The Green Blanket

Have you ever felt bad and just wanted to cover up with a soft, warm, velvety blanket?  When I feel bad, I don't like bright lights in my eyes and I want something warm and soft to crawl under.  I suppose those are just comfort things to me, but they make me feel better. 

My "Other Mother" is sick.  She's in ICU at Emory University in Atlanta and I'm here, feeling sad and concerned for her.  I wrote about her in an earlier post.  She's the nearest thing to a mother I have and I love her.  On Christmas Day we went to a local hospital here in town to visit her before she was taken to Atlanta for surgery.  I thought about my blue blanket that I love so much at home so I carried her a new green one like it.  I'm so glad I did.  Those old white woven hospital blankets just don't feel much like home.  She immediately wanted me to cover her with it and she pulled at it with her hands and talked about how soft and warm it felt.  We fixed her a bowl of homemade chicken and dressing and piece of 12 layer chocolate cake and watched as she ate it all.  It was so good to see her alert and talkative and eating well. 

Today she's in ICU and I'm praying.  Her daughter called to tell me that she had asked for her blanket.  She had carried it all the way to Atlanta with her in the back of an ambulance.  I had told her when she touched it, to know that I was there with her.  Not with my physical body but with my love from many miles away.  I hope it is bringing some comfort to her in a cold, sterile hospital.  A blanket is just a material thing, doesn't cost much, and is many times taken for granted,but the love that this green blanket holds for a sweet little 89 year old woman is just beyond measure.

Swinging Under the Stars

My husband and I are hopeless romantics.  We should have been born in another era.  Or maybe it's okay that we are where we are right now, nearing the year 2012.  Our simple lifestyle is probably what keeps us sane in a crazy world. 

I got home last Friday and there was an old swing hanging under one of our old oak trees.  We have a swing on the front porch and we have an abundance of rocking chairs but this old swing was special.  It was right under the stars and there would be dirt under my feet.  I couldn't wait for us to try it out.  And we did!  We put on our sloppy clothes, grabbed blankets and hot coffee and took off through the yard.  The old oak tree has a huge limb that reaches out like a strong man's arm and it was a perfect place to hang the swing.

Jeff pulled his truck close by and turned the radio on to the Grand Ole Opry.  And weren't we something?  Sitting outside, bundled up in blankets, listening to the radio under the stars.  We're starting to act like old people!

It was amazing to tilt my head back and look through the oak leaves and see millions and millions of stars.  I was in awe of God's beautiful universe.  I never noticed the stars in the 70's when hip huggers and smock tops where on top of my shopping list, or in the 80's when my life was so messed up and crazy and sad, or in the 90's when my job was more important than anything I could think of.  It took over 50 years for me to calm down and learn to appreciate the really fine things in life.  And I'm learning that the wonderful things aren't really things at all.  Sitting in an old swing at night with my husband's arm around me, looking up at the stars, one dog in my lap and one dog sitting up beside me.  Life is good!

I've Lost My Extra Ears

I could start another entire blog on a little friend named "Barney".  In my divorced life I decided I never wanted another man...I'd just get a dog.  This little fellow came from an abused environment but the lady that sold him to me told me he'd make an excellent watch dog.  I had told her about being deaf and how I couldn't hear my phone or hear someone knocking at my door and she assured me he would be perfect for me.  I had my doubts.  I carried him home with me almost six years ago and within a couple of days he had my heart wrapped around his little paws.  Not only did he bark when someone came to my door, he'd curl up beside me and sleep next to me at night.  He loved bubble baths and sitting in the recliner watching episodes of "Gun Smoke."  He'd crawl up on the float next to me as I laid out in the sun on the lake.  He loved to swim in the water and ride on the bow of the boat.  He'd sit on the stool next to me as I played the piano.

When Jeff and I married, Barney and I moved to the country and this little fellow turned into a cattle dog overnight.  He thought he was tough stuff, romping through the pastures, chasing birds, digging up moles and sleeping under the stars.  Gone were his days of being couped up all alone in a lonely house.  He had new friends, he had a huge playground and he patrolled the perimeters.  Oh, he still slept inside at night when it was too hot or too cold and he still had his bubble baths and visits to the beauty parlor.  But he became bigger than life as he marched right along beside a rough and tough blue heeler cattle dog.  He didn't mind when the other dogs laughed at him for wearing his reindeer antlers at Christmas.  He might have gone country, but he still had class.

