have changed so much that I don’t recognize them, sometimes in what seems like a blink of the eye. A store that always had ____ is no longer in business and large houses have replaced the bungalos that populated our old neighborhoods. It’s comforting to find something that’s still the same after a long period of time. A recent trip back to our childhood lake house was so reassuring to me, because so little had changed.

The confusion change brings may even be pronounced even in a city you’ve never left because of all the “clone neighborhoods” that have appeared nationwide. Each one sports the same mix of shopping choices… Walgreens, CVS, or Rite Aid, a big grocery store, a nail parlor probably staffed with Asian ladies anxious to make you “look like lady” and a unisex hair salon. There’ll probably be a dry cleaner, perhaps a sub shop, but basically all these strip malls look the same. The houses around them don’t differ much in these new areas either. The roofs are all a tasteful shade of greige; there are identical mailboxes, generic plantings which are sometimes prescribed by the Homeowners Association, and not much differs from block to block. There’s not much to hook a memory to in these neighborhoods.

I always hope the folks inside them exercise a bit of originality and have some customs of their own that will provide something memorable for the inhabitants.

Memories differ among me and my siblings, even though we grew up literally side by side, three to a room, for the first eleven years of my life. We all remember the crazy trip to California with my mother and an aging sorority sister and her daughter for a national convention, but Jack remembers the events from a nine year old’s seat between the two ladies in the front seat, Kitty from her perch beside Helen in the middle seat, and I from my mostly lone lounge in the “way back” of the station wagon reading about Al Capone.

We all remember there was no AC in the car, and that our goal was to find a suitable motel at each stop that had air conditioning and a swimming pool for less than ten dollars a night. I remember a golden week at the Huntington Sheraton where I lounged around the pool and delighted the life guard by reading out loud in my southern accent. The details differ, but the memories are there. Who knows if they’re real. It doesn’t really matter, they’re ours and we will always treasure them.

I’m making more of an effort to make memories with my grandchildren, and so far it feels successful. I’d love to hear their account of the trip to the Native American ruins on the Friday after Thanksgiving about thirty years from now.

Blessings,

Janie

What's for Breakfast?

2011-10-22T11:03:00.000-05:00

Some of my long-time readers know that I originally wrote a lot of stories about what it was like to live with a person with Down Syndrome, and some have even commented that they really miss my “Walker Stories”. Well, life settled down to a fairly predictable boredom over the past several years, so I branched out and rattled on about anything and everything.

My recent surgery, however, precipitated some ripples at home, and I’m back to my primary concern…living with Walker.

After two knee replacements and a few out of town trips, Walker had gotten used to coping with his predictable world being a little less so for short periods of time. I usually make sure that his needs are covered and have plans in place to make sure he will be safe and well cared for. I noticed a difference in Walker just before our last trip, a short one to Montgomery a few weeks ago. The night before we left he questioned me repeatedly about what he would have on hand to eat, who would be covering for me, etc. I realized that I probably hadn’t left enough microwave ready food that would appeal to him, so found myself flipping burgers to leave in the fridge at bedtime the night before we left. After I showed him his choices, he seemed to relax about everything but breakfast, which has become a bit of an issue in the past year.

For a long, long time, Walker’s preferred breakfast was two Jimmy Dean sausage biscuits which he microwaved for himself and went off to work with something in his tummy that would last till his rather late lunch break. Then one day he noticed that the package described the biscuits as “snack size”. They were the same biscuits, just as greasy and cholesterol filled as before, but now they were declared not to be suitable as breakfast. We reached a truce about my being a short order breakfast cook, and I agreed to fix him something two or three days a week while we looked for a suitable breakfast that he could fix for himself. (Cereal does not suit him…so don’t even suggest that one.)

Then I ended up having kidney surgery last week, and being kind of under the weather even after I got home. He has questioned me daily about what I might feel like cooking, which was actually not very much, but I did put some blueberry muffins in yesterday, and there were enough left over for today. Not acceptable…he really was craving waffles. He settled for a couple of Pop Tarts. It wasn’t a work day, and he’ll eat lunch at a normal time, so I kind of forgot about it.

A little later he came down and asked, “Which knee is it?” perhaps trying to figure out if I’d grown a third leg. I told him it wasn’t my knee this time, but that I had a kidney cancer removed, and it left my tummy pretty sore. “Cancer?’ he commented, looking a bit alarmed.

“Yeah, but it’s all gone now, and I’ll be fine. I just need some time to get better.” With a shrug he was gone again.

All this has led me back to being concerned for his welfare when the time finally comes that I don’t dodge the bullet. How do I prepare him for the likelihood that I might not always be around to fix his breakfast without scaring him to death. We’ll figure it out, I’m sure, but I realized that my boy-man still needs his mama right now. Maybe I’ll make those waffles tomorrow. I feel privileged to be able to do it for now.

Blessings,
Janie

You Can Go Home Again

2011-10-12T12:03:00.000-05:00

Since my mother died, my trips back to Sweet Home Alabama have been few and far between. I guess the pain of losing her and all my connections at one time seemed to just be too much. Without a bedroom and bath awaiting me anytime I happened to have a whim to visit, visiting now required making arrangements and imposing on others that might not find my spontaneity charming, just inconvenient.

A few years ago I made some tentative connections with a friend from school and we’ve kept in touch. When Fran found herself chairing the fiftieth reunion for our high school class, I somehow got involved too. Now I had a purpose in going home, at least occasionally. Fairly nice hotels aren’t too expensive, and it would be a chance to visit my brother and his family and my oldest and dearest friend. So, I agreed to attend a meeting of the reunion committee, and ended up with a nice invitation to stay with my friend…and her new husband…so we planned a weekend visit. My brother and his wife were free, so we scheduled a day with them at the lake and an evening of college football.

I can’t remember when I’ve been so blissfully happy.

Montgomery has changed. The action is primarily in a part of town that I didn’t even know existed when I left there fifty years ago. There were nice restaurants I’d never visited, new developments designed for empty nesters, and it seemed like a great place to be.

I found our old lake house mostly unchanged, and the changes that my brother and his wife have made have enhanced enjoyment of the beautiful clear lake without losing the charm of an early 1950’s style cabin. We rode around and looked at all the fabulous mansions sprawling around the lake, but when I arrived back at the cabin and sat on the screened porch overlooking the tranquil lake, I hoped it would always be home to me.

My meeting with old classmates to plan the reunion had created a bit of anxiety on my part. I had not seen most of them in at least thirty years, some in nearly fifty. I was never really a leader in my class, and kind of hung out on the fringes of the action, usually unaware of how hard those leaders worked in extra-curricular activities because I spent most of my free time either with my nose in a book or on the phone with my boyfriend. Would they recognize that I’d found some gifts of my own as I matured? Would they discount the possibility of a dumpy little housewife being able to make a contribution? Would we even recognize each other or have memories? All those fears vanished as we greeted each other with hugs around mostly well padded bodies, shared a sandwich and a glass of wine, and got down to business.

My contribution to the meeting was warmly received, and I got more positive strokes in that one night than I often get in a whole year. It was blissful!

Part of my time in Montgomery was spent getting acquainted with Florence’s charming new husband, Howard. We laughed and told stories and got to know each other. We shared some delicious meals, and began a new kind of friendship as adult couples. I also squeezed in brief visit to her Aunt Ruth, who lives in the house where my mother spent her last couple of years, and one with my oldest nephew on his thirtieth birthday.

I can’t wait to go home again!

Blessings,
Janie

Reflections

2011-09-06T10:12:00.000-05:00

Our family seems to exhibit a number of mostly minor obsessions…some compulsive, some sporadic, but mostly productive. I wish I had my sister’s passion for diet and exercise, but my own passions wax and wane. I’m always excited about a new project, and then can’t wait for it to be over so I can begin something else. I’m about to put the final stitches in a needlepoint stocking that has been my companion for almost a year now. It was a great diversion as my knee healed, but now it’s getting in the way of more active pursuits.

My great passion this summer has been beginning work on a video presentation for the fiftieth reunion of my high school class next spring. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, I’ve had the pleasure of reconnecting with people I hadn’t heard of, or in some cases even thought of, in fifty years. I’ve found a few friends lost through the vagabond lifestyle with many changes of address that we have lived through at time. And then came the internet….

After seeing the presentation of last year’s class, I began investigating how difficult the process might be, and found out it was probably manageable. There have been some hurdles, and there may be more, but learning new things is still exciting for me, and I’m just tickled to death with myself for managing to do it. My first project was a short DVD of our family Christmas, and I know I’ll do more in the future.

When I agreed to take on the project, I saw it as my gift to my class, but in the process, the gift has actually mostly been to me. I have received pictures from long lost friends and acquaintances, and to my delight I’ve been able to fill in some empty spots in my memory book. I will always treasure a photo sent from Mike’s six year old birthday party where we are all dressed up for tea in our mother’s clothes. I had no record of that party, or much of that period of my life, and when I got them printed and into my memory book, it really felt like I’d gotten a birthday gift from Mike.

They say that the task of our later years is that we look back and reflect on our lives and appreciate our successes and forgive ourselves our failures and feel content with what we accomplished. When that stocking is on the mantle and the DVD is given to my classmates, I hope I’ll be able to say…you did just fine, old girl.

Blessings,
Janie

Birthday Wishes

2011-08-22T10:21:00.000-05:00

I haven’t written much about Walker lately, mostly because our life together has settled into a mostly predictable routine. We see each other more often for breakfast lately, because his tastes are maturing and the two sausage biscuits he has made himself for breakfast for years no longer appeal to him. That’s a good thing…we’re both eating more healthy choices now. After work, he spends a little time with us before dinner, and religiously watches Wheel of Fortune while it’s cooking, solving way more puzzles than his dad or I do. But then, he disappears upstairs until the next morning. Today was a bit different.

A couple of months ago I got all excited about Polaroid offering a new portable printer that turned digital photos into old timey Polaroid prints, something Walker still grieves for after their discontinuing production of his favorite, and very expensive film. I showed Walker a small article about the device from the Sunday paper months ago and he excitedly shared the news with his sisters and brothers in law, and anyone else who was around. Last week, as his birthday approached, I began letting my fingers do the walking and shopping. Well, Amazon had what looked like the same device, but there were precious few reviews, and all of them made me doubt my choice. So back to square one.

Walker usually has a list made by the 4th of July with explicit expectations from each family member as to what they are supposed to find for him. Sometimes the searches are time consuming and the found items too expensive, so he ends up getting gift cards, which he accepts with gratitude, if not a whole lot of enthusiasm.

For some reason, the pattern was altered this year, and this morning I had to remind him that we really needed a list. As he walked off from me, he muttered something I didn’t understand, and I began my usual somewhat preachy plea for a repeat, this time facing me, so I could understand him. Walker absolutely hates it when anyone does that, but in spite of years of really good speech therapy, his speech is only completely intelligible when he focuses and projects carefully…which is still only about half the time.

I went back to the topic of gifts while he waited as I cooked his requested scrambled egg, this time within hearing distance of my aging ears and facing me. “How about the gift of understanding,” he replied with a sassy look on his face and his hand on his hip. Going into mom mode, I reminded him that understanding was a gift for him to give the rest of us…that we can only understand if he helps us out. An impasse with Walker is usually handled with a shrug on both our parts, but this time he made me start thinking about my responsibility to understand others.

I try, I really do try, to understand people who irritate me, and the older I get and the grumpier I and the world becomes, it seems that there are more and more of them. I look for an innocent reason the sales clerk is on her cell phone while the line builds behind me and I stand there tapping my credit card, but often the evidence is that he or she is simply chatting and trying, unsuccessfully, to do their job while maintaining social contacts. I try to understand why the used paperback I ordered on Amazon is packaged in such a way that multiple implements are required to get into it. I know, the people are afraid you’ll make a negative comment if it’s not packaged sufficiently to prevent damage. I try to understand when I am required to navigate an endless phone tree to reach a person who called me to begin with, and whose business probably isn’t of concern to me anyway. I try, I really do try.

But today, I’m wishing I could require of others the same things I require of Walker, that he make more effort and accept some responsibility for making our interaction a positive one. If he can do it, I think others can too. In the meantime, I hope I’ll be able to give the gift of understanding to Walker and others.

Blessings,
Janie

Great Grammying

2011-07-23T17:46:00.001-05:00

I remember when I first became a great aunt, about eighteen years ago. I was waiting in carpool lane for one of multiple pickups of the afternoon when I glanced at myself in the side mirror and thought,”I don’t look like my great aunts…they had blue hair!” Thank goodness for that one.

That great niece graduated from high school this year with some nice honors, and is going to Florida State University on a cheerleading scholarship. My sister, her grandmother, is really proud of her…as are we all.

Last night I enjoyed hearing William’s original song that he and his band mates created for “Rock and Romp” camp. Seeing five to ten year olds rocking on was quite an experience…one I never had the pleasure of as the mother of girls who were more into musical theater, ballet and opera. Not sure how my grandmother and mother would have suvived the noisy rock scene, but I did with most of hearing intact.

This morning, I saw Becket in the title role of “Charlotte’Web”, and it took me back to those theater days…only this time I didn’t have to feel responsible for hauling her to rehearsals but one time, and didn’t have to run all those lines. All I had to do was show up and enjoy and clap.

Tonight a couple of them will spend the night. We’ll eat Fajitas and they’ll swim and watch mindless videos, probably stay up past their bedtimes and eat waffles with whipped cream and strawberries in the morning.

I still don’t feel as old as my grandmother must have been by the time she had teen aged grandchildren…and I definitely don’t have blue hair, but I do have a round little tummy and an ample bosom to hold babies to, and I'm beginning to look more like my grandmother all the time. Wouldn't it be nice to be around long enough to see the next generation arrive and be able to tell them about the good old days when great grandmothers had blue hair.

Blessings,
Janie

I Been Searchin'

2011-07-11T07:33:00.000-05:00

I spent the better part of last night tossing and turning, trying to turn my search for my beloved tiny digital camera over to my unconscious mind. Part of me knew exactly where the darn thing was supposed to be…in my purse after taking it to a friend’s house on July 4th. Beyond the fact that it obviously wasn’t in my purse, I hit a brick wall trying to retrace where it could be. One of my final thoughts before finally settling into a fitful sleep was that it might be back in my needlepoint bag, where it had ridden home from the lake. I had discarded that notion, because the thought of taking it to my friend’s house was so clear. Maybe it was in the cup holder of the car. Maybe it was still at her house. I almost got up and searched those places and sent Ann an e-mail to see if she’d found it.

I awoke and went straight to the needlepoint bag, and voila, nestled into the Christmas stockings and ornaments I’m working furiously on was the little camera.

It wasn’t the camera that I hated losing so much, it could be replaced, but the card held memories of a happy time with my grandchildren at the lake that would not ever be replaced. I thought about snapping pictures of Becket (10) and Owen (4) learning to canoe as we devised ways to get back and forth to the swim dock now that our pier is a shambles from wind and flood. There was a snap of happy faces of a teenaged grandson and his younger cousins and siblings all piled on the swing also missing.

Well, they’re not lost and gone forever, as my husband used to accuse me of claiming every time I couldn’t find my keys. He also says that if I always put things back where they belong, I wouldn’t be forever searching for something. His gibes have taught me to be more methodical in my ways, and I spend less time frustrated with things that are lost…they’re usually in one of two or three places rather than most anywhere.

Some things from our past really are lost and gone forever, though, and those things plague me to this day. A uniform shoe…only one…missing since the 80’s. Our wedding album and my grandfather’s childhood chair…lost in a move. Most of the valuables my husband inherited from his mother…stolen in a home invasion while we were on vacation at the Transplant Games. But I keep telling myself they were only things.

Worse is losing people you love. There are the inevitable losses to illness and old age, hopefully only a few losses due to differences, and a host of losses due to negligence in keeping up with people through the years. Working on my upcoming fiftieth high school reunion has reconnected me with many classmates that I truly enjoyed once upon a time, but in the days before the internet, if you lost someone who moved away and weren’t diligent about writing or calling, they could truly go missing from your life. I’m loving finding some of these folks again…memories truly are forever, even if you don’t have photos of them.

Blessings,
Janie

Presumed Innocent

2011-07-06T17:44:00.000-05:00

Okay folks, it’s time to take a deep breath and realize that the jury verdict in the Anthony case was probably not the worst outcome of the trial. How much worse could it have been if they had convicted one member of that whole dysfunctional family of a crime when it became evident that any or all of them might in fact be lying about their knowledge of the circumstances?

We know the mother is a liar. She eventually recanted most of what she initially claimed. The grandmother appears to be a liar either to her employer or in her claim that she did the search for Chloroform as I don’t believe she could have possibly been in two places at once on that day. The grandfather’s statements were similarly inconsistent, and my gut feeling tells me that he’s the primary culprit.

No, I don’t like the mother either. If, in fact, she had knowledge that her child had died in whatever tragic manner, and then went on about her rather irresponsible lifestyle as if nothing had happened she is at least guilty of having no heart…or perhaps access to enough pharmaceuticals to obliterate her pain and allow her to party on. Somehow, though, the videos of mother and daughter that have run in a loop for months now, don’t show the kind of person that the prosecutor was prosecuting.

We can’t blame the jury for doing their job. The evidence was too full of inconsistencies for them to have made any other choice.

Will we ever know the details of this case for sure? Probably not. Our crime solvers are not nearly as lucky in real life as they are on formulatic cop dramas where it all fits neatly together at the end and the first, and most obvious, person suspected is never guilty.

I hope the Anthony family makes peace with their lies and deceit and mourns the loss of a precious life as I would have expected the young mother I saw teasing and laughing with her daughter to do. And they are not, by the way, obliged to share their grief with us in the process.

Blessings,
Janie

Give Me a Break

2011-06-30T21:30:00.001-05:00

Is it just me, or has the whole world gone absolutely mad? A news story a couple of weeks ago showed video of a wheelchair bound woman, age 100, being frisked by airport security even to the point of having to remove her adult diaper. What's worse, TSA officials think that's perfectly okay. http://articles.cnn.com/2011-06-26/us/florida.tsa.incident_1_pat-down-tsa-pat-downs-tsa-officer?_s=PM:US

Today, a Nigerian man who was the epitome of a profiler’s depiction of possible terrorists, was arrested after he had used a ticket with a totally different name from his own to board a plane at JFK yesterday, and then today was caught just as he was about to make it onto yet another flight out of Los Angeles with another ticket with a different name. He was found to have several other tickets or boarding passes in his possession. http://newyork.cbslocal.com/2011/06/30/authorities-investigate-security-breach-at-jfk-airport-after-man-flies-to-los-angeles-without-ticket/

Every time I go through security, I have to explain that I have knee replacements and go through what has become an increasingly invasive pat down. Small children are exposed to the same indignities.

Someone has got to blow the whistle on this nonsense and get real about what a possible terrorist looks like. Yes, someone might be offended when more people who are over 75 and under six are passed through without a blink, but I’d be willing to be that airport security wouldn’t show a great jump in incidents if a common sense policy were established.

I hope some heads roll over these incidents, and I’m not just talking about sending a few security personnel back to school for training.

Blessings,

Janie

Daddy's Girl

2011-06-17T18:19:00.001-05:00

I got a note from a grammar school classmate recently citing his memory of my being picked up on the lawn of our elementary school, dear old Bellingrath, by a helicopter. It was 1954 and Daddy was running for governor of the Great State of Alabama in a crowded field of candidates. There were no Republicans to speak of in Alabama at that time, so the Democratic Primary winner was the de facto winner of the Governor’s mansion.

Part of the program was travelling to small towns throughout Alabama, gathering a crowd at a VFW hall or on a town square and giving a speech. Presenting an intact, typical American family was essential…hence the helicopter trips. There wasn’t a lot of difference between the candidates from what I can tell from reading old newspaper accounts. All were staunch segregationists, and all were promising things they probably couldn’t deliver. Daddy campaigned as a veteran and a man of integrity, with several years of experience in State Government. He promised to eliminate corruption in State government. People probably remember the helicopter more than what he had to say.

At that time, I was eight years old, and I had no idea what a Governor did although I knew the present Governor on a first name basis. He was Gordon to me, and sometimes took us for a boat ride at the lake and offered us the use of his beach house. I remember visiting the mansion a few times and being entranced by two things…a beautiful blue tile bathroom and an impressive gun collection that included a gun not as big as a matchbox that was said to shoot straight pins and was used for suicides. I knew the gun collection was Gordon’s personal one, but I wanted that beautiful blue bathroom for my own after his daughter graciously showed me around.

Daddy was never elected Governor of Alabama, although he ran twice. I didn’t love those campaigns. I was slightly mortified that Daddy was an also ran in such a public manner, but I did love those helicopter rides. It never occurred to me to be frightened, I was with my Daddy and the pilot, a handsome fellow named Joe Suttle, had me smitten even at age eight.

I never told Daddy how proud I was of his ambition, which was even more admirable because of his very humble beginnings as the son of a poverty ridden coal mining family who often didn't have enough to eat. Someone must have seen something in him at an early age, though, because he had the determination and courage to work his way through college and to have an exemplary career as a bomber pilot in the Marines while stationed in the Phillipines. I did realize that I was more like him than I ever imagined once I was an adult, and appreciated the lively discussions we shared on current events and financial matters.

I hope cyberspace is available in heaven, and that Daddy knows how proud I am to be his daughter today.

Blessings,
Janie

Back to the Fifties

2011-06-12T16:36:00.000-05:00

I’ve been doing some preliminary work on a video I’m going to compile for my fiftieth high school reunion. Yes, I’m really that old...I can't believe it either. In the process, I’ve contacted former classmates and requested pictures and have spent this afternoon listening to the number one songs of the fifties and sixties.

I don’t often long for those days…the ones before air conditioning (at least at my house), color television, nearly free long distance, cable television, video recorders, and cell phones. The days before mortgages and 401 K’s occupied my mind. The days when taking a trip on a plane was a rare luxury, but one to look forward to, not an experience almost as invasive as the dreaded “complete physical” I had to have for college.

Today, for a little while, I longed to reclaim that simpler life where my visions of the years ahead were mostly rosier than those days actually turned out to be. But then I realized that some things I never would have imagined have also brought more joy into my life than my rosiest scenario concocted on a sweaty afternoon listening to my favorite 45s play an endless loop of love songs while hoping a breeze would flutter the organdy curtains in my bedroom .

Instead of lolling around my back yard pool, one of my lifelong desires, I enjoy watching little boys do cannonballs and crazy flips while shouting , “Watch this one, Grammy!” Instead of bouquets from a florist, I have cut flowers and fresh vegetables from my own back yard. Instead of elegant dining at fine restaurants, I actually enjoy back yard cookouts and homemade ice cream…and an occasional nice meal out too. I have all the books I can read and the love of two guys who basically treat me pretty darn well. I’m a lucky lady.

Blessings,
Janie

Summer School

2011-06-09T14:17:00.000-05:00

After ending the “school year” of studying the Old Testament, I’m veering of in a new direction this summer. I’m taking an art class designed to teach me to “Draw on the Right Side of the Brain”. Sounded good to me. I love to paint, really dabble more than paint, but couldn’t get structure to my paintings without some ability to draw. Since I didn’t seem to be born with that ability, I decided to give a class a try.

The teacher says she can teach anyone to draw, but after my first class, I’ve got my doubts. The first assignment was to do some drawings without any instruction to see where we were skill-wise. Well, my self portrait looks like I have a beard…something I’m very careful to avoid. The sketch of a folding chair resembles anything you’d dare to sit on only vaguely. The sketch of my hand was a bit better, but my ring looks like it’s about a four karat not one. Then we got to drawing an outline picture of a face, then the reverse of it opposite. Well my brain just wouldn’t compute. After about forty tries at home, I can approximate it sometimes, but not consistently.

I’m not giving up yet. It was only the first class, but I’m prone to assess my abilities and move onto something else if one doesn’t work out. I’m afraid this may be one of those. We’ll see.

The last thing I tackled that was difficult was learning to play Mahjongg. I kind of got roped into learning when houseguests insisted, and was quickly hooked. I’m not all that great at that either, but the companionship of gathering weekly with friends for a bite of lunch and a long afternoon of a challenging game seems to be more productive than playing Video Solitaire, which I am pretty good at, during the same time period. Studies have shown that keeping your mind active with new and different activities seems to offer some protection against mental deterioration, and being with friends adds to your life expectancy. I want to keep my faculties if I’m going to be around a while.

During the years my life was so full of children and grandchildren, I never imagined the amount of leisure time I seem to have now. I’m so thankful I have the opportunity for piddling around with things that interest me. That alone should be reward enough for my leisure activities. I think it may just have to be, at least where the drawing is concerned.

