I've lost my joy? Where did I put it?

So really?  How does this keep happening?  Over a year ago I gave all the reasons why I didn't have time to write in my blog.  And now here I am, once again, doing the same thing.  My excuses this time include having shingles (the commercials on television are right....they ARE painful!), breaking my toe and a recent eye surgery to remove a macular pucker.  Who the heck gets a macular pucker?  Like I said last year, I feel old.  Every morning I make a conscious decision to approach the day with new energy, a good attitude and the promise of completing tasks at work that have been waiting.  And every day, all my good intentions go right down the drain. 
Someone at church hugged me the other day and said, "I've been praying for you!"  I thanked them and told them my eye surgery had gone well and they said, "No, you've lost your joy.  I'm praying that you get it back."  That hit me hard.  I know they meant very well and it was said to me following a warm hug but it still hit me.  I've lost my joy?  Maybe I have.  I'm angry a lot lately.  I'm frustrated more easily and my patience isn't what it used to be. I cried yesterday for absolutely no reason.  I wake up at two in the morning and my legs want to stretch and run in the pasture that surrounds our cabin.  I pace the floor and look out the windows, walk out onto the porch and look up at the stars.  No, I can't blame it on menopause, I've been there, done that and didn't like it.  I don't know what I'm looking for.  Maybe my joy?  I truly have no reason in the world to be un-joyful!  I have a wonderful husband, a great job, a beautiful family and precious granddaughter.  I just feel tired and restless and don't know why.  I feel like I'm pouring out more than I'm taking in.  So, maybe tomorrow will be different.  And maybe I'll wake up with a new direction and the day will actually go great and I'll find my joy.  I've laid down somewhere and can't remember where I put it.  If you borrowed it or played a part in taking it, please return it and I won't ask any questions.  And if it takes me another year to write again, I can use the excuse that I was out looking for my joy.

 

Time Slipped Away

How could almost two years completely get away from me without posting something on my blog?  I was reminded by a friend today that it had been a while since I'd written.  This little girl in the picture is the reason.  On July 2, 2014, she became our granddaughter and we've been wrapped around her little fingers ever since.  Between her and her mama, they have proved one of my favorite sayings, "When I can see no way, God makes a way."  After losing three babies, I could never see a way to have children, but we were blessed with Audrey.  I could never see a way to have grandchildren and we were blessed with Jessa. 
So much has happened in the past two years.  I lost my brother in July of 2013.  In January of 2014, my only sister was diagnosed with breast cancer.  A year later now, she is cancer free, but it was a rough year for her.  Scary times, two surgeries, treatments, doctor visits.  She pulled through like the strong woman she's always been. Between those two, I spent a lot of time on my knees.  I cried a lot.  God took one from me and let me keep the other.  Sometimes life just hurts.  But there were also joyful times.  A niece got married, a nephew got married, family came and visited from Ohio, family moved to Savannah.  As I sit here tonight, I realize how much life changes and how we just seem to be along for the ride.  I feel old for the first time in my life.  My back hurts and I can't dig in my yards the way I want to.  I think about my past more often and I want to go back and do it again and make some better decisions, I want to spend more time with the people I've lost, I want to tell them once more how much I love them, I want to dance into the night again and walk in the rain more often.  I want to eat at the Waffle House again with my brother and sit with my mama and daddy on a pew in the third row of their church.  I want to.....so many things.  Thank you friends for reminding me that I needed to write more.  I'll make a better effort to do it this year.

Giving Away a Daughter



We got the call in September.  The man she fell in love with had asked her to marry him.  We were in the car, headed home from shopping.  It was happy news.  It was sad news.  Her parents wouldn't be there to take part in the wedding.  It was their choice, surely they'd change their minds.  God turned that situation around and blessed us with their choice.  We were blessed with their decision to be absent from her life.

We got to take their place.  It meant we had front row seats the day she got married.  It meant I became the mother of the bride and my husband got to experience the undescribable joy of walking her down the sandy isle on Mexico Beach.  He got to be the father of the bride.  He got to give her away to a man that loved her dearly.  He got to wear his shirt hanging out and bare feet.  How happy could one man be?

