Friday, November 28, 2008

Cat's Cradle

"Cat's cradle is a well known series of string figures. The name of the entire game, the specific figures, their order, and the names of the figures vary. Versions of this game have been found in indigenous cultures all over the world--from the Arctic to the Equatorial zones."*

I don't know where the name "Cat's Cradle"comes from. I began to get a clue, however, when I woke up to find a ball of yarn strewn across two rooms. Undoubtedly a certain girl cat who had a way too much time on her paws was to blame.

The evidence is circumstanial. I don't believe it would stand up in a court of law. But I know these black felines pretty well. The girl cat is not afraid to sniff around a bag of yarn when the lights are low and the house quiet. Boy cat might watch and egg her on, but there's no way he's brave enough to do the dirty work.

Take a look for yourself and see what I mean.

1. Down the hall

2. Around the corner

3. Into the den

4. Onto the desk

5. Under and over and back around the pens and papers

6. Girl Cat: "Here, let me help you roll it back into a ball."

7. Boy Cat: "Looks like fun, but I better stay here and watch for mom."

I must be getting mellow in my old age. Thinking about how much fun they must have had makes me smile!

Here's hoping all your yarn is easily untangled, Merry ME

Was it as good for you ????

"Feeling gratitude and not expressing it
is like wrapping a present and not giving it."
William Arthur Ward

Here we are, the day after Thanksgiving. As if the days of the year aren't already moving fast enough, the time from now to Dec. 31st is going to pass by like a snowball rolling downhill, picking up speed and extra snow as it goes. The time of the year that should be the most sacred, the most meditative goes by in a big blur of decorations, Christmas carols, too much food and too much stress.

See, I've already moved beyond this post-thanksgiving day. I think yesterday may have been one of my most organized, best choreographed food fests. Okay, so the turkey was just a teeny tiny tad undercooked (I know - gag!) and the brownies were just that much overcooked. I think it all evened out in the end.

Mostly the the family dysfunction that usually shows itself in all its glory at holidays was missing. I remember laughing not bitching. I remember lively conversation, not stoney silence. I remember blessings, not hurt feelings. And that, my friends, is what the holiday season is all about isn't it? [Photo L: A man and his pie - it'a a beautiful thing!]

There was another family gathering taking place 2000 miles away. Most of my favorite people were together for the first time in 15 years. Cousins were reunited and grand cousins got to meet the people they'd been hearing about for most of their lives. Young and old together the way a family is supposed to be. In my mind's eye I picture it rather Rockwellian. I can't wait to see the actual photos, because I bet someone has red eyes from crying, sleepy eyes from lack of rest, and a plunger in hand because they forgot the "don't put the potato peel in the disposal" rule. Ahhh, now that's going to be a holiday to remember.

When I dragged my lazy ass out of bed this morning at a near record late hour ( it was still am, though not for long) my Sweetie had already unloaded the dishwasher and put the living/dining room back in order (you gotta love a man like that!). Now I've got to figure out how to put the good china back in the cupboard and find the turkey in the mass of refrigerated leftovers because the second course of Thanksgiving dinner is about to begin.

Today I have a grateful heart. While early money-saving shoppers are out there doing their best to help the economy, I think I'll put on a gentle Christmas CD, eat a turkey sandwich and burrow down into the gratitude.

I hope you can find the time in the coming weeks to do the same,
Merry ME

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Giving Thanks

"There is a calmness to a life lived in gratitude, a quiet joy."
Ralph H. Blum

I think I get the "quiet joy" part of that quotation. Haven't quite perfected the calmness!
It's the night before Thanksgiving. I've baked 3 pies, 4 loaves of pumpkin bread and a pan of brownies (which I forgot about until just now so they may be a tad overdone. I hope no one notices) today. As I write potatoes are boiling away before being smashed and buttered. Wow! That almost sounds like I'm organized. But I'm not going to jinx things by patting myself on the back just yet. I think I'll wait to do that after the burnt brownies have been served.

