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Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
HOBBIES
See? Even old fashioned things are still needed in people's new fashioned lives. I've had a lot of hobbies in my lifetime. Horseback riding, sitting in my favorite tree for hours on end, lying on my back in an open grassy field watching the clouds go by, counting bugs, reading, wading in the shallow creek, watching certain boys, drawing, writing lousy stories, reading lousy stories, cooking great food, perusing the Bible, wondering if Jesus just might be who he said he is, deciding he actually IS who he said HE is, reading the Bible again (but this time with conviction), and on and on it goes.
Life is never boring. Just pick something and give it your all, your heart. What matters will rise to the top and stay there. I can't go on now. The handwriting has given way to whatever is affecting me now. Just know that what is in your heart is what matters.
Hold onto it and savor it. It's yours forever.
Linda
Life is never boring. Just pick something and give it your all, your heart. What matters will rise to the top and stay there. I can't go on now. The handwriting has given way to whatever is affecting me now. Just know that what is in your heart is what matters.
Hold onto it and savor it. It's yours forever.
Linda
Monday, May 16, 2011
Together
As friendly as we Richardsons are in general, we are quite private people. Our inner, personal thoughts stay inside us. Well, not always with me so much. I let more out, through this space.
But don't go to the other three expecting much. Oh, they do feel deeply, but it's quieter than my feelings. They act fine, while the pain remains simmering inside. And that's as they prefer it. Let them be who they are. Don't prod for more. You won't get it, and will only hurt them.
I know you want to know how they're doing with my coming demise. Yet if you ask, the answer most likely to spring to their minds is, "I hate this. Life sucks. My Mom (wife) is dying. There is nothing I can do to help her. How the hell do you think I feel?" Then out loud, "Oh, I'm fine." They're not going to share their inner hearts. But they do care that you care how they are.
Steve goes from day to day caring for my most basic needs, doing everything and even more than one could consciously want done. But it's all good and appreciated. And he never gets weary or mad in front of me. But his heart is dying every day. Life without his beloved, or the thought of it's reality, is a nightmare about to come true. Don't ask him how he's doing. You have that knowledge here.
Morgan remains humorous and helpful. She lays down with me every night, rubs me, holds me, sits quietly or talks, depending... Often she simply watches me and touches me. "Don't ask me how I feel, Mom. You know." I do. I know her heart is breaking and there's no cure.
Sam had said he's stay away when this time came, but still he comes to my room every day. He still talks and laughs. He still touches the tip of my finger, a "secret" code with him and me. The thing is, he initiates it now, not just me. He looks at me more often, in the eye. I gave him my bulky silver ring, the only one that would suit a man. He took it. It's his now. When the the time is right, he'll wear it, and remember me.
And me? I'm going to soon step over into glorious joy, and not miss them. It will be heaven and one day they will be there too. My pain will be over, and someday they will be in that place too. So don't feel sad for them for too long. For awhile, yes, but we know where we are going. We are going to be together.
But don't go to the other three expecting much. Oh, they do feel deeply, but it's quieter than my feelings. They act fine, while the pain remains simmering inside. And that's as they prefer it. Let them be who they are. Don't prod for more. You won't get it, and will only hurt them.
I know you want to know how they're doing with my coming demise. Yet if you ask, the answer most likely to spring to their minds is, "I hate this. Life sucks. My Mom (wife) is dying. There is nothing I can do to help her. How the hell do you think I feel?" Then out loud, "Oh, I'm fine." They're not going to share their inner hearts. But they do care that you care how they are.
Steve goes from day to day caring for my most basic needs, doing everything and even more than one could consciously want done. But it's all good and appreciated. And he never gets weary or mad in front of me. But his heart is dying every day. Life without his beloved, or the thought of it's reality, is a nightmare about to come true. Don't ask him how he's doing. You have that knowledge here.
Morgan remains humorous and helpful. She lays down with me every night, rubs me, holds me, sits quietly or talks, depending... Often she simply watches me and touches me. "Don't ask me how I feel, Mom. You know." I do. I know her heart is breaking and there's no cure.
Sam had said he's stay away when this time came, but still he comes to my room every day. He still talks and laughs. He still touches the tip of my finger, a "secret" code with him and me. The thing is, he initiates it now, not just me. He looks at me more often, in the eye. I gave him my bulky silver ring, the only one that would suit a man. He took it. It's his now. When the the time is right, he'll wear it, and remember me.
And me? I'm going to soon step over into glorious joy, and not miss them. It will be heaven and one day they will be there too. My pain will be over, and someday they will be in that place too. So don't feel sad for them for too long. For awhile, yes, but we know where we are going. We are going to be together.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
When You Can't Get What You Want, Accept That Which God Knew You really Needed All Along.
By now I have truly no idea to whom I owe responses and answers. Sorry. I'm too confused at this point. If you're still waiting for some answer, the wait is over; if you're already tired of my too many emails, well, here's one more so just deal with it.
I was just lying here in bed awhile ago thinking about what a waste I'm making of this lazy day. Hungry (in and of itself unusual and wasteful - the shrinking stomach has no space for food) and lazy and "oh poor me" and all sorts of other whiny stuff. I really can't stand women who whine. Yet, then to become a whiner. Gak!
First, I was still in bed at 5:30 (after sleeping a full ten hours already) but no one made me go to bed at 7:30, did they? Steve, who had a normal grownup's evening was still trying to sleep, but some little finger was poking him to see if he might be almost awake, and not letting him rest. At that point the abuser's husband offered to gently rub the abuser's sore back, which was of course totally undeserved and a small miracle, but perhaps also a way to end his own torture of whine chatter. He rubbed my back, eased my pain and woke up with me.
So up we were at 6:00AM and I felt disgusting and icky. Shower time. Ha. I cannot stand alone underwater anymore. Within minutes Steve had rigged someway for him to wash my still long hair while I sit under the spray of hot, soothing water. He gently did it all while I kept my whining to a minimum. Before I knew it, I was rolled into a large warm ball of terry cloth robe and tucked under my blankets once more.
In the meantime He and Morgan had dragged a huge lounge chair from the library into our bedroom so she could sit there and read and be with me. I could be a spoiled princess having every whim catered to in my own home. How cool is that?
Should I mention that it's now 1:26PM and I still haven't seen the downstairs? This upper sanctuary is growing on me. Better check with the rest though. My little bubble could burst. They keep bringing me meds, rubbing me, soothing me, being kind to me...how long can this go on? Oh right, they love me even on days I'm a jerk, when I've conveniently forgetten how beloved they all are to me, and in the end, I'm practically healed with the love they pour over me by the bucket.
I was just lying here in bed awhile ago thinking about what a waste I'm making of this lazy day. Hungry (in and of itself unusual and wasteful - the shrinking stomach has no space for food) and lazy and "oh poor me" and all sorts of other whiny stuff. I really can't stand women who whine. Yet, then to become a whiner. Gak!
First, I was still in bed at 5:30 (after sleeping a full ten hours already) but no one made me go to bed at 7:30, did they? Steve, who had a normal grownup's evening was still trying to sleep, but some little finger was poking him to see if he might be almost awake, and not letting him rest. At that point the abuser's husband offered to gently rub the abuser's sore back, which was of course totally undeserved and a small miracle, but perhaps also a way to end his own torture of whine chatter. He rubbed my back, eased my pain and woke up with me.
So up we were at 6:00AM and I felt disgusting and icky. Shower time. Ha. I cannot stand alone underwater anymore. Within minutes Steve had rigged someway for him to wash my still long hair while I sit under the spray of hot, soothing water. He gently did it all while I kept my whining to a minimum. Before I knew it, I was rolled into a large warm ball of terry cloth robe and tucked under my blankets once more.
In the meantime He and Morgan had dragged a huge lounge chair from the library into our bedroom so she could sit there and read and be with me. I could be a spoiled princess having every whim catered to in my own home. How cool is that?
Should I mention that it's now 1:26PM and I still haven't seen the downstairs? This upper sanctuary is growing on me. Better check with the rest though. My little bubble could burst. They keep bringing me meds, rubbing me, soothing me, being kind to me...how long can this go on? Oh right, they love me even on days I'm a jerk, when I've conveniently forgetten how beloved they all are to me, and in the end, I'm practically healed with the love they pour over me by the bucket.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Wastefuly Extravagant
Do you have a rotten kid? Ever hear the story of the "Prodigal Son"? You know, the kid took his full inheritance, left, acted like a jerk and broke his father's heart, repented and crawled back begging forgiveness and acceptance, yet not necessarily expecting it. Powerful story of forgiveness and redemption.
I know a man who has several kids, and I'd say more than one could be a prodigal son (or daughter). The kids have heard all the right words, read all the truth in their occasional Bible reading, even talked about it a bit, but nope, they just don't give a crap. I say it that way, 'cause that's the way they see it. A bunch of ****. No need to repeat myself.
I really like this guy and hate for him to suffer, but I guess it's not him who suffers, is it? It's his kids who are on the outside. We can imagine - from where were are - what life is like for the kids. Either it's great and they're living life high on the hog, still enjoying that inheritance, or they're sorry and broke, wanting to come home. The thing is, it's up to them to turn back. Once we've left, we're grownup and on our own. Dad isn't likely to go out searching.
So what changes us? What do they need? From the original Prodigal son story, they need a few things. A Dad who truly loves them, but more than that, they need the brains to know when to give up and quit after they've squandered their measly inheritance. In today's age, it's rare that one can just go out and make it on their own. They need to know when to turn to someone who just might have a better plan.
So, what to do? Well, do you know what "prodigal" means? It means wastefully extravagant. It doesn't meant lost and later found. How wasteful are you? How wasteful am I?
How many sons and daughters does God - yeah dorkhead, that's our "Dad" - have who have wasted all that is given, even just most of what has been given, or just a bit of what was given. Gosh, I feel like a wasteful pig. I don't want to be prodigal. I want to be useful, and worthy. I want to be close to my Father. I want to weep at his feet and acknowledge that all I have is His. I can't make it without Him.
I know a man who has several kids, and I'd say more than one could be a prodigal son (or daughter). The kids have heard all the right words, read all the truth in their occasional Bible reading, even talked about it a bit, but nope, they just don't give a crap. I say it that way, 'cause that's the way they see it. A bunch of ****. No need to repeat myself.
I really like this guy and hate for him to suffer, but I guess it's not him who suffers, is it? It's his kids who are on the outside. We can imagine - from where were are - what life is like for the kids. Either it's great and they're living life high on the hog, still enjoying that inheritance, or they're sorry and broke, wanting to come home. The thing is, it's up to them to turn back. Once we've left, we're grownup and on our own. Dad isn't likely to go out searching.
So what changes us? What do they need? From the original Prodigal son story, they need a few things. A Dad who truly loves them, but more than that, they need the brains to know when to give up and quit after they've squandered their measly inheritance. In today's age, it's rare that one can just go out and make it on their own. They need to know when to turn to someone who just might have a better plan.
So, what to do? Well, do you know what "prodigal" means? It means wastefully extravagant. It doesn't meant lost and later found. How wasteful are you? How wasteful am I?
How many sons and daughters does God - yeah dorkhead, that's our "Dad" - have who have wasted all that is given, even just most of what has been given, or just a bit of what was given. Gosh, I feel like a wasteful pig. I don't want to be prodigal. I want to be useful, and worthy. I want to be close to my Father. I want to weep at his feet and acknowledge that all I have is His. I can't make it without Him.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
His First Time
What will never happen? Think hard. What is one thing that the person you know and love best will absolutely never do? Got it? Now imagine him/her doing it anyway, just to make you happy. Miracles do happen. Steve put in my garden. The man who has waved kindly from inside the house as I sweat and dug and planted, the man who would eat the produce, but not even pick it from the mangled weedy plot of earth...that's the man who is now in my kitchen covered in sweat from his hours out there doing what he doesn't really know how to do.
I've had to zap away my own little jealousy tentacles when I see how neat and careful his efforts have been. He has made insane efforts to prevent any weed growth in his little plot. If I were a random weed hunting for new stomping grounds, I think better of settling in Mr. Richardson's premiere plot. Surely he'd find a way to win, and I'd be toast.
Tomatoes (3), cukes (2), and peppers (2 colors) will be the glory of Steve's first garden. Even if I never live to see the produce, I am so excited at what he has done. He's even replanting some of my strawberries from last season.
I probably won't write a lot about how they do, but please inquire with Steve as to how his garden grows. Maybe, just maybe a few moments of pleasure will sneak into his new adventure. I hope so. That he's doing it for me is enough. Lord please grant him some joy in the adventure.
I've had to zap away my own little jealousy tentacles when I see how neat and careful his efforts have been. He has made insane efforts to prevent any weed growth in his little plot. If I were a random weed hunting for new stomping grounds, I think better of settling in Mr. Richardson's premiere plot. Surely he'd find a way to win, and I'd be toast.
Tomatoes (3), cukes (2), and peppers (2 colors) will be the glory of Steve's first garden. Even if I never live to see the produce, I am so excited at what he has done. He's even replanting some of my strawberries from last season.