We took our new roles seriously.  We were nervous.  We wanted to be prepared to give good advice if we were asked.  And we were. I had never had any children and here I was, helping pick out a beautiful bridal gown, attending showers, taking pictures, meeting the women that would soon become a part of her new family.  Loving every minute of it.  Laughing, sometimes crying, sometimes down on my knees beside my bed praying.  Asking God why he allowed me to experience such joy and thanking Him for it.  Asking for His guidance because she needed me.  She needed us.



It was a beautiful day.  Cloudy, rainy, it didn't matter.  There's nothing prettier than a white sandy beach on a cloudy day.  We got wet at the reception and that didn't matter either.  At the end of the day, she was a wife and we gained a son.  I looked at her walking with her arm through my husband's and I cried.  Why would any mother not want to witness something so precious and so beautiful?  She's smart, she's independent, she works hard.  Every woman in my circle of friends and family would welcome her as their own.  She is a young woman to be proud of.  She'd made it right by herself. 

So, I need to say thank you.  Thank you to her for choosing me to be the mother of the bride that beautiful day and thank you God for the decisions that others make that bless my life.

"Great is the power of might and mind, but only love can make us kind, and all that we are or hope to be is empty pride and vanity.  If love is not a part of all, the greatest man is very small."  HSR

Daddy's Favorite

We recently passed the twenty year anniversary of the death of my daddy.  He died on a freezing, rainy Christmas in 1992.  I remember it like it was yesterday afternoon.  There are constant reminders of him in my life; smells of sawdust, beautiful bends in the river, an old pair of overalls, a bottle of Old Spice, an old 1966 Chevrolet step-side pickup truck.  Seeing, hearing, smelling these things bring him back to me and I like it.  I take pleasure in those brief moments when he passes through my memories.  Sometimes I still cry, but not as often.   When he first passed away I went to the cemetery every day for the an entire year.  I'd stand in the rain, in the hot sun, it didn't matter.  I couldn't stand him being there alone.  Many times I'd kneel down beside his grave and weep.  My heart hurt.  I'd known the hurt of losing a husband because he didn't want me but I'd never known the deep, aching hurt of losing the man that truly loved me from the time I took my first breath until he took his last. 

Daddy was a tall man, big built and strong with jet black hair in his younger days and silver taking over as he got older.  Men in town called him J.B.  Everyone at our house called him Daddy.  Even Mama called him that.  There was a softer side to him as I grew up.  I was the baby and I liked it that way.  He had already raised two other children, my older brother and sister, so by the time I came along, he was tired.  He was easier and softer and I know I got away with a lot.  I got to enjoy the more mellow time in his life but I also didn't get to enjoy him as long. 

The flower in this picture is of his favorite camellia.  It grew, along with many other varieties, in the circle drive way at their house, the place I called home.  I remember very distinctly a day when he and I walked slowly through the yard.  It was the winter before his stroke and his steps were getting slower.  He was not well and we all knew it. He loved the camellias and we'd stop at each one and he'd tell me about it and comment about how beautiful it was.  But when we reached this one, he pulled down the stem and held it close to his face and really looked at it hard.  He said, "Sugar, how can anyone look at something so beautiful and not believe there is a God?  Why, if you look close enough this flower has veins in it."  Then, he ran his hand down the stem and broke it off and handed it to me.  We carried this beautiful flower back inside and put it in water for mama to see when she came home from buying groceries.

When Daddy died on Christmas day in 1992 and we buried him two days later, I carried some of these beautiful flowers to his grave and laid them at his head.  Then, every day I would break one off and take it to the cemetery until the flowering bush gave me nothing else to carry him.  Then, I just went alone with nothing in my hands to take to him but my tears.

Every year, I return to this beautiful camellia bush and I break two stems of beautiful blooms; one for Daddy and one for me.  I take one by the cemetery and then I take one home and put it in a vase next to my kitchen sink where I'm reminded of him for many days afterwards.   Some men would scoff at walking around the yard looking at flowers but not this man.  He had learned to enjoy the beautiful gifts that God had given us.  It took me years to reinvent myself so that I could also appreciate the beauty of simple things.  And not that I would ever forget, not even for a single day, but God reminds me of him every winter by bringing beautiful blooms to Daddy's favorite camellia bush. 