Blessings,
Janie

Honoring Mama

2011-05-04T10:01:00.001-05:00

Ahhh…Mother’s Day…that Hallmark Holiday that nudges us to do what we should do daily…appreciate our mothers. I truly wish I had done more appreciating and less chafing while my mama was still with me. I never really saw that her constant efforts to “improve” me were her way of showing love until she was gone. For most of my life I thought that there must be something terribly wrong with me if she had to fuss over me so.

Mama said just before she died that the happiest day of her life was the day I was born, and after thinking about it, I realized that it was simply because I made her a mother...the most important role in her life and mine.

I heard a sermon at one of our baby’s baptisms that pointed out that the infants being brought to the font to be blessed and accepted as Christ’s own had done nothing at all to deserve being quite as beloved as they certainly were, each all dressed up in their baptismal finery and held in loving arms. They had simply been born. As I look at the picture attached, I can see that that belovedness was in my mother from the early hours of my birth. I didn’t earn it; I didn’t have to appreciate it; I didn’t even have to reciprocate it…but I did.

I suppose the greatest honor my sister and I ever paid my mama was wanting to be just like her, only maybe a bit better. We learned the lessons she taught us well, and as I see our girls being an even better version of Mama than we were, I know that her lessons will live on.

I was so lucky to have Mama for as long as I did, and as a good friend told me I would, I still miss her everyday. But this Mother’s Day my children and grandchildren will come over for a swim and bring a meal, and my greatest delight will be in honoring my daughters as mothers.

Blessings,
Janie

New Age

2011-05-02T11:50:00.000-05:00

I heard the news just before bedtime last night. We had eradicated Osama Bin Laden. This morning the details of a carefully planned and executed attack are still emerging. The reaction in Washington and other major cities is one of jubilation.

It’s hard for me to celebrate the taking of anyone’s life, even someone so evil that most of us still have an indellible vision of the damage that resulted from Osama Bin Laden’s fanatical crusade to destroy our beloved country.

My husband, whose idea of law and order is similar to that of a posse in an old western film, and I, who cherish life even when it is twisted and distorted, will disagree on many things, but will agree that no tears will be shed for the monster who orchestrated the event that has given all Americans a different idea about how secure we might be. The very idea of convincing young men in the prime of their life that they would be rewarded with dates and virgins for performing such a vile act is beyond my comprehension.

Who knows what new despot will emerge from this mess, but I’m beginning to see a glimmer of hope for civilization, although the prospect for it still seems somewhat distant. That hope eventually may lie in the ability to communicate freely and peacefully.

Maybe this is the beginning of a new era, perhaps even the hoped for Messianic Age when we’ll all live in harmony. Maybe the voices of hope and love will become louder than the voice of revenge and evil. I don’t know that I actually believe in that possibility completely yet, but I can imagine it happening, and that’s a start.

Blessings,
Janie

Stormy Weather

2011-04-25T10:30:00.001-05:00

This has been a rough year for storms in our area. It seems that every few days we’re blasted again by ever more powerful wind, lightning, and occasionally even hail. These are not the April Showers that merely promise May Flowers. These are damaging storms, and no one is more aware of it than son Walker. He watches the weather news like a hawk, partly so he’ll dress appropriately for work should there be a change in the weather, partly because he is afraid.

Walker remembers acutely every power outage we’ve suffered through. He even stood up to his boss about going out in thunderstorms with lightning to retrieve carts, something I had warned him about after the death of a schoolteacher running to her car across a parking lot. He always has a flashlight within reach of his bed, and if the lights go out, he’s the first one downstairs with a way to see to get candles lit.

I’m not crazy about storms either. The worst I can remember happened one weekend at our lake house. The cabin sits on pilings right out in the lake; only the front room is on solid ground. The lake can flow with a dangerous speed and the pilings creak and moan even on relatively calm days. The storm in question came up just at dusk, and by dark, which was early because of the dark clouds, we had lost power. The wind was ferocious, and I was jittery.

My fears were increased by the fact that we had no communication with the news with the power out. No battery powered radio. Nothing. The only thing we could see was an ominous dark veil of rain coming across the lake when the lightning flashed bright enough. I studied those flashes looking for a funnel cloud for a while.

“Where’s the safe spot in this house,” I asked my husband, confident that he would make me feel safe.

“Well, there really isn’t one. If the house goes, I plan to hold on to the pilings,” he replied nonchalantly.

I took one look at the large pilings that come up through the floor in the den and support the second story of the house. They are bigger around than I am, and my arms probably wouldn’t even wrap securely around them. I knew that was not the solution for me. I simply wasn’t strong enough to hold on against the storm. It was too late to get in the car and leave. I was stuck there.

Somehow that knowledge calmed my fears rather than increased them. I sat down in the stairwell, my version of a safe place, and just waited. In an hour or so, it was all over, and we went to bed. The power came back in the wee hours of the morning. The next morning dawned bright and clear, and I drove down the road to survey the damage. About a quarter mile from our house, there was a large aluminum grain storage bin, tossed and crumpled like an aluminum can and thrown across the road. We didn’t miss getting hit by much, but we were safe.

Not all storms are weather related. Sometimes all of us have a family or health or employment crisis, and sometimes there's nothing much we can do about it except ride it out. It can be productive to just wait, but only after we've explored our options.

Blessings,
Janie

Tomorrow

2011-03-21T09:42:00.000-05:00

My grandson, John, almost eight, and his sister spent the night with us Saturday night. John is adept at conversation and commented to me that his mom has an app on her computer that “goes right to your blog! That blog sure has a lot of words on it, Grammy.”

I was pleased to know that my family checks out what I write occasionally and a bit ashamed at how long it’s been since I added any words to my friends out there in the blogosphere.

There’s not a whole lot about knee surgery that’s clever or uplifting, and pain and the drugs that manage it have kind of numbed my desire to do much but play solitaire or watch the disaster reel on the news. But now it’s tomorrow, and I’m back.

The day I got home from the hospital some friends were visiting when Walker got home from work. I was enthroned on my usual chair, dressed in street clothes, and looked pretty normal. When Walker realized I was here, he rushed in, hugged me passionately and commented, “You’re home! My song must have worked.”

I immediately knew this was Walkerese for something tender, so I questioned him about which song he might be referring to. I actually thought he had followed a pattern of turning to “Amazing Grace” for comfort in a troubled time, but his repertoire has expanded.

“You know, the one from ‘Annie’…”

Ah…I did know.

“Tomorrow?” I queried.

“Yep, I sang it last night and now you’re home…”Tomorrow, Tomorrow…I love you Tomorrow…” Tears misted both his and my eyes and those of our friends.

I love you tomorrow too, buddy!

Blessings,
Janie

Last Words

2011-01-29T12:17:00.000-06:00

Most people don’t really like to think about, much less talk about, the fact that the day is going to come when we all leave our earthly bodies. When I worked at the church it became a joke among the staff that the most likely person to come to discuss prearrangements for funerals would be in his eighties and wanted to put something in writing "in case I die".

I’ve found, however, that for legal reasons one may not pretend that one will live forever in a medical setting. For even the most minor procedures you are required to sign off that you understand the most remote and dire consequences that could result… up to and including death. Most of us sign the papers, because we have no real choice if we want to receive medical care, but most of the time we don’t think too much about the possibility of that 5% of bad outcomes being ourselves.

A few years ago I had a benign, but fairly serious adrenal tumor. It was affecting my overall health, and it really needed to come out. My surgeon lacked basic common sense, and repeatedly badgered me...including as I was being wheeled into surgery...with whether I understood that the procedure could kill me. I did. He operated and I didn’t die.

That experience did lead me to think about any small legacy I’d like to leave. I got my funeral plans in order and filed them with the church. I got all the legal papers signed giving various people the right to decide when my life is over and what comfort care I preferred. It gave me something to do while I awaited the date with the doctor.

As I played with the idea of being remembered when I’m gone I also decided that I’d really like to change my relationships with people so that whenever that inevitable day might come the final words I exchanged with all those I love would be more loving.

It took a while to get the hang of it, but I do think my sharp tongue has softened a bit. I’m afraid I still occasionally snipe at my husband when he forgets something he’s been asked to do repeatedly, but I think the snipes are more gentle than before and often tempered with humor. He is thanked profusely for all the many kindnesses he does for me every day and in the process of voicing these thanks, I’ve found a new appreciation for the things he does do and do well.

I learned in some of my Social Work classes that one person’s small change can change a whole family group, so perhaps that’s what happened in our case. I didn’t tell my children or husband of my thoughts, and I’m not sure whether that decision changed our family dynamics or what, but it’s been a good long time since I made it, and the number of ugly squabbles in our family (and there have been some doozies!) have diminished to almost zero. Maybe we’ve all just grown older and wiser and more tolerant.

I hope that everyone I care about will remember their last encounter with me as being a positive one. It’s not even all that hard if I stay focused.

We’ll all gather for a family dinner Sunday evening, something that’s increasingly hard to schedule with so many kids schedules to consider. Here’s hoping that our damage free record stands after it’s the dishes are cleared away, and that any tears are the result of laughing too hard at my sons in law making fun of me.

Blessings,
Janie

Another Winter To-Do Thing

2011-01-20T13:18:00.001-06:00

When I made the list published previously, I was just musing and trying to motivate myself to get moving. In a prime example of how things can change overnight in the course of events, I find myself with one big item on the list of what to do this winter…get my knee replaced. A false step on some stairs and an injury that just isn’t getting better took me to my favorite ortho.

Owen, who was a classmate of Molly’s and the best ortho in the world, in my humble opinion, told me almost eight years ago that both knees were awful and needed replacing, but I had things to do and babies were coming along, so I ignored him as long as possible. By the time I got my left knee done, I had wasted four or five years dragging the thing around and living on pain killers. ( Not hard core…mostly just NSAIDS, but I’ve discovered recently that they are not totally benign either.)

This time I am not as foolish. I’ll have a new knee before Valentine’s day, and if the process goes as well as the last, be walking the neighborhood by Spring Break.

One of my favorite things about recuperating from anything is how magnificent it is to watch God finish man’s work. After the surgeons send you home and the therapists give up on making you into an athlete, God finishes the healing. The only problem I’ve found with this is that it’s on His schedule, not necessarily mine. It does seem to happen, though, with astonishing predictability.

Healing doesn’t just apply to physical damage, either. Looking back over a lifetime of having my heart and ego wounded in various ways, I can truly recognize that God healed those wounds too. Sooner or later, something came along to distract me and lift my spirits and focus my attention away from the hurt while it healed. Oh, the scars are still there, and on a bad day I can identify every one of them, but scars don’t usually hurt…they just are. Maybe some of you have noticed that too.

Blessings,
Janie

None of Your Business???

2011-01-12T11:32:00.001-06:00

In listening to the news accounts of the Tucson shooter, I am confounded by the very difficult position faced by those who were close enough to know something was just not right with this kid. As one who lives with a disabled adult, I face much more minor issues daily about what is my business and what is Walker’s business, and just what to do when I feel the need to intrude into his “space”.

I finally decided that Walker is indeed an adult, but since he lacks the ability to manage some parts of his life the way most adults do (manage his medical needs, pay bills, drive) he doesn’t exactly have full decision making power. I feel lucky that reasoning usually works with him, and when it doesn’t bribes or threats do. He is pretty much a model citizen at home because I made it clear to him during one unpleasant episode years ago that living with us is a privilege. I suppose the idea of getting kicked out was enough to assure compliance with a few household rules, because there has never been another really serious episode.

I realize, though, that mental illness is not as easy to predict as mental retardation, so we’re kind of comparing apples and oranges.

Schizophrenia is a particularly insidious disease because it usually doesn’t manifest clearly until late adolescence or early adulthood, although there may have been earlier behavioral indicators that were ignored or explained away. It must be terribly baffling to watch an adolescent veer off into insanity just at the time you expect him to be maturing and moving into independence.

Walker’s friend Steffan is a living example to him of what happens when your offenses toward your family are serious enough to get you kicked out of the house…although the social workers involved would probably call Steffen’s alternative living arrangements a “plan of care to assure the well being of Steffan and his family”.

Steffan doesn’t appear to be a dangerous sort, most schizophrenics are not, but his mother stated that he was a threat to her safety when she had him arrested and committed into state custody. I welcome him into my home periodically because he seems to understand the importance of his meds and is conscientious about taking them and his behavior has always been exemplary.

But what if he weren’t? What if I noticed him deteriorating as I did several years ago when he let his hair grow matted and unwashed for months? Should I respect his right to have control of his appearance, assuming that he simply wants to fit in as he hangs around backstage at concerts, hoping to be given some access to rock stars? . What if his suspicious nature escalated into a manifestation of true paranoia? What if some of the stuff he accumulates indicated an unnatural interest in occult matters? What if he purchased a gun?

You’d better believe I’d get involved. I’d contact someone in the tree of providers that provide his services and give them some evidence to support my hunch that something is amiss. I’m not sure anyone would listen as HIPPA laws might even prevent them from acknowledging that Steffan is a client, but I would know I’d done all I could.

According to Dr. E. Fuller Torrey, author of “The Insanity Offense” about 1 per cent of mentally ill individuals are violent and that half the rampage murders in the United States are commited by that population.

I hope that next shooter can be stopped by some friend or family member or acquaintance who isn’t too worried about whose business it is. Safety in public places is all our business.

Perhaps a public awareness campaign of the early signs of mental illness accompanied by an action plan to give those around the subject some idea of what to do could make life happier and safer for all of us, including the mentally ill.

Until then, perhaps we’ll all be a little less polite about minding our own business and think carefully about whether odd behavior constitutes a warning sign.

Blessings,
Janie

In the Bleak Mid-Winter

2011-01-10T19:50:00.002-06:00

Okay, so technically it’s not yet midwinter. According to my calculations that will be on or about January 25, but we had our first snow day of what will hopefully be a mercifully short winter today, and I decided to make a survival plan to get me through till Spring.

If you can think of something to add to what is obviously an incomplete list, please click comment at the bottom of the page, and I’ll update the list periodically.

Some things to do on a cold winter’s day:

1. Throw something away...anything...everything.

2. Mend something.

3. Iron something.

4. Make sure you’ve gotten the dregs of the Christmas stuff put away.

5. Write those thank you notes.

6. Call somebody you haven’t talked to in a long time.

7. Send a card just to say you care about someone.

8. Sit in the car with the bun warmers on and listen to your favorite music. (Per my son in law, this could be suicidal if you run the heater...recommended only in ventilated garage for a short while.)

9. Build a fire and keep it going all day.

10. Enjoy some candles even if the lights don’t go out.

11. Cook something that takes all day and sop up the gravy with bread.

12. Have breakfast for dinner.

13. Make some cider with mulling spices and add something to give it a kick.

14. Take a long hot bath and climb up in your bed with the down comforter.

15. Let your dog or cat cuddle up with you….all night.

16. Order prints of last years pictures and put them in an album or a frame.

17. Hang up the clothes lying on the exercycle and get on it.

18. Copy some CDs on to your ipod.

19. Use some gift cards online.

20. Organize your receipts and be ready to do your taxes.

21. Look over last years checks and credit card bills to see where some of your money escaped.

22. Make a grocery list and download some coupons to use when you send your hubby to the store.

23. Make dinner from something in the freezer every night for a week.

24. Make a cake from scratch.

25. Wash the cushions on the bar stools.

26. Wash something that hasn’t been washed in a year.

27. Throw your bed pillows in the dryer with a fabric softener sheet to fluff.

28. Get rid of make up that’s past its prime. Ditto spices, although I keep mine for years sometimes.

29. Start a donation box and look for things to put in it.

30. Make a new folder on your desktop—real or virtual-- to save all pictures from 2011.

31. Walk from one end of the house to the other returning things to the rooms where they belong…repeat until all are at home.

32. Check out the sunset.

33. Make snow ice cream with the not-yellow snow.

34. Make an igloo out of snow blocks.

35. Slide down a hill on something slick…not your bottom.

36. Don’t crash into anything in your car.

37. Make a tropical drink with umbrella and watch "South Pacific".

38. Take the Christmas CDs out of your car till next year.

39. Make a snow angel!

Note after talking to son in law, John: This list is random in nature. Purely stream of consciousness. It will be added to at the whim of the writer and/or others.

40. Fill bird feeders and check on that pretty bird you can't identify. (slate junko)

41. Stay up late watching your alma mater WIN the National Championship while curled up on the sofa in front of that fire. War Eagle!

42. Bundle up and go somewhere...anywhere.

43. Check periodically for first signs of spring bulbs sprouting.

44. Call some friends and play a game of Mahjongg or Bridge or Poker...or whatever.

A Very Brady Christmas

2010-12-26T16:45:00.001-06:00

I'm afraid to say that gift giving has become more of a chore than a pleasure for me in recent years. Not because I don’t enjoy buying things for others, but because personal experience has taught me that guessing what might be a welcome addition to someone else’s possessions is not only difficult, but sometimes impossible.

The current economy has meant that there is less money for things we don’t need or want, and we’ve all become more aware of being selective about the burden of possessions in our lives. After my parents died I discovered innumerable gifts sent to them, mostly opened, but obviously unused, stuck in various drawers or on closet shelves. It really depressed me to see that something that I had squeaked out of a tight budget was neither returned for something more desired or passed on to someone who needed it.

We’ve defaulted to asking our children for very specific requests, including links to order what they want online, or giving gift cards or checks for something they need. I’m happy to see my gifts being appreciated, but somehow the pleasure of seeing someone open a surprise and be truly delighted just isn’t there when you’re being practical.

Walker III has become quite a nostalgia buff as he has matured. I think his “collectibles” are simply a way of recapturing what was apparently a really happy childhood with his sisters. He has been on a quest to re-purchase every single toy he remembers from his earlier days, most of which I sold in a garage sale or gave to the Alliance for the Mentally Ill when they called seeking donations. Sometimes he comes home from his treasure hunts to the antique malls with a small item he’s paid several dollars for that I recognize as a McDonald’s toy. I never complain, though, because these trinkets bring him pleasure and it's his hard earned money he's spending. I do complain about the condition of his room on occasion, however, so he’s learned to make room for his new things by sorting out some less desired ones...at least sometimes.

Over the last couple of years Walker has come to rely on the Ebay fairy (Mom) to help him locate things he remembers but can’t find locally, but for quite some time we’ve been unable to find a video or dvd of a short lived series he remembers, The Brady Brides. We looked and looked, but it apparently just didn’t exist. This year I hit the jackpot. I found what appears to be a bootleg copy from a secret source in Canada. Once I did, I put together a whole box of Brady memorabilia to go with it, as did his sister Sarah who provided some magazine pages and clippings along with other goodies that are probably truly collectible.

The look on Walker’s face when he opened the box was one for youtube, only none of us thought to capture it, but I do have one still shot courtesy of son in law Robert. “Oh my God! How did you find it? I though you said you couldn’t find it? How did you find it?” His reaction made my Christmas Eve the best ever. I hope I hit the jackpot with a gift again sometime in my life. It was well worth it.

Blessings,
Janie

Gifts and Presence

2010-12-24T12:27:00.002-06:00

A while back my eldest niece sent me an unexpected present. When I thanked her for it, she said it wasn’t a present at all, it was a gift. Puzzled, I asked for more info, and she explained that presents are things you feel at least somewhat obliged to give, but that gifts are something that you neither feel required to give nor expect thanks for. Well, my mama taught us to thank people for things no matter what you called them, and I have some thanks I’d like to share on this Christmas Eve before we delve into the pile of presents under the tree.

This year has been abundant with gifts, but the ones I’ve treasured most involved the presence of the giver in some way. I'm at a stage in life where I have less and less of other things to give, but my time is available. But I realize that that is not true of everyone, so their gifts are doubly precious.

There have been my internet friends that have reconnected and shared their lives with me from afar and my friends around Memphis that take time to play Mahjongg with me or go to lunch or dinner on the spur of the moment.

There are the times my family and I enjoy around the pool or at the lake, not doing much except being together. The little kids indulged my whim to make concrete stepping stones for my new “fairy garden” (dubbed by Becket) and spent a lot of time on the design and then execution. They are true works of art and gifts of time shared.

My sons in law all have wicked senses of humor, and their gift to me is always laughter...mostly at my expense, but welcome whatever the cost in dignity.

The thirty minutes little Walker and his dad and I spend together watching Wheel of Fortune every night is one of the gifts we give him. Up until we discovered that he had a knack for solving problems, sometimes faster than either the contestants or his parents, the announcement of that program was almost immediately followed by my husband shouting, "Change the channel!" Now we all gather around the television during pre-dinner time, engaging in a little friendly competition. Sometimes this leads to more discussion over dinner, although not always.

Big Walker doesn’t realize that I don’t just appreciate the labor he puts in in our yard to indulge my whims and need for beauty and order, but I really appreciate the rare times he’ll sit back with me and let me gush on over how beautiful it is and enjoy the sun setting and night sliding over the garden.

Friends have invited us to spend weekends with them and we’ve returned the favor, loving the luxury of an extended visit and musing over good times we’d mostly forgotten. Sometimes there’s something splendid to do like Lessons and Carols or perhaps an easy hike at Sewanee, other times, it’s just visiting.

Last summer while I was visiting friends in her vicinity, my sister give me the greatest gift of our lives, although she’s given me some pretty fabulous presents through the years. She insisted on spending some time with me, and we giggled together as we went to the pamper parlor and I got the best eyebrow waxing ever…her gift to me was not only a brighter, somewhat prettier countenance, but of herself.

My brother took time to send me a note about how much he enjoys the eclectic assorted collection of reading material I send him, mostly things he would not have read.

At Thanksgiving this year, my girls knew that I really wanted to put up our Christmas tree while Sarah was home with the baby. It was to be his first official Christmas Cousins photo, and I wanted it to be festive. After a little grumbling, and a lot of yeoman’s work from our husbands, the tree was up and decorated before I got the dishes in the dishwasher. Two hours later, we had a photo. What a gift!

I treasure the old friend I found recently after a long search who told me that once we reconnected he went through and read my whole blog. My goodness, that is a gift of presence…even I don’t want to read all about me in one sitting. But if you’re reading this, you’re giving me a gift too. So thanks for being there for me.

When I was doing Pastoral Care, one of the training guides advised being “fully present” for those we visited in times of need. I never felt like I was really good at that, preferring to organize the visits and send others to sit and listen. Perhaps next year I’ll make more time to be fully present for someone who needs it whether it might be a friend or stranger or member of the family. I know how much I’ve appreciated all the gifts of presence this year. Maybe some of you will choose to do the same. Merry Christmas to all and Happy New Year too!

Blessings,

Janie

Mary Knew

2010-12-12T16:56:00.003-06:00

I attended the most insightful Sunday School class this morning, and the most interesting part of it was that it was taught by one of my best friend’s daughter. The Reverend Katherine McQuiston Bush was born just a few months before little Walkerand I held her when she was only weeks old. She has grown into a beautiful young woman…a wife, mother, and priest and fabulous speaker.

Kate talked about Mary this morning in a way I couldn’t have imagined. She gave Mary flesh and bones and an intellect and spunk and a heart that had the capacity to break. On top of all that, she pointed out to me something that might have never occurred to me otherwise…somebody had to teach Jesus to be the man he was and that person was probably his Mama. (I would add that she probably had some help from both his earthly and Heavenly Father.)

On the way home from church, coincidentally I’m sure, one of my favorite Christmas Songs broke through my reverie. I’ve blogged about this one before, but it deserves another listen. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mN70R-3ao0U&feature=related

Part of the lesson this morning was that each of us has the capacity within us to share God’s gifts. This is my gift to you on this winters day.

Blessings,
Janie

Magic Words

2010-11-24T15:50:00.000-06:00

"Please and Thank You, They're called the magic words..."
Being around little kids videos can be a reminder of how important those words really are...especially where family is concerned.

There’s no telling how many times a day I say “Thank You!” to someone and really mean it. It even seems that I’m much better at prayers of Thanksgiving than any other kind. It’s hard not to feel thankful when the seasons are changing and all is well in my world. And yet, it’s kind of nice to have a special day to be specific about the things we really are thankful for.

I am not so good about saying, "Please", though. It just doesn't come as naturally to me. Part of that is that I value my independence immensely, and having to ask someone, even God, for help is kind of contrary to my nature.

We’ve had a complicated orchestration of our holiday this year. Trying to accommodate everyone’s preference and schedules hasn’t been as easily accomplished as we all would have liked, but that’s what happens when numbers increase and lives get more complicated. Babies need naps and unexpected things happen.

Monday night, the arrival of the LA crowd coincided with young Walker getting off work and my class which is somewhat mandatory attendance. Our second car is a truck…which I only ride in when absolutely necessary and NEVER drive. I was pretty sure that Sarah and Ned wouldn’t much like being chauffeured in a Dodge Ram either, so figuring out the logistics required my asking for a ride home from class, “Please!”, from some people I don’t know all that well and none of whom actually live near me. It all worked out,as most things do, and for that I am truly thankful to Debra who gave me a ride and the others who offered, even if it would have been out of their way.