I probably won't write a lot about how they do, but please inquire with Steve as to how his garden grows. Maybe, just maybe a few moments of pleasure will sneak into his new adventure. I hope so. That he's doing it for me is enough. Lord please grant him some joy in the adventure.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
In Your Hands Now
Okay, it was not a good beginning for me today. Within minutes of waking up, I told Steve I was praying to die within 7 days, tops. I can no longer bear this unceasing pain, this life of imprisonment in my weak and failing body. Then I cried, both through and because of the pain, the nausea, and the neverendingness of it all. So he held me and softly kissed my cheek, telling me it was okay, I was free to leave him. "Don't try to hold on for me, Honey."
Does it break his heart? Of course it does. Does he want the best for me? Yes, and death is the preferable outcome at this point. He is so strong and brave; I could not do this alone. He invariably knows what drug to give me, and when to give it. Rubbing any part of me that hurts is his specialty. Leaning over to kiss my face always comes at the most opportune times. Drinks arrive before I ask for them. Movies I love are offered before I even think of them. Steve is the other half of me. He just knows.
We almost separated twice, back in the days of youth and stupidity. And no, I cannot recall why. I only recall a half packed suitcase. That's how important it was, as in 'not.' I suspect most marriages go through that at some time. Most friendships probably do also. We love our friends, our spouses, and our families, but some days they just make us want to smack them. Putting ourselves last is the surest way to overcome those moments. Me? I can never be higher than #2 on my own list. Much lower if anyone other than Steve and I are involved. Add Morgan and Sam? I'm #4. And so it goes.
This morning I seriously thought I'd have trouble keeping my promise to Morgan, that one about not dying while she wasn't here. I was spiraling down so fast. But tonight I feel...well, not normal, but less deathy. But I also know that I can no longer take pills. They stick in my throat. I have to drink anything so slowly that thirst cannot be quenched. No solid foods, only soft ones. Today I had apple sauce, pudding, a creamsicle, a few shakes of Ensure, lots of juice, and maybe some mashed potatoes. Oh, and a bit of very soft deviled egg without the bread. It all went down. True, it totaled about 1 cup of food altogether, but I ate it.
I'm staying up late, since I want to wake up late and not have to face that horrid food thing again tomorrow. Yes, it makes me cry. I'm starving to death, but feel no hunger at all. I've been promised that I shouldn't have to suffer. Well, it's already too late for that! But I know what they mean. They'll take care of me, keep it to a minimum. Steve will do anything anything he is allowed to comfort me. You know, morphine, oxycodene, all sorts of strong drugs.
So, yes, I do want this to end. They all know. They just keep pouring on the love, doing whatever they can to bring me joy. I'll be able to wave to them that last day, seeing them smile, laugh and cry as I go away. Steve will not be whole for a long time, but he will recover and he will survive. Take care of them all for me, will you? They're in your hands now.
Does it break his heart? Of course it does. Does he want the best for me? Yes, and death is the preferable outcome at this point. He is so strong and brave; I could not do this alone. He invariably knows what drug to give me, and when to give it. Rubbing any part of me that hurts is his specialty. Leaning over to kiss my face always comes at the most opportune times. Drinks arrive before I ask for them. Movies I love are offered before I even think of them. Steve is the other half of me. He just knows.
We almost separated twice, back in the days of youth and stupidity. And no, I cannot recall why. I only recall a half packed suitcase. That's how important it was, as in 'not.' I suspect most marriages go through that at some time. Most friendships probably do also. We love our friends, our spouses, and our families, but some days they just make us want to smack them. Putting ourselves last is the surest way to overcome those moments. Me? I can never be higher than #2 on my own list. Much lower if anyone other than Steve and I are involved. Add Morgan and Sam? I'm #4. And so it goes.
This morning I seriously thought I'd have trouble keeping my promise to Morgan, that one about not dying while she wasn't here. I was spiraling down so fast. But tonight I feel...well, not normal, but less deathy. But I also know that I can no longer take pills. They stick in my throat. I have to drink anything so slowly that thirst cannot be quenched. No solid foods, only soft ones. Today I had apple sauce, pudding, a creamsicle, a few shakes of Ensure, lots of juice, and maybe some mashed potatoes. Oh, and a bit of very soft deviled egg without the bread. It all went down. True, it totaled about 1 cup of food altogether, but I ate it.
I'm staying up late, since I want to wake up late and not have to face that horrid food thing again tomorrow. Yes, it makes me cry. I'm starving to death, but feel no hunger at all. I've been promised that I shouldn't have to suffer. Well, it's already too late for that! But I know what they mean. They'll take care of me, keep it to a minimum. Steve will do anything anything he is allowed to comfort me. You know, morphine, oxycodene, all sorts of strong drugs.
So, yes, I do want this to end. They all know. They just keep pouring on the love, doing whatever they can to bring me joy. I'll be able to wave to them that last day, seeing them smile, laugh and cry as I go away. Steve will not be whole for a long time, but he will recover and he will survive. Take care of them all for me, will you? They're in your hands now.
Friday, April 29, 2011
Your Choice
I've been asked by more than one friend if I'm afraid of dying. My initial reaction is nope. In fact, I'm kind of excited about it. What an adventure it will be! And none of you have done it yet, so I win. Well, that's according to human terms where whoever is first is the winner.
You don't think that makes me a winner, do you? You don't want to die, do you? Even if you are a Believer. I've had other Believers tell me that they're not there yet, not ready to die. Too many things to still do - kids to raise, houses to fix up, jobs to complete, books to read, sins to repent of, cake to eat. They haven't quite explained to me (or themselves) how any of those things is better than being in heaven, but I won't push it. I do get it. It's just that I'm past that viewpoint.
Perhaps the daily pain and inability to do much has taken me over the edge. I have a freakin' wheelchair here now, for Pete's sake. And I have to sit on a chair to take a dang shower. Talk about feeling old - geez. I simply can't stand up very long without support. But, if you don't hate skinny, I do look good in my knit shirt and sweat pants. I look all of 95 lbs., but I look fine. And Steve asked that I not cut my hair. It's been long for 36 out of our 37 years of marriage; he wants me to be me. So I pin it up and when I see pics, it does look just fine. Remember, there's still lots of dark brown in there.
So now I'm thinking about why Believers are so afraid to die. That's interesting. Are they not really Believers? Do they doubt God can handle all they handle themselves? Do they think their loved ones will not be cared for by our loving God? Do they think they would do a better job on some things than God can? Do they doubt deep inside that all they profess to believe is actually real? Is their faith merely a cover for "being a good person"? Are you afraid? Want to tell me why?
I hesitate to go here, but my friend Christa lost her Mom to a heartbreaking early death when she was just a little girl. Was Christa's life ruined? No. Did she suffer heartache and sorrow? Of course, but her life was not ruined. I too miss her Mom, but we have to believe that God was and is still watching over her Mom. We cannot explain all things, but we can assume that God does not cause us harm. He sees the harm we do, and comforts us, but he never causes harm. I do know that God loves my friend Christa as much as He always has. And she has never been out of his sight, not for one moment. And I love her too, so there.
I'll tell you that I am stunned at how many friends and relatives have told me that they wish they could go with me. Stunned. Are they living miserable lives? No. They just want to be in heaven, and know I'm on my way.
What's that? Oh, you don't believe in the afterlife, don't believe in the salvation of Christ. Well, there's not much more I'll say on that. I've said what needed to be said. You either listened and considered, or you listened and ignored. It's your choice. I am not angry at all with how you've reacted. I'm sad, yes, but I'll also never give up on your considering it a possibility, that I am right on all this. That's free will, and you have it just like I do.
So, am I afraid? Still nope. I don't think about it a lot, because it seems somehow unfaithful to Steve, Morgan and Sam, but they too know I'm looking forward in some way to it. They might be afraid of the pain to come, but they know I'm not afraid for me. I'm just enjoying each day as much as I can - from this dang seated position! - in the meantime. We go for some short rides, watch movies, play games, talk and laugh - all the usual Richardson stuff.
I've made my choice. What will yours be?
You don't think that makes me a winner, do you? You don't want to die, do you? Even if you are a Believer. I've had other Believers tell me that they're not there yet, not ready to die. Too many things to still do - kids to raise, houses to fix up, jobs to complete, books to read, sins to repent of, cake to eat. They haven't quite explained to me (or themselves) how any of those things is better than being in heaven, but I won't push it. I do get it. It's just that I'm past that viewpoint.
Perhaps the daily pain and inability to do much has taken me over the edge. I have a freakin' wheelchair here now, for Pete's sake. And I have to sit on a chair to take a dang shower. Talk about feeling old - geez. I simply can't stand up very long without support. But, if you don't hate skinny, I do look good in my knit shirt and sweat pants. I look all of 95 lbs., but I look fine. And Steve asked that I not cut my hair. It's been long for 36 out of our 37 years of marriage; he wants me to be me. So I pin it up and when I see pics, it does look just fine. Remember, there's still lots of dark brown in there.
So now I'm thinking about why Believers are so afraid to die. That's interesting. Are they not really Believers? Do they doubt God can handle all they handle themselves? Do they think their loved ones will not be cared for by our loving God? Do they think they would do a better job on some things than God can? Do they doubt deep inside that all they profess to believe is actually real? Is their faith merely a cover for "being a good person"? Are you afraid? Want to tell me why?
I hesitate to go here, but my friend Christa lost her Mom to a heartbreaking early death when she was just a little girl. Was Christa's life ruined? No. Did she suffer heartache and sorrow? Of course, but her life was not ruined. I too miss her Mom, but we have to believe that God was and is still watching over her Mom. We cannot explain all things, but we can assume that God does not cause us harm. He sees the harm we do, and comforts us, but he never causes harm. I do know that God loves my friend Christa as much as He always has. And she has never been out of his sight, not for one moment. And I love her too, so there.
I'll tell you that I am stunned at how many friends and relatives have told me that they wish they could go with me. Stunned. Are they living miserable lives? No. They just want to be in heaven, and know I'm on my way.
What's that? Oh, you don't believe in the afterlife, don't believe in the salvation of Christ. Well, there's not much more I'll say on that. I've said what needed to be said. You either listened and considered, or you listened and ignored. It's your choice. I am not angry at all with how you've reacted. I'm sad, yes, but I'll also never give up on your considering it a possibility, that I am right on all this. That's free will, and you have it just like I do.
So, am I afraid? Still nope. I don't think about it a lot, because it seems somehow unfaithful to Steve, Morgan and Sam, but they too know I'm looking forward in some way to it. They might be afraid of the pain to come, but they know I'm not afraid for me. I'm just enjoying each day as much as I can - from this dang seated position! - in the meantime. We go for some short rides, watch movies, play games, talk and laugh - all the usual Richardson stuff.
I've made my choice. What will yours be?
Monday, April 25, 2011
Life Matters
Today was a great day. Here's why: I can no longer eat solid food, just soft stuff. I cannot wear a bra anymore, and I can barely walk ten feet without help and support. I'm seeing old friends to say final goodbyes, and haven't been to church in over a month. Also, I cannot walk down to the river anymore. So what's so great about all that?
Come on people. You know me. For starters, I never have to face another lima bean in my life, hallelujah, and no solids is the perfect legit excuse to turn down meat, thank you very much. (I live with meat lovers.) And mashed potatoes, chicken broth, pudding and shakes are just my cup of tea. So far I'm loving my current diet. I'll let you know if that changes.
Next, women, you probably get it, but men...? have you ever had to hold yourself together with fitted elastic and metal? No? I didn't think so. A tumor is growing between my ribs in the breast area and it just plain hurts there, so goodbye bras. Fitted athletic camis that I'd not be caught dead in out in public (though many females wear them to jog in, gag me) are perfect for me now. Comfortable, soft and I have them already. Pull on a tee or sweater and I'm good to go. And I look the same.
I cannot walk far, but - and I know this one is silly - I get to use a wheelchair! Steve can push me down to the river and hopefully not into it. I've got to trust him on this one. Hospice is providing one for us. Yea!
Saying goodbye to old friends means (duh) we are seeing all our old friends. Need I say more?
Not going to church is a bit tougher, but I have been able to watch two live online sermons from Morgan's church. What a delight to see how she usually worships. And we've taken the opportunity to listen to some fabulous music with it that while not of the "Christian genre" is absolutely beautiful (and probably better). Godly, maybe?
So, for some people this life might suck, but as usual, for me, it's just fine. See, you work with what you have. My beautiful sister-in-law lost three of her fingers in childhood. Still, she plays the piano, cooks, drives, sews, talks with her hands like we all do.... you know, acts normal. If she can do that, I can do this. I've lost parts of my body, most of my strength, and all of my energy. I'm in pain and have no reprieve. But I can live each day as though it still matters, because it does.
Come on people. You know me. For starters, I never have to face another lima bean in my life, hallelujah, and no solids is the perfect legit excuse to turn down meat, thank you very much. (I live with meat lovers.) And mashed potatoes, chicken broth, pudding and shakes are just my cup of tea. So far I'm loving my current diet. I'll let you know if that changes.
Next, women, you probably get it, but men...? have you ever had to hold yourself together with fitted elastic and metal? No? I didn't think so. A tumor is growing between my ribs in the breast area and it just plain hurts there, so goodbye bras. Fitted athletic camis that I'd not be caught dead in out in public (though many females wear them to jog in, gag me) are perfect for me now. Comfortable, soft and I have them already. Pull on a tee or sweater and I'm good to go. And I look the same.