Just as Different as Our Dogs

Good friends are hard to come by.  Sister says they come into our lives for a season, for a purpose and then sometimes they go away.  Sometimes they stay.  I have many good friends but only a very few that I consider true friends.  Most of my friends have my same interest.  We like the same foods, we share the same careers.  We like the same television shows, the same books, the same kinds of men.  But I have one friend that is just plain weird.  We're just as different as our dogs.  I'll have to tell you how I met her.

It was about 17 years ago.  God! How time flies.  It was her first day on the job at the bank I was working at.  You know how women are.  We don't like change.  We don't like women that come in the first day and try to own the place.  I'd heard she was coming.  I was an executive officer of the bank with nice double french windows overlooking a massive lobby.  There she was.  I could tell it was her by the way she was acting.  All flirty, with men standing all around her.  She had a big smile, shaking hands with customers, talking like she knew everyone in the entire town.  She was short, petite, tiny, with dark, stylish, short hair.  I was tall, big, blond hair.  I didn't like her already. 

I tried my best to act very unconcerned about her arrival.  I turned my attention back to a stack of reports on my desk.  The laughter was getting louder, getting closer to my door.  My curiosity was getting the best of me so I looked again.  She had her back to me.  Her stylish gray skirt was tucked neatly inside the back of her pantyhose.  I turned my head away, knowing if I started laughing, I'd pee in my pants.  There she was.  First day on the job and her backside was shining to the world.  No wonder the men surrounded her!  Should I step out and tell her?  Surely I should.  She didn't know me.  I didn't know her.  I made a quick decision.  I wasn't opening my mouth.  She'd figure it out if she wanted to be a woman in a man's world! 

But then I really met her.  Had to work on a daily basis with her and she became real.  She was going through a bad divorce.  We had that in common.  She had teenagers.  My heart started to hurt for her.  She was human, a woman just like me.  The confidence and cockiness she displayed on the job was a facade and I realized it was an armor for her insecurities and her hurt.  We began to form a friendship.  We ate lunch together on occasion.  I'd go to her house and listen to her play her piano.  We'd attend bank functions at night together.  She realized my hearing loss and she became my ears at work.  She began to travel with me, attend meetings with me, repeat things that she knew I didn't hear.  I began to rely on her.  And then she met "The Man." 

An Air Force Pilot came one day and took her away.  He married her and they began to travel all over the world and our differences became even more distinctive.  It wasn't just the tall-short thing or the blond-brown hair thing.  It became the social and the reclusive.  The traveler and the homebody.  She bought luxurious rugs and furniture.  I decorated with primitive quilts and rustic furniture.  She lived in a three story home in a foreign country, I lived in a little two bedroom house in the woods.  Her husband donned expensive suits and shoes.  Mine wore blue jeans and work boots.  I loved the porch, she loved the theater.  We were just as different as our dogs.  Mine, Red Heeler Cattle Dogs.  Hers, Volpinos.  My dogs ride on the golf cart, hers on airplanes from one country to the next.  See the difference?  We're just as different as our dogs but I love her.  I miss her because she's worlds away in a country where nothing blows but the sand and it's not uncommon to get behind a truck with camels on the freeway. 

Soon she'll come home for a visit and we'll eat at our favorite restaurant, appropriately named "Two Friends".  I'll listen to her talk about her world and she'll listen while I talk about mine.  I'll miss her when she leaves again and long for her to return so we can laugh and talk like two friends do.  I pray daily that God keeps her safe and protected from harm as she lives in a foreign land.  And just like our dogs, we'll just be different. And we're both okay with that.