I did a good bit of cooking in advance of the holiday this year, having had a pretty good stretch of feeling better than usual…probably the thing I’m most grateful for. It was wonderful to be able to pull homemade soup from the freezer and pop a batch of cornbread in the oven and invite a few extras over for a simple supper last night. Ditto on Lasagne tonight and some of the main side dishes for the big day, leaving only the turkey for me to deal with tomorrow with my daughters doing the things I like to do least.

Young Walker will be in charge of unloading the dishwasher, for which I’m truly grateful. He’ll happily bring extra chairs to the table and fill the water glasses. His dad has already done some yeoman’s work with pots and pans and grocery shopping for just one more thing again and again.

I hope I was polite enough to ask for help from my family with a “please”, but since I tend to be much more direct than polite society requires, I probably didn’t. I promise there will be many “thank yous” tomorrow, but mainly a huge one to God for my family and friends both near and far.

Blessings,
Janie

Profiles

2010-11-07T16:27:00.004-06:00

A couple of people noticed that I changed my profile picture on Facebook and this blog last week. Son in Law John, who notices everything, took a couple of days to comment on it, and wanted to know what prompted it. I hadn’t really thought about it much, but I changed it partially because I was sick of seeing a picture of me made fifteen years ago in a house I don’t live in anymore.

The old picture was one of the few pictures of me that I ever kind of liked. It was made when I had to have one for a brochure when I worked at the church, and I've used it a few times. When I was getting my affairs in order before a kind of scary surgery, I decided it would be my obit picture, and have had it in a convenient folder on my desktop ever since.

Well, I didn’t die, so we haven’t needed the picture. I haven’t liked the way I look all that much lately, and most of my pictures in recent years are made at birthday events, surrounded by grandchildren, so I just hadn’t gotten around to a newer profile picture of me as I really am, one that people who actually know me would recognize.

Another sidelight to this has been my recent reconnection with old friends on Facebook, and I kind of worried that if I ever again meet one of them in person, which I hope to do at my 50th high school reunion, they would think I had misrepresented myself….something I would be loathe to do. So I had Walker take a bunch of snaps of me as I am now with several more pounds and lots more lumps and bags and wrinkles and strange brown spots on me, sparser eyebrows, and perhaps a less full smile, but as I am. (Except I chose a version without my glasses that made a wacky glare.) I picked the shot I disliked least and put it out there for anyone and everyone to see without any embellishments.

If I ever lose that twenty pounds, I plan to have a really good one made, but for now, what you see is what you get.

Tomorrow, I have to give a personal profile of myself at my Education for Ministry class. It’s a combination personal history and faith journey. I’ve been working on it for a while, trying to condense my sixty-six years into twenty minutes of things I’m okay sharing with people I don’t know very well. I guess I’ll present myself pretty much as I am…warts and all…and hope they care for me anyway. They seem like good folks, so I think they will. If they want more than a profile, though, they'll have to slog through two years of this blog.

Blessings,
Janie

Silly Stuff

2010-11-01T10:01:00.003-05:00

I’ve been reading some articles about the current economy lately, and one of my least favorite gurus is a guy named Paul Krugman. Now I’m certain that Mr. Krugman has a wall full of certificates and diplomas documenting his ability to advise the nation on what we need, but the guy’s ideas make absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.

I’m not even sure what Mr. Krugman is actually proposing that sane Americans should be doing at this point, but it seems that he and some others are unnaturally afraid of “deflation”. Like most of you over forty, I can remember the runaway inflation of the 80’s and I’m absolutely certain that it was a really bad thing. It was the only time in my adult life that I could imagine needing help feeding my children. Of course, that didn’t happen, but the fear was there just the same.

Creeping inflation, on the other hand, has reached the point that taking my grandchildren to a movie takes a huge bite out of a hundred dollar bill, and is even more insidious. I feel like an old codger complaining that in the “good old days” I could buy a really nice lightly used car for $20,000, but that same car now would cost nearly $40,000. The truth is that I can fairly confidently predict that our budget will probably never allow for a really nice car again. I’m not whining about it, it’s just a fact of life, if the economy continues to inflate while our income doesn’t.

Could we just try a little deflation for a year or two, Mr. Krugman, and see where things settle?

I’m not an economist, but I do believe in the laws of Supply and Demand. Supply me with quality goods at a reasonable price and I’ll probably buy them when I need them. I might even buy a few things I want now and then, but only if I can afford them. If this leads to deflation, so be it. It probably means that the goods and services were being hawked at inflated values to begin with. This not an un-American idea, it’s only common sense.

The problem as I see it is that there are huge inconsistencies in our economy. Value and usefulness have been divorced from cost and it’s like Wonderland out there in Shoppinghaven.

My grandsons were dying for some sort of souvenir bands recently, and on a recent outing I bought them some. They amount to rubber bands in various shapes and themes, and they cost upwards of $5 a pack. They probably cost pennies to produce, and they break and soon become useless. I bought them, they were only $5 and I don't indulge the grandchildren often, but before the day was over there were tears over the silly things.

On the other hand, I can buy a comfy pair of well made everyday pants at Walmart for $10 which will probably last me several seasons. I couldn’t possibly buy the fabric and make them myself at that price. I would probably happily pay $20 for the pants, possibly even more, because they have value…and pockets!...but won’t pay even $1 for the silly Silly bands again…and I don’t think the kids will either. I know that by my spending money on that product, someone will reap some income from it...but at what real cost to our economy? We can't just keep printing and wasting money on things we don't need forever.

I hope our economic ship sets itself aright again, but I know it won’t happen by just printing more money for people to buy silly bands with.

Blessings,
Janie

Milestones

2010-09-27T08:36:00.008-05:00

Today is the tenth anniversary of the rebirth of my grandson Robert thanks to the generosity of the donation of a portion of his liver by his uncle, John Monaghan. Rejoice with us as I recap the story for those who haven’t heard it before. To offer congratulations to John and Robert, click “comments” below.

Molly and her family recently returned from the Transplant Games in Madison, Wisconsin. Robert, now a handsome young man of fourteen, competed against transplant survivors from all over the United States, perhaps the world. He was once again a gold medal winner in both tennis and swimming. What I’d really like to give him a gold medal for, however, is being a super great kid. Watching him guide his two little brothers through life, providing just enough excitement, torment, and hugging to make them men is my real delight. He is an excellent student, a wonderful friend, and a joy to be around. He has his Dad’s lanky frame and quick wit, and his mom’s diligent work ethic and an affable nature that both shared in providing.

Robert’s life is the gift of not only his biological parents, but also of his uncle, John, who is married to Molly’s sister, Katie. When Robert was four years old, he became really, really sick, really, really fast. He went from being a toddler with a tummy ache to a dying child on life support in less than a week. On the night before he was to receive his liver transplant, I was certain that if I left his side I might not feel his chubby little hands again till they were cold.

I walked over to the hospital where John was being prepped for surgery, just to touch base with him and let him know that we were praying for his safety. I confess, though, that my heart was still at the hospital with Robert, my first, and only, grandchild at the time. I was certainly much less certain than his mother that Robert was going to survive the surgery.
That was before I got to John’s bedside.

I’ve known John since he was in grade school, a classmate of Molly’s. He was always cute, full of energy, and often in trouble. Now he was married to Molly’s younger sister, Katie. I’m sure some eyebrows were raised when they became engaged, questioning the ability of this rebel to settle down and be a family man. I never really had those thoughts, though, because I knew that he loved Katie. The signs were all there. From the time they met, he drove back and forth to Louisville almost every weekend until she moved back to Memphis. He had fit into our family gatherings and brought me to tears laughing at myself and my family on many occasions.

Now, John and Katie were expecting their first baby in a matter of weeks, and John was lying on a gurney joking with the hospital staff like they were family.

The transplant doctor had told us that he selected John partly for his fit body and robust health, but more for his daring, no-big-deal attitude. John told Dr. Grewal that “the kid will never make it to an Ivy League school without my liver”, and that sealed the deal. Now we were just waiting for the results of blood tests to tell us what diseases John might have dormant in his body that could be potentially fatal to my grandson. When I mulled over his former rather wild lifestyle, I wondered whether he would be cleared.

John’s bloodwork was pristine. He had never had ANY diseases, not even ones that Robert had had at age four. When I left John’s bedside, I went home to the first peaceful night’s sleep I’d had in a week. It was all going to be fine. John had enough vitality to share with Robert, and with all of us.

Robert’s recovery was a textbook case. He was the first child recipient of a portion of an adult living liver in Memphis, and within a couple of days he was up in a rocker, albeit with many, many tubes coming out of his small body, and asking for a sip of Grammy’s iced tea.

John struggled a bit more. After emerging from a hellacious dose of sedation for the long surgery, he began bleeding, and had to undergo a similar experience all over again. Through it all, John’s parents and a very pregnant Katie were right there with him, while the rest of us reveled in the miracle of Robert’s recovery. A few weeks later, John and Katie’s precious baby girl arrived. Other than fussing a bit about some stitches working their way through, John has never seemed to be anything other than gracious and modest about this greatest gift. He is still “Peck’s Bad Boy” at times, teasing and playing with all of us, but he is the most generous person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.

I like to hope that I could be as brave as John, but in my heart, I know I would have been too terrified even to offer to undergo the surgery. I kind of secretly thanked my lucky stars that I was too old. John had been a multi-gallon blood donor for many years before he volunteered to be Robert's liver donor, and who knows how many others are out there because of his gift of life. His generosity has influenced many others to sign those driver’s licenses or donor cards in his honor…including me.

Most of the family and many friends gathered to participate in the Liver Foundation’s 5 K. on Saturday. I didn't try to walk the whole 5 K, just enough of it to say I was there. Seeing Robert, now almost as tall as John, standing by his benefactor was a reminder to all of us to Give Life…it’s really worth it. So sign your donor card and be a hero like my hero, John Monaghan.

Blessings,
Janie

Let There be Peace on Earth

2010-09-11T19:15:00.002-05:00

September 11….We’ve gotten through nine of these now, and none of us are the same, are we? I guess that’s not surprising, but the changes this year kind of jumped up and grabbed me.

I did the same things I did on that day, got up, ate a bite of breakfast, read the paper….Only today was a weekend, and I wasn’t on my way to work. Walker was lazing around with me, no longer off flying the skies as he was that morning. But there was a hummingbird on the feeder when I went out to water my plants this afternoon, just as there was on that awful day. I could feel fall approaching that day too, but today the roar from the television was that of SEC football, not an endless reel of those planes crashing into the towers.

Our family now includes four more grandsons born since that day. The landscape around the house has matured providing more privacy. My waistline and my mind have both expanded, hopefully one a bit more than the other. My computer has had several reincarnations, some loved ones have also moved on.

This year, though, there is a different spirit in the air in our country. There is more unrest and anger toward those who damaged our world than I’ve seen in all the nine years since it happened. Fortunately, some of the more radical voices have been moved to a lower timbre by the more reasoned ones. But it’s like our society has collectively entered a new phase of grieving, the phase when you’re really angry at someone…anyone…you’re just plain angry.

Every year when I attend the Grandparents Day program at our grandsons’ school, I am swept away with patriotism inspired by the recognition of grandparents who have fought for our country, recitation and singing of patriotic songs and verse, a presentation by a color guard of ROTC students from a nearby public high school, and an inspirational speech, usually given by a celebrity with some connection to our community. For the past several years, I’ve been struck by the contrast between the assembly of fresh-faced elementary school boys who will almost to a man have a choice about whether they serve their country and the young men who could be on the front lines within the year, some from choice, others because of lack of choices.

Every year, tears come to my eyes when I realize how much I don’t want any of these young folks to fight any kind of a war, no matter how sterile it might become. I don’t want any of them to have war stories tucked away inside their heads for the rest of their lives that are too painful to unpack. While I feel a pride when I see my husband rise when the Army guys are recognized, I know that in my heart of hearts I don't want any of my grandsons, or my grandaughter, to have to ever have to agree to kill or be killed.

Today, like on that day nine years ago, the song rattling around in my head as I puttered around in the yard was “Let There be Peace on Earth”. (For an outstanding rendition go to http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dCzEq1DKPYA&feature=related )

I know that my most basic desire is for Peace because peace means that my family will be safe. I’ll bet there are some mothers of would be terrorists who have the same desire. I’m going to pray for all the mothers and grandmothers of the world to join me in making this song our goal. Let us work to influence those young minds to find ways to share in all the generous gifts of a gracious God…whatever his or her name might be.

Blessings,
Janie

The Comfort Zone

2010-08-30T14:34:00.006-05:00

I realized as this year began that I’d gotten entirely too comfortable with my life. Too many things were entirely too predictable. What I ate for breakfast, how I fixed my iced tea, how much I didn’t exercise, but mostly how seldom I tackled anything new anymore. Being the fearful person I am…afraid of change, but mostly afraid of failure and disappointment…I had settled for a comfortable, but not entirely fulfilling life.

So…I began the new year with a challenge to myself to do something challenging at least once a month. When I shared some of my ideas with family members, some eyebrows were lifted because the things I considered challenging weren’t exactly what they had expected.

In January, stepped outside my comfort zone at Chucky Cheese on an icy evening to celebrate William’s birthday and had a ball, just playing like a kid. The grandchildren were wide eyed when Grammy handled the gun in a shooting game like a gangster and won lots of ticket prizes. Later that month I tackled learning about my new iPod. I am happy to say that I have a pleasing assortment of dorky and cool music, all to my liking, up and working, and I even became so fond of iTunes that I began downloading audio books. Not a bad start to the new year.

February led me to California for Emmett’s birth. The set of small challenges surrounding that event eventually led me to return to help the new parents and soon I found myself off to Albuquerque with a seven week old infant and his mom. While Sarah worked, I kept Emmett in her trailer. This excursion wasn’t an overwhelming success…the pilot she worked on didn’t get picked up…but it definitely qualified as being outside my comfort zone.

March brought a different challenge. I don’t know whether clothes shopping should count, but it was probably the most difficult thing I did all year. I revamped my wardrobe a bit, cleaned out most of the clothes in my closet and can finally feel like I have choices…even if they’re not all wonderful.

In April I took a watercolor class, in hopes of redeeming my ego which was bashed soundly in “Creative Art” at Auburn. I managed to pass that course only by producing prolific pages of “wall paper designs”, each of which raised my grade by a point or two. Never did figure out what that teacher meant when she assigned us to “fill the page with a single line”. Huh??? The watercolor class went much better, and I’m ready to expand my experimentation this fall.

May led me to the mountains where I reentered a world I once enjoyed, nature walks with friends, and in June I reunited with my sister after five years. She arranged for me to get my eyebrows done at her club spa, and we giggled like girls. The walk to the waterfall added to the accomplishments of that trip.

July led to my new passion, Mah Jongg. With some encouragement from a few good friends, I am learning the game and now have a group of friends who meet weekly to play together.

August was another physical challenge. I really wanted to ride our Seadoo by myself, something I would have not thought twice about as a teenager who lived for speeding around the lake, but now it really seemed so scary. Grandson Robert was enlisted in this endeavor, and was an excellent instructor on a loop under his supervision, and then he turned me loose to solo. I even docked the thing without too much trepidation. Not sure how often I’ll be revisiting that trick, but I know I can if I want to.

September is already planned and I’ll be beginning a four year study of the Bible at our new church. I’ll be almost seventy by the time I complete the course, and am not sure whether I actually have any more ministry to be educated for, but I think it will be good for me.

Now…there are three months left…what shall I do? Wish I thought it would involve serious diet and exercise, but probably not. Any suggestions?
Blessings,
Janie

Family Matters

2010-08-19T20:02:00.001-05:00

After a break from blogging to deal with the birth of my new grandson, end of year activities for the grandchildren here, and a fabulous trip to The Smoky Mountains, I’m back with a whole list of thoughts to share about the importance of family and friends, which, in my case, are many times one and the same.

Our travels began with an invitation from Molly’s in-laws to bring “all the Morrises” to their get away in Sewanee, Tennessee. We’ve done this sort-of annual event several times since our families were forever bonded by marriage the later on the liver donation. Watching your mutual grandson, the one and only for both of us, lie near death for a week then be saved by another in-law can do that to you.

Throwing all these folks together in the same house, adjusting to each other’s quirks, and laughing, hiking, and playing together was kind of like being in one of those rock tumblers kids sometimes enjoy. (You know the ones, an electrical thing you throw a bunch of driveway stones in, turn on the tumbler, and after a while you have beautiful treasures uncovered.) We’ve learned which of us don’t eat tomatoes, which ones don’t really like potato or egg products, who likes to hike, and who would rather shop or read or play games. There has rarely been much pressure to be other than who you are from the other adults on the trip, and the acceptance of little Walker’s quirks, especially by our hosts, has been much appreciated.

With my new knee finally healed, I knew I could do the easy walks for sure this year, and with some support and encouragement from Molly and Owen I joined the group on a short hike to Foster Falls. I felt no shame in not going to the bottom the falls, just walking along the rim at the top, catching glimpses of the falls, letting Molly help me just as she did Owen when the going got a little rougher. Little Walker joined the adults and older children on the longer hike, and got some great pictures of the falls from below.

At the end of my hike, I waited on a bench listening to a “Praise the Lord” preacher deliver a fairly memorable sermon at an open-air gathering. At a table next to me was a very large family of Muslims who were surreptitiously watching the preacher with some interest also.

Soon both our family groups were ready to move on, but not before one of our group had wangled an invitation to a taste of their elaborate middle-eastern spread. Part of their group had been at the foot of the falls and the ladies had all waded in, completely robed in fancy saris, enjoying the cool water along with all the other families on a hot afternoon.

As we sampled their fare and headed on home for some sandwiches ourselves I thought about how like our family theirs seemed to be. Relatives…you gotta love ‘em cause you can’t shoot ‘em…a wise man said to me once upon a time.

Blessings,
Janie

Welcome to America!

2010-07-03T10:24:00.004-05:00

I listened with interest to President Obama’s speech on immigration this week. His intentions seemed sincere, but his excuse that those mean old Republicans are responsible for the mess in our immigration system without offering any reasonable way to break what appears to be an impasse really bothered me.

From my limited, but close and personal, experience with a number of immigrants, both legal and illegal, I believe that the vast numbers of them arrived by one means or another during the Clinton years. Our nation welcomed them with open arms to clean our houses, mow our lawns, do our nails (but probably not our hair), and other jobs that they developed skills and interest in. If we felt slightly uncomfortable when “Nannygate” occurred, it didn’t stop most of us from ignoring the status of those we found to be above average providers of various services.

Most live in fear of getting caught without a driver's license, health insurance, or papers. Their children, mostly being citizens, fear their parents being taken away for a minor offense. In a way they are like slaves in their chosen country, although all seem to find that preferable to returning to dismal conditions in their own country.

We are already educating their children born in America, many of whom are excelling in school and now reaching college age. As they do, the schools are beginning to realize that their valedictorian might not be eligible for college, because his parents brought him here as a very small child, and he is not native-born.

We are already providing some hospital care, generally only in emergencies because most of the ones I know pay their own medical expenses in cash or do without needed services for fear of being deported.

Now for my solution, which might even to appeal to the mean old Republicans.

We could most likely reduce taxes for many of the rest of us by simply providing a reasonable path to citizenship for the population who is non-native born American, but who have been in the country long enough to accumulate some assets, educate their children, and learn English. If they were offered the same obligations as privileges that other Americans enjoy (except on April 15 every year) everybody wins.

What might these immigrants consider a reasonable “bribe” to pay the United States Government for legalization? I’m guessing that for most of them, somewhere between $500 and $2000 per adult family member for citizenship would be a realistic fee. Some have probably paid some black market person at least that much for fake identification that does not assure their protection from deportation. In addition to the fee or penalty, these new citizens could sign an agreement to pay Social Security, Medicare, and Income Taxes in the future and join some sort of medical plan. (Perhaps all this could be regulated by requiring them to have some sort of bank account for all earnings and end the underground economy for good.)

With the enactment of the new policy, additional legislation could end the practice of declaring all born on our soil automatic citizens.

Voila, our problem of what to do with all these families where children are citizens and parents are illegals would disappear along with at least some of our budget problems. Their taxes would help to care for them in their old age and in case of illness.

It’s not that hard! President Obama and all you others that hold the keys to freedom for this underground community, let’s get going and do something about it, and finally welcome these potentially very productive citizens to America and ask of them the same things we ask of all citizens, that you pay your fair share.

I hope that the priviledges that I enjoy as a citizen will one day be available to all people worldwide. Until that day, I hope I have empathy for those who flee abuse and hunger and welcome them as children of the world.

Blessings,
Janie

Just Me, Myself, and I

2010-06-28T16:46:00.001-05:00

After enjoying a considerable amount of family time this month, I discovered that today is a rare opportunity to be absolutely alone in my house, and today I’m giving myself permission to just do what I damn well please. No nagging guilt today, just indulgence. I’m getting more adept at doing that as I grow older and recognize that I need some nurturing myself, and that the very best person to give it to me is me.

I did the usual things, got dressed, ate breakfast, read the paper, tidied the kitchen a bit, checked e-mail, and drove Walker to work. Then the fun began. I played my favorite solitaire game (Penguin) until nearly lunchtime, ate just what I wanted (an orange and some chex mix), and changed to my bathing suit. Nobody was going to see me, so no need to shave my legs or hold in my tummy.

I started reading a new book (“The Elegance of the Hedgehog”) as I sat by the pool for a while. When I got hot, I swam granny style, floated on a noodle, exercised most of my body parts, and finally gave in to my urge to completely submerge myself in the tepid water, hoping a breeze would come along to cool me off if I had wet hair. I felt like a teenager again.

I’m amazed at how a little guilt-free indulgence has invigorated me.

I’m so grateful for the privilege of indulging myself. Perhaps I’ll make sure that someone else enjoys the same pleasure this week.

Blessings,
Janie

What is a Marriage?

2010-06-11T11:41:00.008-05:00

I had every intention of writing about all the wonderful family time we enjoyed on a brief vacation, but I'm going to delay those posts for a while. At the risk of offending some of my favorite people, I'm going to write about gay rights and marriage. If you can deal with the subject in a rational way, keep reading. If not, check in another time.

I have the pleasure of a free New York Times newpaper on my computer every morning. They haven't noticed that I'm getting it for free, even though I completed a survey saying I would be happy to pay a reasonable amount for a quality newpaper, so I just enjoy. Today's editorial piece sparked a passion in me that I thought might have been lost. A passion for equal rights. To read the article, hopefully for free, go to http://www.nytimes.com/2010/06/11/opinion/11fri1.html?th&emc=th

I have long been in favor equal rights for all humans on the planet, and in my book that includes homosexuals. My moral character, however, still struggles with sexual freedoms, particularly ones in which there might be a victim...pedophelia, un-safe sexual practices, etc. But there's no slippery slope in my mind at all. In my opinion, a committed relationship between two consenting adults is one deserving of honor and celebration, and in most societies we call that a marriage.

Wedding ceremonies in most cultures involve a commitment for life to another person. We promise to love, honor, and cherish or obey, "for better or worse,till death us do part". It's not easy, and most of us have no idea how awful the "worse" part is going to be until it happens, but most of us steel ourselves and charge ahead because of our commitment to that promise.

The bibical passages that have been used by some to campaign against same-sex marriages are part of an antiquated code that was useful in the past in order to ensure the survival of civilization. I could liken them to Jewish dietary laws and keeping Kosher. That was necessary to prevent bacterial contamination in ancient days, but is no longer necessary, and hence an optional part of being a Jew.

I could be mistaken, but I believe that the passages forbidding lying with a person of the same sex were originally intended to ensure the growth of the tribe or family. Lying with a person of the same sex did nothing to increase population, which was the key to survival. If you fast forward about two thousand years, an increase in numbers of the human race has become something we should probably be interested in curtailing, not promoting. I often wonder how many of the poor children in the world would be less so if they were born into smaller, self-sufficient families. So marriage doesn't necessitate procreation in order to be a valid institution any more.

Many of the marriage laws were designed to ensure inheritance by "legitimate (usually male) heirs". In today's environment, DNA tests pretty much preclude the necessity for rules prescribing virginity of the bride and assumption that all children born to the union are from her husband. I'm not saying that these ideals don't serve any purpose anymore, just that they may not serve as the only means to an end. Many children today are born out of wedlock, but there are ways to ensure that those children are provided for by their parents.

In the families that do exist, two loving parents are pretty much universally acknowledged as the ideal in almost all cultures. In the modern family, the caregiving obligations increasingly fall on either male or female parent, depending on who is better at it or has time for it. My sons in law have given many a bottle and bath and read bedtime stories ad infinitum. Those were all mommy duties when I was a child. But times change. Today, the gender of the parent doesn't matter as much as the loving care given.