This week, I lost my friend.  I lost my extra set of ears.  I lost my buddy, my little love.  I got too close to him as folks that have no children tend to do with their dogs.  I felt like I let him down.  I should have put him inside as we ran to eat at a local restaurant but since he'd just been fed and was playing with the other dogs, we thought sure he'd be okay for an hour.  Wrong.  He went through the pasture, across the highway to visit a neighbor and was killed as he came back home.  I can't even described how I cried.  I felt like I had lost a child.  My heart ached and my chest felt like someone had crushed it.  Jeff wrapped him carefully and buried him next to Bo, our 18 year old blue heeler that died last year. 

And this morning as I let the other dogs out, I called for him to come on and let's go out and play.  When he didn't come, I went back to the bedroom, got down on my hands and knees and looked under the bed for him.  That was his favorite hiding place but he wasn't there.  My heart sank as I realized he'd never be there again and I cried.....again. 

For someone that's never known the unconditional love of a dog, it would be hard for them to understand what happens when four little paws jump up in your lap and curl up beside you to wait on you to finish your coffee, hoping you save just a little bit for them.  Good bye my Barney.  Mama's gonna miss you very much. 

Lord, help me to be the person my dog thinks I am.  Author Unknown

It's Not About the Biscuit

I can tell when fall officially arrives.  Festivals pop up all over South Georgia and North Florida in some of the most unlikely places.  There's Swine Time, the Sweet Potao Festival, Hickory Grove Founder's Day, the Seafood Festival and then on the first Saturday of each November, there's Mule Day.  While the event has changed drastically since I last visited in 1984, it was still a beautiful fall day, it was still a beautiful ride to Calvary, Georgia on the back roads of Highway 179 and it was still the place to get one of the best homemade biscuits with cane syrup and sausage. 

It was my husband's first visit to this event and while we weren't crazy about all the commercialized booths with cheap trinkets, there was still that festive mood in the air and you could smell kettle corn popping and funnel cakes frying.  Young ladies were walking around the some 60,000 people passing out samples of grapefruits, pecan brittle and all sorts of cakes.  The Mule Day parade was the highlight of the day with mules of all sizes, shapes and colors, donned in hats, overalls and gold bells, marching galliantly down the center of the small community highway.  Two local high school bands marched proudly playing their instruments and as they passed, I turned to my husband and said, "This is what America is really all about......"  I stood a little prouder as they passed our way with the American flag waving in the sunshine.  For this little community, it wasn't about the president or about politics.  It wasn't about religion or race.  It was about the celebration of a hard working animal that plowed the fields and pulled buggys when times were hard.

On the way back to our car, after I helped an 80 year old lady make a rope from scratch, my husband asked, "Where do we go next weekend?"  I had to think a minute and then remembered the little town of Alapaha where the fried apple tarts were the best we'd ever tasted.  On Mule Day it wasn't about the biscuit with sugary syrup dripping off the sides, it was about being with someone I loved on a beautiful day, walking arm in arm in the glorious sunshine and the ride back home with the windows down.

My Clock, It's a Tickin'

I'm not sure what word I'm looking for right now, I think it's "satisfying" or maybe it's "heavenly", I'm not sure.  But I'll just say for now that it's satisfying and heavenly to have a screen door when you live out in the country.  I grew up with screen doors that were never locked and I've slammed my share of them.  Can't do that now, though.  You can't leave the door unlocked anymore and that's a shame to me.  Our world has changed since I was a little girl.  It's not safe anymore.

Last night I was standing in my kitchen with one of the best brownies I'd ever tasted in one hand and was making a cup of coffee with the other when I heard, "What you doin' in there?"  Scared the wits out of me as I turned around to see the shawdow of a man standing at the screen door.  As I got closer, I realized it was one of our church members, a friend, standing there in his old overalls.  As I opened the door and welcomed him inside, I felt tears sting my eyes.  The overalls made me think of daddy.  He always wore them unless he was in church.  Here this friend was, standing there with two recipe cards in his hands.  I had asked him for his recipe for peach cobbler, the kind you make with light bread, and he had stopped by to give it to me along with a recipe for jalapeno peppers in a sweet sugary syrup.  I love to cook and I love trying other folks recipes.  As he sat down at the bar in the kitchen, I lifted the tin foil lid covering my cast iron skillet for him to take a peek.  Underneath was an Utterly Deadly Pecan Pie I had made.  When he saw it, he said, "Get the knife and cut me a piece of that.  I smell coffee..." So I gave him my coffee and made me some more.