Junking Into the Unknown

Junking is my passion, my hobby, my high.  If it were cocaine, I'd be an addict.  Some of my most facinating finds have been down dirt roads, in run-down barns and in frazzled boxes.  I like to dig and plunder. I'll pass a little hand written sign that says, "Estate Sale" or "Yard Sale" and my car automatically does a U-turn in the highway.  I don't care who's behind me, I'm slamming on brakes and turning around.  My husband has learned to just pull up front and stop because I'll jump out before he can put the car in gear.  Years ago I did it for an antique shop we had.  Now, I just do it for fun and to help a friend that is just about to open her own shop.  If you tell me it belonged to your great-aunt or your grandmother crocheted it, I'm buying it.  For the life of me, I couldn't sell something that my mother made or collected.  I'm hoping I don't turn into a horder.  But I am organized so if I do, I'll be an Orderly Horder!  I took this picture on Saturday morning.  I was waiting for my friend to arrive at her new shop so while I waited, I rode.  Hoping to see a sign.  And there it was, "Estate Sale".  A tree-lined canopy road awaited my arrival.  I was in heaven.  Even if the sale was no good, the ride was beautiful and I opened the sun roof on my car.  As I arrived and walked onto the screened in porch, my heart felt some sadness.  It was a mother's things they were selling.  She was no longer with them and they had strewn her things throughout the house with price tags.  It was something we promised our own mama we would never do with her things.  And, when she died, my sister and I kept our promise.  Among the plastic bowls and worn out frying pans, I found a beautiful picture of two angels with their arms around each other, then a pretty pottery bowl and pitcher.  I stood and looked out over the pond and saw the view that their mother must have looked at every day.  I could picture it quiet there early in the mornings with a peaceful view but there was arguing among the children. "Where's mama's CD player?"  asked one daughter.  Another one shouted, "I took it to my house and you can't have it back!"  I gave them my money and left.  I needed to be back on the dirt road, the one out front that was canopy-lined with trees.  They were standing right there in a little slice of heaven and didn't even know it.  Throwing angry words at one another that can't be taken back.  Back out on the dirt road, I let their arguing slip away from me.  I took a deep breath and it felt good to smell the fresh air.  Junking into the unknown is therapy after a long week at work.  And until next Saturday, I'll glance at this picture and hope for another surprise around the bend in the road.

Never Judge A Man By His Overalls

"Never Judge A Man By His Overalls" is a quote from my daddy that has stuck with me through life.  You'll notice that it is in the heading of my blog, along with a picture of my daddy's overalls.  He always wore the Liberty brand and he always smelled of sawdust.  He was a carpenter, a home builder, he could fix anything.  He was bigger than life to me and I loved him.  He's been gone from my life way too long.  Several friends that read my blog have asked me what this saying meant.  So it's time to tell the story.

My first recollection of hearing that phrase was when I was probably 10 or 11 years old.  It was mama's birthday.  It was August and it was hot.  Daddy and I went downtown on a secret mission.  He in his old overalls and me in a pair of shorts and flip flops.  We had a jewelry store in the little town that I grew up in but this was a special day.  It was mama's birthday and we went to the real jewelry store downtown in a big city nearby.  As we sped along the highway in daddy's old turquoise colored step-side Chevrolet truck, I remember talking with him about what mama's favorite color was.  Maybe we could find something for her in green.  I remember his arm hanging out the window and my hair blowing in the wind.  It was a simple time between us, but embedded in my memory forever.

We pulled up in front of the jewelry store and walked inside.  I'd never seen a place so elegant.  It was quiet and somber like a funeral home.  Beautiful jewelry was displayed in long, lighted, glass cases.  Glittering diamonds, beautiful white pearls.  I reached up and took daddy's hand, expecting any minute to see a casket sitting over to the side.  I remember a man coming from the back of the store, smiling, glad to see us.  Wanting my daddy's money.  Daddy told him we were there for a special gift for mama.  I pulled away from his hand and started looking.  Pearls, no.  Diamonds, no.  I couldn't find anything in green.  Daddy put his hands inside the front bib of his overalls and bent over the cases.  "Ya see anything ya like sugar?"  "Not yet..." I replied.  And then!  There it was!  A beautiful, silver stick-pin with an oval, emerald green stone.  The color was perfect and it was her favorite.  Something was engraved in the middle of the stone.  I pulled at daddy's hand and pointed.  The smiling salesman gently tried to guide us away.  "Perhaps something over in this case would better suit you..."  Daddy and I looked together as he lured us away to less expensive jewelry.  A plastic looking bracelet, a pair of earrings that looked like cut glass.  I wasn't old enough then to realize what the salesman was doing but I know now.  He had judged the man by his overalls.  I had witnessed one of the great tragedies in the world of sales.  I was just too young to realize it.
 