So, why can't we all take a giant step forward into the twenty first century, assure all people regardless of gender equal rights, including marriage should they choose. And while we're at it, let's celebrate that choice with a wedding and call it a marriage, which is what it is.

Blessings,
Janie

Loving, Honoring, and Obeying

2010-04-16T17:31:00.005-05:00

Not too long ago Walker had some “issues” with his brother in law, John. He talked to me about them; he talked to his dad about them; he even talked to his speech therapist and physician about them. He just couldn’t get the problem solved. He called Molly, who suggested that he talk to John’s wife.

“Hey Katie, You know how at your wedding John promised to love, honor and obey?”

That wedding was at least ten years previously. A puzzled Katie replied, “Uh…I guess so.”

“Well, I want you to tell John to cut it out. Okay.”

Problem solved.

Forty four years ago today, I promised to love, honor, and obey my husband for better or worse. I had no idea what I was saying…does anyone? Visions of bridesmaids in pink and white and groomsmen in crisp black tuxedos and the prospect of happily every after had me drunk with joy, if not champagne.

Today, I recognize what that promise meant and all the complications it entails.

Walker and I chucked the obey part first. Our family just couldn’t function with a husband and father being gone about forty percent of the time and me not have a little…okay, a lot…of decision making power. The first time I picked out a piece of furniture, a $60 chair, without consulting Walker, I was extremely anxious about it. Forty four years later, I might ask whether he likes one chair better than the other, but he rarely cares one way or the other and I deal with that kind of thing.

There are days when the honor part comes harder than others, but I still think that one is really important. We have totally different skill sets, and most of the time they complement each other. I don’t deal with mouse traps and he doesn’t worry about what’s for dinner most nights. I truly honor the things my husband does that are so far beyond my ken as to be from a foreign culture.

The one part that has remained constant, however, has been the love part. No matter how frustrated or angry we get, that love has weathered the worst times. The better times are always just around the corner.

Tonight we'll grab a bite to eat and see a movie...our favorite date night. Tomorrow night we'll go to a fancier restaurant with friends to celebrate. Love it!

Blessings,
Janie

Finally! Some Thoughts I Need to Share

2010-02-17T14:12:00.004-06:00

I’ve been busy with one thing or another, including the birth of a new grandson (Emmett Andrew Brower, 8# 4 oz, and beautiful and healthy!) so just hadn’t felt the need to write very often. Today I do.

It’s still winter here, always a time for reflection for me, and the beginning of Lent. (Which I'm not really very good at observing, but I'm going to try to do better this year.)

My mother died in late February, 2001, after a blessedly short battle with colon cancer. I was always grateful that she died in winter, because today, as I did the day of her funeral, I noticed my bulbs peeking out to remind me that the joy of a southern Spring will definitely be arriving before too many more weeks.

The afternoon Mama died, my good friend Kate arrived at my house with food and condolences before I actually got home, and gave me the best indication of how significant this loss was going to be to my life. “My mother died years ago, and never a day goes by that I don’t miss her, ” Kate mused as she hugged me.

The depth of that missing still kind of caught me by surprise, because Mama and I were really rather contentious for most of my life, but Kate was absolutely right: I miss my mama every day, but especially this time of year.

Daddy died a few years before Mama did, and I was sad, just not too sad. After a childhood of him coming and going, it didn’t seem all that unusual for him to be gone. In my family of origin, Mama functioned perfectly well as both mother and father, so I was used to that.

When I was young, anytime Mama made up a new rule to enforce, she always introduced it with, “Your daddy thinks you should/shouldn’t do…………..

Whatever it was I was forbidden or charged to do, I eventually figured out Mama’s ruse. Daddy really wasn’t all that concerned with what we children did, but she didn’t want to be the bad guy. She didn't hesitate to be the enforcer of some of those rules, though, and she enforced with enthusiasm when it suited her.

I instinctively find ways to comfort myself when I miss Mama and Daddy.

When I convince myself to buy something a little bit extravagant that I really “want”, not “need”, that’s Daddy giving me whatever made me happy at the time. He somehow taught me to carefully choose those splurges, although I never remember him saying no to me.

When I miss my mother, particularly late every afternoon, I call one of my daughters or a friend who is generally happy to talk to me. Maybe they're not invariably overjoyed to hear from me as Mama always was, but they're usually willing to lend an ear. And if not, there’s always Caller ID.

Sometimes a manicure or getting my hair done feels more satisfying than like a chore, because it reminds me that Mama always made me look prettier than I really was… even if she did keep me dressed in little girl clothes way beyond what pleased me.

I love that I have all Mama’s recipes and a lot of her cooking utensils, because one sure fire way to deal with missing her is to cook, okay BAKE, something yummy, and give myself permission to lick the spoon and then have the first bite when it comes out of the oven. I made a lemon ice box pie for little Walker today, and who do you think got the first bite?

I definitely am not off to a good start for Lent.

The church seasons and going to church usually makes me feel closer to Mama. I can still her slightly off, but still sweet, soprano when I sing her favorite hymns, also slightly off but with gusto. I had debated whether to go to Ash Wednesday services today, but somehow I think that it might make me miss her less.

I'm grateful to have my mama and daddy still in my heart. I hope I live my life so that others will hold me in theirs too.

Blessings,
Janie

Loose Ends

2010-01-07T21:21:00.004-06:00

I've had a couple of questions from friends about some things I’d left hanging this year, so I thought I'd try to tidy things up a bit.

Polaroid Film: Definitely no longer available.

This has been a mixed blessing indeed. Walker now has more spending money than he has wants. He has socked away a good bit in his secret hiding place in his room but still carries too much around with him to suit me. He mentioned repeatedly over the holidays that he might find Polaroid film somewhere, but when I reminded him that it was no longer made, he posed that “Christmas wishes come true.” That one did not, but he has not lost hope.

He’s using his digital camera regularly and brings his chip down for me to zap to be printed at Walgreens, usually on Friday night. He and Theresa pick up the prints while they’re running errands on Saturdays. The pictures are spectacular, provided the copyright police don’t come after us.

Walker III and Retirement:

That has been placed securely on the back burner. Even in this blistering cold weather, he hasn’t complained. There was one minor incident with a customer after he loaded her bags too heavy, but it was settled with his manager without them calling us. It took me about twenty minutes to drag what details I have about the incident out of him because he didn’t want to spoil Christmas. He didn’t.

Dating:
Walker took a lovely young lady to his annual Christmas Dance at his old school. She is his age and new to Memphis and they seemed to have fun, but both made it clear to their respective parents that they are staying single. He showed impeccable manners, but I suspect that this young lady was a bit surprised at his version of dancing generally being to play air guitar.

My knee: It took almost a full year for me to say that I am thrilled with my new knee. I can still predict a storm long before VIPER radar, but generally I can walk as much as I want to without significant pain.

My Resolutions 2009: I’ve read a lot and watched political pundits less, unfortunately I’ve also played a LOT of video games. We’ve found another church, and still are not very faithful in our attendance, but when I’m there I’m glad. We worked in the yard less, but I enjoyed the seasonal changes immensely, especially the beautiful Spring day when John and Becket played Princess and the Frog with a real frog. We have spent more time with friends and I’ve found that the more we have small, casual get togethers, the easier it is. I even tried out some new recipes and they weren’t disastrous, and Margaret A. has generously shared two more that sound easy and good.

My Resolutions 2010: The usual about living healthier, eating more vegetables (which I know I won’t do), getting more exercise (which I might do since my AARP Medicare supplement will pay for me to join a gym or Curves), and being more generous with my time and money and kind words. I hope to learn to be a good long-distance grandmother in the next few weeks and continue to spend quality time with the five local grandchildren, an increasingly difficult task now that most are in school all day every day.

I hope I can look back this time next year and say that I actually did some of these things. I hope I keep on hoping just like Walker.

Blessings,
Janie

Review of 'The Road'

2009-12-28T12:52:00.004-06:00

I read the novel The Road by Cormack McCarthy while visiting Sarah and Ned over Thanksgiving. It was a kind of default choice; I just happened upon it in a box of books Sarah and Ned were moving out of the nursery. The movie, based on the book, finally opened in Memphis and I saw it yesterday afternoon with two friends who were probably humoring my interest rather than their own.

All of us found the film well done, hard to watch, but fascinating. I found both the book and the film to contain much more of a message of hope than most others I’ve talked with seem to find.

Watching a man and his son traveling and living off the land in seach of food and safety in a post-apocalyptic world is grim. There were many frightening images during their fight for survival, but I came away from the film feeling that there were also several important messages. The first is how deep mankind’s desire for survival must be. The second how very, very necessary it is to pass along our ideals of protecting and conserving our planet and helping others to our children if we expect our species to survive. These ideals are tempered with a strong dose of reality that there are “good guys and bad guys” and that sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference, but we can decide to be the good guys no matter what.

Sally and Aleine and I differed on whether we’d recommend the movie to a friend. I vote yes, because it is beautifully and artistically done and because I saw a message of hope for mankind.

In these frightening times it’s sometimes hard to stay focused on making choices for good. I hope I do a better job of it in the coming year.

Blessings,
Janie

The Greatest Gifts

2009-12-10T11:33:00.003-06:00

It’s the time of year when the family is asking what I want for Christmas, and I’ve cooperated this year by having a few simple wants on my list. But when I really, really think of what I want, aside from World Peace, I’m acutely aware that I have basically everything I could possibly need and most of what I want.

The gifts I treasure most, though, are not things, but the people in my life who make a difference.

Parents who gave me a good education and lots of love, even when I didn’t deserve it.

A husband who notices when the gas tank is low and fills it up, especially if it’s raining or freezing, and warms my backside on a cold night.

Daughters who want to know how to cook some of my favorite recipes, even if they’re full of fat and sugar.

Daughters who know that going to a live performance of “Wicked” or having food prepared for me is infinitely more exciting than more stuff.

A son who never forgets to take out the trash on garbage night, helps clear the table when we have guests, and gives me a hug and a nuzzle when he gets home from work.

A brother who shares my interest in books and always has time for me.

A sister who lavishes me with love and special treats.

Nieces and nephews who stay in touch and even drop in for a visit sometimes, always being patient with my stories of the old days.

Son’s in Law who carry on conversations with me as if I have some sense and make me laugh until I hurt, and who love my daughters as much as I do.

In Laws who are thoughtful and fun to be around.

Lots of “cuddin’s” who are also friends.

A friend who calls regularly to say, “What’s goin’ on?” and listens and cares when I tell her.

Friends who include me in things, even if it’s been a long time since I’ve reciprocated their invitations.

Friends who trust me with their secrets, even though I’m notorious for flubbing up and letting them out of the bag.

A friend who remembers selling lemonade, smooshing buttercups on noses, catching fireflies and putting on plays in the front yard.

An aunt who has known me since birth, and remembers it.

A guy at Amazon.com who never makes a mistake and always delivers on time.

A paperboy who rarely misses the driveway.

A guy friend who marvels at how I keep looking young…even if I don’t!

Women who are willing to read books and share their thoughts on them with me and affirm my opinions when they are right and challenge them when they’re wrong…all in the nicest possible way.

Neighbors who share their “helper” list with me.

Old friends who reconnected on Facebook and comment or send me cybertreats or funny forwards occasionally.

Medical professionals far and near, especially a wonderful orthopedist and chiropractor who gave me the gift of mobility…whether I wanted it or not.

Someone who cuts my hair consistently and makes me feel more attractive after.

People, apparently from some far away places, who read my posts

A dog who loves me and kind of minds me…especially if treats are involved.

Grandsons who like to sing and play games or discuss life in general with me and sometimes ask if they can live with me.

A granddaughter who loves to play with my old Ginny and Madame Alexander dolls as much as I did at her age and still snuggles up when we watch a movie or read.

A tiny baby boy, hovering on a cloud somewhere, waiting for just the right time to enter my world and confirm once more that life is really, really good.

Blessings,
Janie

2009-12-05T17:05:00.003-06:00

"Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages." - Thomas Jefferson, 3rd U.S. President

I'm back from a great trip and am truly Thankful for the wonderful days we spent together with our California in-laws. More about that another time.

I was going through the mail today when I picked up a copy of a Pottery Barn magazine aimed at "tweens" and noted as I showed it to Becket that the back cover was filled with items featuring a peace logo. As I looked further, there were also polka dots, and camo, and lots of girly stuff, but it's the peace logo that has me thinking.

I almost wrote about peace for Veteran’s Day, but just couldn’t sort out all the jumble of thoughts in my mind.

Walker and I attended Grandparent’s Day at Presbyterian Day School to see our kindergarten aged grandsons in their debut performance in the big church. The bi-annual performance always has a glorious focus on patriotism and hearing a chorus of little boys sing many of the same patriotic songs I sang as a youth initially made me beam.

The performance began with an ROTC color guard from one of our local high schools, and as these fine very young men entered I suddenly teared up. The reality that many of these young men might actually volunteer to face real battle in the next few years contrasted starkly with the innocence of the beautiful younger boys singing battle songs. When they played the Army anthem, my husband stood along with a decreasing number of veterans honoring the corps. A bit of tear crept down my cheek as he stood beside me. (Okay, I’m kind of weepy lately…so sue me!)

I was born to a “war bride”, and served three years as a military wife. One of those years was spent anxiously awaiting news of my husband who was flying a little plane, not much bigger than a bicycle, over Viet Nam, being shot at in his tent at night and adjusting artillary to get the bad guys by day. I can still remember holding back my heaving stomach as I boarded a plane in San Francisco just before Walker’s deployment, cuddling my five week old baby, and knowing that I might never see her father again.

I watch the military families on the news or in airports as they adjust to holidays, feeling the absence of one parent or the other, for now many of our servicemen are women, and grieve for every one of them. I don’t care how patriotic you might be, every mother and wife and every child grieves seeing loved ones off at war.

On the other hand, I know that I never want to feel the alarm and fear that followed September 11, ever again…but I do. There are actually people who want to kill me because I’m an American who believes in a God of Peace. I’m glad there are brave men and women willing to give up their holidays, and perhaps their lives, to keep me safe.

Peace to me is not just the illusion that we experience in the U. S. all because there’s no active conflict here. Peace is something that the world deserves to enjoy.

Peace means that we all respect each other, regardless of how we look or worship. Peace means that no women live in terror of the men in their world, are not beaten, or even killed, for an indiscretion. It means that all the citizens of the world have enough to eat and productive jobs to do. It means that we don’t take things from each other, even when the temptation is great.

Peace means that those who disobey these standards spend their lives isolated so they can do no harm, but that vengeance does not lead good people to do violence even when it’s for the right reason.

I’m not sure whether Peace requires men to stop lusting after their neighbor’s wives or coveting his ox and ass...honoring our parents is nice…up to a point. I’m not going to go through all Ten Commandments, you can look them up if you like. I don’t set a really high bar…just don’t hurt others deliberately.

For now, I hope I live to see some semblance of world peace. In the meantime I give thanks for those who fight for it and hope for peace in my own heart, my family, and my community. That would be a great start. Go to
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRFNg-Eyt_0 for my favorite song about peace, or just listen to your radio, the Christmas Carols are full of the most important message of all. Peace.

Blessings,
Janie

Road Trip

2009-11-16T10:44:00.005-06:00

Sorry for the cliff hanger in the last post. Walker's trip went just fine. He appeared to bond with some of the kids and handled the responsibilities given diligently...sometimes too diligently, I'm afraid.

Darlene asked Walker to be in charge of making sure everyone was up for the early call...at 6:30 a.m. They made some attempts to set an alarm on his watch, unsuccessfully. Seems like the fancy watch his dad handed down to him had so many time zones on it that no one could figure out how to set an alarm. The next morning, Walker pounded on every door on the floor making sure all the dancers and helpers, and a few unsuspecting hotel guests were up and at 'em. I never did get a straight answer as to how he managed to wake up on time himself, but he did.

At the end, Darlene asked if Walker would like to be her permanent "roadie". He squirmed a bit, then answered that he'd have to think about it. A couple of days later, I suggested that he write a thank you note to Darlene, and he said emphatically, "and to the dancers". He wrote a lovely note in which he commented to Darlene that he would be "honored to be a part of Company D in the future."

We are gearing up for our upcoming Thanksgiving trip to California. I'll be gone nine days, a VERY long time for me. The Walkers will come out for part of the time. I'm so thankful to all of you for being my readers. I hope I can organize something worth reading when things settle down.

Blessings,
Janie

Best Buddies

2009-10-26T12:52:00.003-05:00

We have attended a number of interesting events this Fall. One of the most uplifting was participating in a humongous Buddy Walk sponsored by the Down Syndrome Association. This annual event attracted almost 5,000 participants this year.

Sarah’s friend, Gwen, first introduced us to Best Buddies and the Buddy Walk while she was a student at the University of Texas. Gwen has known Walker most of his life, and during the years she has lived in Memphis she has invited him to be her Buddy at the walk several times. Gwen majored in Special Ed and is now a great mom to three adorable children…and is back in Memphis where I hope she stays!

Steffen and Walker attend this walk every year, because they’re definitely Best Buddies. This year, at Gwen’s prompting, I formed a team of Walker's Walkers and ended up having a wonderfully warm crowd of supporters attend, including Gwen and her children. Many thanks to those who donated and/or walked with us. These are the friends and family who walk with us most every day, our Best Buddies, and for them we are truly thankful.

As I surveyed the crowd I saw families of all kinds with children and adults with Down Syndrome. I could relate to every one of them, because at one time or another I was that new mom with her baby in a stroller walking with her husband, checking things out. I was that mom chasing down her toddler with Down Syndrome while carrying a newborn baby in her arms. I am that mom of a young adult, still hoping he'll show good manners and be cordial to our guests. I don't think I realized how many of us there were until I saw so many at the park that day.

One of the best parts of the day was seeing Company D perform. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wZxEgS_2MZA

Darlene Winters, who was Walker’s speech teacher and drama coach at Madonna Day School for a number of years, directs Company D, and has has been trying for quite a while to get Walker to participate in the group. Between work, the time demands of being a member of the performance group, and Walker's total lack of interest in dancing in public, this just didn't seem to be in the cards.

Last week Darlene sent me an e-mail asking whether Walker would like to go to Dollywood with the troupe. He could be her assistant and provide tech support and he would travel on a bus with others his age, spending two nights in a hotel. I knew what his reaction would be…”No way!”…but I signed him up anyway. He’s off on Thursday for his first outing with friends in his adult life, and he’s actually beginning to be excited about it.

He has been reassured that taking a day off work isn’t a big deal because his spending money won’t be decreased. He has agreed to do his laundry and get his cell phone charged on Wednesday night instead of Thursday. He has been reassured that he won’t miss Halloween. He’s ready to go!

I will say a little prayer for the safety of the group, and hope that it leads to Walker realizing that having Down Syndrome isn’t always a bad thing…sometimes it leads to Dollywood! Perhaps he’ll come home with a whole group of new Best Buddies. I'll let you know.

Blessings,
Janie

I Want to Retire Too

2009-10-14T11:42:00.003-05:00

During a recent family dinner son in law, John, came to the table where big Walker and I were seated and told us he had a message from Walker III. “He says to tell you that it’s too hard being an uncle and working full time, so he wants to retire like Da.”

I called Walker over, and his eyes were teary. “I was afraid to tell you, but it’s just too hard,” he said with a definitive tone to his voice. I never pursued why he had trusted John, his greatest nemesis most of the time, with his concerns, but he did and I was glad. I'm not sure what had been going on that made being an uncle a particularly demanding job at that moment, but he does take his responsibilies very seriously so we just dealt with the employment issue. I'm still not sure whether something at work might have precipated this meltdown or if it was the chaos of living in a house with five kids for a few days, but something had definitely blown his world apart.

I had recently been notified that Walker’s income needed to be reduced by about 50% or about half of his gross pay would have to be paid to the State of Tennessee. If he worked two less days a week the net loss in income would be zero. That fact, coupled with my increasing uneasiness about the nature of his job requiring him to battle the heat and cold and rain and wind on a daily basis made me much more open to his idea than I might have been a couple of months ago.

However, I still don’t think it would be healthy for Walker to spend every day sitting in his room sorting his Polaroids or trying to recapture his childhood with watching old television shows and eating junk food. He’s not a child anymore. His fitness level at the moment is as good as any person with Down Syndrome I’ve ever seen, and I know that would not be the case were he any less active. The other reservation about allowing him to become a hermit totally dependent on the public dole was the lack of social stimulation he would experience. His dad and I are pretty boring pretty much all the time.

Walker and I visited a really nice day activity center recently in hopes of finding a social outlet, but after we left it, he said, “I really don’t want to go here.” He would have adjusted if I had insisted, but the truth is that he really doesn’t need that kind of activity.

I find us now at a bit of a crossroads with no direction markers. I’m not sure I know what he needs.

More discussion has followed.

We left open the possibility of cutting his hours and talked about other job opportunities, perhaps a more indoor kind of job. “Would you want to be a stocker,” I asked? He declined immediately. “I wouldn’t make as much money.” True, his tips and salary exceed even the slightly higher pay rate of a stocker. I pointed out how flexible the grocery had been about his scheduling (11-6 four days a week) and that another job might mean an earlier start, or working at night. “Un uh, No Way! I’m not doing that.”

On Monday he went back to work after a long weekend vacation. He announced yesterday that he was keeping his job, at least for a week or two.

The matter has been tabled for a while, but I know it’s something that we need to really stay on top of.

I hope Walker builds confidence in his voice when it comes to his needs. I hope we’ll always allow him as much freedom to make decisions as he’s capable of handling. I really hope another opportunity for a safer, indoor job, might materialize. It’s always liberating to have choices.

Blessings,
Janie

Occupation Worrywart

2009-09-22T15:46:00.007-05:00

When I began approaching my birthday this year, I received daily reminders from the Feds and every insurance company in the USA of that fact. I will be sixty five on October 1st or 2nd, depending on which version of my birth certificate you choose to acknowledge. (For the Feds, it’s the first, but for the family, it’s really and truly the 2nd…and that’s the day my namesake grandchild was born! I’m still debating which my tombstone will carry.)

I’ve never had many jobs where you actually gave your social security number and got a paycheck with deductions for FICA and all those other things that we passively allow to reduce our take home pay. Many of my jobs were under the table in one way or another. I taught sewing in my home, made a number of fine crafts for sale, had garage sales, and was the resident real estate expert in the family allowing our net worth to grow every time I decided the time was ripe for a move.

My main job all these years, however, has been to be the family worrywart. The job didn’t pay much, but it put a roof over my head. I have been in charge of making sure there was milk in the fridge, peanut butter and jelly and bread in the pantry, pampers in the nursery, shoes that fit everyone and weren’t in need of polish…yes, we actually polished shoes back in my day...and that my husband and children and I didn't go out in public looking too weird.

I noted who needed their fingernails cut or a new hair style, although some of those in the 80’s were disasters! I'm down to only worrying about those things for the Walkers and myself now, and that's great by me. I sometimes have to do some convincing of Walker the dad when it's time to turn a nice polo into a farm shirt and replace it at the outlet mall, but basically they don't care because I do.

Through the years, I worried about which schools and camps for the kids to go to. When college came, I made sure the applications had all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed and that the girls all had a safety school, a fun school, and a stretch school to choose from. I had the privilege of worrying about how the tuition and mortage were going to get paid, what kind of car we could afford, and who had hamburger meat on sale. I worried about everyone’s health and happiness and probably always will.

Now I sometimes think I want to retire from my position. I’ve earned it and I deserve it. I just don’t quite know how to go about it.

I put more of the choices in somebody else’s court nowdays and let them figure out where to cut corners. If the budget won’t allow for a larger beach house if it’s actually in sight of the beach, whoever cares the most gets to figure it out. I only want a room with a king size bed and not to have to cook much.

My computer does a lot of our reminding now. It tells us which night is garbage night and when the pets need their flea medicine. It keeps up with the the doctor’s appointments and haircuts and social events. If the grandkids have sports and school events, they get covered if I know about them in time. I don’t worry quite as much about no showing things as long as I don't have a crash...yes it does happen, and I'm not at all good about backing up.

I will probably always be the one who notices whether the silver needs polishing or there are enough matching napkins and towels clean for company. I’ll be the one who cares when the upholstery needs to be replaced or the bushes need pruning and whether there’s really enough in the bank account to cover an unexpected expense. It’s my job.

I hope I see doing my job as a privilege for as long as I can do it and that when I really can't anymore I hope I'll cut the ones who do the worrying for me as much slack as they do me.