The man that sat across from me in my kitchen was a retired railroad engineer.  He had to retire early because stomach cancer was taking it's toll on his body.  For over an hour, he sat and talked, telling me about the cancer and how it affected his life.  He told me about his three little granddaughters and how they were his buddies, and how they were one of the reasons he got up every morning.  Looking at him, you'd never picture him riding a motorcycle but he does and he loves it.  He rides a lot with my nephew so we talked about some of their adventures and then he said, "My clock, it's a tickin', I don't know how much longer I've got here on this earth but I know I want to go out west soon and ride." 

His clock is ticking?  I can't get that off my mind.  How would it feel to know that you're facing death sooner than you had originally thought?  How would it feel to wake up every morning and know it might be the last time you were able to throw your leg over your motorcycle and ride with the wind in your face?  How would it feel to hold your grandchildren and know that your time with them is limited?  When he left the house, I made more coffee and sat on the porch with the dogs and thought about a clock ticking and how time slips away from us.  About how we spend our time doing worthless things and worrying about problems that really don't matter.  My clock, it's a tickin' too.  What will I do with the time that's slipping by so quickly?  I've got to get busy.  I've got more pies to bake, more friends to drink coffe with, more sunsets to watch with my husband, more rain to walk in, more hugs to give.

Another Mother

God truly blessed me with "Another Mother".  She's been in my life since before I was born as she was my mother's best friend for almost 50 years.  They raised children together, they shared secrets as best friends always do, and they both had wonderful husbands who were also very close friends.  When one had surgery or was in the bed sick, the other stepped in and helped out.  Cooking, cleaning, washing clothes, looking out for each others children, doing things they trusted each other to do.  When one cooked a grilled cheese sandwich, the other shared it.  If one heated up a bowl of soup, they split it between two bowls.  If one was shelling peas for the freezer, the other helped.  I can remember coming home from school to find a newly upholstered chair in the living room.  Mama just decided she wanted it covered and Kathlean came to help get the job done.  It looked like it had been done at an upholstery shop.  These two gals could do anything they set their minds to....together!  There was nothing fancy or pretentious about their friendship. They loved each other as only true friends can do. 

I learned how to dance the twist to Elvis music back in the early 60's out in her front yard with the record player turned up loud.  I slept with her when mama had surgery and wasn't at home for several nights.  When mama died in 1995, Kathlean was there for me and my family.  We had lost our mama.  She had lost her best friend.  And though she was always around while I was growing up, her presence has become even more prevalent in the past few years.  I can count on five fingers the people I know who have the gift of unconditional love and she's one of them.  She loves me, no matter what.  Her wisdom is uplifting as she speaks exactly what comes across her mind.  I never doubt what she is trying to tell me and, as I get older, I try to pay closer attention.  Her 89 years on this earth have proved to be a valuable tool for my own life.

This past weekend, we had the pleasure of taking her to Hickory Grove Founder's Day.  Never have I smiled so much on the inside.  It was such a beautiful day.  We ate homemade biscuits and mayhaw jelly, hot pear tarts and homemade vanilla ice cream.  Jeff bought fresh fried pork rinds and he and Kathlean shared them together.  We listened to gospel music groups sing the old time standards that we all grew up listening to in church.  The weather was absolutely gorgeous and to top it off, Kathlean had her picture taken with "Elvis" (a guy that looked nothing like Elvis but sure did a great impersonation of him on stage!)  Have you ever heard of a day that was worth a million dollars?  Well, this was that day!  No amount of money could replace the value of a day spent with two people I love very much and I cherished every moment of it.  We've marked the date on our calendar for next year.  She'll be 90 by then and we plan to spend it the same way, with a little woman that we think the world of.  Often times I hear her say, "You know your mama's gone, your daddy's gone, my husband's gone...I don't know why the Lord left me behind for so long."  I think Jeff's got it figured out.  He says the Lord left her behind for me!