I cannot walk far, but - and I know this one is silly - I get to use a wheelchair! Steve can push me down to the river and hopefully not into it. I've got to trust him on this one. Hospice is providing one for us. Yea!
Saying goodbye to old friends means (duh) we are seeing all our old friends. Need I say more?
Not going to church is a bit tougher, but I have been able to watch two live online sermons from Morgan's church. What a delight to see how she usually worships. And we've taken the opportunity to listen to some fabulous music with it that while not of the "Christian genre" is absolutely beautiful (and probably better). Godly, maybe?
So, for some people this life might suck, but as usual, for me, it's just fine. See, you work with what you have. My beautiful sister-in-law lost three of her fingers in childhood. Still, she plays the piano, cooks, drives, sews, talks with her hands like we all do.... you know, acts normal. If she can do that, I can do this. I've lost parts of my body, most of my strength, and all of my energy. I'm in pain and have no reprieve. But I can live each day as though it still matters, because it does.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Ambrosia
Never have I done two postings in one day, but never before have I had such limited time and such important news.
And this is of utmost importance. Vanilla Ensure with orange juice is my new ambrosia. Seriously. I am so sick of gagging down chocolate Ensure that I'd rather die today than have to consume it again, even if I am sorely in need of calories. So Steve tried something new, vanilla Ensure w/o.j., and it was like manna from heaven. It was like drinking an orange freeze. Bliss.
That's it. Just remember it for the day - a day far away from today - when you or someone you love has to drink Ensure to keep from wasting away. You will be a hero or heroine. Steve is. I can go on now.
And this is of utmost importance. Vanilla Ensure with orange juice is my new ambrosia. Seriously. I am so sick of gagging down chocolate Ensure that I'd rather die today than have to consume it again, even if I am sorely in need of calories. So Steve tried something new, vanilla Ensure w/o.j., and it was like manna from heaven. It was like drinking an orange freeze. Bliss.
That's it. Just remember it for the day - a day far away from today - when you or someone you love has to drink Ensure to keep from wasting away. You will be a hero or heroine. Steve is. I can go on now.
Can You Understand?
Sorry, I left you with "My Life Sucks" for a bit too long. Rough week. The sun still isn't shining, but there is hope. Tomorrow is Easter - surely by then...?
I had some great guests this week. Some people we've known for years, some we've known only a short while, but each one is a special treat to me. I tell you, everyone should have the opportunity to go through this part of leaving earth, just to see all their old friends who come to say goodbye!
It's clear a lot of people don't know what to expect upon their arrival. A gray faced woman huddled in a large chair? A pale, weak body in a home Hospice bed? Nope. What they get is plain old me, looking pretty much like I always have. You know, disheveled and gorgeous! Ha! Ha! How about disheveled and ordinary? But the fact is, I do look pretty much as I always have. Just older, like everyone else.
I thought I'd take time today to talk about Resurrection Day, since it's celebrated tomorrow. But some of you don't care about that, and those who do will read about it on your own, then hear about and celebrate it tomorrow at your churches. I will say though, if it's a "nothing" day to you, the celebration of the day Jesus was raised from the dead, then you cannot possibly know who I am, so why are you even reading this?
That is not a judgment statement. It's simply a fact. You cannot know me if you don't know Who I love most in my life. You cannot possibly fathom how I live this cancer misery with hope and great expectations. You cannot imagine why I'd be willing (even longing) to go be with Someone other than Steve, Morgan and Sam, my three dear beloveds. You cannot come close to my heart unless you are willing to give your own to the One who loves you more than you love yourself, the One who loves you in spite of all the horrid things you do every single day of your rotten life. He just loves you. It's as simple as that.
I had some great guests this week. Some people we've known for years, some we've known only a short while, but each one is a special treat to me. I tell you, everyone should have the opportunity to go through this part of leaving earth, just to see all their old friends who come to say goodbye!
It's clear a lot of people don't know what to expect upon their arrival. A gray faced woman huddled in a large chair? A pale, weak body in a home Hospice bed? Nope. What they get is plain old me, looking pretty much like I always have. You know, disheveled and gorgeous! Ha! Ha! How about disheveled and ordinary? But the fact is, I do look pretty much as I always have. Just older, like everyone else.
I thought I'd take time today to talk about Resurrection Day, since it's celebrated tomorrow. But some of you don't care about that, and those who do will read about it on your own, then hear about and celebrate it tomorrow at your churches. I will say though, if it's a "nothing" day to you, the celebration of the day Jesus was raised from the dead, then you cannot possibly know who I am, so why are you even reading this?
That is not a judgment statement. It's simply a fact. You cannot know me if you don't know Who I love most in my life. You cannot possibly fathom how I live this cancer misery with hope and great expectations. You cannot imagine why I'd be willing (even longing) to go be with Someone other than Steve, Morgan and Sam, my three dear beloveds. You cannot come close to my heart unless you are willing to give your own to the One who loves you more than you love yourself, the One who loves you in spite of all the horrid things you do every single day of your rotten life. He just loves you. It's as simple as that.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
My Life Sucks
Okay, it doesn't suck, but it's sure not that much fun right now. Wait, the sun is shining, the sky is blue, Morgan is in front of me, bits of green are popping out on the trees, the garden is planted thanks to family, Renee is here for two more days, I have a note by my bed that Sam wrote which is the only thing I'd grab if the house burned down, and my heating pad is helping my backache. Okay, life doesn't suck.
But I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a whole lot of fun, either. Now, what would be a whole lot of fun? ...........thinking............. Well, lying in my hammock would be fun, but I can do that after Steve sets it up in the back yard (and if it ever gets above 50° but apparently that's not happening this year). Yes, it's late April in MD, a southern state, and it's freakin' 50°! Whatever happened to global warming?
It would be fun to correspond with old friends from Ohio, but oh yeah, I'm doing that already. Watching old movies with Steve... on it. Praying for almost everyone I've ever met... on it. Playing on-line card games and puzzles? Not my cup of tea when I'd prefer to garden, but for someone confined to sitting quietly all day it's a great way to keep an active and usable brain, so I've grown to enjoy it. And I win!! Well, I've lost 82% of solitaire (really? solitaire!?) but let's not go there. I win everything else. Almost.
Everyone we know is coming by to see me, to say goodbye and basically check in on us. It sounds depressing, but I see it as an ongoing party. Sometimes we fix the food (and I use the term "we", meaning never me, loosely) and sometimes they bring it with them. We talk, laugh, look at old pictures, have a good time. They come over ready to cry, and leave wiping away tears of laughter. Funny how that happens. Ha ha, I win.
Oh, and I guess my life doesn't suck.
But I wouldn't go so far as to say it's a whole lot of fun, either. Now, what would be a whole lot of fun? ...........thinking............. Well, lying in my hammock would be fun, but I can do that after Steve sets it up in the back yard (and if it ever gets above 50° but apparently that's not happening this year). Yes, it's late April in MD, a southern state, and it's freakin' 50°! Whatever happened to global warming?
It would be fun to correspond with old friends from Ohio, but oh yeah, I'm doing that already. Watching old movies with Steve... on it. Praying for almost everyone I've ever met... on it. Playing on-line card games and puzzles? Not my cup of tea when I'd prefer to garden, but for someone confined to sitting quietly all day it's a great way to keep an active and usable brain, so I've grown to enjoy it. And I win!! Well, I've lost 82% of solitaire (really? solitaire!?) but let's not go there. I win everything else. Almost.
Everyone we know is coming by to see me, to say goodbye and basically check in on us. It sounds depressing, but I see it as an ongoing party. Sometimes we fix the food (and I use the term "we", meaning never me, loosely) and sometimes they bring it with them. We talk, laugh, look at old pictures, have a good time. They come over ready to cry, and leave wiping away tears of laughter. Funny how that happens. Ha ha, I win.
Oh, and I guess my life doesn't suck.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
How I See It
When things are going well, smile, throw your head back in triumph, pump your fist into the air and yell, "Yeah man, life is great!"
When life sucks, stand tall anyway, close your eyes in submission, pump your clenched fist into the air and cry out, "I hate this, but I'll get through it!"
"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider; God has made the one as well as the other." Ec.7:14:a
Aren't I godly? Sure...
I've been thinking lately about people I want to smack. Well, smack some truth into. I've thought that way too often in my life, and most people who were once in that category are now my friends. I got over myself. Still, there remain a few whom I need to "get over". It will come.
Take the woman next door who despises me. She'll figure out soon enough that my days are short, (a steady stream of floral deliveries, endless visitors, I'm invisibly not outside, Steve is home a lot...) but will she try to talk to me? Unlikely, but whether from hate or shame, I have no idea. Will she wait until I'm gone and offer sympathy to my family? I doubt they'd be thrilled with that "too little, too late" effort. Should I leave behind a note saying, "I don't hate you back and never did; I even prayed for you," so she'll know she was forgiven for her hatred of me? Maybe. Or would that make her even angrier? I have no idea. Only God knows, so perhaps He'll let me know.
There are others who were cruel to me whom I won't even name, but in my heart, I've moved way over toward forgiving their wounds against me. I mean, what's the point in holding on to pain? Most things and people who hurt me are history, long ago events that I can barely recall at this point. If they mean that little, why even go there? A small part of me would like to tell them it's okay, but knowing they are unlikely to even recall what they did or said to me, it seems pointless. God knows how I feel. It's over. I'm clean.
Frankly, my main concern is this: Would I have forgiven people if I was strong and healthy and cancer free? I sure hope so. Then again, this life of knowing I'll die is a good way to straighten out and fly right. I've said it before, this cancer probably saved my life. I promise to pray you get saved in easier ways!!
Whine time. My back is killing me. Wait, my cancer is killing me, but my back sure does hurt today. I'm tired. I'm not hungry, but I have to eat. The sky is CLOUDY again, and you know how that makes me feel. No one is here visiting, but I'm so weary, I couldn't visit anyway. Blah, blah, blah.
Oh, I have to write again to Christa and Kathy and Peggy and.... I have lots to do. Morgan is due again in a few days, and so is Renee and Don and Rodney and Zoe.... there are 5 (five!) bouquets of fresh flowers around the house, all sent from people who love us.
After writing this, I pretty much think I'm over it all. All those former "jerks" are now simply people I once knew ... human and flawed just like me. I know I'm forgiven by God; I hope I'm forgiven by anyone I hurt.
Wait, I just saw a peep of blue in the sky. "Yeah man, life is great!"
When life sucks, stand tall anyway, close your eyes in submission, pump your clenched fist into the air and cry out, "I hate this, but I'll get through it!"
"When times are good, be happy; but when times are bad, consider; God has made the one as well as the other." Ec.7:14:a
Aren't I godly? Sure...
I've been thinking lately about people I want to smack. Well, smack some truth into. I've thought that way too often in my life, and most people who were once in that category are now my friends. I got over myself. Still, there remain a few whom I need to "get over". It will come.
Take the woman next door who despises me. She'll figure out soon enough that my days are short, (a steady stream of floral deliveries, endless visitors, I'm invisibly not outside, Steve is home a lot...) but will she try to talk to me? Unlikely, but whether from hate or shame, I have no idea. Will she wait until I'm gone and offer sympathy to my family? I doubt they'd be thrilled with that "too little, too late" effort. Should I leave behind a note saying, "I don't hate you back and never did; I even prayed for you," so she'll know she was forgiven for her hatred of me? Maybe. Or would that make her even angrier? I have no idea. Only God knows, so perhaps He'll let me know.
There are others who were cruel to me whom I won't even name, but in my heart, I've moved way over toward forgiving their wounds against me. I mean, what's the point in holding on to pain? Most things and people who hurt me are history, long ago events that I can barely recall at this point. If they mean that little, why even go there? A small part of me would like to tell them it's okay, but knowing they are unlikely to even recall what they did or said to me, it seems pointless. God knows how I feel. It's over. I'm clean.
Frankly, my main concern is this: Would I have forgiven people if I was strong and healthy and cancer free? I sure hope so. Then again, this life of knowing I'll die is a good way to straighten out and fly right. I've said it before, this cancer probably saved my life. I promise to pray you get saved in easier ways!!
Whine time. My back is killing me. Wait, my cancer is killing me, but my back sure does hurt today. I'm tired. I'm not hungry, but I have to eat. The sky is CLOUDY again, and you know how that makes me feel. No one is here visiting, but I'm so weary, I couldn't visit anyway. Blah, blah, blah.
Oh, I have to write again to Christa and Kathy and Peggy and.... I have lots to do. Morgan is due again in a few days, and so is Renee and Don and Rodney and Zoe.... there are 5 (five!) bouquets of fresh flowers around the house, all sent from people who love us.
After writing this, I pretty much think I'm over it all. All those former "jerks" are now simply people I once knew ... human and flawed just like me. I know I'm forgiven by God; I hope I'm forgiven by anyone I hurt.
Wait, I just saw a peep of blue in the sky. "Yeah man, life is great!"
Monday, April 11, 2011
BROCCOLI
Broccoli is the best food God ever created.
Rich in nutrients, can't beat that.
Often, yes I'd eat it 100 times a year, if I could.
Crazy, as in my Dad would go crazy to know I eat this like candy now.
Crunchy when cold... yes, I'll eat it crunchy & cold in a salad too.