Blessings,
Janie

Friday Flashback to Happy Days

2009-09-18T12:54:00.004-05:00

This morning Walker brought down some old newspaper clippings he had found and as I was tucking them away in the box that holds my treasured memories, The Yellowstone Cub newspaper caught my eye. As I browsed through it I was reminded of one of the happiest summers of my life.

It was the summer I stayed up all night for the first time in my life and saw the sun rise over Old Faithful with some guy I no longer remember the name of. It was the summer my roomie, Marilyn Coon, and I hitch hiked over a thousand miles through Yellowstone, generally about 100 miles each time we had a day off, which was once a week. It was the summer I worked as a maid, waitress, and part time ironer (for 10cents per shirt) to make ends meet on the starvation wages we were paid.

I did not starve. In fact, they fed us entirely so well that when I arrived home, Mama commented, “You’ve gotten a little hippy while you’ve been gone.” I had discovered the yumminesss of Boysenberry Pie with full fat vanilla ice cream, sundaes with Marshmallow whip and chocolate fudge, and the joy of the restaurant cooks presenting me with a delicious meal every single night and a bagged sandwich for taking along on my adventures on my day off. Those Yankees used butter on their ham sandwiches, which was foreign food to me, but I got used to it.

The memory of trudging through the snow with a huge wooden cart loaded with linens into the never really clean Camper’s Cabins and smelling the remains of the wood from the stoves in the cabins comes back to me now and then. Every once in a while I’ll hear some old folk song like “This Land is Your Land” or “Blowin’ in the Wind” and sing along at the top of my voice and remember what it was like that summer. When I heard that Mary of Peter, Paul and Mary had died yesterday, I was reminded of a summer of enthusiasm for what I was doing.

I found friends from all over the United States that summer, and kept up with a few of them for a very long time. I lost track of most of my favorites, including Marilyn, though. She went back to Stanford, and I went home to marry Walker.

My friend, Kitty Nunn, brought her Western boyfriend back home to Alabama and they reared their family there. I wonder whether she and Brian ever realized that that summer would lead to a lifetime together. I don’t think I did.

I hope I manage to find time for the things that are fun more often and remember that someday these will be the good old days too. Walker would love to drive out West, and I’m at least considering it.

Blessings,
Janie

Stuff and Nonsense

2009-09-03T08:23:00.002-05:00

Walker got a nice bump in his take home pay not too long ago. Not sure why, but I’ll happily give the democrats credit if it’s due. The “raise” was only about twenty dollars a week, but it was enough to make him feel rich. I suspect it means his tax refund will be smaller or non-existent this year, but he doesn’t know or care about stuff like that. He now doesn’t have to decide which CD or DVD he can afford anymore…he just buys both.

We’ve ended up having repair men in and out for several days associated with getting Tivo for Walker. It’s still not operational, and he’s still wanting to know how we got those programs inside ours. Somehow, coincidentally, our machine died suddenly.

I’m kind of hating losing all those episodes “Calliou” I was saving for the kids and I’m really hating losing all those episodes of “Mad Men” I was planning to watch until the new TV season begins. I lost a couple of clips of Sarah too. Bummer.

They say it’s all free, because we’ve been such good customers, but my mind keeps wondering how much it will eventually cost me to have a guy here for going on six hours and still not finished hooking up a new dish capable of handling five…yes five!...recordings at once.

I really don’t look forward to getting to know the replacement. It’s been my experience that the new stuff that replaces the old stuff never seems quite as good. I only hope the print on the control is large enough to see and that the off button is in an intuitive place. I hope that being able to fast forward through the commercials gives us a little more time for something other than watching the TV. I don’t have the nerve to tell the guy, “STOP, I really don’t think we need this!” I wish I did.

Blessings,
Janie

Aw Mom!

2009-08-27T09:32:00.002-05:00

“No sprinkles?”

I got up early and slipped into my clothes and ran around the corner to the best donut shop in Memphis. I got three chocolate and three glazed, because last time I didn’t get enough glazed and that’s what everybody wanted. I stacked them up and put a candle on them and called Walker down for an early breakfast. The Tivo guy was due any minute and we needed to get in his room. I had forgotten that vanilla with sprinkles was his new passion.

Eventual lecture on the only response to a gift being “Thank You!” ...yet once again. A grumbling apology. Grumpy settling into the donuts, and a little conversation about the placement of the Tivo and an offer for onsite training from mom, the Tivo master.

“Where’s the Ghostbuster Trap?” Another failure by Mom.

I remembered the Tivo request Walker made a few months ago because I thought it meant a real change in his habits. He has a lovely “den” intended for his use upstairs, but chooses to hole up in his rather small room, sit on his bed, and spend all his waking hours watching TV or sorting his Polaroids. (Yes they’re still around, and he never leaves home without them either. They accompanied us on our recent trip to California.) The idea that he and a friend would sit in the comfortably appointed den, have some privacy, but not too much, watching a movie sometimes, sounded good to me. Big Walker dealt with the ordering. The additional cost to our satellite bill is minimal. Everybody wins.

But I forgot about the Ghostbuster Trap. It’s available on E-Bay, for only $79, new in box with all the required stickers. If it’s what he wants, I’ll order it for him and let him pay me back with part of the generous birthday money he received from friends and family. Is it a good idea? Probably not. But, heck, it’s his birthday.

The Michael Jackson CD and Tee were much more to his liking…probably because Sarah and Ned are way cooler than Mom. Oh well.

I hope Walker learns to be more gracious this year. I hope he might outgrow the adolescent stage we seem to be stuck in. I hope I learn to live with it if not.

Blessings,
Janie

Milestone

2009-08-25T11:13:00.002-05:00

As I write this, I’m aware that it will probably be the post viewed by the 10,000th click on my blog. Wow! I have no idea who you are, but you are so gracious to have shared my life with me over the past year plus, and I am truly grateful.

My creative energies have been inconsistent at best, and I’m wondering if I ought to just delete all the drivel and see what’s left. Nah…drivel is in the eye of the reader not the writer.

The past week was surreal.

On Wednesday, the Walkers and I headed for LA to visit with Sarah and Ned as they has graciously invited us to be present at the ultrasound of their new baby. I’m not telling what it is until they do, but it is a beautiful baby. A framed picture of the prenatal self is sitting next to my bed in a frame surrounded by four tiny angels who remind me to continue to pray for all those unborn angels out there.

The visit included a very cool visit to the location set of Ghost Whisperer where Sarah is shooting a guest appearance. Initially, Walker resisted going to the set, remembering that he was corralled and stifled on the set of Brother and Sisters where he wanted to just wander around and check things out. This was a whole nother ballgame. The episode is for Halloween, and there were lots of scary, but not terrifying, touches. There were costumed extras including a Dracula and a mermaid, modestly covered up, at the Craft Services chow table across from us. He got a picture taken with Jennifer Love Hewitt, who was most gracious. It was a beautiful day to visit the Saddleback Mountain Ranch/Winery, which boasted acres of grapes almost ready for harvest, horses, a buffalo, a camel, and a mama and baby zebra. Wow! It was definitely Walker’s favorite part of the trip.

Sarah got a very long afternoon break and we were able to go to a beachfront restaurant and have a leisurely lunch and walk on the beach. It was surreal.

How amazing to go from the putridity of the city I live in and love and hate to all the amazing wonders of California and then be back home in my own bed a few days later. Nothing had changed much. Our mayor is still threatening to run for the seat he just resigned from in the upcoming million dollar election for his replacement. My plants looked a bit neglected, but survived. The alarm had gone off a couple of times, but the neighbors dealt with it.

But things feel different here too. Unseasonably cool weather reminds me that fall is around the corner. The kids are back in school, and Walker is busy working on the farm in preparation for his annual dove shoot. Walker III is making menu plans for his upcoming birthday celebration. He inquired as to whether Chic Fil A does catering. It will on Sunday. Life goes on…thank goodness.

Blessings,
Janie

My Summer Vacation

2009-08-17T15:01:00.005-05:00

I miss the rhythm of going to school for nine months and then being gloriously free for three. At least as free as a child can possibly be.

Free to play in the yard with my friends from the time I woke up and went across the street to find Florence and get her mother to button my dress. Mama was not an early riser, and Mrs. Denio was. Free to float in the lake for hours on end on a big black innertube with my friends talking about boys and who likes who. Free to ride my bike to the shopping center just to browse and then come home begging Mama to go back and buy some Bermuda shorts. Free to ride the bus to the library and check out the maximum four books, read them non stop and then go back in a couple of days to get more. Free to walk to the museum in Anniston and hang out in the air conditioning looking at the mummy. Free to sit in the front porch swing and watch the convoys heading to and from Fort McClellan. Free to buy one admission to the movie, but sit through it two or three times.

I’m actually pretty free all the time now, but it doesn’t always seem quite so special. I do like getting up at my leisure, although it’s almost as early as I did when I had to set an alarm. I really enjoy my first glass of iced tea every morning and being in my robe until I decide to get dressed most mornings.

I actually did get some things done this summer…some of which I’m really excited about.

I made blackberry jelly for the first time in a long time. It all started with getting a bargain price on a whole flat of berries and then remembering my vow to waste less. I don’t know that it tastes any better than bought jelly…I rarely eat jelly anyway…but it does give me a sense of accomplishment to see the jars sitting on the shelf. John and Becket were very taken with the idea of a jelly sandwich, and each went home with their own jar.

I cooked and froze a lot of corn and peas and peaches and berries. I ate a lot of tomato sandwiches and a few popcicles.

I’ve almost finished a quilt I started for Becket five years ago.

I sat on the screened in porch and watched a lot of sunsets at Moon Lake.

I took Walker III shopping for a bathing suit.

I read a lot of good books.

I reconnected with some old friends via Facebook. I wasted a good bit of time reading about people I didn’t know existed this time last year. I also connected with some distant relatives on Ancestry.com, and found a possible link between Johnny Cash's family and mine. Might explain my daddy's obsession with a guitar he couldn't play.

I saw some swim meets and tee ball and soccer games.

I found a pair of shoes that fit and don't look too bad. Ditto on a few clothes.

I went to a wedding and a mini family reunion. I visited my brother and spent some time with the housekeeper who raised me.

I saw William learn to ski and heard funny stories about Robert chasing girls at the beach.

I hooked the ring on the ring toss game, but not as often as Robert or Walker III did. I played a silly game with William and Owen involving poker chips and my sandwich plate and a deck of cards.

I survived the attack mouse in my bed and went back to sleep. I did not weep when we found him in the trap the next weekend.

I also survived a tree limb falling just a few feet from where I was sitting chatting on the phone. It did some major damage to the AC, pool heater, and roof, but all got dealt with reasonably quickly thanks to my husband's making calls for repairs before the sirens stopped.

I'm about to leave for a visit to Sarah and Ned in Los Angeles and get to see my expected grandchild on ultrasound.

I had a great summer vacation.

I can't wait for school to start again. Wonder who my teachers will be and who will be in my class.

Blessings,
Janie

I'm Not Patty Duke

2009-07-31T14:35:00.005-05:00

I spent the morning at the Social Security Office with young Walker. It seems that my trying to conserve your tax dollars by not letting the State of Tennessee pay for Medicare Part B on Walker’s behalf because we had perfectly good insurance coverage for him already through the airline may mean that he will enter a period of not having any insurance coverage at all when I turn 65 in October.

It’s complicated, but it seems that even though the airline insurance benefits for him extended until I turned sixty five, he should have gotten part B within eight months of his dad’s last “employment.” He is eligible to apply between January and March of next year for coverage, at a penalized rate, (10% for each of 6 years) to begin in July of 2010.

Our state, like many states, is cutting funds for services to those with disabilities, called TennCare, and a review of Walker’s earnings showed that his income (minimum wage, plus a dollar or so) is too high to qualify under the new guidelines. The person who called to inform me of this on behalf of an agency I didn't get the name of advised me to "just get him Part B." I wish it had been that easy.

What I thought would only require a phone call to Social Security led to my having to come in and prove guardianship/conservatorship although I had been listed as his conservator since he turned eighteen and became eligible for SSI on his own behalf. I provide him with a full time, although apparently inept, full time social worker on site.

Walker has a job because most adults have a job and pay taxes and part or all of their living expenses, and we thought he should too. He has worked at the same job, happily for the most part, for over eleven years. He receives minimal services from the State or Federal Government, only a fraction of what he qualifies for.

Anyway, we ended up at the Social Securty office along with all the other needy and unwashed and ineligible for phone or internet sign up. While we waited, an endless loop of promotions was playing on a television. With no other options for entertainment, I soon found myself watching Patty Duke reprising her role of "identical cousins" encouraging those awaiting services to consider using the internet to sign up for Social Security and Medicare.

In my humble opinion, by the way, Patty and her identical cousin look WAY older than I or any of my friends. Maybe she qualified several years back…like maybe ten or so. When I got home, I actually did take her advice and got myself enrolled with three months to spare. Here’s hoping I wasn’t unknowingly supposed to have done that six years ago when my husband retired from the airline, because if I was, I didn’t. You for sure don’t want to see what happens to me minus medical coverage.

I hope my panic today is totally unwarranted. I hope that people like Walker won’t have to rely on dummies like me to make sure their needs are met. I hope my next effort to save taxpayer dollars doesn't turn out quite so badly.

Blessings,
Janie

History

2009-07-05T09:37:00.000-05:00

I read the paper this morning, doing my usual haphazard job of scanning for articles and editorials that might have some relevance to my life. I read all the scathing letters to the editor about the unfortunate recent events of local politics in which our mayor called our District 9 representative to congress an a___hole. I scanned the advice columns for tips on mental and physical health which didn’t offer any diagnosis of illness in anyone I know. Then I read the comics, my favorite way of taking the temperature of the populous, which seems locally to be made up of animal lovers and Neanderthals in various settings.

Then big Walker got up and began his tedious perusal of the same paper that I had read in about fifteen minutes. Within a few minutes he had carefully read a full page ad posted by Hobby Lobby with various historical tidbits in honor of Independence Day. One statement popped out for Walker. There were only two signers of the Bill of Rights, John Adams and another unnamed person. Who was that person, and why only two signers?

Half an hour later, with our household at a complete halt, we had Googled the subject to death and finally found the name of the second guy after several false leads. It was Frederick A C Muhlenberg, the Speaker of the House of Representatives. I suppose he was the Nancy Pelosi of his day.

We found out that the original Bill of Rights written by James Madison was debated for quite a few years, then finally approved by the House and Senate, minus the first two items of the original twelve.

After we put that question to rest, I resumed making a dessert, the only thing I really like to cook, for a potluck going away party for dear friends. The gathering reminded me of when we were young…same friends, different location. It was a bittersweet acknowledgment that we’re all moving on whether we want to or no..

The timing of our party resulted in little Walker being given coveted tickets to see Wicked compliments of another friend, making one of his most recent dreams come true. By the time he had mentioned wanting to see it, scalper prices for nosebleed seats were out of the question. He has already written Bonnie a thank you note, declaring it the best celebration of the Fourth of July in America…ever! Not sure what he and Theresa, who had never seen a play before, did after, but he came home a happy guy.

I love some things about my life…wondering about something and finding the answer, spending time with old friends, having a great dinner that I mostly didn’t cook, and my children being happy. I hope to remember those things always.

Blessings,
Janie

Ring Toss

2009-06-25T20:31:00.010-05:00

Not unexpectedly, son-in-law John gave me grief about both of my last posts. Since I believe him to be one of my two "followers", I'll forgive him and try to clear up any misconceptions about how important my writing is...at least to anyone but me.

I seem to have set to high a bar for my little musings as being "worthwhile". I suppose that worth must certainly be in the eye of the beholder, and John did not think my panning of "Netherland" to be in that category. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. Opinions are subjective things, and mine was probably a bit too emotionally based. I might do better in the future. I'm not a book critic, though, only a casual observer.

We had the whole family at the lake last weekend. Sarah and Ned were home for a too short week. If we are all flexible, we can all bunk in the same house at the lake, and it's fun, at least for a few days.

Walker was unusually sociable during the weekend. I don't think he had the television set on even once, although he did devote some time to sorting his Polaroids. But the new thing was having him take part in some of the competitive jockeying for Ace of the Ring Toss game. This game is basically a stainless steel ring with a string attached so that if you arc it just right, it will grab a hook on the wall. Some friends gave it to us recently, and I've found it somewhat difficult. Not Walker, though. I gaped at the number of hits he had, with his percentage being somewhat higher than all the other adults. "Well, I was champion of the ring toss at MARC Camp," he told me with a sassy hand on his hip. MARC camp has not existed for about fifteen years. The kid can remember stuff.

Eventually, Walker hit a dry streak, and couldn't make the thing hook for nothin. "Sweet Niblets!"

Seems that Hannah Montana says something like that, and he muttered that and other pseudo curse words every time he missed for a while. Then he got over it.

The first couple of days at the lake, Walker absolutely refused to go outside in the daylight as the result of a somewhat nasty sunburn at some point. Finally, Molly convinced him, and I promised him, that he wouldn't get burned with her sun block. He didn't.

I'm glad Walker wanted to play with us. I hope he remembers that happy time just as he does MARC Camp. I know I will. Hope I get better at ring toss and that my posts are worthwhile. I'll be out of town for a while at a family wedding, but I'll bet I'm back soon.

Blessings,
Janie

Book Thoughts Netherland

2009-06-16T15:14:00.003-05:00

I was beginning to believe that my ability to discriminate between books was lost. I seemed to like everything I read for a long stretch there. Then I decided to read Netherland because Barack said that was his current read, and I was curious. I can't imagine why he was reading it, and wonder whether he actually finished it. I did, but just barely. I guess it was kind of typical of life. Sometimes there can be a huge build up to something that kind of fizzles, but I didn't really appreciate the long journey to not much of anywhere. I had even splurged to get a hardback before the paperback was released. I read an article soon after I placed my order that they were releasing the paperback early, in response to increased demand. I guess some others were curious about the kind of book our president might read.

I didn't even like Netherland well enough to pass it on, although I probably will, just so I'll have someone to talk about it with.

I hope there are always books for me to read, one of my favorite luxuries of life. I hope I like The Book Thief better.

Blessings,
Janie

Wicked and Good

2009-06-08T10:34:00.001-05:00

My vow not to write anything unless it seemed to be worthwhile has given me a little slack to catch up on some family things, get a bit more exercise in the pool, and read.

I’ve been reading a lot, screening books for our book group for next year. The ones I’ve read and just couldn’t put down are “Wicked”, “Four Spirits”, “March”, “Their Eyes Were Watching God”, and “The Help”. I still have several on my list, but these are my favorites so far this summer. (All these are readily available on Amazon.com by typing in the titles, so I’m not going to go hunt up the authors right now.)

The biggest surprise for me was how much I loved “Wicked”. My girls gave me tickets for the touring production that we’ll go see together in July. Katie provided me a CD so I’d get familiar with the music, which I’ve really enjoyed. But the book...oh MY!

I generally don’t like fantasy or allegories or fables, especially those with important underlying themes, because I spend half my time trying out to figure out who the characters really represent. I’ll have to admit that I did some mental gymnastics with “Wicked” too, but it was so worth it. It’s a beautifully written book with just the right blend of familiar and unfamiliar for me. I can’t wait to see how they edit the story, and am already imagining the costumes and sets.

I worry about being wicked a lot, because I’m not naturally very good. I eat too much, talk too much, watch too much mindless television. I fail to call or write people when I should too often to be comfortable with. I don’t pull the weeds or stop to pick the flowers that bloom. My closet is the main evidence of my slovenly streak. I HATE exercise.

Last weekend, I had an overnight at the lake with Molly’s family, plus little John (Becket was otherwise engaged.) and the highlight of my weekend was after most everyone went home, but John and William stayed on with the Walkers and me. When William and John asked for a snack, I rummaged around and found fruit snacks for William, and John asked for potato chips. A few minutes later, William requested chips too.

“Okay.”

“Grammy, you always say yes!”

I like to say yes, to others and even to myself. I hope I’ll do more good in the coming months, but I hope my friends and family will forgive me when I’m wicked...God too.

Blessings,
Janie

Thanks for Serving

2009-05-25T09:59:00.012-05:00

I, like my mother before me, was a war bride. Walker and I jumped right from college to marriage in thirty days time. The necessity for a commitment seemed more urgent to us because of the inevitable prospect of him heading for Vietnam sooner rather than later if he remained single. During Vietnam the prospect of not returning at all loomed large in all our minds. After forty three years, and four children, I’m thinking we acted wisely, if in haste.

Unlike during World War II, having a wife and expecting a child provided some reprieve from overseas duty in Vietnam for a while. Daddy left for the Phillipines before I was born, and then was gone for a year and a half or so. Walker left when Molly was five weeks old, eighteen months after our wedding, and returned a year later to resume our life as a family.

Although serving in the military provided both Daddy and Walker with leadership skills they might never have realized otherwise, I’m truly grateful that my sons-in-law avoided carrying on that family tradition. They have been around to form a loving bond with all their children as infants, while they're still adorable!

My heart aches every time I see young soldiers bid their families good-bye for a tour of duty. It’s really surreal for me to see mothers leaving children behind in order to assure a better world for children half way across the globe. I can remember holding my sobs in so tightly that my heart truly ached when Walker put Molly and me on the plane in San Francisco to return to Fort Sill. I navigated the unknown task of being a single mom with the support of my friends and family while he endured the jungles of Viet Nam with his squadron. I can't imagine how hard it would have been if Molly had been old enough to realize how much she missed her Daddy.

I can remember Walker’s attitude being, “Somebody’s got to do it.” while mine was “But what about US?” (Molly and me) He could understand the honor in serving much more than I, who would have happily escaped to Canada given the choice. His was the honorable choice for sure.

Yes, I’m thankful for their service and proud of the sacrifices they made. I do hope that history will prove that those wars and the ones we fight today had to be fought to change the world into a better place. My greatest hope, however, is that the day will come when nobody has to do it. A day when all people can respect the rights of others to believe as they wish and recognize the futility of trying to please God by oppressing others. That day surely must be around the corner. I’ll never be Miss America, but I too hope for World Peace on this Veteran's Day.

Blessings,
Janie

Why Not?

2009-05-19T09:26:00.002-05:00

Walker doesn’t want to go to camp this year. This had come up for discussion in years past, but had never gotten to the point where I really gave him much choice. Camp was as much for me as it was for him. It was a time to escape even the minor duties involved with caring for my man-child. But this year he was mildly adamant. He really doesn’t want to go.

I don’t think anything has happened to make him feel this way, he loves the leaders and always seems to come home happy, but somehow he knows he has outgrown the little crafts and dress-up nights, and the heat and mosquitoes, and most of all, the long week without his cell phone or his diet cokes. At least that’s the litany of reasons he gave me, which was pretty logical.

I struggled a bit with whether it was okay to allow him to choose not to go, because camp does provide at least some peer interaction. Walker has tended to want to hang with the counselors more than his cabin mates, though, so not sure that's a good reason. I finally decided to just let him choose to do as he pleases with his vacation this year. He's making some progress with making friends with his co-workers, has a couple of social outings a month, and goes out with his attendant, Theresa every week. If staying home sorting his polaroids is how he wants to spend his vacation, I can live with that.

He asked me a couple of days ago whether Nikki, the camp director, had called and had I told her he wasn’t coming. I explained that she wouldn’t be expecting him since I hadn’t sent in his application. “Well, if she calls, tell her I’m very sorry. Maybe next year.” Somehow, I don’t think so.

Giving Walker the right to make this decision comes after over forty years of mothering in which I have mostly gone along with my kids choices, unless there was really good reason not to. In this case, diet cokes and cell phones trumped everything else, so why not let him choose. I know I would want to if I were in his shoes.

Blessings,
Janie

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-10T09:53:00.006-05:00

I know… it’s a Hallmark holiday, not really worth spending money on in hard financial times.

Two of my daughters are now mothers themselves and certainly more in need of a bit of affection and pampering on this day than I, who always feel pampered with small luxuries, the most precious of which is time to do as I please. I absolved my husband of honoring the day years ago, because the last thing in the world I want to be is his mother, but today he had a funny card and flowers.

I had saved Sarah’s card to open this morning, and as much as I might dis the holiday, opening a card with exactly the right words on it still brings tears to my eyes on Mother’s Day more than any other occasion. It means that someone gets it. They get what it means for them to recognize that I’ve done at least a passable and sometimes commendable job of the only career I ever knew for sure I’d want to climb the corporate ladder of.

I had slipped back into an early morning nap when John and Becket greeted me a few minutes past seven with “Happy Mother’s Day, Grammy…What’s for breakfast?” And after a short cuddle, I was up flipping pancakes and gulping my morning iced tea, hoping to mainstream enough caffeine to keep me on my feet until their dad picked them up to go home and “surprise” their mom with breakfast in bed. I suspect something similar happened at Molly’s house.