I may be organized when it comes to making a gala feast, but shamefully I've been so busy baking that I haven't stopped long enough today to count my blessings. Even though I whine a lot, I know that I am blessed; perhaps in more ways than I deserve. I've read some really good gratitude blogs and letters today. I'm pleased to say I know some pretty grateful people.

As I think back over this year I see that there is a common thread among the items on my gratitude list ... people. I've met, and re-met, some really neat people (and kritters) this year. People who made me smile and held me when I cried. People who praised my abilities, understood my failures, shared their truth and accepted mine. People I can't imagine not knowing. People I try to say thank you to on a regular basis. Friendship is a two way street, I hope I give as much as I get.

I believe that what goes around comes around. If I live my life trying to bless others, then those blessings will come home to roost. I haven't perfected the art of gratitude yet, but here's a list of people to whom I offer a heart full of thanks.
  • To Georges Jallouf thank you for showing me what it's like to have a brother; for being so good to my dad; for sharing your love and your smile; for teaching me the meaning of humility.
  • To Ana thank you for accepting my dad as he is and for always giving us service with a smile.
  • To Terri St. Cloud thanks for sharing your heart - with me and with so many others. []
  • To Carol O'Dell thanks for sharing your creativity and caregiving skills; for inspiring me and encouraging me to write my story. []
  • To Dale Beaman thanks for the example of your strong yet gentle spirit. []
  • To Linda for everything you do to put the fun in dysfunctional.
  • To Sorrow thanks for your circle of giving. It's a great lesson to all of us, not just your kids. []
  • To Jean for showing me how important it is to keep putting one foot in front of the other no matter how many times you get turned down.
  • To Johnson thanks for being my own personal hurricane predictor, for sharing your great photos, and for making me proud.
  • To Chuck thanks for continuing to lift my spirits by working you haircutting magic
  • To unnamed health care workers thanks for making hospital visits, if not pleasant, at least bearable.
  • To the unseen cooks at Paneras, thanks you for bear claws and broccoli cheese soup. Mmmm. Divine, simply divine!
  • To the women in my writing group thank you for your honest yet gentle critiques; for letting me know "I'm okay" just the way am.
  • To Fr. Miguel and his "happy band of Christians" thank you for breathing life back into our church. Seeing Dad clap his hands to the salsa beat of a praise song is proof that you can teach an old dog new tricks!
  • To my vet, thanks for all the information on how to keep a cat from peeing on the furniture. I pray I'll never have to use it again.
  • To the two black cats thank you for reminding me the need to be forgiving
  • To Fr. David thanks for listening
  • Thank you t0 the EMT's who didn't blink an eye when I dropped the F-bomb because I was so worried about my Dad. I guess you've seen it all.
  • To Carol Sanchez thanks for helping to make my vision a reality
  • To Barak Obama thanks for your ideas, your dreams, your hopes for this country.
  • To the men and women in uniform at home and in foreign lands thank you for your sacrifice(s). May God keep you safe.
  • To Wendy thanks for coming to visit me. You continue to light up my life.
  • To the lady from the Walmart electronics department who cut fabric for me even though she clearly didn't have any idea what she was doing.
  • To Spud Bud, aka Frank, thanks for adding a little canine excitement to our otherwise ho-hum days.
  • To Black Beauty thanks for continuing to watch out for us. You are a big hunk of dog love.
  • To Bill McCarthy thank you for the work you do and for opening my eyes. []
  • To John Katz, thanks for sharing your life at Bedlam Farm. []
  • To Ewell and Hoppin John, thanks for your songs.
  • To Gary and Molly Jo thanks for giving me a window into the world of Ice; and for coming all the way to Florida so I could meet Ivy Jane! []
  • To Dad thanks for the ever present opportunities to practice patience and compassion. I pray I'll perfect these skills before it's too late.
  • And last, but never least, to my everloving Sweetie for all you do to comfort me, teach me, help me, guide me, and love me. You are the best. []
I am blessed,
Merry Me

Friday, November 21, 2008

Homework Assignment

"No day is so bad it can't be fixed with a nap."
Carrie Snow

I'm not usually very good with assignments. Like exercising or dieting, an assignment is something I know I should do, but before I get started on it, I have to dig in my heels and whine a little.