Oh my gosh, a good broccoli soup is to die for!
Let them eat cake... I want my broccoli.
Incredible that eating a green flower could bring me such pleasure.
Rich in nutrients, can't beat that.
Often, yes I'd eat it 100 times a year, if I could.
Crazy, as in my Dad would go crazy to know I eat this like candy now.
Crunchy when cold... yes, I'll eat it crunchy & cold in a salad too.
Oh my gosh, a good broccoli soup is to die for!
Let them eat cake... I want my broccoli.
Incredible that eating a green flower could bring me such pleasure.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
In The Garden
It's happening today! My garden is being renovated!
David is already here. Marilyn and Charlie arrive this morning. We've discussed some areas that need work (basically, all of it) and are working on what new things to add. First, pull the weeds, rake up dead branches and last year's leaves, then lay out our plan. My heart's pounding faster already.
Yesterday Leslie cut back all the ornamental grasses and put that pile of muck in my truck, which was a huge help. (♪ Catch that rhyme? I must be feeling good. ♪) Leslie is a brilliant, humorous, retired attorney with two teens at home who keep her life busy. We're just alike (except for the brilliance, two teens and retired attorney part - and did I mention she is cute and blond? Okay so we're polar opposites) in that we like to do yard clean up work so we can not think about what we're doing. Just do it and breathe, ponder, pray, and enjoy. I rather think she had a good time. Looked like it anyway, and now my truck bed is full to brimming with dump destiny in mind.
I've been online to peruse my options for new plants, but no decisions yet. David worked with our Dad more than I did, and the others will have ideas too. No matter what they plant, it will be more than I could have done on my own. And they'll have fun too. It's doubtful they can finish this all in one day, but it will be a start.
That's what gardening is... start small, let it grow. Trust God to take the seeds, the seedlings, the earth He gave us, and simply do His thing. It's part of why I love to garden. It's like magic. That which I plant is so unlike that which adorns my garden weeks and months later. Smelling the soil when it's damp (not muddy), feeling the earth between my fingers, pulling a weed shoot so gently as it (roots and all) slips out of it's base... it all connects me. I am still a gardener, even when others have to do it for me.
Soon I'll be the plant, replanted in another place, and I wonder what type of beauty I'll be then. Surely, God will make me beautiful, at least to Him.
David is already here. Marilyn and Charlie arrive this morning. We've discussed some areas that need work (basically, all of it) and are working on what new things to add. First, pull the weeds, rake up dead branches and last year's leaves, then lay out our plan. My heart's pounding faster already.
Yesterday Leslie cut back all the ornamental grasses and put that pile of muck in my truck, which was a huge help. (♪ Catch that rhyme? I must be feeling good. ♪) Leslie is a brilliant, humorous, retired attorney with two teens at home who keep her life busy. We're just alike (except for the brilliance, two teens and retired attorney part - and did I mention she is cute and blond? Okay so we're polar opposites) in that we like to do yard clean up work so we can not think about what we're doing. Just do it and breathe, ponder, pray, and enjoy. I rather think she had a good time. Looked like it anyway, and now my truck bed is full to brimming with dump destiny in mind.
I've been online to peruse my options for new plants, but no decisions yet. David worked with our Dad more than I did, and the others will have ideas too. No matter what they plant, it will be more than I could have done on my own. And they'll have fun too. It's doubtful they can finish this all in one day, but it will be a start.
That's what gardening is... start small, let it grow. Trust God to take the seeds, the seedlings, the earth He gave us, and simply do His thing. It's part of why I love to garden. It's like magic. That which I plant is so unlike that which adorns my garden weeks and months later. Smelling the soil when it's damp (not muddy), feeling the earth between my fingers, pulling a weed shoot so gently as it (roots and all) slips out of it's base... it all connects me. I am still a gardener, even when others have to do it for me.
Soon I'll be the plant, replanted in another place, and I wonder what type of beauty I'll be then. Surely, God will make me beautiful, at least to Him.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Growing New Life
It's warm outside and I'm not freezing. I've been freezing for months, even on not very cold days. I even walked around the yard today (without a jacket!) with my brother, looking at all the work that needs to be done. I was wondering who was going to do it, since I'm lucky to walk ten feet at a time these days.
Then I remembered my two best friends, Nan and Leslie. They garden! And, they live a ten minute walk or a one minute drive away. Woo hoo! On top of that, my sister, brother-in-law, and brother are due this week (one is already here) and they plan to do the Lyons thing and put in a garden for the slug, meaning me.
Dave will help me figure out what I want to plant - he knows nursery stock better than I do, then he and the others will do the hard part for me. I'm so excited. Keep in mind that Steve, Morgan and Sam would rather eat an uncooked toad than work in the yard. Somehow I gave birth to two people who have none of my gardener's blood in their veins, and married one who thinks people were born to be inside, not out. Geez.
So, I'm excited to be planning this garden, happy to have people who love me who are willing to do the hard work, and content to know I'll get to see the labor of their love while I'm still here. The whole area is currently a mess, full of weeds, glop and other "ignored garden" stuff. But I can see it. It looks beautiful to me already. I just want it to bring some joy and pleasure into Steve's life once I'm gone. A garden is such an extension of who I am. I think it will matter; I know he will love to sit in it and remember.
Then I remembered my two best friends, Nan and Leslie. They garden! And, they live a ten minute walk or a one minute drive away. Woo hoo! On top of that, my sister, brother-in-law, and brother are due this week (one is already here) and they plan to do the Lyons thing and put in a garden for the slug, meaning me.
Dave will help me figure out what I want to plant - he knows nursery stock better than I do, then he and the others will do the hard part for me. I'm so excited. Keep in mind that Steve, Morgan and Sam would rather eat an uncooked toad than work in the yard. Somehow I gave birth to two people who have none of my gardener's blood in their veins, and married one who thinks people were born to be inside, not out. Geez.
So, I'm excited to be planning this garden, happy to have people who love me who are willing to do the hard work, and content to know I'll get to see the labor of their love while I'm still here. The whole area is currently a mess, full of weeds, glop and other "ignored garden" stuff. But I can see it. It looks beautiful to me already. I just want it to bring some joy and pleasure into Steve's life once I'm gone. A garden is such an extension of who I am. I think it will matter; I know he will love to sit in it and remember.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Beautiful Reneé
I called my sister yesterday to discuss some difficult family news. Today I sent her a note with a more upbeat focus, and for some weird reason I ended it with "Happy March 29." I paused to look at that date and thought it looked odd. Then it hit me: Her birthday is March 28th! I'd called her yesterday and made her cry on her birthday! I'm such a jerk. Not that I told her bad news, but that I did it on her birthday without a word of acknowledgment. I'm such a thoughtless pig. Sorry, Honey.
She's actually not my birth sister, but sister-in-law sounds so formal, so cumbersome, so distant. But she's my sister all the same. Reneé is such an elegant beauty. I'd look up to her anyway, but she literally towers six inches over me. When we met, she had gorgeous, straight black hair. Now it's pure white, whiter than mine. Guess that's part of being a true Lyons. We all got that preemie white. Except she still looks only 40, even though she no longer has 4's in her age. Her white hair is stylishly cool and awesome. It's her crown of glory.
Reneé stands regally at 5'10" and moves like a dancer. She flows. Reneé gave birth seven times, and all the "kids" tower over me too. Well, I suppose the 11 year old still looks me level in the eye, but it's been awhile... who knows?
Reneé is now, and forever will be one of my dearest friends. We live over 1000 miles apart and have little time together, but it's there. That connection. We can walk into a room after months and months apart and pick up the conversation without missing a beat. We know the buttons to push, the buttons to never push. She saw me through my cancer 11 years ago. I was with her through her own son's cancer and passing. She'll be with me when the day comes for my own final call.
Reneé is my sister, my friend. I love her completely. And missing her birthday will be forgiven, I'm sure, because she loves me too.
She's actually not my birth sister, but sister-in-law sounds so formal, so cumbersome, so distant. But she's my sister all the same. Reneé is such an elegant beauty. I'd look up to her anyway, but she literally towers six inches over me. When we met, she had gorgeous, straight black hair. Now it's pure white, whiter than mine. Guess that's part of being a true Lyons. We all got that preemie white. Except she still looks only 40, even though she no longer has 4's in her age. Her white hair is stylishly cool and awesome. It's her crown of glory.
Reneé stands regally at 5'10" and moves like a dancer. She flows. Reneé gave birth seven times, and all the "kids" tower over me too. Well, I suppose the 11 year old still looks me level in the eye, but it's been awhile... who knows?
Reneé is now, and forever will be one of my dearest friends. We live over 1000 miles apart and have little time together, but it's there. That connection. We can walk into a room after months and months apart and pick up the conversation without missing a beat. We know the buttons to push, the buttons to never push. She saw me through my cancer 11 years ago. I was with her through her own son's cancer and passing. She'll be with me when the day comes for my own final call.
Reneé is my sister, my friend. I love her completely. And missing her birthday will be forgiven, I'm sure, because she loves me too.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Jesus Was a Jew
The Catholic church was started by a Jew. Seriously. Peter was a Jew and he started what became the Catholic Church.
Jesus was a Jew. His Mom, Mary was a Jew. All his disciples were Jews. His brothers and sister(s) were Jews. His earthly Dad, Joseph was a Jew. The earliest Believers who believed Jesus to be the Messiah and followed Peter's and Paul's ministries were (mostly) Jews. After some time passed, Gentiles were allowed to join them in worshiping the Christ.
So what happened? Why don't Jewish people follow Jesus anymore? Well, some do, we know that, but not on the whole. I'm not going to give a history lesson here. Better that would come from a Biblical historian, not me.
Just remember that Jesus mainly ministered to Jews while He was here. He did not minister among the Gentiles. I don't have real far to go with this train of thought today. It would just be nice if we looked around and remembered that the Jews in our neighborhoods, at our jobs, in our lives, are of the same blood line as our Lord. They are His chosen people. And he's not finished with their story yet. You can read that in the Bible.
Jesus was a Jew. His Mom, Mary was a Jew. All his disciples were Jews. His brothers and sister(s) were Jews. His earthly Dad, Joseph was a Jew. The earliest Believers who believed Jesus to be the Messiah and followed Peter's and Paul's ministries were (mostly) Jews. After some time passed, Gentiles were allowed to join them in worshiping the Christ.
So what happened? Why don't Jewish people follow Jesus anymore? Well, some do, we know that, but not on the whole. I'm not going to give a history lesson here. Better that would come from a Biblical historian, not me.
Just remember that Jesus mainly ministered to Jews while He was here. He did not minister among the Gentiles. I don't have real far to go with this train of thought today. It would just be nice if we looked around and remembered that the Jews in our neighborhoods, at our jobs, in our lives, are of the same blood line as our Lord. They are His chosen people. And he's not finished with their story yet. You can read that in the Bible.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
GOOD NIGHT - BAD DAY
Well, it's reversed itself. After sleeping soundly all night, (from 7pm to 7am) I'm "up". Except I'm really down. Down as in I'm depressed and feel like crap. This could be a cold, though I don't really feel ill. Or it could be the cancer. Steve refused to go to work until I promised him I'd not die today. He didn't think that was funny. In fact, I think he's calling hospice. They have my name and number...waiting for the day they're needed.
All I know is that merely standing up for five seconds is too hard and I don't have the strength to get dressed. I'm wearing a pull over cap because my hair is, well... ugly, and taking a shower just might kill me. I can imagine that a powerful blast of water (otherwise known as a trickle) might just knock me flat. Seriously, I couldn't handle a puff of air right now.
I know God loves me, but He's not cooperating. He knows how I suffer on cloudy days, and this one is a dark misery of dreariness. My SADD lamp is glowing nearby; perhaps it will lift me up.
This morning I remembered where I was last November. 48 hours from hospice I agreed to surgery, then suddenly I had months (maybe) to live. What has this extra extra five months given me? Aside from more time with Steve, Morgan and Sam, I mean.
Well, I've developed a friendship with Christa, renewed an old acquaintance with Larry, finished my book about Sam, spent more time with friends, gotten to know Kathy and Peggy who live on the other side of the world, cleaned up some of my garden, reconnected with our old friend Beth, talked with Teri after 42 yrs. of silence, seen a few nieces and nephews who live so far away, and simply lived. It's been worth it.
Old friends are due in from FL in two days. I hope I can handle that. If not, I can lie on the couch and we'll tell jokes. Pat is one hilarious woman, and it will be good to see her.
All I know is that merely standing up for five seconds is too hard and I don't have the strength to get dressed. I'm wearing a pull over cap because my hair is, well... ugly, and taking a shower just might kill me. I can imagine that a powerful blast of water (otherwise known as a trickle) might just knock me flat. Seriously, I couldn't handle a puff of air right now.
I know God loves me, but He's not cooperating. He knows how I suffer on cloudy days, and this one is a dark misery of dreariness. My SADD lamp is glowing nearby; perhaps it will lift me up.
This morning I remembered where I was last November. 48 hours from hospice I agreed to surgery, then suddenly I had months (maybe) to live. What has this extra extra five months given me? Aside from more time with Steve, Morgan and Sam, I mean.