"No...I think she's got something in mind over here." daddy said.  And we walked back to the lighted case with the green stick pin.  "But maybe something here would be a little less expensive."  The man was still making a mistake and I felt daddy's hand squeeze around mine.  I was looking at an idiot in elegant!  "We'll take the green pin and please wrap it for a birthday."  I couldn't believe it.  Daddy didn't even ask him how much it was and to this day, I don't know.  I just remember seeing him pull out a folded $100 bill from his wallet.  I couldn't tell you if he got any change back or not.  I was too excited about the surprise for mama.  When we got back in daddy's truck and headed home, he told me a story I didn't understand.  He told me to be careful about judging a man just because he had on a pair of overalls.  All that mattered to me was that we hurry home with this beautifully wrapped present and give it to mama.  Of course, she loved it and on the following Sunday morning I sat on the end of their bed and watched daddy help her pin it to her dress.  She looked beautiful.

Years later, in my senior year of high school, it was the night before I started my first job at a bank.  Daddy sat me down at their little kitchen table and talked to me about how important a good job was.  "You make sure you never judge a man by his overalls, watch out for the ones in suits and ties, and you'll make a fine banker."  I was taken back to that day about 7 years ago, a little girl holding her daddy's hand in a fancy jewelry store.  I knew what daddy meant.  And to this day, I've met more wealthy customers in my line of work that were just plain, hard-working people with overalls, painters pants, dirty shoes caked with mud, leathery hands and faces.  Some of my very largest customers didn't look the part at all, but thanks to daddy, I knew better than to judge them by their overalls!  It was a very valuable lesson that I still carry with me, even today, some thirty six years later in banking.

Mama died in 1995 and I now have the pin in my jewelry box.  One day, long after she was gone, I took a really close look at the stick pin and realized it was a scorpion engraved in the green stone.  For some reason that struck me funny and I laughed out loud.  Knowing mama, it didn't matter what was engraved in the stone.  Just the fact that daddy had given it to her was all she needed to know.  She and I both loved the man in the overalls. 

Now, when I see that salesman around town, I smile.  He'll never realize the impact his actions that day had on a little girl's life.  And, although I never darkened the door of his jewelry store again, I'm left wondering if he ever learned the valuable lesson of judging someone by their overalls.

Nineteen Years and Five Months

I've waited nineteen years and five months for the day to come when my great-niece would need all the things I'd stored away for her since the day she was born.  She's very special to me.  She's in my heart.  First of all because she was named after me.  And maybe living close to her all these years has made our bond even stronger.  When she was just a toddler, learning to talk, she would walk up to people and pull on their dress or pants leg, or whatever she could get her hands on.  With very dramatic hand gestures and a loud voice she would say, "Hey! Hey!"  And when she had their full attention she would hold her chubby little hands out in exclamation and say, "My Aunt Margie couldn't have babies so my mama and daddy had me and gave me to her!"  It would always bring a smile to whoever she was talking to and it would make my heart feel like it was bursting with pride.  I love her with a love that no one could possibly imagine.  I get mother's day cards, I get visits for no reason except to spend time with me.  I get surprise phone calls.  I've seen her go through some rough times in her life and she came out on the other side even stronger and with an even bigger smile.  Being a Christian girl has helped her achieve that strength and I'm proud of her faith. I'm proud of who she has become. She's determined, she's strong willed and she's independent.  And she loves me.

So this is what I've been waiting for.  For the day she'd call me and say, "Hey!  I'm ready to go through all that stuff you've been saving for me.  I'm moving to my own apartment."  The day is here.  The call from her came last Saturday.  I was nervous as I got dressed to go meet her at the lake house.  A part of me didn't want to let go of the "things" I'd stored away because I knew it meant she was growing up.  Maybe she wouldn't need me anymore.  Maybe I wouldn't see her as often.  But when she came flying down the driveway and came to a screeching halt, jumped out of the car and came running to me with a hug, I knew I'd be okay. I knew she and I would always be okay together.

We went through my jewelry.  She picked out all sorts of things that she could wear to work.  And then she picked up a very special silver ring.  She put it on her middle finger and told me she thought it was pretty.  I smiled.  It belonged to my mother, her great-grandmother.  I wanted her to have it and I wanted her to enjoy it and wear it.  Mama would have wanted her to have it.  I wish she could have been there with us.  So we placed it in a box for her to take. 