I’ve already luxuriated in the New York Times and what passes for our local paper. Perhaps I’ll go to church with the Walkers and think about what a great Mama I had to teach me how.

We going to gather here tonight for food I mostly didn’t cook, and celebrate Robert’s thirteenth birthday, Mother’s Day, and a visit by my oldest nephew.

It’s going to be a great day. I hope all the Mamas, Mommy’s, Moms, Mameres and Madears are equally blessed.

Blessings,
Janie

Praying and Serving

2009-05-07T09:57:00.005-05:00

When “Year of Wonders” by Geraldine Brooks came up as the May selection for our book group, I needed to read it again with an eye for the discussion. And what a discussion we had!

I’m sure that a book about the plague set in 1666 is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea, and this book is not without it’s flaws. It does, however, pose some interesting questions of how a variety of people face a crisis of unimaginable proportions and how it affected their faith.

This story is based on limited documented facts about the residents of a small village in England who were convinced by their priest to quarantine themselves in order to prevent spread of the plague to other parts of the country. The priest seemed to intuit that people who were already infected, but not yet ill, would spread the disease in trying to escape from a truly horrible and almost certain death. This notion was a bit of a leap considering the lack of scientific knowledge about the source of The Plague (fleas!), but also plausible, as there is documented evidence available.

The underlying differences in belief systems within the small community were laid out. As the plague affected many families with various religious practices, they often abandoned their faith for more magical and questionable beliefs, hoping to save themselves and their families. It soon became apparent that the relative “holiness” of any one religion, or even lack of religion, provided no more protection than the other from the plague. The righteous were no less affected than the sinners. Plague affected almost every family in the town, leaving the survivors scarred in various ways.

Eventually, nature ran its course. About half the town survived and the plague faded away and people once again went about the business of living.

I still pray. I pray for myself, my family, and for those I know only slightly. I pray for my country and the world. Do my prayers make it to God’s ears and change the course of nature? I don’t know, but they make me feel better.

I’m thinking I need to get back to following the example of the most admirable characters in “Year of Wonders” and actually offer others more of my services along with my prayers. The effect could be far greater.

Blessings,
Janie

Swinging Moods

2009-04-28T14:09:00.003-05:00

Last week was a busy one opening up our shared lake house for the summer, preparing food for a weekend with friends, and a few spurts of baby sitting sprinkled in. It was all worth it when the weekend turned out to be a glorious one in lots of ways.

Then Monday got here.

The recent rains had had Walker’s farming bogged down in knee deep Arkansas mud, and he bolted out the door early Monday morning, anxious to get his crops in the ground to assure having a good place to hunt doves in September and an ample supply of sweet corn for the summer.

I knew it was going to be a busy day, but it all seemed manageable until I got to the bank.

I had allotted almost an hour to deal with getting a cashier’s check between dropping little Walker off at work and picking little John up after kindergarten. I actually thought I’d have time to putz around some of the neighborhood shops or the Williams Sonoma Outlet in between.

When I got to the bank it looked promising.

I rarely go inside the bank anymore, doing most of my business online or at the drive through. When I looked a bit bewildered at where to go, deskside or the teller window, a matronly manager spotted me, introduced herself, and put me in a line with no other customers. Piece of cake…

The teller, Tamicka, was professional in appearance, but her manner was less than welcoming. Never a smile, flat tone of voice, just a series of questions that I strained to hear through the tiny crack. Did I know that it cost $7 for a cashier's check? No your account does not provide them free anymore. The total would be ______. Yes, that does include the $7. I could almost swear that I could hear her mutter under her breath, "idiot". I carefully wrote out a check for a number considerably larger than the ones I usually write, and I got it ALL right without having to start over and I slipped it through the slot to her. She eyed it suspiciously.

Then the real trouble began. Tamicka required assistance/approval of some sort from the manager, went to the vault, brought back a stack of blank cashier’s checks about an inch thick, recorded the beginning and end numbers, and put them in the copier. When she printed mine out something wasn’t right.

Thirty five minutes later, neither she nor the friendly bank manager had explained the problem to me. A line had formed behind me and extended almost out the door. The drive through teller was alternating between cars and the line. My back was killing me from standing at the window. I spotted a chair nearby, and feeling uncomfortably like a suspect in a robbery awaiting the cops to arrive, I sat and watchfully waited while they conferred.

I did hear the drive through lady apologize for the delay to the waiting customers, as had I.

Forty minutes after my arrival, I went back to the window and asked Tamicka what the problem was. She still offered not one word of apology, but held my check out and said there was a problem with the printer and that I might want to go to another branch. The manager was on the phone with the copy company. I told her I had a few minutes left, and would prefer not to have to drag a hungry five year old grandchild back to the bank, so I would wait. When I finally gave up after another ten minutes, just in time to pick John up, I still didn’t have a cashier’s check. After more discussion, I was given a phone number I could call to see if the check was ready on my way back home after carpool.

I called. It was not ready, so I asked the Ever Not-helpful Tamicka to just call me at home to let me know when it was ready.

After John and I downed McDonald’s, I realized that I’d actually save time and relieve my mind about making my appointment to close on our refinance if I did go to a branch nearer my home without back tracking to the branch closer to his school. So he and I loaded up and went to the bank.

Again, I got in line, and the Oh So Helpful LaShandra processed my cashier’s check in less than three minutes.

I hope I’ll be able to blank out the Tamickas in the world and find more LaShandras this week. I hope I’ll be thankful for the rain and the sunshine that brings the fruits of our labors in the fall. I hope I’ll remember that technologies like copiers actually save time most of the time.

Blessings,
Janie

The Biggest YES!

2009-04-21T12:45:00.003-05:00

Like many of you I have watched with amazement as a potsie little lady from Britain has charmed the world, providing inspiration for all of those that have their gifts bundled in modest packaging. Molly sent me this link and I have listened to it several times now, and it never ceases to bring tears to my eyes.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PPlkOyaqaQ

The most amazing thing was not what Susan Boyle herself did. I know of many older people who enjoy performing, some who didn’t get their start until their late forties or early fifties. (Including myself, who got roped into a small part in an independent film when I was sixtyish.) What was amazing to me were the comments made by Piers and Amanda. The obvious astonishment on the faces of the audience and the judges was a telling sign of what they had expected.

Who knows who will “win” this competition? Who cares? The inherent error of judging people by appearances has been heard by millions already. Seeing Susan’s modesty and uninhibited delight and grace overwhelm the natural tendency to say, “I told you so!” was a true inspiration to all.

I hope I’ll remember the message of Susan Boyle every time I walk into a group and discount those who don’t look very interesting on first glance. My mama used to say “pretty is as pretty does” and boy is Susan beautiful!

Blessings,
Janie

Flashback Friday Things That Begin With R

2009-04-16T20:42:00.008-05:00

This post is written for Flashback Friday over at My Tiny Kingdom. Link on the right side of this page.

In our family we have a real understanding of the big R word--retarded. It was the hardest word for me to get comfortable with after Walker was born. There had been quite a step up from “Mongolian Idiot” to “Downs Syndrome”, but deep down, I knew that whatever they called it, it was difficult to get through life with it.

For more thoughts on the current terminology go to http://onlycasualobservations.blogspot.com/2008/09/names.html .

I’m not sure when the first time I heard perfectly normal kids call each other “retard”, but I think it was when Sarah was in Junior High School in the 80’s. One of my proudest moments as a mother was when she told me she had confronted her friends about using the word, explaining that it was hurtful. I think it made different people out of her friends, several of whom now work with “Special Populations”. I’m glad she had enough self confidence to be able to sound off without worrying about losing friends.

I hope things have improved with mainstreaming and the educational advances made for those with special needs. The comment made by Barack Obama, however unintentional, making light of the talents of those who participate in Special Olympics gave me pause though.

I hope that everyone who reads this will pass it on to a friend who might share it with their children. Words can hurt. Even if they don’t break your bones…they hurt.

Blessings,

Janie

Alleluia!

2009-04-11T14:42:00.017-05:00

Easter season is a barrage of ancient symbols: rabbits and eggs and bonnets and hams and lilies, most of which seem to me to have more to do with natural springtime events than Christianity. In the South we also have the legend of the dogwood blossom which definitely seems to connect springtime to the cross.

There’s another symbol of Jesus and Christianity I had never thought about much about until recent years—the butterfly. In fact I never considered it an Easter or Christian symbol at all until three years ago when I was in a discussion group that read Sue Monk Kidd’s “When the Heart Waits: Spiritual Direction for Life’s Sacred Questions” in which there is a great deal of butterfly imagery. ( Actually, way too much for me, but sometimes things come together and make sense later on.)

Soon after we discussed the book, a week or so before Easter, I had a day with grandson William, then two and a half. I made a copy of a page out of a lovely “adult” coloring book with magnificent butterflies and gave it to him to color. He scribbled a bit then held it up for me to see, “Look, Grammy, William color JESUS…Alleluia!”

Naturally, his Grammmy decided he was a spiritual prodigy, at least until I found out that he had recently begun attending a “Little Lambs” Sunday School class taught by his mother. Little Lambs get to color, something he immediately associated with Sunday School and Jesus and Alleluia. I still think it was advanced for his age.

Walker and I happened to be celebrating our fortieth anniversary on Maui that Easter. It was my first Easter ever to celebrate away from my home church, but I was thrilled to be somewhere warm and sunny. Things didn’t seem so great at my home church anyway because we were “in transition” after the loss of our priest. Since I don’t ever feel quite comfortable with the unfamiliar, I was a little anxious too. Would it be too weird?

We scouted out a church on the beach not too far from our hotel and showed up for Easter Services. It was a traditional building with a steeple and a Celtic cross. Their sign had the familiar red white and blue shield of the Episcopal Church. Okay so far. Along each side of the building, windows without any screens tilted out creating a completely open air environment. You could hear the waves crash and smell the salt, and an occasional sea bird screeched. Just outside the windows, but within sight and hearing distance of the sanctuary, there were extra chairs set up for the overflow crowd.

Then we walked into the sanctuary, and the first thing I saw was the banner. It was a large one, obviously hand made, and it shouted what all Christians shout on Easter morning, ALLELUIA! It was covered with butterflies.

We sang “Jesus Christ is Risen Today” and “Hail Thee Festival Day”. The cross, the altar, the priest, and the choir members were draped with orchid leis. Different, but in a wonderful way, and familiar at the same time.

Easter Sunday in a far away place reminded me once again that Easter is really about more than the symbols. It’s about resurrection. I hope we all find our faith resurrected once again on this Holy Day. Alleluia!

Blessings,
Janie

Good Friday

2009-04-10T14:45:00.004-05:00

Walker is still talking about the Easter story. As we rode along together to get Steffan for the new Hannah Montana movie today, Walker reminded me that it was Good Friday, when Jesus died on the cross.

“Um..hmm.”

I was feeling mildly guilty for not attending a service. I’ve had priests who have proclaimed that they didn’t want to see us celebrating on Sunday if we hadn’t mourned on Friday. As a kid I used to like being an Episcopalian because we, along with the Catholics, could skip school to go to the three hour noonday vigil.

“I told Julia about it. And tomorrow is Holy Saturday, when He was put in the tomb, and then comes….wait, don’t say it yet!”

“You know what Sunday is….. EASTER! when Jesus rose from the dead to save us from our sins. Just like we read on Palm Sunday. So we would fear no more.”

“Um..hmmm. Yeah, that’s really what Easter is about. That why we should not be afraid of dying because that means we’ll have eternal life.”

“Oh no. Not me. I’m not dying. No way!”

“Well, everybody dies. It’s just like being born, it’s part of living.”

“Yeah, only BACKWARDS!”

A little more questioning and I discovered that this enlightened idea came from the movie “Casper the Friendly Ghost” starring Christina Ricci, among others he cited. Her character was named Kat Harvey, you know, because it was published by Harvey comics for many years. I never know what my man-child will teach me.

I decided that I wouldn’t challenge this concept. Walker seemed comfortable with it. Whatever helps you deal, I guess. I think I want to watch Casper tonight while I stuff eggs. Might learn something.

Blessings,
Janie

Faith Symbols

2009-04-08T23:35:00.004-05:00

When son-in-law John stopped by to pick up John and Becket Sunday morning, I was getting ready for church. I offhandedly commented that I like Palm Sunday then qualified my statement with, “Well,sort of...”

John immediately asked what I think Jesus would think about us picking the cross as the main symbol of Christianity.

“I’ll bet he wouldn’t have liked us symbolizing the worst day of his life. He liked fish and fishermen. I’ll bet He’d have liked the fish better.”

I assume that John had been thinking about this for a while. I had not.

I wonder how our Christianity might be different without the emphasis on the cross? Would our faith have survived 2009 plus years, give or take a few? Is the story of Jesus dying that we might have everlasting life the only way to get the point across that following his teachings is really, really hard, but necessary?

The message Jesus brought was not very different from the Ten Commandments from the Old Testament, and is even more simply stated. According to Matthew, Jesus was asked which is the greatest Commandment. He offered this Summary of the Law. “ 'You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind.' 38This is the first and great commandment. 39And the second is like it: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'” (King James version)

Pretty simple, huh? But people are still killing each other over the details of how to carry out God’s will. Some of our neighbors in far away lands are still starving to death as we sit here. We still haven’t gotten it right.

The News is telling us that there are more people with doubts about their faith than in a very long time. The more I read about injustices sanctioned and sometimes carried out by officials of the church in God's name, the heavier the bag of doubts on my back begins to be. I'm apparently not alone.

I’m glad John asks me outrageous questions. I hope somebody knows the answers.
I’m thinking right now that maybe the world needs more loaves and fishes and fewer crosses.

Blessings,
Janie

A Holy Week

2009-04-06T17:08:00.002-05:00

I decided to go back to church yesterday because I have a thing about C&E people, and I had become one of them—plus one, I guess. Big Walker was in Montgomery hunting, and Walker III really likes to go to church. It felt good to be there, although financial constraints and a balanced budget meant that Pedro the donkey wasn’t tethered outside awaiting a grand entry as we waved palms this year.

The Palm Sunday sermon challenged us to do something really difficult in our lives this week, and I’ve been mulling over how easy it is for me to dismiss the significance of sacrifice. I’m not quite as bad as my husband thinks I am. I do not consider staying in a Holiday Inn “roughing it”, but I do avoid pain and sacrifice a bit more than I'm comfortable with. I think I’m going to do one thing every day this week that is hard for me though.

After church Walker was unusuallly chatty about the significance of Palm Sunday and Easter Day. He went through the sequence of expected events of Holy Week, getting all the events correctly, and then related the Gospel reading to something he knows and loves—Godspell. His theology is a combination of Catholic schools, Episcopal Sunday Schools and Broadway, but what the heck, he gets it, maybe better than I do.

I’m glad I went to church with Walker.

Blessings,
Janie

Flashback Friday Sixth Grade Graduation

2009-04-03T09:20:00.007-05:00

This post is part of Friday Flashbacks sponsored by my friend Anne Glamore over at My Tiny Kingdom. The link to her blog is http://www.mytinykingdom.com/

My grandson, Robert, is graduating from sixth grade this year. It’s a big deal to him and his buds because they will be scattering to go to different schools, different sports teams, and probably different social activities, ones that include girls.

A couple of years ago, I tackled the task of sorting through reams of memorabilia from my parents house, and uncovered a number of things that I hadn’t even remembered existing. This picture of my sixth grade class was among the debris. My mother saved everything, but preserved almost nothing, but this reminder of my prepubescent self survived.

Graduation from sixth grade didn’t involve a major change for my class; I don’t even think there was any kind of celebration. We would move into the newly opened Bellingrath High School, but it was simply an extension of the building where most of us had attended elementary school. There were lockers and we changed classes, something Robert’s class has probably been doing since kindergarten, but it was more of the same. We had always been schooled with both sexes, something that began to cause chaos about sixth grade.

Miss Hunnicutt was a stern taskmaster, and our interests and libidos were beginning to run rampant by Spring of sixth grade. That was the year we discovered….fireballs! One classmate’s father owned a drug store, and Seabie had a small enterprise bringing candy to school and selling it to the rest of the class. Miss Hunnicutt definitely did not approve.

I was not a frequent customer of Seabie’s, but fireballs were very cool, and if you had a stash, you had friends. One day I placed an order for fifty fireballs and gave Seabie my dollar in payment. The next morning Miss Hunnicutt was on a rampage. There would be no more candy of any kind allowed at school. Oops…I had just tucked the crumpled paper bag with my treasure under my desk. I had visions of friends gathering round me on the playground to share, and I wasn’t giving those visions up easily.

As we flowed out of the classroom for recess, Miss Hunnicutt caught me red handed with the fireballs. I probably gave a smart reply, and the double whammy earned me a great big U in conduct for the term. My mother was not pleased either with the U or my smart mouth or my social interests. Back then, we got in much more trouble at home than ever at school.

I know Robert is a much better student than I ever dreamed of being, because I actually never dreamed about being a good student and he does. He will receive some honors at graduation as he does every year because he’s truly a wonderful young man. I hope he doesn’t discover temptations out there more dangerous than fireballs, and if he does, I hope his parents will give him more trouble than the school does.

Blessings,
Janie

Color in heaven

2009-03-30T19:28:00.001-05:00

I took my two middle grandsons to “Chickalay” for lunch today. The conversation went kind of like this.

William: Edward’s with his grandmother too…Look John.

John: Theres lots of grandparents here today. There’s one, two, and there and there…Lots of old people…

Grammy: Do you think I’m old too?

John: Yeah you’re old…. Do you know where Grandaddy is now?

William: In heaven!

John: Do you know what color he is now……BLUE!

William: Well I think he’s white in heaven… Don’t you think he’s white Grammy? Blue would be scary.

Grammy: Um…hmmm.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what color people are lately, and shortly before I picked up the kids for lunch I had done a little research on my daddy’s place in Alabama History. My interest had been piqued by an old newspaper from article from the 50’s that we had found lining a trunk brought home from Grandaddy’s house. One Google led to another and soon I was deep into the archives of the State of Alabama.

Names like George Wallace and Bull Connor were there alongside my daddy’s. Not a pretty trip through the past.

I don’t really care what color people are when they get to heaven, I just hope for all our sake that they are all the same. Even if they aren’t I hope you’ll be able to see what’s inside them instead of their color or the shape of their eyes or their figure. I’ll bet we’d all be nicer to one another if you could do that.

Blessings,
Janie

A Round Tuit

2009-03-24T10:40:00.005-05:00

I once saw a hand painted disc of wood about the size of a salad plate in a gift shop with “Tuit” written on it. It took me a minute, and an explanation from a clerk to get it…but it was exactly what I needed. Instead of calling myself a procrastinator with grandiose plans that seldom get completed, I call myself a wonderful prioritizer. I fight the brushfires that might cause great damage first, and then get around to the others when I have time…which sometimes is not at all.

The current economy, and my new knee giving me more mobility than I’ve had in years, has led me to do some long neglected tidying up and cleaning out and throwing away. I’ll never make the pages of the organization magazines, but at least I’m thinning out my stuff so that I know what I have and where it is so I won’t buy something that’s already on the shelf throwing good money after bad.

This burst of organization has led me to realize how wasteful I’ve been through the years. I’ve always loved beautiful things, and done a fair job of copying expensive clothing for my children, and now my grandchildren. Turning me loose in a fine fabric shop with a Visa was like bringing an alcoholic to a wine tasting. I just couldn’t resist. Consequently, I have yards and yards of beautiful, and mostly expensive, fabric sitting on a shelf. I also owned a fine used sewing machine which I bought on Ebay three years ago and had never even threaded. Last weekend, I got Walker to remove my worn out machine and help me figure out the new one. It took both our brains, we use opposite sides for every imaginable task, to get me going, but today, I began sewing an Easter dress for Becket on my new machine.

This dress will make her feel beautiful because she’s still thrilled to dress like an old fashioned doll, at least for another year or so. It will make me feel satisfied because I will have used something that was wasting away. My copy of a dress that sells for a couple of hundred dollars probably won’t be perfect, but it will be good enough. That dress is my round tuit. I hope there will be many more!

Blessings,
Janie
P. S. I just found a site in Great Britain that offers accessories for Round Tuit types. Cute idea. http://www.quantumenterprises.co.uk/roundtuit/gifts.htm

Wait a Minute

2009-03-18T10:42:00.010-05:00

If you are a regular reader or a member of my family, you know that I am a news junkie. I had kind of weaned off MSNBC after the election, but the whole AIG scandal has got me hooked again. This situation totally stymies my ability to make sense of it. How could we have gotten ourselves into this mess? For one idea, see my previous blog on this subject http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=508545331300613340&postID=4297475162414127431

Lately, I've watched totally bewildered like the rest of the modern world as Trillions…Trillions!!! of dollars are being printed and scattered like dry leaves on the world economy apparently never to be seen again. Like the rest of you, I wonder when one of those trillion dollar bills might land in my driveway alongside the morning paper. It hasn't happened yet.

The current strategy seems to be to print more money, give it to lending institutions, and encourage everyone to go further into debt as our patriotic duty to spend in order to save various institutions and businesses from demise….maybe.

What??? We’ve all dug ourselves into a hole, and they want us to keep digging? Digging for what? I know.... maybe... China! Every kid knows that if you dig deep enough, you’ll eventually get there. Only when we do get there this time, we’re most likely to going to find out that we are expected to pay up for all the junk we already bought that we didn’t really want or need.

That doesn’t sound like much fun, does it?

How about we play Actions Have Consequences instead? You know how to play that don’t you? The basic rule is that once you make a choice you’re more or less stuck with it until it’s your turn to make a new choice. There are a few wild cards in the game, but not many. Some good wild cards are having your Pop give you a few dollars if you make the honor roll or finding a five in the pocket of your jeans that you haven’t worn all summer. A bad wild card might be if Auntie Jane gets Alzheimers and mails you a check for ten cents instead of ten dollars. That kind of sucks.

In Actions Have Consequences, if you decide to turn right at the corner to stop at the playground, but your brother sneaks around through the bushes, he will probably beat you home and get to eat the left over brownie on the counter. If you spend your whole Christmas Check on a Wii, you can’t also get the new tennis racquet you wanted or be able to buy Hannah Montana tickets at scalper prices.

If you want more stuff than you can afford, you have several options. You might have to wait till your next birthday or sell some cans and bottles for scrap, or maybe do a few chores for a neighbor. If that Hannah Montana concert is a few days before your birthday, maybe someone else would get the tickets for you and let you pay them back when Auntie Jane’s check comes, but you can’t get more junk until you do pay for those tickets. You also have the option of trading some of the stuff you already have to someone who might really, really want it for some cash, but sometimes no one wants what you’ve got, so that plan won’t work and you have to come up with a different one.

What if none of those options work? You talk to the other players and hope they have enough kindness in their heart to let you keep the things you really need. They can give you food or a blanket or a ride to work, but only for a while. Eventually you are going to have to do with less stuff or find work.

The truth is that anyone reading this probably has enough stuff to survive comfortably until they can find some sort of work that will make it possible to get by. I hope we'll all wake up soon and realize that we've been on a crazy drunken spending binge and know that once we sober up, life can be better than ever.

Blessings,
Janie

The Luck of the Irish

2009-03-17T11:54:00.008-05:00

This morning I ran across a copy of my maternal grandfather's application for the draft completed in 1917. On it he accurately describes his stature as “short and stout”. That tendency, along with a little bit of a dour outlook on life, seems to be what I got from him. But I also got his love and adoration until I was eight years old when he died of a sudden heart attack at sixty-four, a loss I still feel to this day.

Popo ended up getting a deferment from the draft because he listed himself as the sole support of his wife, although Mamo never gave any indication whatsoever that she couldn’t support herself perfectly well, thank you.

I knew Popo was home from work by the smell of his cigar and the small bag of chocolate covered peanuts always stopped at Kresses to buy. He usually left them where I could find them, beside the crystal candy dish on the living room table which was usually filled with some sort of awful crème filled chocolates. I would follow the smell of his cigar to give him a hug, often finding it smoldering in the ashtray on the mantle. A whiff of a cigar can transport me instantly back to his lap, which was ample, as is mine at sixty-four.

Popo was the kind of grandfather who mowed down their entire crop of oxalis when I came in crying after stepping on a bumblebee minding his own business. He was the kindest man I ever knew.

Yesterday when Walker got in the car after work, the kind security guard chucked him on the shoulder and reminded him to wear green tomorrow. He and I pondered what in the world he might own that was green. I suggested checking for a green ball cap, but before I went to bed, I put a bit of green ribbon and a safety pin at his spot where he eats his breakfast.

This morning Walker came down decked out in green socks, green gingham shorts, and his usual work shirt over a green camo tee. That boy doesn’t really need his mom worrying about silly things like wearing green for St. Paddy’s Day. Maybe he got Momo’s sense of being perfectly capable of taking care of himself. I hope so.