Well, I've developed a friendship with Christa, renewed an old acquaintance with Larry, finished my book about Sam, spent more time with friends, gotten to know Kathy and Peggy who live on the other side of the world, cleaned up some of my garden, reconnected with our old friend Beth, talked with Teri after 42 yrs. of silence, seen a few nieces and nephews who live so far away, and simply lived. It's been worth it.
Old friends are due in from FL in two days. I hope I can handle that. If not, I can lie on the couch and we'll tell jokes. Pat is one hilarious woman, and it will be good to see her.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
BAD NIGHT - GOOD DAY
Yesterday was the best day of my life. Well, since last November. I woke up with NO pain, feeling energized and thinking, "Wait, was the past four months just a bad dream?" I was so busy and not hurting that I thought I'd morphed into another person. It was unbelievable. I took no pain killers, yet worked all day and felt good all day. Wow.
Then I went to bed last night. Thus, the dream ended. Linda the cancer patient with ongoing pain was back. I barely slept, woke up on and off all night in agony, and could barely move this morning, my heating pad and hot water bottle still on and under me. I felt so "old lady". By this afternoon I had done...well, nothing of any importance.
This afternoon I went out to run a couple necessary errands, telling Sam I'd be back in about 15 minutes. And before I knew what hit me, Linda the contented was back.
June at the bank told me how she loved helping Sam recently to set up some bonds. She adores him and helps him in any way she can. My work there took only moments, but the 15 minute visit was quite uplifting. My needy, handicapped, brilliant son is able to do so much more than I know. People adore him. So do I. Yes, my Asperger's son who talks to basically no one, told her about his plans for writing, made her laugh, and left her glad she'd seen him. He was... normal.
I then ran down to the library to pick up a reserved book for Steve and order a couple Anne Lamott books for myself. While there, I saw a former customer. She noticed me and we stood talking for half an hour. What a joy to see this woman after so long. She thought I looked great (yeah, stage 4 cancer is quite becoming) and wondered if I was well. Um... actually, I did feel okay at that moment. Hm, I actually felt rather decent. Whodathunk?
Laughing, I told her about the Nov. surgery, my life expectancy, my ongoing pain, my weakness, and my basically weird "I'm not dead yet" life. She said, "Well, you look healthy and sound great." And I believed her. She even asked questions about where I go to church, and since we were standing a short walk from the one we attend, I pointed it out. She indicated she's been thinking about trying one. What?! I go from being mostly dead to talking to people about going to church? Life is so weird.
Then I got gas for Sam's car, which I had borrowed, and came home. I was gone a whole hour. What?! I only went 6 miles! But I realized there are people I never see who do care, that Sam is not a little boy who needs me every day, that bad nights can lead to very good days.
That Sam scolded me for an hour upon my return for putting dental floss in his bathroom (don't even ask) is immaterial. He and his Dad are now moving small furniture out of the bedrooms into the library. New carpeting is being installed tomorrow. On life goes.
Then I went to bed last night. Thus, the dream ended. Linda the cancer patient with ongoing pain was back. I barely slept, woke up on and off all night in agony, and could barely move this morning, my heating pad and hot water bottle still on and under me. I felt so "old lady". By this afternoon I had done...well, nothing of any importance.
This afternoon I went out to run a couple necessary errands, telling Sam I'd be back in about 15 minutes. And before I knew what hit me, Linda the contented was back.
June at the bank told me how she loved helping Sam recently to set up some bonds. She adores him and helps him in any way she can. My work there took only moments, but the 15 minute visit was quite uplifting. My needy, handicapped, brilliant son is able to do so much more than I know. People adore him. So do I. Yes, my Asperger's son who talks to basically no one, told her about his plans for writing, made her laugh, and left her glad she'd seen him. He was... normal.
I then ran down to the library to pick up a reserved book for Steve and order a couple Anne Lamott books for myself. While there, I saw a former customer. She noticed me and we stood talking for half an hour. What a joy to see this woman after so long. She thought I looked great (yeah, stage 4 cancer is quite becoming) and wondered if I was well. Um... actually, I did feel okay at that moment. Hm, I actually felt rather decent. Whodathunk?
Laughing, I told her about the Nov. surgery, my life expectancy, my ongoing pain, my weakness, and my basically weird "I'm not dead yet" life. She said, "Well, you look healthy and sound great." And I believed her. She even asked questions about where I go to church, and since we were standing a short walk from the one we attend, I pointed it out. She indicated she's been thinking about trying one. What?! I go from being mostly dead to talking to people about going to church? Life is so weird.
Then I got gas for Sam's car, which I had borrowed, and came home. I was gone a whole hour. What?! I only went 6 miles! But I realized there are people I never see who do care, that Sam is not a little boy who needs me every day, that bad nights can lead to very good days.
That Sam scolded me for an hour upon my return for putting dental floss in his bathroom (don't even ask) is immaterial. He and his Dad are now moving small furniture out of the bedrooms into the library. New carpeting is being installed tomorrow. On life goes.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
SWINGIN'
Today I'm wearing a ponytail. I'm 60 and wearing a ponytail. Is that stupid? I don't think I look all that stupid. I'd estimate it's been over 20 years since I wore one. Oh, I pin it back into something somedays, but not one of those cheerleader type tails. This one swings. Cool.
I'm also drinking Ensure, and did glimpse some old woman in the mirror where I should have been, so there's no chance of actually feeling sprightly or young.
In fact, this week I feel so dang old that I could just lie down and cry. So weary, so sore, so tired of being ME. How long am I going to waste my time regretting the Nov. surgery, anyway? It's OVER, so get past it, Linda. Oh yeah, and you'd have died without it. Move on.
But there is this: I'm writing to an old friend on the West coast. How fun to reconnect with someone I'd not seen in over 20 years. Such sweet memories. And I still have the ongoing correspondence with a few "renewed" friends who live in "my" corner of Ohio. And I'm writing about "who I am" to a past friend's daughter whom I've grown to love in her own right. And there is the old friend in CO, and another in FL. And on it goes. Being "old" is so much fuller than being 16 and cute.
Well, assuming I was ever cute.
It takes a lot to be old. A lot of something I didn't think I had. Apparently, I do. The irony is that one cannot appreciate it until one is old oneself. In some ways, this is really hard work. In others, it's so much easier now. We get smarter, we get wiser. Those are not the same things, by the way. Young people can be smart. Old people are the only ones who can claim wisdom. Life leads to wisdom, if lived right.
It might be harder to climb the stairs, but it is easier to live with pain. It's harder to finish my chores, but it's easier to ignore things that don't matter. It's harder to remember everyone's name, but it's easier to talk to the ones who do matter. Shy? Not anymore. Afraid? Nope. Encouraged? Daily.
I think I'll shake my head a bit. Just to feel the swing.
I'm also drinking Ensure, and did glimpse some old woman in the mirror where I should have been, so there's no chance of actually feeling sprightly or young.
In fact, this week I feel so dang old that I could just lie down and cry. So weary, so sore, so tired of being ME. How long am I going to waste my time regretting the Nov. surgery, anyway? It's OVER, so get past it, Linda. Oh yeah, and you'd have died without it. Move on.
But there is this: I'm writing to an old friend on the West coast. How fun to reconnect with someone I'd not seen in over 20 years. Such sweet memories. And I still have the ongoing correspondence with a few "renewed" friends who live in "my" corner of Ohio. And I'm writing about "who I am" to a past friend's daughter whom I've grown to love in her own right. And there is the old friend in CO, and another in FL. And on it goes. Being "old" is so much fuller than being 16 and cute.
Well, assuming I was ever cute.
It takes a lot to be old. A lot of something I didn't think I had. Apparently, I do. The irony is that one cannot appreciate it until one is old oneself. In some ways, this is really hard work. In others, it's so much easier now. We get smarter, we get wiser. Those are not the same things, by the way. Young people can be smart. Old people are the only ones who can claim wisdom. Life leads to wisdom, if lived right.
It might be harder to climb the stairs, but it is easier to live with pain. It's harder to finish my chores, but it's easier to ignore things that don't matter. It's harder to remember everyone's name, but it's easier to talk to the ones who do matter. Shy? Not anymore. Afraid? Nope. Encouraged? Daily.
I think I'll shake my head a bit. Just to feel the swing.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Go Pirates!
Well, for crying out loud. Not the most fun thing to do, but when it makes me feel better, it's good. I got a package today. It contained a sweatshirt. A red one. A Perry Pirates sweatshirt. And it made me cry.
See, I was a Perry Pirates cheerleader for 6 years from 7th through 12th grade. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine wearing a school symbol some 42 years after graduation. But here I sit in my Pirates shirt. And I feel great.
Some of my blog readers are people who went to my high school. Over the past couple years, we have begun to correspond a bit, sharing thoughts, stories, memories, photos, and concerns. I don't recall how we even reconnected, but it's been so nice to "talk" with men and women who know me - or rather, knew me in my formative years - knew me as a teenager, not as a woman.
I've prayed for them, suffered with them in spirit over their losses, laughed at their humorous stories, praised God for their joys, enjoyed getting to know them as adults. And now this. That they would join together on my behalf to send me this remembrance... well, I don't know how to respond. It's unlikely I'll ever see most (or any?) of them again. Ohio is far away, and my travel is limited with health issues. But they are still beside me. I can see their young faces, although we all look different now. I look at their pictures, and in moments they grow younger before me.
Rick, Charon, Linda, Teri, Jerome, and outside of Ohio are Bruce and Ken. I know them; you don't have to. They all matter to me. Thank you my friends, whether you were in on the gift or not. Thank you for being here for me when I've needed you. Go Pirates!
See, I was a Perry Pirates cheerleader for 6 years from 7th through 12th grade. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine wearing a school symbol some 42 years after graduation. But here I sit in my Pirates shirt. And I feel great.
Some of my blog readers are people who went to my high school. Over the past couple years, we have begun to correspond a bit, sharing thoughts, stories, memories, photos, and concerns. I don't recall how we even reconnected, but it's been so nice to "talk" with men and women who know me - or rather, knew me in my formative years - knew me as a teenager, not as a woman.
I've prayed for them, suffered with them in spirit over their losses, laughed at their humorous stories, praised God for their joys, enjoyed getting to know them as adults. And now this. That they would join together on my behalf to send me this remembrance... well, I don't know how to respond. It's unlikely I'll ever see most (or any?) of them again. Ohio is far away, and my travel is limited with health issues. But they are still beside me. I can see their young faces, although we all look different now. I look at their pictures, and in moments they grow younger before me.
Rick, Charon, Linda, Teri, Jerome, and outside of Ohio are Bruce and Ken. I know them; you don't have to. They all matter to me. Thank you my friends, whether you were in on the gift or not. Thank you for being here for me when I've needed you. Go Pirates!
Friday, March 4, 2011
Mustang Linda
While in college at the age of 21, I owned a gold Mustang. It eventually developed body damage caused so many Ohio winters with salt on the roads. A section by the rear door simply rusted through. So, not having anything better to do, I decided to fix it. "Linda's Body Work Inc." I just looked up directions, bought the fiberglass, paint and adherent, then went to work. I clearly recall working on it in the parking lot outside my apartment, feeling so proud of myself. When I later showed my Dad my now "scar-less" car, he just looked at me, speechless. I'm not sure he ever actually believed I did it myself. But I did.
A couple years later, my battery went dead. You know batteries, those complicated boxes that are buried amongst the masses of technical, well... "things" under a car hood. Now, back in the early 70's in pre-emissions days, batteries could still actually be seen under the hood, and owners could fix them. So once again I looked up instructions, and did it myself. I recall a roommate's boyfriend walked by and stopped while I worked, speechless that this female would even try it. Car worked great after that. And that guy started to be nicer to me too. Treated me with new respect.
I had a flat tire one day during a trip to Ohio. Stopped the car, got out my jack and began to change the tire. Moments later a man stopped to help me. "No thanks, I'm fine." But his maleness couldn't let it go, so I finally let him finish. He'd have been crushed otherwise. Men.
Today I went out to help Sam install new wiper blades and add wiper fluid to his empty tank. He opened the hood, found the tank, poured the fluid. I watched. And on the blades, well, they're still sitting on the hood. Have been for over an hour. I can't make out the instructions and neither can he.
Of all the listed repairs, the blades surely have to be the easiest fix. Criminy. I'm losing it. But to be honest, no way could I still do auto body repairs, install a battery, or change a tire. Some things just have to go by the wayside. That I can still cook noodles will have to be enough.
Man, I loved that Mustang.
A couple years later, my battery went dead. You know batteries, those complicated boxes that are buried amongst the masses of technical, well... "things" under a car hood. Now, back in the early 70's in pre-emissions days, batteries could still actually be seen under the hood, and owners could fix them. So once again I looked up instructions, and did it myself. I recall a roommate's boyfriend walked by and stopped while I worked, speechless that this female would even try it. Car worked great after that. And that guy started to be nicer to me too. Treated me with new respect.
I had a flat tire one day during a trip to Ohio. Stopped the car, got out my jack and began to change the tire. Moments later a man stopped to help me. "No thanks, I'm fine." But his maleness couldn't let it go, so I finally let him finish. He'd have been crushed otherwise. Men.
Today I went out to help Sam install new wiper blades and add wiper fluid to his empty tank. He opened the hood, found the tank, poured the fluid. I watched. And on the blades, well, they're still sitting on the hood. Have been for over an hour. I can't make out the instructions and neither can he.