Then, we dug deeper in the big walk in closet and, together, we pulled out her hope chest.  The wooden chest smelled of cedar when we opened it.  It, too, belonged to my mother and daddy, her great-grandparents.  We found dolls from mama's collection, we found a Dresden-heart quilt that mama had made almost 20 years ago after daddy died.  We found crystal candle sticks and recipe books.  Best of all, we found a letter that I had written to her when she turned 13.  It was a letter about a hope chest.  It told her about my hopes for her, my dreams for her.  When we read it together, I cried. All were things that had been placed in the chest with her in mind.  She was now old enough to need them and to want them.  And she would take care of them and appreciate them.  I was happy about that.

Our fun continued in the attic.  We found baking dishes and china and pottery. We found plate racks and a wooden quilt rack she could use to display her great-grandmother's quilt.  I laughed at the odd things that she wanted.  She found an old toaster oven and when she spotted it she said, "Hey!  Does this thing work?"  I told her it did.  I had bought a new one of a different color to match the kitchen.  I told her it was ugly and she said she didn't care.  As long as it worked!  I love that about her.  She's exactly what you see.  No airs about her.  Just pure honesty when she opens her mouth.

So, now my girl is growing up.  There's joy in that realization.  There's sadness because she's not little any more.  She's going to make mistakes. She's going to endure happiness and sadness.  She's going to achieve great things and sometimes she might even fail.  But I'll be right there.  She's the closest thing I'll ever have to a daughter and I love her for that.  She's mine and that's something no one can take away from me.  Ever.

A Come As You Are Christmas

Christmas in our family has always been very traditional.  Twelve layer chocolate cake, chicken and dressing, greens and corn bread, spiral cut ham.  My entire life, Christmas Eve was spent at mama and daddy's house.  They passed away and things changed.  The food stayed the same but things changed.  It just never was the same again without mama and daddy.  My sister quickly stepped up and started having Christmas at her house and for many years now it's been a new tradition to spend Christmas Eve with her and her family.  It's probably my husband's most favorite night of the year.  He loves going to her house and we love being there together. 

I've always wanted to do something fun at our house but could never quite come up with a good idea.  Then, this past Christmas it hit me.  "Let's do a Come as You are Christmas Breakfast!" When I told my husband, he said, "Now you know that no one is going to drive out here in the country with their pajamas on and no make up.  As a matter of fact, I'll bet you that no one will do that..."  Well, the bet was on and I emailed all the ladies in my family and secretly told them what he'd said.  I knew they wouldn't let me down and sure enough, Christmas Eve morning they arrived with pajamas on, rollers in their hair and no makeup.  As a matter of fact, even all the men wore their pajamas!  Sweetie was the ONLY one that didn't have his pajamas on!  I could collect on his bet!

And what fun we had!  We ate a wonderful homemade country breakfast, complete with rotel and cream cheese grits, biscuits, smoked sausage, hash brown casserole and lots of other breakfast goodies.  Then, we had the "Jammie Awards".  You know, like the Grammy Awards, but without the famous Red Carpet.  Each girl that showed up in her pajamas received a special award, had to give their award winning speech and received a little gift. 

In addition to going to sister's house, it was apparent we had started a new Christmas tradition and I'll be counting the days until we can do it again next Christmas.  Have you ever had something make you happy on the inside?  This was one of those times for me and every time I look at our picture, I smile again.  The older I get, the more fun life is thanks to my crazy family!

The Prayer Spoon

Something about getting older and wiser makes me do strange things.  I'm more sentimental. I like things that have a memory attached to them.  I'm simplifying my life. It's become a goal of mine.  On the road to simplification (is that a word?) I'm becoming more attached to simple things and less attached to impressing someone or trying to be somone I'm not.  I like baking cakes in mama's old cake pan.  I like opening my closet door and touching my daddy's tattered red and black checkered housecoat.  He's been gone 19 years but if I hold it close enough, I can still smell him.  I love sitting on the floor and looking through a steamer trunk of old family photographs. 

So when a brand new wooden spoon arrived in the mail from my niece in Ohio, I held it close and thought of her.  She had sent a note saying, "When you use your wooden spoon, please pray for your family in Ohio."  That seemed like an odd request.  Of course, knowing her, it wasn't odd at all.  She said it and she meant it.  I proudly put it in the big glass cookie jar on my kitchen counter so everyone could see it.  The jar holds old wooden spoons of all shapes and sizes.  I even have one my sister bought for me when she visited our niece a couple of years ago.  It's called a right-handed tasting spoon.  I love using it when I'm stirring a sauce of some sort. 