I think I'll buy a pot of oxalis today, just a small one, not large enough to tempt the bumblebees.

Blessings,
Janie

Friday Flashback Cheap Chick

2009-03-10T11:34:00.033-05:00

I’ve never really been fashionable. My short stature and curvy body made most clothes off the rack look ridiculous on me, and for most of my life I made do with whatever I could find or make that made me sort of fit in. Mama and I made the ballgown in the picture; I think I felt pretty.

My mother and grandmother lived through the last depression. Although my grandfather had a steady job, Mamo was an entrepreneur before that name was even coined. She ran a beauty shop, a boarding house, and sold her fabulous cakes from her back door. She always seemed to have plenty of money, but she shopped wholesale in Birmingham.

My mother, on the other hand, lived on a small allowance from my daddy, and it was point of pride for her not to have to ask him for extra money. I didn’t realize until I was grown that Santa Claus and Easter Bunny and all our clothing had to be paid for out of Mama's meager funds. So she sewed and shopped discount...really discount.

I can still remember the stench, and not fondly, of the old Belk-Hudson store in Montgomery where my mother dragged me to a fire sale hoping to find something to suit a miniature and very surly teenager. We did not. I began sewing for myself and by ninth grade shopped for fabrics and patterns and created passable imitations of the clothes my friends wore.

My wedding dress was one of the first and last store bought and full price items I'd ever owned, and we bought the first one I tried on while being treated like a princess at a high end shop. Mama beamed and even paid extra for alterations.

Wouldn’t Mama be tickled to know that thrift is finally in style again, certified by no less than the New York Times!
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/10/us/10reset.html?hp

I hope I'll remember how lucky I am to want for very little in this life, and I hope that someday someone decides to make somthing I can afford at full price that makes me feel pretty again. In the meantime, I'm going shopping in my closet.

Blessings,
Janie

Summer Reading

2009-03-09T14:32:00.007-05:00

A while back I promised to share a book list of some of my favorite reads. This is a mixed bag of some important books and some less important ones; it includes some of the most memorable books I’ve read in the past few years.

If you’re a reader and would like to share your favorites, click comments below, and I’ll be happy to explore some new books over the summer.

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
Under the Banner of Heaven: A Story of Violent Faith by John Krakauer
The Tenth Justice by Brad Meltzer
Bel Canto by Ann Patchett
Meridon Series by Philipa Gregory
Running with Scissors:A Memoir by Augusten Burroughs
A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving
A Man in Full by Tom Wolfe
Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells
Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
Into Thin Air: A Personal Account of the Mt. Everest Disaster by Jon Krakauer
The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffenegger
A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam Karen Armstrong
Afghanistan by James Michener (I love Michener…all titles)
How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill
The Gifts of the Jews by Thomas Cahill
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World by Jack Weatherford
The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho
Tender at the Bone: Growing Up at the Table by Ruth Reichl
Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
The Red Tent by Anita Diamant
Saits and Villains by Denise Giardina
Year of Wonders by Geraldine Brooks
Run by Ann Patchett
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
My Last Days as Roy Rogers by Pat Cunningham Devoto
The Summer We Got Saved by Pat Cunningham Devoto
The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards

Blessings,
Janie

Who Knows?

2009-03-05T09:40:00.005-06:00

A couple of weeks ago our church hosted a Bart Erhman, a noted biblical scholar and speaker. To hear his talk go to http://www.holycommunion.org/OurSpeakerOnline.htm#Bart

The reviews have been mixed, to say the least. One friend just can’t stop talking about how wonderful he was and has read two of his books since his talk. Others had a real problem with our church, Christian, but Episcopal, hosting someone who is an open agnostic and honestly states that he can’t reconcile the idea of a loving, powerful God with all the suffering that goes on in the world.

I personally gave up that struggle a long time ago, so his statements were not nearly so shocking to me as to some. Because I have read a good bit about other faiths in recent years in an attempt to understand the world we live in better, I have come to realize that there’s just no way to really know the things we profess to believe. The tangible records that have gone into making our Bible the beloved book that it is are old, damaged, sometimes mistranslated or miscopied, and in my mind at least, kind of unreliable.

Strangely, coming to that conclusion did nothing to destroy my faith, just kind of made me view it from a different perspective.

I can remember a long, long time ago when a priest asked our Sunday School group whether God had ever spoken to them. To my astonishment, I was the only person in the group who raised their hand. I still kind of marvel at that.

No, God hasn’t spoken to me in a wonderful Charleton Heston type voice and told me what to do, but He has helped me to hear Him through others, and even through the power of Him that lives within me. Because He has spoken to me in some way, I am prepared and not afraid of what lies ahead anymore…at least most of the time.

My most significant sense of God speaking to me was in the days following Walker’s birth. For a full account you can go back to early posts on Down Syndrome. http://onlycasualobservations.blogspot.com/2008/05/imperfections.html

What I still cling to is what I do know, and that is that I have not been alone…someone or something has been with me throughout my life. Is it God? Probably not in the sense of a guy with flowing robes and a long white beard sitting on a throne, but that doesn’t bother me.

The Free Dictionary provides the following information about Agnosticism:
Word History: An agnostic does not deny the existence of God and heaven but holds that one cannot know for certain whether or not they exist. The term agnostic was fittingly coined by the 19th-century British scientist Thomas H. Huxley, who believed that only material phenomena were objects of exact knowledge. He made up the word from the prefix a-, meaning "without, not," as in amoral, and the noun Gnostic. Gnostic is related to the Greek word gn sis, "knowledge," which was used by early Christian writers to mean "higher, esoteric knowledge of spiritual things"; hence, Gnostic referred to those with such knowledge. In coining the term agnostic, Huxley was considering as "Gnostics" a group of his fellow intellectuals "ists," as he called them who had eagerly embraced various doctrines or theories that explained the world to their satisfaction. Because he was a "man without a rag of a label to cover himself with," Huxley coined the term agnostic for himself, its first published use being in 1870.

When I started writing about not knowing, I initially thought I could probably be classified as an Agnostic myself, but the more I think about it I do know that God is with me, even if I don’t know from one moment to the next what he looks like or sounds like. Ergo, as they say in logic, if he's with me, he must exist.

Blessings,
Janie

Friday Flashback: Feeling Fourteen Fifty Years Later

2009-02-26T15:30:00.010-06:00

Friday Flashbacks are sponsored by my friend Anne Glamore over at My Tiny Kingdom. (Link on right side of this page.)

My teens were definitely not the happiest time of my life. If my friend Barbara is correct about reincarnation, I hope I return as a life form for which adolescence is a non-event. This pic is from my brief stint as a member of the in crowd...the cheerleaders!

This week I decided to step out on Facebook and find my own friends instead of piggybacking on my children’s connections. And lo and behold…I found a site for my high school class! There were only a couple of people on it when I found it, but I knew them, so I sent them a short note and asked them to be my friend. When they responded, you would have thought I suddenly had a prom date. Now there are a few more.

Anytime I happen on a connection from the past I’m a little hesitant…okay, a lot hesitant…about how to pursue it. I’m still hanging out on the fringes of the cool kids, not wanting to seem too intrusive, but really, really wanting to know how their lives turned out.

Do we have more in common than we did in the sixties? Has anyone else had a child with a disability? (I know of two, but there may be others.) Do they worry about their retirement plans or have bad knees or hips? Who has had cancer and survived? Who is still married to their high school sweethearts…or their second or third forever love? Is anyone single who might like to meet one of my single friends? Nah, even I wouldn’t touch that one. Who is no longer with us? Regrettably, two from this photo.

I’m realizing that I crave more connection than I used to, and I hope some of my long lost cyber friends will still care what happened to me. Maybe someone will want to share memories of prank calls and sneaking out at night to meet boys in the back yard or floating on an innertube at Lake Martin for hours on end hoping someone would come by in a boat and offer a ride. Who has my memories?

Blessings,
Janie

Sprung

2009-02-19T10:22:00.002-06:00

The one thing that confirms my faith every single year is the arrival of Spring. We’ve already had a few warmer days in Memphis and the daffodils are showing sunny faces, the Forsythia and Quince are dancing and the Tulip Poplar is about to bust out. I walked down the block yesterday and noticed that many of my neighbors pansies are thriving. I didn’t get any out this year, but enjoying theirs is free and didn’t require any digging.

It has been a bleak winter in many ways, a winter of recuperation physically and spiritually with three deaths in our family. This month is the anniversary of my mother’s death, probably the most difficult one of all for me even after all these years. I love it that she died in winter, because I believe that just as winter can’t hang around forever, neither can grief. Spring comes, babies are born, cousins get married, we sit around with friends talking about good times and making new memories. Life goes on.

We are sprung too. Alleluia!

I think I’ve learned to remind myself, at least most of the time, that Spring always follows Winter. I hope I’ll learn to appreciate the things I can do during those bleak winter months and use them productively because it’s kind of a shame to waste time wishing for what’s going to come our way anyhow.

Blessings,
Janie

I Did It

2009-02-14T10:29:00.003-06:00

I have just spent thirty minutes figuring out how to insert my picture on Facebook. It’s not like I love this picture, but the sketches they provide if you don’t provide one are kind of creepy. This task involved saving something on my desktop and everything, and I did it. You would think I were a three year old who has finally learned to use the potty.

Will I remember how to do it next time? Hope I won’t have to. This pic is the one I selected for my obituary a couple of years ago when I was undergoing a really touchy surgery. I lived, and hope no one needs this picture anytime soon. It looks enough like I did when I was younger so that people of my generation will at least recognize me, and enough like I look now that my grandchildren will too. I’ll try to come up with a new one every ten years or so, but his one is it until further notice.

I rarely browse Facebook, in fact, really don’t quite get it. I’m not sure why anyone would want to know what acquaintances of their friends and relatives are doing, but I’m sure there’s some logic behind it. My friends have my e-mail address and blog readers can easily find me by Googling my name and leave a comment on my blog. (I REALLY love having comments by the way!)

Actually, the more I think about it, maybe I do get Facebook after all. It’s a pretty easy way to reconnect. I never turn down anyone who asks to be my friend so if you do facebook, I'd love to be your friend. The magical carpet of the internet has happily connected me with people that I thought were lost but now are found, at least in cyberspace. I love that.

I hope I always treasure family and friend connections, even when they involve doing something hard.

Blessings,
Janie

So How are We Doing With That

2009-02-09T15:42:00.004-06:00

A couple of weeks ago at a “no-kids allowed” family dinner in a nice restaurant, my son-in-law John got on my case. He had me laughing so hard at myself that I almost spewed wine out of my nose.

He has noted that I often end my blog with “I hope….”, which I readily explained that was my way of offering a kind of ecumenical prayer. He has promised to keep me accountable by tallying up how many of my hopes come to fruition.

There will be some that will be obvious. If I actually spend as much time making my yard beautiful without the threat of a large party looming over my head, we’ll all know it. If I actually have people over more often, even for a casual meal, it will be obvious. The less visible ones like reading more than playing computer games…maybe not so much.

There will be some things that nobody knows about but the Walkers and me. If I gripe less about Dad expecting the dish fairy, they will know. Little Walker will respond with increased anxiety…his dad, probably not.

Everyone is noticing that I’m walking better, which should only improve with the weather and further rehab of my knee. I’ve actually taken a couple of the kids to Walmart or a movie just because it sounded like fun instead of being guilt ridden over how many hours they watch TV when they’re at my house. I think I’m doing okay so far.

I hope John, and I, will cut me some slack if I don’t realize all my hopes and dreams. Now that I know he’s watching, he has become another instrument of change. I hope most of the changes are for the better.

Blessings,
Janie

Family Ties

2009-02-04T19:37:00.003-06:00

The last few days have been an interesting jumble of images and feelings. We lost another of our dear uncles. Uncle Jimmy was over ninety and had lived a long and productive life. Since his wife died a few years ago, he had prayed every night that he would just wake up in heaven with Bootsie. His prayers finally came to fruition.

My husband’s relatives came from far and wide for the funeral, disregarding the disruption to their normal routine of an unexpected death, dropping everything to support each other through one more passage. There was a new baby to oooh and aaah over, and two engagements to celebrate. Everyone was so happy to be together that the sadness was kind of overshadowed.

Some old grievances were put aside and ties were bound tighter as we honored Uncle Jimmy and celebrated his life with a beautiful service in my childhood church followed by Honeybaked Ham and caramel cake. There has already been talk of a “guys retreat” to honor the new head of the family, the last living member of the older generation. Time together becomes precious when you realize that next time just might not happen.

Walker declined to go with us, and I didn’t insist, because travel is simpler without accommodating his schedule and quirks. He was fine at home with his attendant taking him out and his sisters helping out. His laundry got done on time, and he found one more pack of Polaroid film as he shopped.

Just before we left, Walker came to the kitchen and asked that I deliver a message to Sister and Lucy.

“Tell Sister and Lucy that their father will always be alive as long as he lives in their hearts. Now you tell them that, okay?”

I did, and I think they’ll remember it when they are feeling their loss. I know I will.

Blessings,
Janie

Flashback Friday Free for All

2009-01-30T15:53:00.010-06:00

I’m linking this to Anne Glamore’s My Tiny Kingdom Blog. (The link to her is on the right side of the page labeled Favorites. I couldn’t figure out how to get it into the text.)

I spent a Terrible Thursday getting ready for Flashback Friday. I began looking for a video tape that I had made about ten years ago to use for a speech for Special Needs parents and professionals. I happened to have about twenty years of family videos of family events, so with the crude tools available to me, I cut and spliced a series of videos of Walker growing up, had it set to music, and showed it to a packed house, cutting my babbling to about twenty minutes.

Anyway, when I started looking for the video, it was nowhere to be found. We had it out on Walker’s thirty second birthday last August, and his friends got a big kick out of seeing themselves participating in birthday parties and Special Olympics events when they were tiny. I could remember asking my husband to put it in a safe place after the party, because Walker had already plundered my usual stash of kiddie memorabilia under my bed, and I didn’t want this particular tape to disappear.

We began by looking in the easy places. My husband checked the shelf in the closet where other videos were stored, I checked the armoire and the chest beside my bed, and went through the ones under the bed. Then we tackled my husband’s upstairs office, piled high with family memorabilia recently brought back home when his dad died.

Then the big search came…Walker’s room. The last time I had tackled Walker’s room, he was away at camp and it took several long days. I bought organizers of every description. I sorted and categorized his videos, dvd’s, cassette tapes, and various keepsakes. I was probably too respectful of his stuff at the time, and should have thrown a whole lot more away.

About all we could bear to do yesterday was search, not organize. It was like searching for your lost keys in Walmart’s toy department or maybe at Blockbuster's or the grocery store. There were Valentine’s cookies from last year, along with Nutter Butters from a week or so ago. There was an unopened package of Hershey’s miniatures…our reward for conducting the search. There were logo cups from fast food restaurants, and old batteries. Strangely enough though, there were no bugs. Not even one. There were hundreds of VHS tapes, but not the one I needed.

The longer we searched, the more annoyed I became. But I knew that tape was in the house.

We finally gave up and began again at the beginning. This time, I searched the shelf in the closet, and BINGO, there it was, right where I had said it would probably be from the beginning, only one shelf higher.

My husband thought I should be overjoyed to find the tape. I was really just upset that I spent five hours, left Walker’s room still needing organizing, and got right back where I should have been right after lunch all because he had not really done an adequate search.

No dishes were thrown, but dinner was not pleasant.

Walker wasn’t too annoyed that we had plundered his room. He gathered up all snack foods more than a week old for the trash, and I issued an ultimatum. He couldn’t buy another video or CD until he got rid of some and organized them. Now he was annoyed.

I offered to buy old ones at $1 each. He soon found twenty he could part with, and I have new entertainment for the little ones, and he has a small clear spot on the shelf and money for a new CD. I hope I have the patience to continue the struggle to organize our life. It really could be easier on everyone. It's a battle worth winning...I think.

Blessings,
Janie

More Rainbows

2009-01-25T10:10:00.015-06:00

The whole rainbow theme has rattled around in my head for several days now. I even went so far as to look up my favorite rainbow song, which I can still hear Katie and her chums performing back in the early eighties. Now I can't get that out of my head either. Want to share the joy? http://www.metacafe.com/watch/yt-lRvhRhWWE44/debbie_harry_kermit_the_frog_the_rainbow_connection/

I wonder how much influence Kermit had on my children’s ability to dream. All are really good at it, and their dreams have mostly come true. What’s more, they’re not even done yet.

I wonder if today's music and theater and dance will inspire dreaming. Sometimes I doubt it, and then I hear something wonderful and think...maybe.

Saturday night Walker had a "social outing" organized by the adult sister of one of his former classmates. It was dinner and a movie with a group of young, "peer adults", who had volunteered to chaperone and parents were welcomed but not encouraged to attend. It was a night out "On Our Own." When we picked him up, Walker was bubbling over with all the details of the evening.

"I talked to Cleve at the restaurant...Did you know it was a deli? And, guess what? Cleve's grandparents have all passed on too. I thought we might go to the new Hannah Montana movie that comes out in February...or is it January?... Cleve's birthday is February 14, maybe we could do it then. Whaddya think about that? Oh, and one more thing..."

Walker was enthusiastically dreaming and planning for an event with a friend, something he had seldom done before. Maybe that night's conversation was Walker's Rainbow Connection. "All of us under it's spell...I know that it's probably m aaa gic...da dum de da dum da da dooo."

I hope we keep finding those Rainbow Connections and loving Kermie forever. I know I will..."it's something that I'm s'posed to do."

Blessings,
Janie

Friday Flashback My Rainbow

2009-01-23T10:00:00.002-06:00

I’m not sure what prompted me to write a love letter to my kindergartener. I do know I didn’t show it to her until she was grown and then began the tradition of writing to all my children and grandchildren, mostly on their birthdays. I ran across it today when looking for a “Friday Flashback” in my albums. It was titled My Rainbow. Warning, it's a little hokey. I guess I was drunk on love and spewing cotton candy.

“She gave a pad of notepaper smeared with a rainbow. A gift bought with her own dollars and proudly presented. “Don’t you think it’s pretty, Mama? Don’t you just love it?”

Yes, little one, I do love it, but not just because it’s pretty. I love it because it’s a reminder that you are my rainbow; God’s promise that things will never be so bad again. You are too little to realize that the blush of your cheeks and the gold in your hair and that clear blueness of your eyes are all blended through the prism of love to make you special. You are the affirmation that I could do something right again, even when it seemed that all my efforts were going wrong.

So keep decorating each page of artwork with your pretty streaks of color, and always keep your eyes on that rainbow, because it may just be inside you.”

Sarah Jane was the fourth child in our family, one that I’m sure many people wondered about being an “accident”. She definitely was not. She was just as wanted as the other three, but maybe treasured more because she was the last. She and Walker were like twins until she was about four and he was almost six. They were both learning to read and swim, but about then she took off, and the little sister became one more big sister. I knew the tide had turned when she used the word "embarrased" and I asked her if she even knew what it meant. "Yes, it's like when Walker acts like a dog in the grocery store." She had it nailed.

When Sarah comes home from California, no one is more excited than Walker. He is always anxious to share his collectibles and hope she might remember playing with them with him. She usually doesn't, but acts like she does, and she's a really decent actor.

I wonder if I can find Melody Mike or the Fisher Price doctor kit on Ebay?

Blessings,
Janie

Oh Happy Day!

2009-01-20T09:15:00.006-06:00

I'm having to fly by the seat of my pants on the computer which my husband has graciously allowed me to borrow after I infected my own with a virus. Don't get me started...

Anyway, I wanted to post this picture, courtesy of my son-in-law and daughter Katie. I'm so proud that my children have strong convictions and act on them. That may be the real secret to making dreams come true.

The picture was made somewhere in the midwest on the Sunday night before the election. It was truly an "Oh my GOD!" moment for Sarah to meet our new president and his family as a part of a small group of volunteers working to get out the vote.

We've come a long way from Alabama, baby girl. Congratulations! I hope you and your generation keep dreaming for the rest of us.

Blessings,

Janie

Hope and Dreams

2009-01-19T12:35:00.005-06:00

As I watched footage last night of the historical civil rights struggles of the 1950s and '60s, I was taken aback by what some have called "the audacity of hope". As I watched the familiar scenes of protesters being sprayed with huge fire hoses and running from angry men with ferocious dogs, I was stunned once again by the fact that those things happened so recently. At least it seemed to be recent, because I remember sitting and watching the same scenes on the news on the huge piece of furniture that encased a small black and white television screen in my parent's den not too many years ago. I frequently rode comfortably in the front of the very bus that Rosa Parks might have ridden on my bi-weekly trips to the library in Montgomery.

As I watched, I realized that those civil rights pioneers had a lot more reason to give up hope as they saw their dreams dashed in various ways than do any of us living in civilized nations today. Yes, our investments might have tanked, our salaries and benefits might have been cut, but look at what's left even to the least fortunate of us.

It's not just a dream that bright, thoughtful people will apply themselves to the task of having a world where people of all faiths and colors can coexist successfully. It's a hope that borders on belief, especially among the young and perhaps among less jaded older people. I can count myself among them today. I'll gladly grab the wisp of hope he offers.

Yes HE can. Yes WE can.

The morning polls showed that roughly eighty percent of Americans believe that Barack Obama can carry through with his plans for a better country and a better world. That's an awful lot of hope out there; that's a lot of faith out there. I really, really, really hope they're right. I hope they get the "I told you so!" that they deserve. Let's give it to them with a light heart and a smile on our faces.

Blessings,

Janie

When All Your Dreams Come True

2009-01-16T11:26:00.008-06:00

When I was in my early teens, I dreamed of being Scarlett Ohara with her tiny waist and high tester bed and multiple suitors vying for my hand, and actually I got both the tester bed and the suitors in good time. Then I got the only thing I’d ever really wanted…a husband and babies of my own.

I coped with this much better, and with a whole lot less help, than Miss Scarlett. In my own mind, I knew plenty about “birthin’ babies”. (For those of you who are wondering about these references, they are from Margaret Mitchell’s “Gone With the Wind”, a favorite of many of us southern pre-boomer types both in print and on the big screen.)

Then that part of the story ended. When Sarah left for college, she wisely advised me, “Mama, you better find something to do, or you’ll go crazy out here.” Here being the house on twelve acres of woods about twenty miles outside Memphis. It was a beautiful house, and I should have been totally content. It wasn’t Tara, but it was wonderful, except that it wasn’t.

Things change. That big house gradually emptied except for the family gatherings, and these became less frequent for a while. The girls grew older and traveled the world and eventually settled down with new families. This is life as it's meant to be, and I was thrilled to see it unfold, but that doesn't mean it wasn't a bit confusing at times. Actually, it still is.

Through the years, I had been fortunate enough to choose to be a full time mother, my only dream from the time I was about seven or so, but for a time my services obviously weren’t needed. I was essentially laid off from the only job I’d ever loved and seemed to be really good at.

I found something to do. I was offered a job and worked a year or so part time, but I knew I wasn’t interested in doing what I was doing forever, so I decided to go back to graduate school. This worked out well, with the new people in my life helping to cover up the isolation I felt in the country. I graduated at age fifty four and was offered another job by one of my classmates. My husband and I built another house, this time back in the city. Then the grandbabies started to come and my aging parents became ill, and suddenly everybody needed me.

Now, my parents are both gone, the grandchildren are mostly in school, and I am once again rattling around in a big house wondering what’s next. Tonight it will be a sleepover with three of my grandsons and chinese take out. For now, just hoping no one gets hurt or goes home hungry is enough, but it's not really a dream...or is it?

I wonder whether I have a real dream left inside me. I hope I do, and that I’ll find it. In the meantime, I can be content that all my dreams came true...at least so far.

Blessings,
Janie

Dreaming

2009-01-13T09:45:00.009-06:00

Our book group just finished reading “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho. I made copious notes about this book, but it was not in the reading but in the discussion that discovery occurred. "The Alchemist" is the story of a poor shepard boy, Santiago, who strikes out to find the secret of turning base metals into gold. Along the way he encounters a number of people and lessons are learned, one of which was how important it is to have a dream and never give up on it.

I am not a dreamer and haven't been for a long, long time, if I ever was. When I said this, one of the wise women in my group asked me which character I might have been in the book. Someone else quickly piped up, "You're the crystal shop guy!" Lightbulb moment. I have settled into keeping shop with few dreams or expectations anymore. Not a recipe for success, probably, but comfortable and safe.

Sometimes I think I’m just taking realistic assessments of probabilities and being rational and reasonable, but I really think I lost the courage to dream long ago. According to the Alchemist, who Santiago finally finds and learns from, fear of failure is the most certain cause of failure when trying to turn base metals into gold.