Of all the listed repairs, the blades surely have to be the easiest fix. Criminy. I'm losing it. But to be honest, no way could I still do auto body repairs, install a battery, or change a tire. Some things just have to go by the wayside. That I can still cook noodles will have to be enough.
Man, I loved that Mustang.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Oh Grow Up
The best thing to happen on mornings when I'm feeling lethargic is for me to read something that really pisses me off!
I try to not be arrogant, but perhaps if I was more idiotic it would be easier. Fact is, I'm at least average, and according to my educational experience and life itself, a fair amount above that. Brilliant I am not. However I read, something only 58% of Americans do. Sad, but true.
There are currently groups in ten states that are seriously so damn dumb that they're still trying to find out if President Obama is an American. Really? Most of them are Southern and rural (no surprise) but Connecticut and Maine? Unbelievable. First of all, his entire family of highly successful, highly educated people say he was born in America to an American, just as they were. Why are they doubted? Oh yeah, they're African American, still seen by these idiots as "second class citizens" who probably lie. Second, Hawaii has already shown documentation on numerous occasions that Obama was born there. No other candidate - ever - has had to prove citizenship. Third, if Obama was white this never would be an issue. Never.
Oh, and it might interest people to know that former Presidential candidate John McCain was NOT born in the USA. He was born in 1936 in Panama. That's not the USA, but for a candidate it's legal because it was on a military base. So being Black and born in Hawaii is out, but being born on a base in Central America is fine, as long as you're white. Oh gag me. Could it BE any more stupid? any more racist?
It is actually worse when people don't take a hard stand on this, but instead say, "Well, I'm not saying he's not qualified, but we should at least look into it." BULL! Wimps! That is damn well exactly what they're saying - He's not a citizen! Look into it! Idiots. (Michelle Bachmann, et al) It's already been "looked into" for over 2 years. Drop it already. In my entire life I've never seen such hatred for a president, all based on his race. I suppose it's no surprise. Many people still think Blacks cannot possibly be as smart as whites. Which simply proves that whites are very good at being idiots all by themselves.
I feel calmer now. I hate politics. Well, I'm not lethargic anymore.
I try to not be arrogant, but perhaps if I was more idiotic it would be easier. Fact is, I'm at least average, and according to my educational experience and life itself, a fair amount above that. Brilliant I am not. However I read, something only 58% of Americans do. Sad, but true.
There are currently groups in ten states that are seriously so damn dumb that they're still trying to find out if President Obama is an American. Really? Most of them are Southern and rural (no surprise) but Connecticut and Maine? Unbelievable. First of all, his entire family of highly successful, highly educated people say he was born in America to an American, just as they were. Why are they doubted? Oh yeah, they're African American, still seen by these idiots as "second class citizens" who probably lie. Second, Hawaii has already shown documentation on numerous occasions that Obama was born there. No other candidate - ever - has had to prove citizenship. Third, if Obama was white this never would be an issue. Never.
Oh, and it might interest people to know that former Presidential candidate John McCain was NOT born in the USA. He was born in 1936 in Panama. That's not the USA, but for a candidate it's legal because it was on a military base. So being Black and born in Hawaii is out, but being born on a base in Central America is fine, as long as you're white. Oh gag me. Could it BE any more stupid? any more racist?
It is actually worse when people don't take a hard stand on this, but instead say, "Well, I'm not saying he's not qualified, but we should at least look into it." BULL! Wimps! That is damn well exactly what they're saying - He's not a citizen! Look into it! Idiots. (Michelle Bachmann, et al) It's already been "looked into" for over 2 years. Drop it already. In my entire life I've never seen such hatred for a president, all based on his race. I suppose it's no surprise. Many people still think Blacks cannot possibly be as smart as whites. Which simply proves that whites are very good at being idiots all by themselves.
I feel calmer now. I hate politics. Well, I'm not lethargic anymore.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Abnormal
Hey! What's going on? I feel normal. And that's not normal. I'm not in pain. I am a bit hungry. I'm not depressed, and I have stuff to do. Nothing about that list is normal, not lately anyway.
I met a friend in Bowie today, a 60 minute round-trip. Before I left, I thought, "Oh, it's so far, but I'll make it. I won't complain...(poor me).... Why couldn't she just come here...(poor me)?" But once I arrived, it seemed like nothing at all, and I didn't pass out from weariness. Hm.
I even stopped at a nearby shop before returning home - something I never do anymore, since shopping is oh, so hard! I bought a new cutting board to replace the one I ruined with a hot pan. I ran a real live errand. Hm.
Yesterday I mailed a standard form to a publisher in England. I'm trying to find one to take on my book about Sam, about Asperger's. Why an English publisher? Well, I had the name, so why not? And, they published some books about Asperger's already, so again, why not? I figured I'd hear back in a month or so. Well, wrong again. They replied within 12 hours. They want to read more of my draft. Hm.
I usually read about five books a year, tops. I'm now reading "Kidnapped" by Robert Louis Stevenson. It's the sixth book I've read in the past six weeks, most being classics that I managed to never read while in school. Plus, some history books, including one by Sarah Vowell, a brilliant woman. I'm hoping my daughter, an English teacher, will be proud of me. Another Mark Twain classic is waiting nearby. Hm.
I saw my oncologist yesterday. I have stage 4 cancer, no drugs left to help me, and the tumor is growing. He says I look like I don't have cancer at all, and frankly, I feel okay (if you don't count "old".) What the heck? I was supposed to be in hospice by now. But I'm fixing dinner, cleaning the house (a miracle in and of itself),writing letters, talking to friends, and planning to have our carpets all redone. When does the "dying" part begin? Hm.
This life is sure not what I thought it would be. Anymore it seems so... abnormal. But my normals were getting so horrid. Abnormal is just fine. Thank God.
I met a friend in Bowie today, a 60 minute round-trip. Before I left, I thought, "Oh, it's so far, but I'll make it. I won't complain...(poor me).... Why couldn't she just come here...(poor me)?" But once I arrived, it seemed like nothing at all, and I didn't pass out from weariness. Hm.
I even stopped at a nearby shop before returning home - something I never do anymore, since shopping is oh, so hard! I bought a new cutting board to replace the one I ruined with a hot pan. I ran a real live errand. Hm.
Yesterday I mailed a standard form to a publisher in England. I'm trying to find one to take on my book about Sam, about Asperger's. Why an English publisher? Well, I had the name, so why not? And, they published some books about Asperger's already, so again, why not? I figured I'd hear back in a month or so. Well, wrong again. They replied within 12 hours. They want to read more of my draft. Hm.
I usually read about five books a year, tops. I'm now reading "Kidnapped" by Robert Louis Stevenson. It's the sixth book I've read in the past six weeks, most being classics that I managed to never read while in school. Plus, some history books, including one by Sarah Vowell, a brilliant woman. I'm hoping my daughter, an English teacher, will be proud of me. Another Mark Twain classic is waiting nearby. Hm.
I saw my oncologist yesterday. I have stage 4 cancer, no drugs left to help me, and the tumor is growing. He says I look like I don't have cancer at all, and frankly, I feel okay (if you don't count "old".) What the heck? I was supposed to be in hospice by now. But I'm fixing dinner, cleaning the house (a miracle in and of itself),writing letters, talking to friends, and planning to have our carpets all redone. When does the "dying" part begin? Hm.
This life is sure not what I thought it would be. Anymore it seems so... abnormal. But my normals were getting so horrid. Abnormal is just fine. Thank God.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Weeds for My Dad
Weeds. Do you love them as much as I do? Probably not.
I hated weeds as a kid. Dad (a nurseryman) would have us kids go out to the fields and pull and hoe weeds from amidst all the nursery stock, probably to build character in us. Wait, he surely did it just to get the dang things out of his fields! And oh how I hated it. I'd take a break to lean on my hoe, exhausted, weary, dying of thirst, feeling so sorry for little ole me, so hot and tired and put upon. And that was after only five minutes outside in the sunshine, with three of them spent walking out to the field! I even knew I could go in for a lemonade after I completed just one row. I was such a pansy.
What I remember now is how soft the soil was back in Ohio. Just soft dark brown earth... no rocks, red soil and hard gray clay to stop my hoe from even entering the ground, like here in MD. Oh, I had it so easy back then. I can barely stomp a shovel into the resistant ground here now.
I didn't care about my character as a kid. I just wanted to go read my books up in a tree out in the woods. Dang old weeds! But I did it, and learned how to survive. And... I learned how to work the earth, despite it all. I'm pretty good at growing things today, despite this horrid MD soil. Dad would be proud of me.
Today Sam hates to empty the dishwasher, hates to take out the trash, and hates to make his own salads. But mark my words, when he is 40, he'll be doing all that with no thought of letting someone else do it for him. It'll be part of who he is, just like the weeds are of me.
Today when Sam asks me to throw a few hoops with him out in our driveway, I tend to irritate him by stopping every few minutes to lean over and pull the few weeds I see peeping up out of the garden nearby. I just can't stand to see them there. They call my name, it seems. Or maybe they call my Dad's name, reminding me of days gone by. Dad would be so pleased with my garden.
Well, maybe not at the moment, it's a dang mess - I've just been through four months of misery and pain with the cancer and all - but give me some time. When it gets warmer, I'll be out there with my hoe, doing what Dad taught me to do. The earth will be my salvation and healing. I'll wear my heavy, worn old garden gloves, the ones that say "Vic" on them. Thanks, Dad.
I hated weeds as a kid. Dad (a nurseryman) would have us kids go out to the fields and pull and hoe weeds from amidst all the nursery stock, probably to build character in us. Wait, he surely did it just to get the dang things out of his fields! And oh how I hated it. I'd take a break to lean on my hoe, exhausted, weary, dying of thirst, feeling so sorry for little ole me, so hot and tired and put upon. And that was after only five minutes outside in the sunshine, with three of them spent walking out to the field! I even knew I could go in for a lemonade after I completed just one row. I was such a pansy.
What I remember now is how soft the soil was back in Ohio. Just soft dark brown earth... no rocks, red soil and hard gray clay to stop my hoe from even entering the ground, like here in MD. Oh, I had it so easy back then. I can barely stomp a shovel into the resistant ground here now.
I didn't care about my character as a kid. I just wanted to go read my books up in a tree out in the woods. Dang old weeds! But I did it, and learned how to survive. And... I learned how to work the earth, despite it all. I'm pretty good at growing things today, despite this horrid MD soil. Dad would be proud of me.
Today Sam hates to empty the dishwasher, hates to take out the trash, and hates to make his own salads. But mark my words, when he is 40, he'll be doing all that with no thought of letting someone else do it for him. It'll be part of who he is, just like the weeds are of me.
Today when Sam asks me to throw a few hoops with him out in our driveway, I tend to irritate him by stopping every few minutes to lean over and pull the few weeds I see peeping up out of the garden nearby. I just can't stand to see them there. They call my name, it seems. Or maybe they call my Dad's name, reminding me of days gone by. Dad would be so pleased with my garden.
Well, maybe not at the moment, it's a dang mess - I've just been through four months of misery and pain with the cancer and all - but give me some time. When it gets warmer, I'll be out there with my hoe, doing what Dad taught me to do. The earth will be my salvation and healing. I'll wear my heavy, worn old garden gloves, the ones that say "Vic" on them. Thanks, Dad.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Details, details...
Well, I only turned this on to do a test. But now that I'm here...
Several people have mentioned having difficulty posting comments. I don't know why. Be sure to go down to the bottom and click on the "comments" link after completing your message. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Comment away, good or bad!
I know many people read this, but only 17 are posted. You don't have to be listed if you prefer to remain anonymous. Just "Bookmark" the link and you can return anytime. I have never figured out how to notify you of new postings, so it's up to you to look. The one person who is able to do that... doesn't know how she did it either! I usually do one per week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
This is short today. And if you just happened to tune in...please pray that the excruciating pain in my belly simply goes away. It's double-over, mind-numbing, unbearable pain but I cannot (WILL NOT) endure another surgery. Thanks.
P.S. It only stops hurting when I've stopped eating. For a whole day. My pants are getting baggy.
Several people have mentioned having difficulty posting comments. I don't know why. Be sure to go down to the bottom and click on the "comments" link after completing your message. It shouldn't be too hard to find. Comment away, good or bad!
I know many people read this, but only 17 are posted. You don't have to be listed if you prefer to remain anonymous. Just "Bookmark" the link and you can return anytime. I have never figured out how to notify you of new postings, so it's up to you to look. The one person who is able to do that... doesn't know how she did it either! I usually do one per week. Sometimes more, sometimes less.
This is short today. And if you just happened to tune in...please pray that the excruciating pain in my belly simply goes away. It's double-over, mind-numbing, unbearable pain but I cannot (WILL NOT) endure another surgery. Thanks.
P.S. It only stops hurting when I've stopped eating. For a whole day. My pants are getting baggy.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Not Boring
My sister came to visit. My brother called and we talked for awhile. I hugged my husband, listened to my son, and laughed with my daughter. Family - covered.
Ran an errand with my best friend Nan, who drove since I was too wimpy and she likes to help. Visited with my best friend, Leslie, who lives up the street and came over. (Yes, one can have two best friends.)