The Luckiest Night of His Life

Six years ago I received an invitation to a 30 year class reunion with friends that were older than me.  I'd never been to a class reunion for a group of folks that I didn't even graduate with.  But these were friends.  I was sure I'd know a lot of people there.  The night before the actual reunion, we all met at a local gathering place where the food was good, the music was good and friends were all around.  In through the door walked this handsome guy with a white starched shirt, blue jeans and boots.  He immediately caught my attention but I didn't recognize him.  Thirty years and gray hair didn't help either!  After stopping and talking to others, he made his way to our table and hugged my best friend.  They remembered each other and used to ride the school bus together when they were little.  He grabbed her and whisked her off to the dance floor.  He was friends with her husband and had actually been with her husband the night they met years ago.  I sat at the table watching as they danced and talked.  I could see her pointing back at me and he was looking my way.  He remembered me from school but I didn't remember him.  The next dance was mine and he didn't let go of me for the rest of the night.  As a matter of fact, he still holds me close every night!  Three years later, on July 27, 2008, we married.

I've never been treated so wonderfully in my life.  Finally, I feel safe, secure and loved.  It's like living with a very best friend.  There's no arguing, no stress and we get along wonderfully.  I can tell him anything and he listens and understands.  We have date nights on Friday.  He loves my family and I love his.  We renewed our commitment to our Christianity and started going to church together five years ago and that has made a tremendous impact on our personal lives together.  We had both always been unequally yoked in the past and now it all felt right because we have a life together that is protected by God's love.

He's a life-long fisherman and has the patience of Job when we are in a boat together.  I get bored easily if  fish aren't biting so I always make sure I have plenty of magazines and a good book to read. He can spend hours not saying a word, casting quietly as we float around a lake or down a river.  I enjoy the peaceful retreat and if I'm not reading, I'm watching the beautiful scenery that floats slowly by.  We make occasional comments on birds and turtles.  We talk about the beautiful over-hang of old trees.  And sometimes we're just quiet and let the peacefulness soak into our minds.  Everyone should be so fortunate to appreciate that this type of quiet time is needed, whether it's floating in a boat or sitting on a swing on the porch.  It's medicine for a weary soul and it's a blessing to be able to share it with someone you love with all your heart. 

He makes me laugh uncontrollably.  It would take days to write all the crazy, funny things he has done to me.  From acting like he'd been electrocuted to dancing in the kitchen to wrapping a belt around his arm and making me think a snake had attacked him, he has been a prankster.  He loves to act crazy in stores, putting on crazy hats and making embarrassing remarks when we're in the lingerie department.  But when life gets serious, and sometimes it does, he's there to help give advice and encourage me.  He makes my days brighter!

When I Think of Courage

When I think of the word "courage" Linda always comes to my mind.  I met her in the first grade way back in 1964.  She was this little, skinny, kinky-blond-haired girl with beautiful blue eyes.  She moved away for a short time but then when she came back we became such good friends.  We graduated high school together, we married the wrong men and moved our separate ways, she had children, I never did.  We went through divorces, we worked together, we walked together at night and talked.  I could tell her anything and knew it would never leave her mouth. She had a beautiful Christian spirit about her that I will always carry very close to my heart.  She had the voice of an angel.  She sang in our Swing Choir in school, sang in our church youth group choir when we were teenagers and, as an adult, sang in her church choir. 

I picked her up for lunch one day and when she got in the car she was limping.  When I asked what was wrong, she made a joke about falling and I joked back, saying I'd always heard when the cows started falling, it was going to rain.  We were friends like that, we made each other laugh.  That day she ordered her favorite "#1" off the menu, a turkey club sandwich.  When I got back to work, I entered the cost of our lunch in my checkbook and out beside the entry, I wrote the words "Faithful Friend."  I didn't know at the time what made me do that.  But looking back, God wrote that for me as a reminder.  It was the last time I had lunch with my friend.

The very next week Linda fell again.  This time she went to the doctor.  It was back.  The cancer she had 8 years ago was back.  Only this time it was in her brain, her lungs and her spine.  I was devastated and cried as she told me.  She was strong and let me lay my head in her lap while I fell apart.  Over the next few weeks, I watched her hair fall out and her body swell.  She never complained.  Just always had that sweet smile and soft voice when I walked in the room. 

For Christmas, she was in the hospice house.  All she wanted was to live to see her little grandson open his Christmas presents and all I wanted was to hear her sing again, a song that was popular in high school called The Lion Sleeps Tonight.  She could do all the parts and it was one of my favorites when we were in school.  There, in the quiet of that hospital room, she held my hand and started singing.  As weak as she was, her voice came out strong, clear and beautiful.  Nurses and volunteers gathered at the door in amazement.  My very weak friend, who could barely talk was singing like she did back in high school!  No one entered the door as I think they realized it was a time that would never be again for me.  They just stood back in awe at her beautiful voice.  I held her hand and laid my head down on the bed beside her and cried again.  I was doing that almost daily now.  When she got through singing, she rubbed my head and said, "You always were such a wimp!"  Because she wasn't sure she'd live till Christmas, the week before she gave me a little silver bracelet that I've never taken off my wrist.  On the front is engraved my name, and on the back, in very small letters it says, "Love always, Linda".  That tiny little bracelet is very precious to me and often I turn it over and read the words and smile.