Thursday night Walker and his dad and I attended a dance performance of young adult dancers, all of whom had Down Syndrome. The group is billed as Company D, and their performance was a thank you to sponsors of a recent trip to New York City to kick off the nationwide Buddy Walk for Down Syndrome.

Truthfully, I really didn’t much want to go. My back and knee were aching, and the prospect of getting out on a cold, misty night was not inviting. The very idea of sitting in a theater for a couple of hours to watch other people’s kids perform was about as appealing as watching the out-takes from America’s Got Talent. Thankfully, my affection for the group’s director, Darlene Winters, overcame my inertia, because it was one of the best experiences I’ve had in a very long time.

I had seen the company perform before, but never in a packed theater with lighting and makeup and a good sound system. From the time the lights dimmed until we were enjoying punch and cookies in the lobby, the show was a testament to dreaming.

Darlene was previously Walker’s speech therapist at Madonna Day School and a lover of dance and performing arts. Her first year at Madonna she turned their Christmas Pageant into a total extravaganza, writing appropriate scripts for the sixty or so kids with varying disabilities, ages four to sixteen, and identifying their gifts as she carefully cast the roles. One year Walker was actually the lead in the play “The Little Christmas Angel”, something I would never have dared to dream for him once I knew he had Down Syndrome.

Darlene has devoted over five years as a volunteer to develop Company D and was recognized as one of Memphis’ seven top volunteers for 2008. Her greatest gift, in my humble opinion, is that of seeing the beauty in everyone and bringing it out so that others might see it too. She has a knack of recognizing that a lump of brown rock actually might have a diamond inside it. She polishes the crystal and makes it shine, a laborious and sometimes thankless task, I'm sure.

The result was a magnificent performance that left me wanting to see more. The grace, style and joy of her company, not to mention their true talent as dancers, was a gift to all of us. One of the songs they danced that was identified as their signature piece was “The Prayer” sung by Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli. The combination of the words to that song and the graceful ballet will always be etched in my brain. They closed with “Somewhere” by Barbara Streisand and Il Divos. (You can find them on YouTube.) Both songs sent an amazing message not just to the audience, but words of constant affirmation to the dancers. This was confirmed by the long standing ovation and cries for “encore” when it was over.

Darlene is a dreamer. Thank God for people like her. I hope I might someday ignore my fear of failure and follow my dreams regardless of how impractical they might be.

Blessings,
Janie

Not So Bleak Midwinter

2009-01-07T17:31:00.005-06:00

Last Saturday a sometimes freezing, drizzly rain that seemed as if it would never stop, settled over the city like a bad mood.

I had gone through a lot of agony on Monday worrying over how miserable Walker would be in and out of that miserable weather getting carts and helping little old ladies with their bags. I hoped that the bad weather would mean fewer customers and that he wouldn’t have to go out too often. I wondered if we should begin to think about finding him an inside job.

On the way to work, Walker voluntarily put some Vaseline Intensive Care that was in the cup holder on his hands. I was kind of surprised, because he had resisted mightily when I first began pushing it because I had noticed how chapped and leathery his hands were getting once the cold set in. His dad must have had some clout with him in creating a new habit, because the hand cream now seems to be a part of the routine of going to work.

When I picked Walker up after work, I asked how his day had been. “Not too bad.” (This is his stock answer most days, no matter how rotten.) As usual I asked what he had for lunch, just to make conversation. Previously, my question might have been answered, “Uh…you know the same thing I had last Tuesday,” leaving me frustrated trying to figure out what that might have been.

Yesterday, he answered promptly, “A fried chicken tender sandwich to warm my fingers up... What’s for dinner?”

“Some yummy turkey soup that Mrs. Jehl made for us.”

“Turkey Soup, I never heard of that? Gobble, Gobble!”

We rode a few more minutes and then he blurted out excitedly, “Oh, and I got a $5 tip today…from Dr. Soto Viera!”

The good doctor has known Walker since he was five weeks old, and has made it a point to let me know how proud he is of his accomplishments when I bump into him in the check out line occasionally. I’m glad he rewarded Walker for doing his job on a miserable day.

Today, it was fifty five degrees and sunny, and so were my spirits. I’ll bet Walker’s are too, even if the tips are smaller. Wonder what he had for lunch.

Blessings,
Janie

Year End Assessment

2009-01-01T13:31:00.007-06:00

Like most people, I’ve been thinking about last year, what was good and what didn’t work so well, the things I really appreciated and what I’ll try to do differently this year. I don't make resolutions anymore, but here are some things I'll keep in mind for 2009.

We spent a lot of time on our yard last year because we were hosting a big party for a bride. I’m happy we did it, and actually would love to do it again for our own pleasure, providing our bank account and our backs hold up. The pay off for the time and money spent was magnificent.

I spent an inordinate amount of time listening to the political pundits last year, partly because I was so wishy washy about deciding who to vote for. I won’t do that this year, but I will still read our local paper, at least until they discontinue the print edition, which may actually happen this year. I’ll turn to the online New York Times or a good book when I’m bored this year, not MSNBC or Cube Crashers as I did last year.

I enjoyed the few times we “entertained” last year, even if it was just sharing take out with a few friends. I hope I’ll do more of that, and maybe take it up a notch this year. I hope not to let my concern for how I do it overshadow the more important fact that I do it at all. Whether it’s family or friends, or perhaps someone totally random, just the connection is the main thing.

I listened to Walker more and perhaps lectured him less last year; I’ve praised him a whole lot more than fussed at him. I think I should maybe do the same with my husband next year. I think he’ll have to learn that I don’t need to know how to build a clock when I ask the time of day, though, or I won’t be able to follow through on that one.

I didn’t go to church much last year for some reasons I’m still not ready to acknowledge even to myself. I prayed more than usual, though, which leads me to believe that my faith has survived outside the building I once loved so. I think I got an overdose of religion in the year following 9/11, and I have since developed a healthy respect for all religions and and their beliefs that call them to be decent human beings. I hope the day arrives this year when most of them realize that being a decent human being doesn’t ever involve violence against another.

I read less and wrote more this year. I don’t know whether this is a good or a bad thing, but the notes I’ve gotten from some of my faithful readers lead me to believe that I should keep it up, at least when I have something to say.

I plan to be more honest about my own preferences, when I have them, this year. I might not be seen as being quite so agreeable as in the past, but I won’t feel like such a pushover either.

I hope I’ll continue to recognize the things that stress me out, and just say no…something I’ve gotten better with as I’ve aged.

I hope I’ll reread this from time to time to see how I’m doing. I hope you’ll keep reading too.
Blessings,
Janie

Belated Gifts

2008-12-28T20:28:00.003-06:00

After several attempts, we managed to link up with Steffen this afternoon. He had persisted about calling Walker trying to make a date to go to a movie and exchange gifts. Walker was not feeling particularly generous this year and had only bought Steffen one of those musical cards. I added a gift card for movies and a little cash to it.

Steffen had bought Walker two movies from his limited income, but Walker was a bit less than gracious about them. They weren’t on his wish list. Of course this became a teaching opportunity on how to show appreciation on the way home.

As I drove them to the movie I asked Steffen about his family and found out that he had had no contact from his mother since about a week before Christmas, and that his sister “ran out of time and didn’t make it” to see him either. I believe he spent Christmas alone and didn’t get a gift from either. “It’s okay, ‘cause I have enough money to buy little things anyway,” he explained to me.

After the movie we talked a bit more about Christmas and he pointed out that a couple of years ago his mother had taught him to be grateful he had a roof over his head. He had remembered that comment this year when he was tempted to feel sorry for himself. One of his friends was having trouble finding a place to live because she’s schizophrenic and at least he had a roof over his head.

I wish I had gotten Steffan a real gift and made sure he had it on Christmas Day. It probably would have meant more to me than to him, and it wouldn’t have made his mother’s ignoring him hurt any less, but I would have felt less guilty when I heard his story. I’m glad I made the effort to take him to a movie and plan to do it more often this year.

I’m going to be glad I have a roof over my head next time I’m feeling sorry for myself too.

Blessings,
Janie

The Day After Gift

2008-12-26T17:42:00.007-06:00

Christmas, like no other holiday sets up up for so much joy, or for so much room to be disappointed. There are almost always high points and low points, hopefully more of the former than the latter. This one was no exception.

Walker has generally been the easiest of my children to shop for. His list was ever expanding and negotiable, and with few exceptions, I could buy a huge pile of plastic stuff half price on Christmas Eve and he always seemed happy with whatever Santa brought. Except this year.

Walker's journey down memory lane into his childhood has had me searching on Ebay for toys that I probably threw away or sold for fifty cents in a garage sale many years ago. The only affordable “collectible” I could find in what seemed like mint condition for a toy from 1984 was a Ghostbusters Ghost Zapper. It is essentially like a flashlight with a disc that projects pictures of six ghosts on the wall of a darkened room.

When the Ghost Zapper arrived, I was pleasantly surprised at the good condition of the original box, essential to the quadruple value I had paid for the thing. The ad on Ebay had made no mention of any parts missing. You Ebay buyers and sellers out there probably know that the description of the item is a serious thing. You have to read every word, check the ratings of the seller, etc. Sellers generally describe every possible defect to avoid returns or the ever dreaded negative rating.

Walker opened his package on Christmas Eve, and was initially delighted. But a minute later, he said, “Didn’t it come with stickers?” As per the first item in the instructions, he was looking for the Ghostbusters logo decals to apply them. We looked through all the packaging materials, and indeed there were no stickers. “It’ll be okay,” he assured me. He hates to see his mama upset about anything as much as any kid I’ve ever seen. We moved on to other gifts, but the Ghostblaster was his main gift, and was ever so slightly tainted.

I wrote to the seller, who offered a small refund, which I refused and let him have a lesson on how to write a description. He offered a mild apology, but there was no way to make it right, or so I thought.

This morning, Walker proudly showed his new toy to his speech therapist, carefully enunciating “Ghostbusters” with his recently acquired “r” sound, and as I darkened the room, he demonstrated for us how it worked.

That was when I noticed that the toy now had stickers on the side and commented. A closer look revealed that they were scotch taped on. “Where did you get those,” I questioned, surprised and kind of pleased. At least I was until he told me had cut the box up to get the symbols. I guess it is okay. He’s happy, which was the whole point of the gift, and I’m not likely to auction his toy off anytime soon, but damn I wish I’d bought one without the box, but with the stickers for half the price.

I’m thankful for my inventive little guy who found a way to make his gift all that he dreamed it would be. I hope I always remember that happiness is what you make it.

Blessings,
Janie

Seven Pounds of Giving

2008-12-21T12:14:00.003-06:00

In spite of the fact that Sarah Jane had discouraged our doing so, Walker and I took a small group of close friends to see the movie Seven Pounds Friday night, mainly because she has one small but nicely done scene in it.

We all liked the movie just fine, although some of us found the story line a bit confusing and sometimes tedious, and all of us wished we had seen more of Sarah.

What I keep thinking about, though, is the Will Smith character, Ben, and the message he conveyed to the audience about organ donation.

My whole family is strongly in favor of increasing organ donation, especially after going through a living donation from my son-in-law, John, that saved our oldest grandson’s life. (For more about this go to my July and August posts.) http://onlycasualobservations.blogspot.com/2008_07_01_archive.html)

Having Will Smith make a movie about the good that can be done, especially among minority populations, by becoming an organ donor is like having a two hour public service announcement on the subject. The only difference is that we paid eight bucks for our seats instead of getting it for free on late night weekend television.

Some of the issues raised during his decision making process bothered me though. This movie had too much of one man playing God to suit me. Ben, who was obviously suicidal from the early scenes forward, carefully interviewed his prospective recipients and if they weren’t “good” people, he rejected them. Kind of like Santa, making his list and checking it twice crossing off all the naughty boys and girls.

Yes, there is a shortage of organ donors, especially for the big organs like hearts and lungs and livers that people tend to need to hang on to for their own use. It was really nice that the point was made that a living donor can donate a portion of his liver and live a healthy life.

It’s difficult for most of us to deal with the idea of a transplant list and who gets on it and when without really deciding whether they are truly going to appreciate the Gift of Life or perhaps waste it. I don’t think Ben was truly endowed with the kind of wisdom reserved only for God and the fancy computerized list that decides these things. No one man ever could be.
I hope you go see the movie and spot Sarah Jane Morris in a scene in a coffee shop with Woody Harrelson about halfway through the movie. (Don't blink or you'll miss it!) I hope you all sign your donor cards and let God do the deciding for you when the time comes.

Blessings,
Janie

Did You Know?

2008-12-19T15:41:00.002-06:00

Do any of us?

I frequently check the blog of a friend who was my priest, co-worker, advisor and friend for many years. Jerry’s most recent post recalled a song that we often hear this time of year. “Mary Did You Know?” I’m not sure when it was written, but if you’d like a great rendition of it go to http://www.gospel-disco-network.co.uk/mary%20did%20you%20know.htm

No, I never knew I’d be recommending a gospel disco network, but I am. Surprise!

If you have time, stop right now and listen to it before you go any further.

I for one, know I never knew. I never knew that I’d sit in the audience with my heart thumping when the strains of the Overture to The Nutcaracker started waiting on my daughter to star as Clara. I never knew I’d be priviledged to witness my first grandchild’s birth and my daddy’s last breath in the same year. Both were miraculous experiences. I never imagined being the mother of three wonderful daughters and one very special son. I never knew the joy or the heartache that would be involved in each at one time or another.

For those of us who have endured God’s surprises in our lives, sometimes happily, sometimes with deep grief, we have discovered that we can really never know. We never know what’s coming next or in what order or time frame. I’ll admit, that’s a real frustration for those of us who really don’t like thrill rides or surprises, but it’s just the way things are.

I’ve known parents whose children were diagnosed with mental illness in their teens, parents of newborns with various disabilities, including some that were heart wrenchingly fatal. I’ve sat in the ICU with a mother whose boyfriend caused permanent brain damage to her toddler. I’ve commiserated with relatives about their typical children’s grades and social problems. I’ve also known parents of absolute super stars in one field or another, and they never knew what to expect next either. What they all eventually discovered was that somewhere within them was the strength to make it through whatever happens with the help of their friends and family and faith.

Some days I wish I didn’t know quite so much. I’m hoping that I’ll someday learn to like surprises and thrill rides more, because I know the next turn is just ahead and it can be exciting.

Blessings,
Janie

To read Jerry Harber’s blog go to http://jharber.blogspot.com/

Did You Know?

2008-12-18T11:10:00.006-06:00

I frequently check the blog of Jerry Harber, a friend who was my pastor, co-worker, and advisor for many years. He has an ability to touch me spiritually, and that has been especially true of his Advent posts. If you’d like to read them go to http://jharber.blogspot.com/. I assure you you’ll find something to think about.

Jerry’s most recent post recalled a song that we often hear this time of year. “Mary Did You Know?” I’m not sure when it was written, but if you’d like a great rendition of it go to http://www.gospel-disco-network.co.uk/mary%20did%20you%20know.htm

No, I never knew I’d be recommending a gospel disco network, but I am. Surprise!

This song, and Jerry’s thoughts have taken me back to Sarah Palin, (remember her!) who did know, at least as much as any of us ever do, what she was to expect before her youngest son was born. She knew, and she knew in a very public forum, and she knew that she could be a good mother to him, and I’ll bet she is. Not getting to be Vice President may have come as a surprise to her, but to her credit, she handled that with the same grace she has shown through her adjustment to being a member of that fraternity that none of us wants to join, the parents of children with special needs.

For those of us who have endured God’s surprises in our lives, sometimes happily, sometimes with deep grief, we have discovered what we really never know. We never know what’s coming next or in what order. That’s a real frustration for those of us who really don’t like thrill rides or surprises.

I’ve known parents whose children were diagnosed with mental illness in their teens, parents of newborns with various disabilities, including some that were heart wrenchingly fatal, and parents of absolute super stars in one field or another. I’ve sat in the ICU with a mother whose boyfriend caused permanent brain damage to her toddler. I’ve commiserated with relatives about their children’s grades and social problems. What they all eventually discovered was that somewhere within them was the strength to make it through whatever it was with the help of their friends and relatives and their faith in some higher power.

Some days I wish I didn’t know quite so much or knew a bit more. I’m hoping that I’m learning to like surprises and thrill rides more, because I know the next turn is just ahead. What I do know, though, is that every time one of us reaches out to another, we really do kiss the face of God. That’s just the way it works.

Blessings,
Janie

A Real Gift

2008-12-16T19:55:00.005-06:00

Walker III usually puts my favorite Amy Grant Christmas CD in the car player right after Thanksgiving, but he hadn’t done it this year.

When I looked for it in the drawer with my limited collection of favorite CDs, it wasn’t there. So, I got out a John Denver instead. (He’s one of my favorites too, and I had the honor of singing in a Junior High School Choral production with him in 1958 or ‘59. He got a solo. I did not.)

When Walker came down ready for work, I asked him to load the John Denver, and whether he had seen the Amy Grant. He admitted that he had taken it to his room, but offered to go get it. We were running tight on time, so I told him it was fine, not to worry, and we rode along belting out Christmas songs with John. The next day when I cranked up my car, Amy was back in business, and I’ll probably play her until Christmas Day, mainly because I can sing along with her better than John.

I offered to let Walker have Amy back, but he told me that he saw a new collection of her greatest hits at Target, and plans to buy it if it’s not too expensive when he and Theresa go out on Friday. He is finally free to spend his money on himself again now that his Christmas gifts are bought and wrapped. (Okay, I confess…I let him shop in my gift closet for a few too.)

If the CD is too expensive, I’ll probably buy it for him anyway, in appreciation for him remembering to return mine without having to be reminded. That’s one of my favorite things about him right now, not having to be reminded, and it’s the real gift he gives me most every day. He even reminds me when necessary, which seems to become an ever more important gift every day.

Blessings,
Janie

My Magical Moon Gift

2008-12-15T02:26:00.004-06:00

Thursday night I got the duty of picking Walker up after work. It had been kind of rainy and really frigid for several days, but the air was crisp and clean again.

Just as I pulled out of my driveway, I noticed a sight I’ve never seen before, a halo around the moon. The neighbor across the street had just turned on her Christmas lights, and there were no apparent stars in the sky, just this amazing moon with what looked like a rainbow around it and the lights from her tree and wreaths. It was one of the loveliest vignettes ever. A beautiful gift, free for the enjoying.

At first, I thought what I was seeing had something to do with the car windshield, but as I turned south, I looked out of the driver’s side window, and it was still there. There was no traffic, so I pulled over and rolled down my window to make sure what I saw was real. It definitely was. By the time we got back home, the halo had kind of faded, but when I pointed it out to Walker he definitely saw it too. “Angelic,” he commented. It was.

Walker jumped right into a conversation of how my mother and Daddy and Walker’s parents will celebrate their birthdays in heaven this month. It seems to be really important to him to know that things he loves will be in the afterlife. I wonder if his guardian angel on e-bay will be able to find the things he wants for a reasonable price. Will she have a Pay Pal account? Will it withdraw from my account? Oh well, they’ll work it out, I’ m sure.

I sent a quick note to some of my neighbors not to miss it, called my husband to see if the same effect was being seen in Alabama, but my delight in the sight was blunted by the fact that I didn’t really have anyone else to share my excitement. Then last night John and Becket came by with their parents, and phenomena reappeared. All are nature geeks to a greater or lesser degree. They at least pretended some excitement, but probably tuned out my lecture about how the ice crystals make the moon look that way. They lingered long enough to admire before we settled down to Chrismas cookies and a little wrapping on the side. I was delighted to have someone to share and appreciate and pass on the word.

My best friend Google led me to several sites with photos of a moon halo for further information. None of them did justice to the one I saw, which showed more prism like colors on the outer edges, but here’s a link to one that’s close. Check it out.

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap081207.html
Maybe you’ll see an angelic moon someday. I hope so.

Blessings,
Janie

Another Gift from Jane

2008-12-11T13:59:00.004-06:00

Okay, just chalk me up as a nut case. Blame it on recent anesthesia, but this story is absolutely true, and I can’t bear not to share it.

After I wrote about Jane’s ornaments last night, and we put the last of the ornaments and finally my favorite baby's breath on the tree, I thought I was done. I had already decided to just do as much decorating as my energy allowed this year and not to worry about putting every single thing we own out on display...there's just too much. My practical side told me that I’d only have to put away all the stuff again in a couple of weeks, so it wasn’t worth it.

This morning, I got a bonus spurt of energy and began to unload another tub that I thought just had some Christmas pillows (easy enough to toss around and be done with it), but underneath the pillows, wrapped in crumpled tissue was a layer of ornaments in flimsy cardboard dividers. As I unloaded them and tried to find a spot on the already loaded tree for a few more favorites, I found another of Jane’s ornaments.

This one was painted in 1972, carefully signed and dated on the back. It’s a little red headed angel boy. I started to put it on the tree, then…I just couldn’t. I think, cross my fingers, that I managed to scan it so I can include it on my blog. (That picture is the actual ornament, not clip art!) Then I hung it from the cabinet knob above my desk.

I’m going to share it with you and ask each of you to stop and say a prayer for Geoffrey, another red headed angel, his parents and grandparents and all the others who loved him. I did and I will.

Blessings,
Janie

The Gift of Giving

2008-12-10T20:39:00.003-06:00

Is there any better feeling this time of year than driving up to your house on a cold dreary night and seeing your Christmas tree winking at you through the front windows? Maybe, but tonight I can’t think of one.

Walker and his dad got the tree up mostly without me. Even better, they did it on their own without complaining. Dad did the assembling and Walker provided the Christmas music which he always has cranked up beginning the weekend after Thanksgiving. I eventually did my share of the ornaments because I love them so. Some years we draft the rest of the family to help, mainly so I can re-tell the stories of the ornaments, but this year we just did them ourselves.

About ninety percent of my ornaments have some sort of story.

One year it seemed like my ornaments had an almost magical power over me. As I was hanging the Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat that one of my sewing students had painted for me many years before, I felt absolutely compelled to call Jane to tell her how much I still loved them. When I asked her how she had been, she replied, “Well, I’m dying.”

A few days later, I did what every good friend should do for those she cares about, I baked a pound cake and took it to her. Jane answered the door looking like she stepped out of Talbot's catalog in cute red plaid slacks and a turtleneck and a Christmas sweater, but it was obvious that she was quite ill. “Is there anything at all that I can do for you or your family?” I asked hopefully.

“Well, there is one thing, if you wouldn’t mind.... You may know… Amy is pregnant, but she’s not married. I’d like to mend some of her baby clothes you helped me make and get them ready for the baby. I don't have time or energy to make new ones. Will you help me?”

Jane gave me the opportunity to give to her. As I re-attached lace and covered a couple of pinholes with bullion roses, I knew I was giving her grandchild something that she could not. What a precious gift.

Blessings,
Janie

Gifts and Presents

2008-12-04T10:42:00.006-06:00

This year several days before my birthday I received a totally unexpected package from one of my nieces. I sent her a short e-mail letting her know that her present had arrived and that I would save it till my birthday to open. She replied with a comment that it wasn't a present, but a gift, causing me to seek more information on the difference. When I had no luck with my faithful pal Google, I wrote Rebecca again, this time asking for an explanation. I can't seem to find it right now, but it defined the difference very clearly.

A present is when someone gives you something you have asked for or put on a list. Perhaps the person is on your list from some long time connection or custom and you feel that you must come up with some sort of rememberance, whether it's the exact right thing or not. You buy it, then you "present" it.

On the other hand, a gift is usually something totally unexpected that the giver knows will please and delight you. There are no strings attached, and there is no expectation of anything in return--not even a thank you. You just give it.

Either a gift or a present is an act of love, but gifts are truly special. I think I'm going to give a lot of presents this year, but I want to also give a few gifts. I hope you do too.

Blessings,
Janie

Words

2008-12-01T15:02:00.004-06:00

I've struggled with words for the past few weeks, feeling like anything I had to say was simply inadequate. I have managed to send thank you notes to most of those who have been so kind to me, but I know in my heart they were crude expressions of much deeper feelings. I'm hoping this is a temporary condition, but who knows.

There are thoughts of thanks that didn’t even manage to turn themselves into words that made sense as we gathered on Thursday, the one day a year when we stop to give Thanks. As our family and inlaws and outlaws stood in a large circle in my den holding hands I almost spoke, but then we followed our usual custom of having the children sing.

“God our Father. God our Father. Once again, Once again. We will ask your blessing. We will ask your blessing. Ah Ah men. Ah Ah men”

My ever observant son in law, John, saw my tears before I wiped them and teased me…of course…That’s his job around here. Everyone else politely ignored them and went about serving The Best Thanksgiving Dinner Ever.

I hope my words return. I have so much to be thankful for.

Blessings,
Janie