Later this week I get to see my chemo nurses. No, no chemo, but the monthly testing resumes in a few days. Much as I hate that part, I'm looking forward to seeing gentlewomen who have been with me for so long. It's their job, but they do care.
I'm home every day alone, and it should be boring, but it's not. Finding dust bunnies is boring, but since I rarely clean, who cares? Finding a long lost pin is NOT boring. Coming across books that I didn't even know we had - not boring. Reading (for the 1st time!) "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" - so not boring. Now I'm reading all the other works of Sam Clemens/Mark Twain. I feel 16, full of adventure and curiosity. Exchanging e-mails with friends from the 60's and daughters of friends from the 80's - thrilling!
I keep thinking that my life should be so boring during this recovery, but it's not! I have no job. I rarely go anywhere due to pain. But, it's NOT boring. My mind is full at all times. Unless I'm sleeping, which does happen.
Now, must get a sonogram to find out why I'm in excruciating pain. Every night. Intestinal blockage? We'll soon know. Not eating is not the way I want to spend this coming Spring. That I never really learned how to be bored is good.
Ran an errand with my best friend Nan, who drove since I was too wimpy and she likes to help. Visited with my best friend, Leslie, who lives up the street and came over. (Yes, one can have two best friends.)
Later this week I get to see my chemo nurses. No, no chemo, but the monthly testing resumes in a few days. Much as I hate that part, I'm looking forward to seeing gentlewomen who have been with me for so long. It's their job, but they do care.
I'm home every day alone, and it should be boring, but it's not. Finding dust bunnies is boring, but since I rarely clean, who cares? Finding a long lost pin is NOT boring. Coming across books that I didn't even know we had - not boring. Reading (for the 1st time!) "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" - so not boring. Now I'm reading all the other works of Sam Clemens/Mark Twain. I feel 16, full of adventure and curiosity. Exchanging e-mails with friends from the 60's and daughters of friends from the 80's - thrilling!
I keep thinking that my life should be so boring during this recovery, but it's not! I have no job. I rarely go anywhere due to pain. But, it's NOT boring. My mind is full at all times. Unless I'm sleeping, which does happen.
Now, must get a sonogram to find out why I'm in excruciating pain. Every night. Intestinal blockage? We'll soon know. Not eating is not the way I want to spend this coming Spring. That I never really learned how to be bored is good.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Talk, talk, talk...
I love to write, but I like to talk.
With friends and family mostly, but on occasion, I'll talk to people I don't know. That happened yesterday. Don't get me wrong...they asked me to talk to them. As in, I "gave a talk" at a local church yesterday afternoon. The pastor had invited me to come and talk to a women's group about "Don't Waste the Pain".
Since I was actually IN a lot of pain, it seemed the thing to do. (Side note: the ongoing pain of this ridiculously slow recovery is, yes, still torturing me daily.) However, if I keep busy enough, I can get through it without much effort. Distractions are welcome. Hint, hint.
My friend Leslie introduced me. Well, not me exactly, but someone I'd have loved to listen to myself. She made me sound great! (Leslie and I love each other, so it wasn't really a surprise to hear her gracious words.) So I got up and said, "Well, that Linda couldn't make it, so I came instead."
Then I talked about the book I wrote with David, discussing pain and how we get through it. Not having any option is one good way. And I've had few viable options the past ten years. Still, the pain has led to so many wonderful things, that it's almost... no, it's definitely been worth it.
You never know when something horrid is going to directly lead to something wonderful, maybe something that actually saves your life. I had a customer once who knew I had ovarian cancer. She told me this story: She was in a terrible auto accident. Many bones were broken; she suffered much pain and her car was totaled. BUT, during her surgery, the docs discovered extensive ovarian cancer in her body. They quickly changed course and operated on her as a cancer patient.
Her bones healed but even better, she was saved from a cancer she didn't even know was there. She lived to tell the story. Her awesome words to me were, "That horrid accident saved my life." I could certainly understand her attitude.
In some ways, my cancer saved my life too. I was not on a good path when it struck. I was not following the Lord in any certain way, and I was falling into a period of deep depression. The cancer and the support of Steve and all who loved me was what turned my life around. Yeah, the cancer saved my life.
Don't look at the bad or horrid things that come into your life as in and of themselves simply being horrid. Maybe they're just there as a precursor to things that would not otherwise happen. Wait. Live. Look around. And perhaps you'll see the blessings that come out of disaster and pain. It sure worked for me.
With friends and family mostly, but on occasion, I'll talk to people I don't know. That happened yesterday. Don't get me wrong...they asked me to talk to them. As in, I "gave a talk" at a local church yesterday afternoon. The pastor had invited me to come and talk to a women's group about "Don't Waste the Pain".
Since I was actually IN a lot of pain, it seemed the thing to do. (Side note: the ongoing pain of this ridiculously slow recovery is, yes, still torturing me daily.) However, if I keep busy enough, I can get through it without much effort. Distractions are welcome. Hint, hint.
My friend Leslie introduced me. Well, not me exactly, but someone I'd have loved to listen to myself. She made me sound great! (Leslie and I love each other, so it wasn't really a surprise to hear her gracious words.) So I got up and said, "Well, that Linda couldn't make it, so I came instead."
Then I talked about the book I wrote with David, discussing pain and how we get through it. Not having any option is one good way. And I've had few viable options the past ten years. Still, the pain has led to so many wonderful things, that it's almost... no, it's definitely been worth it.
You never know when something horrid is going to directly lead to something wonderful, maybe something that actually saves your life. I had a customer once who knew I had ovarian cancer. She told me this story: She was in a terrible auto accident. Many bones were broken; she suffered much pain and her car was totaled. BUT, during her surgery, the docs discovered extensive ovarian cancer in her body. They quickly changed course and operated on her as a cancer patient.
Her bones healed but even better, she was saved from a cancer she didn't even know was there. She lived to tell the story. Her awesome words to me were, "That horrid accident saved my life." I could certainly understand her attitude.
In some ways, my cancer saved my life too. I was not on a good path when it struck. I was not following the Lord in any certain way, and I was falling into a period of deep depression. The cancer and the support of Steve and all who loved me was what turned my life around. Yeah, the cancer saved my life.
Don't look at the bad or horrid things that come into your life as in and of themselves simply being horrid. Maybe they're just there as a precursor to things that would not otherwise happen. Wait. Live. Look around. And perhaps you'll see the blessings that come out of disaster and pain. It sure worked for me.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
The Past...It Haunts Me
How much do you know about your own life? Your own past? I mean really. How much are you even aware of?
Want to know what I know about my own life? Well, here goes. Ten years ago when I first had cancer, friends whom we'd known for years but were not seeing on a regular basis anymore, had four young children. Our friends came to a point in their lives where they wanted to teach their young ones about prayer.
So, they had those kids begin to pray for Miss Linda, every night. Four young children who barely knew me, and would still not know me on the street today. And as they prayed, I went into remission. I had no idea of their prayers until recently. Those kids would not forget that they prayed, and God answered. Today, each one is a Believer. And me? I'm grateful for their prayers, I'm grateful for God's answer.
Now this: 41 years ago, (yes, 41) I knew a girl named Terri. We graduated, moved on, had families, lived our lives. Through a series of events that are too complicated to explain here, we are now in touch via Facebook. She referenced a memory unknown to me that really touched me, and I shared one memory unknown to her that moved her. Now she wants to share a pain that haunted her years ago, something I'd known about. She knows that I am the one person on earth who could identify with that long ago pain. Someone she loved died. Someone I loved died. It was the same young man, but it was her young man. My pain healed over time but it changed me; hers apparently never was completely healed. Maybe I can help.
So Terri and I will write again, perhaps even talk someday. We live over a thousand miles apart. We are unlikely to ever meet again. Yet, there is something that binds us. Healing can come.
And this: I wrote a "fan" letter to an author I admire. Three weeks later now, she has written back, we have learned we are both Believers, both writers, both have young sons with Asperger's, and her best friend has cancer, just like I do. I don't even know if I could find it on a map, but I now have a friend, one I'll also surely never meet who lives in UAE. Yeah, find that on the map. Trust me, I definitely plan to read her other books now! And I can always meet her in heaven. I'm sure we'll know who the other is on sight.
And finally this: Steve and I had a friend we loved who died @ 25 years ago. We loved her. She left behind 2 little daughters and a husband. Her brothers have remained our friends over time, but the little girls and their Dad had drifted from our life. Until lately. Again, without explaining how, I have reconnected with one daughter. She is now in her early 30's, and we have begun to correspond. I adore her wit and humor. I might never meet her or her own young children, but I can know her through our shared words.
Today, I'd almost call her my friend, sight unseen. If Catherine had known that one day her friend Linda might be friends with her own precious daughter, she would have praised God for that joy. But I praise Him myself, because it brings a woman I loved back, in some tiny way. And what a joy to meet and grow to know the woman this orphaned child has grown into.
My God, the internet has brought me such happiness and surprise this week. This blasted computer has actually made my life richer. Whodathunk? My painful past...the haunting is lessened. Reality is here.
Want to know what I know about my own life? Well, here goes. Ten years ago when I first had cancer, friends whom we'd known for years but were not seeing on a regular basis anymore, had four young children. Our friends came to a point in their lives where they wanted to teach their young ones about prayer.
So, they had those kids begin to pray for Miss Linda, every night. Four young children who barely knew me, and would still not know me on the street today. And as they prayed, I went into remission. I had no idea of their prayers until recently. Those kids would not forget that they prayed, and God answered. Today, each one is a Believer. And me? I'm grateful for their prayers, I'm grateful for God's answer.
Now this: 41 years ago, (yes, 41) I knew a girl named Terri. We graduated, moved on, had families, lived our lives. Through a series of events that are too complicated to explain here, we are now in touch via Facebook. She referenced a memory unknown to me that really touched me, and I shared one memory unknown to her that moved her. Now she wants to share a pain that haunted her years ago, something I'd known about. She knows that I am the one person on earth who could identify with that long ago pain. Someone she loved died. Someone I loved died. It was the same young man, but it was her young man. My pain healed over time but it changed me; hers apparently never was completely healed. Maybe I can help.
So Terri and I will write again, perhaps even talk someday. We live over a thousand miles apart. We are unlikely to ever meet again. Yet, there is something that binds us. Healing can come.
And this: I wrote a "fan" letter to an author I admire. Three weeks later now, she has written back, we have learned we are both Believers, both writers, both have young sons with Asperger's, and her best friend has cancer, just like I do. I don't even know if I could find it on a map, but I now have a friend, one I'll also surely never meet who lives in UAE. Yeah, find that on the map. Trust me, I definitely plan to read her other books now! And I can always meet her in heaven. I'm sure we'll know who the other is on sight.
And finally this: Steve and I had a friend we loved who died @ 25 years ago. We loved her. She left behind 2 little daughters and a husband. Her brothers have remained our friends over time, but the little girls and their Dad had drifted from our life. Until lately. Again, without explaining how, I have reconnected with one daughter. She is now in her early 30's, and we have begun to correspond. I adore her wit and humor. I might never meet her or her own young children, but I can know her through our shared words.
Today, I'd almost call her my friend, sight unseen. If Catherine had known that one day her friend Linda might be friends with her own precious daughter, she would have praised God for that joy. But I praise Him myself, because it brings a woman I loved back, in some tiny way. And what a joy to meet and grow to know the woman this orphaned child has grown into.
My God, the internet has brought me such happiness and surprise this week. This blasted computer has actually made my life richer. Whodathunk? My painful past...the haunting is lessened. Reality is here.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Write? Right!
How many letters did you hand write to your friends last year? Last decade? I'll bet you can count them on one hand. Maybe even with fists closed, indicating zero.
When I left home for college in 1968, I got lonely, so I wrote letters to friends back in Ohio. They were long, funny, descriptive letters about my life, life in general, to practically anyone whose address I could find. And they were funny. People wrote back and that was great, since tons of letters came to my lonely apartment. Eventually I got busier with classes and new friends, so in time the writing subsided. But it didn't end.
One day I sent a letter home in an envelope that said only:
To the father of the daughter who lives in Maryland
Perry, Ohio
No name, no street address, no zip code. And he got it. I'm from a very small town.
I learned who my Dad was through letters. Of course I wrote home all the time, as long distance was still too expensive for a college student on aid, and email didn't exist. I wince recalling how isolated from my folks I was. Yet, probably due to that ongoing separation, Mom and Dad both wrote back often. In fact, getting letters from my Dad was a complete surprise, especially in that they were so long and wonderful. I really met him on those pages and was close to him the rest of his life because of a communication that had never existed in face to face contact.
What did you discuss with your son or daughter last week via phone? Can you recall? Okay, pick up a letter written by them five years ago and you'll remember exactly what was on their hearts. Today I can go to my closet, pull out a box, and relive 20 years of my life, my Mom's thoughts, my Dad's concern and advice. I can laugh again, even cry again. What a treasure.
I'll admit that today's letters are fewer, but not abandoned. It's also true that email is, in a way, a great substitute. Save your emails and you can reread every word shared. But good luck finding those rare and special letters amidst all the other crap on there.