Her funeral was the only one I'd ever been asked to speak at in my entire life.  I was nervous, I had notes, I wanted to say all the right things.  On the morning of the service, my dear friend Pat called and told me she knew I was speaking at the funeral and she was praying for me.  I told Pat I had notes and she said, "Take those notes and put them away, she's been your friend a long time, you don't need the notes...you just speak what's in your heart."  When I arrived at the service, my knees felt like rubber, my heart was hurting, my eyes were burning from the tears I'd cried.  I was escorted to the front row and there I sat with my notes in my lap.  Then, I remembered what Pat said earlier.  She was right....Linda had been my friend for 47 years....I didn't need notes.  I folded them and placed them in the seat beside me and when it was time for me to speak, I left them behind.  Pat was right.  The words in my heart flowed and I didn't cry like I thought I would.  I kept Linda's words, "You always were a wimp," in the back of my mind and I actually smiled during my eulogy to the passing of her life.  Pat had prayed for me and that kept everything in order for me that day.

Linda's been gone now for almost two years.  Some days I pick up the phone and dial her office number to ask her to go lunch.  And then I hang up, realizing she's not there anymore.  The last thing she told me was that she loved me.  Sometimes when I'm in my car, The Lion Sleeps Tonight comes on the radio.  When it does, I turn it up loud and listen.  Heaven has a fabulous angel in it's choir now and I have an empty spot in my life where she used to be.

A New Friend Moves In

Not that any dog could ever replace Bo, but we did acquire a new red heeler cattle dog named Buster.  He's trying very hard to find his place and be friends with the other dogs.  Barney (in the basket with Buster) tolerates him and Jack, our little rat terrier, latches on to the side of his face when he plays too rough. 

All of our dogs are rescue dogs.  Buster came from a very rough environment that I was glad I didn't see.  Jeff heard about him and picked him up and brought him to a happier, cleaner environment.  It was pretty nasty from what I hear.  Barney was abused by a young man who kicked and beat him to the point the mother placed him up for sale (the dog, not the young man!)  When we found Jack, he was living in a tiny apartment, inside a very tiny cage.  He was wild and crazy and nervous.  The little children that lived in the home terrorized him and he was one happy camper when Jeff said, "We'll take him!" and carried him home. 

Life at our house is quiet and laid back and we don't like stress.  We avoid it and try to stay away from it as much as possible.  So when you drive up and see Buster stretched out on the swing, Barney drinking his morning coffee on the porch and Jack laying on his side in front of the fireplace, you know that all is well at our house!

Losing a Friend

My goodness! What in the world happened to the past almost two years? How can I ever catch up with all the things I wanted to say? I forgot I even set this blog up. Time gets away from me. A new position at work, watching new projects unfold at home,losing a dear friend to brain cancer, trips to the mountains...the past two years have flown.

I stumbled across this picture of old Bo, our blue heeler cattle dog. He was my husband's faithful friend for 18 years. Came here on a semi truck from Big Spring, Texas. I took this picture of Bo and Jeff just a week before his death. There is something very profound to me about the way they are looking into each others eyes. There is trust there, there is love there. There are many, many miles of riding in the back of the truck with his head hanging over the side. Many nights of protecting our home, patroling the pastures and the woods around the house. Many hours of lazy sleep around the barn during the day.  He was such a good sport a couple of years ago at Christmas when we took pictures of him with reindeer antlers on.  I almost got him to smile! 

I've heard my husband say the old quote many times, "Lord, help me be the man my dog thinks I am." Bo has been gone almost a year now and we miss him every day. We sometimes think we see him coming around the corner of the barn. Sometimes we whistle for him and when the other three dogs arrive, we realize Bo is no longer with us. The day he died, we both cried so much we couldn't even make it to church. Our little Barney dog laid in my lap and I literally had to take tissues and wipe his tears away. I never realized a dog could cry from a broken heart. He had lost his big, loveable, protective friend. Jeff buried him where the woods and pasture meet and we sat on the tailgate of the truck and talked about him all afternoon. We miss you Bo.