Several days after the special spoon arrived, I decided to make my homemade spaghetti sauce.  When it came time to start stirring, I reached for a wooden spoon and there it was, the Prayer Spoon.  It was new and unstained and I almost thought of not using it so it would stay beautiful and clean.  But then I thought about what she had said in the note, "When you use your wooden spoon, please pray for your family in Ohio."  So I pulled it out and started stirring the fragrant red sauce.  It was smooth and it felt good in my hand.  That's a sure sign of a good wooden spoon. And then it happened.  I closed my eyes and I could see her and her sweet smile and I started praying while I stirred.  It was a very peaceful time for me, nothing that anyone looking would have even noticed.  I prayed and I thanked God for her.  For placing her in my life even though she's many miles away.  Unconditional love.  That's what I think when I think of her.  She's blessed with it.  I know so very few people that have it and she's full of it.

I've seen prayer quilts and been in a prayer circle and I've heard of prayer shawls but never have I heard or read about a Prayer Spoon.  Oh, I'm sure I could search the internet and there would be one out there in the world but none would be as special as this particular wooden spoon.  It's such a simple thing and, once again, it created something that I treasure,  something that holds a wonderful memory for me.  And I've used it many times since and each time I say a prayer for my family in Ohio.  God bless the simple things in my life like that wooden spoon.  I pray that He keeps me grounded and I know He had a part in sending that spoon my way as a reminder.

Super Glued Women

Some things just don't need a picture and this is one of those times when I think I'll just leave the picture out of my thoughts.  Last night I had the pleasure of watching a dear friend get baptized.  The pleasure wasn't just in seeing her baptized, it was realizing that I was sitting in a church pew, surrounded by friends that had not always been in my life.  My job has opened many doors for me over the years and a lot of different people have crossed my path.  Last night, all of the eight women that sat around me represented some of those special people that I would not have known had I not met them through work. 

To my left were two friends that had worked together and been best friends for almost 40 years.  When you see one, the other one is by her side.  If you're friends with one, you are friends with both.  They've raised children together, they've worked side by side and when one got cancer, the other one stayed right next to her as only a true friend can do.  To my right was a newer friend that truly loves the Lord.  To hear her say the blessing over our food was a blessing within itself.  She can sing all the hymns without the songbook!  And in front of me were all types of women in my life...one battling cancer, one that had been one of my own best friends for over 20 years along with other women that had survived divorces, hearthaches, losing parents.  Our friend that was being baptized sat farther down to my right, next to her husband who is battling cancer.  We were there for her, and for him.  We had cried together when we heard his news just a few weeks ago.  We have all sent up many prayers for him as he goes through chemotheraphy.  We all believe in miracles.

Each of us have been through a lot and we aren't perfect, and we never will be.  As a matter of fact, when the preacher mentioned Jezabel, we all straightened up in our seats and looked at each other.  We'd been down that path too, some of us.  In some way, I could count on each of them for anything I might need.  I don't know of one that sat surrounding me that I couldn't call in the middle of the night and they'd come.  One might bring a pot of soup, one might bring a book for me to read and one might bring a margarita....but if I called, they would come.  And they would stay and they would give orders to everyone that walked through the door. 

During the sermon it dawned on me that we were each broken in some way.  Some of us had picked up the broken pieces in our lives and tried to put them back together and failed miserably.  Some had always been strong and faithful, plowing through every crisis like a bull, never stopping to cry or give up, just marching right through and telling the devil to get the heck out of the way!  One thing I knew for sure about each and every one of us was that we had one thing in common, we are forgiven.  By the wonderful Grace of God, we are each forgiven and He has super-glued us back together and pushed us forward in our lives.  When one of us falls, we can count on each other to help hold us up.  I'm praying these friends will be by my side for many years to come.  And I know that God will be behind us all, picking up the broken pieces, super-gluing us back together and making us stronger with each heartache, each loss, each illness that we endure. 

Thank you God for these friends and thank you for bringing us together through a friend's baptism.  My prayer is that you keep us as strong as the love and super-glue you  have used to hold us together through tough times.  And I hope that we all stay close to one another.

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!