Besides, most of your communication is probably via phone, and not your home phone either, but your cell phone. Remember home phones? My home phone in Ohio was 259-3471. How do I even know that?! It hasn't been my number for over 40 years!! I can't tell you what my number was ten years ago, but I'll never forget my Ohio phone number. It seems to be in my head forever.
Of course, without letters, you cannot rest your eyes on your now deceased Mom's unique handwriting and almost feel her there with you. You can't see the silly little drawings she sometimes added. You can't hold the delicate stationery you gave her close to your heart. You can't literally touch what she touched. It's just not the same.
So, here I sit at my computer, writing. I don't even know who reads this, let alone what your addresses are. Life changes and it's not all bad. Just get some damn paper and write a letter to someone you love. Imagine how great it will feel when you get a letter back, one you can hold in your hands, smell and savor. One that took the writer some time and extra effort to do for you. It will be worth it.
When I left home for college in 1968, I got lonely, so I wrote letters to friends back in Ohio. They were long, funny, descriptive letters about my life, life in general, to practically anyone whose address I could find. And they were funny. People wrote back and that was great, since tons of letters came to my lonely apartment. Eventually I got busier with classes and new friends, so in time the writing subsided. But it didn't end.
One day I sent a letter home in an envelope that said only:
To the father of the daughter who lives in Maryland
Perry, Ohio
No name, no street address, no zip code. And he got it. I'm from a very small town.
I learned who my Dad was through letters. Of course I wrote home all the time, as long distance was still too expensive for a college student on aid, and email didn't exist. I wince recalling how isolated from my folks I was. Yet, probably due to that ongoing separation, Mom and Dad both wrote back often. In fact, getting letters from my Dad was a complete surprise, especially in that they were so long and wonderful. I really met him on those pages and was close to him the rest of his life because of a communication that had never existed in face to face contact.
What did you discuss with your son or daughter last week via phone? Can you recall? Okay, pick up a letter written by them five years ago and you'll remember exactly what was on their hearts. Today I can go to my closet, pull out a box, and relive 20 years of my life, my Mom's thoughts, my Dad's concern and advice. I can laugh again, even cry again. What a treasure.
I'll admit that today's letters are fewer, but not abandoned. It's also true that email is, in a way, a great substitute. Save your emails and you can reread every word shared. But good luck finding those rare and special letters amidst all the other crap on there.
Besides, most of your communication is probably via phone, and not your home phone either, but your cell phone. Remember home phones? My home phone in Ohio was 259-3471. How do I even know that?! It hasn't been my number for over 40 years!! I can't tell you what my number was ten years ago, but I'll never forget my Ohio phone number. It seems to be in my head forever.
Of course, without letters, you cannot rest your eyes on your now deceased Mom's unique handwriting and almost feel her there with you. You can't see the silly little drawings she sometimes added. You can't hold the delicate stationery you gave her close to your heart. You can't literally touch what she touched. It's just not the same.
So, here I sit at my computer, writing. I don't even know who reads this, let alone what your addresses are. Life changes and it's not all bad. Just get some damn paper and write a letter to someone you love. Imagine how great it will feel when you get a letter back, one you can hold in your hands, smell and savor. One that took the writer some time and extra effort to do for you. It will be worth it.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Good Enough
January is the longest month of the year. Yes, it's only 31 days, but each day is about 40 hours long. At least, it feels like it. It's not sunny. I was sleeping 12 hours a day, but that's dropped lately to about 5 hours a day. Make that night. The rest of the time I'm just totally exhausted and lethargic... or napping. I have the energy of a pencil.
Steve got me started on iron as I tend toward anemia, but so far, no improvement. I still drag around like a turtle on sleeping pills. I did start to walk around the block with a neighbor/friend, but I only go when she shows up in her walking shoes. No way will I head out on my own. "Hi, Linda, want to go for a walk?" "No." "Okay, we can just visit." Then ten minutes later I look around and find myself halfway down the street. How does she DO that?!
If you buy stocks, you might want to invest in Ocean Spray. Steve is pouring gallons of pure juice into me daily. (I add water to it when I can.) Also, as a near vegetarian, I'm now in vegetarian hell with him making me eat meat at least four times a week, sometimes more. He made a favorite casserole with ground beef and noodles, but caught me scooping out only noodles onto my own plate. Drat! My doctor insists I need meat to regain energy. Aargh!
I also try to exercise. It would make a great comedy routine. I move my arms a little, lift a leg occasionally, and walk around. That 12 pounds I lost in hospital? I seem to have relocated it.
But my problem is that I live in my own body and that's the main thing I see - pathetic, disheveled me. Steve and others see that I move more easily now, my color is better, and I stand up straighter. My energy level is higher and I've stopped hating all food. Before this I had no idea I was such a wimp. Well, compared to ten years ago, anyway.
It's January, the dreariest month of the year. I've lived through nearly 61 of them now. I think I can do it again. Thank God for two men who push me - one young, one old. I have great medical care, a warm house on these freezing days, two neighbors who check on me almost daily, and a body that hasn't given up yet. Why do I still complain?
But, and this is a big "but" (something with 2 t's that I really had in high school) when it finally all ends... it will get even better. I am so not dreading death. No aches, no pains, no lack of sleep, no misery at all. But it's best to not wish for that heavenly time just yet. I have two guys here, and one lovely lady in KY who are happy for the progress I've made. That's good enough for me.
Steve got me started on iron as I tend toward anemia, but so far, no improvement. I still drag around like a turtle on sleeping pills. I did start to walk around the block with a neighbor/friend, but I only go when she shows up in her walking shoes. No way will I head out on my own. "Hi, Linda, want to go for a walk?" "No." "Okay, we can just visit." Then ten minutes later I look around and find myself halfway down the street. How does she DO that?!
If you buy stocks, you might want to invest in Ocean Spray. Steve is pouring gallons of pure juice into me daily. (I add water to it when I can.) Also, as a near vegetarian, I'm now in vegetarian hell with him making me eat meat at least four times a week, sometimes more. He made a favorite casserole with ground beef and noodles, but caught me scooping out only noodles onto my own plate. Drat! My doctor insists I need meat to regain energy. Aargh!
I also try to exercise. It would make a great comedy routine. I move my arms a little, lift a leg occasionally, and walk around. That 12 pounds I lost in hospital? I seem to have relocated it.
But my problem is that I live in my own body and that's the main thing I see - pathetic, disheveled me. Steve and others see that I move more easily now, my color is better, and I stand up straighter. My energy level is higher and I've stopped hating all food. Before this I had no idea I was such a wimp. Well, compared to ten years ago, anyway.
It's January, the dreariest month of the year. I've lived through nearly 61 of them now. I think I can do it again. Thank God for two men who push me - one young, one old. I have great medical care, a warm house on these freezing days, two neighbors who check on me almost daily, and a body that hasn't given up yet. Why do I still complain?
But, and this is a big "but" (something with 2 t's that I really had in high school) when it finally all ends... it will get even better. I am so not dreading death. No aches, no pains, no lack of sleep, no misery at all. But it's best to not wish for that heavenly time just yet. I have two guys here, and one lovely lady in KY who are happy for the progress I've made. That's good enough for me.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Living A Good Life
I admit from the get-go that I'm a copy cat. My friend wrote a great piece on the wealth we have in America. It nearly made me regurgitate from my previously unacknowledged greediness. It's something I've been pondering lately, so here's my take on it.
We have an 8 room house, plus 3 baths, 6 storage closets, a huge entryway, and a garage-storage area, and a 3-level deck in our sizable yard. Oh, and a greenhouse. And that's nothing compared to many homes on this peninsula. The "big" houses are a few miles away; you know, the 17 room ones where husband and wife can go days without seeing each other. Probably on purpose.
At least I can say we use 7 of the rooms and all of the baths almost daily, but that's only because I'm home all day; we could survive with less.
We have clothing we never wear, and never will. Steve and I are trying to pare down our closets and give usable pieces to Goodwill. Still, we'll have too much left. Maybe if we could only keep a suitcase worth we'd do better in paring it down. And we'd still not be naked; we'd still be ahead of most people on earth.
I like Sam's attitude. He owns 2 pairs of shoes. One for home; one for everything else. I told him he needs more, and he replied that if he can only wear one pair at a time, why have more? He also has three pair of pants. Two for home (with the extra for wash day), and one for work. It might be Aspergian, but it does make sense.
Our pantry is mostly full. It's bigger than our closet. Every month or so I throw away things that have expired. What a waste. Why do we buy food then not eat it? Where are our heads?
Our library has thousands of books. True, most are Morgan's and she is slowly taking a few each time she visits, to read then give away. At least, I think she is. We could sell them for a quarter each and buy a small boat.
While it's true that I am not healthy, that I live in constant pain, thank God I am reminded of my wonderful life by people like Leura. I live in a mansion, have more food than I can eat, am warm in my perfectly fine old clothes, have all the books to read I could ever want, and am finally to the point where every day I can say, "Thank God for all this." Seriously, I do that now.
I don't personally know anyone who lives in poverty. If you're reading this, you are "wealthy" compared to most of humanity. Remember that, and go give some of your stuff to someone who needs it more than you do. If you can't make yourself do that....
We have an 8 room house, plus 3 baths, 6 storage closets, a huge entryway, and a garage-storage area, and a 3-level deck in our sizable yard. Oh, and a greenhouse. And that's nothing compared to many homes on this peninsula. The "big" houses are a few miles away; you know, the 17 room ones where husband and wife can go days without seeing each other. Probably on purpose.
At least I can say we use 7 of the rooms and all of the baths almost daily, but that's only because I'm home all day; we could survive with less.
We have clothing we never wear, and never will. Steve and I are trying to pare down our closets and give usable pieces to Goodwill. Still, we'll have too much left. Maybe if we could only keep a suitcase worth we'd do better in paring it down. And we'd still not be naked; we'd still be ahead of most people on earth.
I like Sam's attitude. He owns 2 pairs of shoes. One for home; one for everything else. I told him he needs more, and he replied that if he can only wear one pair at a time, why have more? He also has three pair of pants. Two for home (with the extra for wash day), and one for work. It might be Aspergian, but it does make sense.
Our pantry is mostly full. It's bigger than our closet. Every month or so I throw away things that have expired. What a waste. Why do we buy food then not eat it? Where are our heads?
Our library has thousands of books. True, most are Morgan's and she is slowly taking a few each time she visits, to read then give away. At least, I think she is. We could sell them for a quarter each and buy a small boat.
While it's true that I am not healthy, that I live in constant pain, thank God I am reminded of my wonderful life by people like Leura. I live in a mansion, have more food than I can eat, am warm in my perfectly fine old clothes, have all the books to read I could ever want, and am finally to the point where every day I can say, "Thank God for all this." Seriously, I do that now.
I don't personally know anyone who lives in poverty. If you're reading this, you are "wealthy" compared to most of humanity. Remember that, and go give some of your stuff to someone who needs it more than you do. If you can't make yourself do that....
Friday, January 7, 2011
Books
Looking around the chair where I'm sitting, this is what I see:
"Brain Games, Lower Your Brain Age in Minutes a Day" - I've done several of the puzzles and games, and apparently my brain is now about 86. Meaning, I'm not as smart as I was when I began. Egads, without Morgan here, I have to use a dictionary. Drat. Still working on it though...
"Understanding CA125 Levels" - Sometimes I feel the need to remind myself of things I already know.
"Don't Waste the Pain" - Okay, so it fell on the floor.
"Flowers in the Kitchen" - This is a wonderful new cookbook from Morgan that uses vegetable AND flowers from the garden for cooking. Sounds like fun. Comon' Spring!
"Abigail Adams" - I've been reading this thick one for months and it's really good. What an amazing woman, more like outstanding women of today than from her own time. We could use another person like her.
"The Only Boy in the World" - A man talks about his son, who has autism. Real. Heartbreaking. Full of truth and wisdom.
"All Cats Have Asperger's" - A picture book. Morgan and I read it together, finished, looked at one another and almost cried. This is Sam. Now read it yourself. You'll learn more than you know. I reread it every few months.
I also see some candy canes, too many pillows, piles of paper that I need to discard or read, fresh carnations, and Steve. It's all good. It's home.
"Brain Games, Lower Your Brain Age in Minutes a Day" - I've done several of the puzzles and games, and apparently my brain is now about 86. Meaning, I'm not as smart as I was when I began. Egads, without Morgan here, I have to use a dictionary. Drat. Still working on it though...
"Understanding CA125 Levels" - Sometimes I feel the need to remind myself of things I already know.
"Don't Waste the Pain" - Okay, so it fell on the floor.
"Flowers in the Kitchen" - This is a wonderful new cookbook from Morgan that uses vegetable AND flowers from the garden for cooking. Sounds like fun. Comon' Spring!
"Abigail Adams" - I've been reading this thick one for months and it's really good. What an amazing woman, more like outstanding women of today than from her own time. We could use another person like her.
"The Only Boy in the World" - A man talks about his son, who has autism. Real. Heartbreaking. Full of truth and wisdom.
"All Cats Have Asperger's" - A picture book. Morgan and I read it together, finished, looked at one another and almost cried. This is Sam. Now read it yourself. You'll learn more than you know. I reread it every few months.
I also see some candy canes, too many pillows, piles of paper that I need to discard or read, fresh carnations, and Steve. It's all good. It's home.
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