Yesterday at our writing group Carol told us of a good workbook to help stimulate writing [How to Think Like Leonardo Da Vinci by Michael Gelb] One of the author's suggestions was to jot down 100 questions you have about your life. 100 questions in 30 minutes. 100 free associative questions that don't have to have answers at the moment. The whole point is to get the questions down on paper.

We didn't have time for a hundred so Carol asked us to write down 5. Here are mine ...

  1. Why am I so angry?
  2. How can I get my $$$s in order?
  3. How can I be more compassionate in the face of fear?
  4. How can I get to Seattle and Key West more often?
  5. How can I get more sleep?

Good Lord, a few more questions like that and I'd have to check myself into a mental health facility for some intense therapy. In a way, though, that's what writing is for me - therapy. Probably why I should do more of it instead of letting things rumble around in my head the way they do.

Each of the women in the group shared one of their questions. When it got to me, I asked the sleep question. Who knew a question about my seemingly endless need for sleep could generate so much compassion and wisdom? You don't have to be a rocket scientist or Sigmund Freud to figure out that my need for sleep is most likely more emotional than physical. But it helps if you're a friend who can help you see the forest instead of the trees. Carol suggested that a way to exercise my writing muscles - i.e. journal more frequently - would be to write every day for 30 days about a different place I'd like to sleep.

THIRTY DAYS ????? That sounds a tad bit like NABLOPOMO! That sounds like work! Just thinking about it makes me feel kind of sleepy!

Yet at the same time, I think it sounds like a fun assignment. If I could sleep anywhere in the world, where would it be? Would I sleep alone or have company? Would I sleep a la naturale or would I snuggle down between handmade quilts in flannel pajamas? Would I sleep on a bed or in a hammock, or on a raft bobbing on an ocean current? Hmmmmm? I'm beginning to like this assignment.

So I'm in. I've got a ton of things to do before Christmas. Hell before Thanksgiving and that is only a week away. But this "to do" sounds like something I can handle and something that will be good for me. I don't know if I'll be any closer to thinking like DaVinci, but it's worth a try.

Stay tuned, Merry ME

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

Mary the Fairy Hartmeyer

" Spread your wings and let the fairy in you fly! "
Author Unknown

When I was a little kid we lived in Philadelphia. Just learning to talk I am told I had my own way of saying things - chish (fish), chork (fork) and chank (Frank) - sort of a combo of toddler and south Philly. Also, for some reason that has never been thoroughly explained to me, I dubbed myself "Mary the fairy Hartmeyer." I must have had a thing a young man named Hartmeyer who worked for my father. Go figure! Mary the Fairy was a name that stuck over the years. Not stuck as in "Swaying Sapling" but it had enough staying power that one of my personas is easily influenced by fairy paraphernalia.

I went to my writer's group this morning. It felt good. I felt free; or at least on a longer leash. My sister was making breakfast for Dad. I left his "where are you going?" comment at the door. [Note to self: Maybe the gruffness of his voice has nothing to do with what he's saying. Maybe he's not growling at me, a growl is just his normal tenor. Could it be that where are you going is just a question so he'll know where I'm going? It doesn't have to be a snarl - WHERE ARE YOU GOING NOW MISSY?"]

The group's discussion was compassionate and gentle. There was a thread of wanting to control how other's live their lives running through the conversation. We all seemed to be saying we care for people in our lives and only want things to be better for them. When our intentions are good, why don't those people act on the wisdom we so generously confer on them? It's a question I live with daily so I could definitely relate. Two hours and two giant glasses of iced tea passed by all too quickly.

As I drove home something white and glittery and shimmery caught my eye - not an easy thing to do at 60 mph. But I knew immediately what it was. Fairy wings!

Fairy wings on the side of the road. Was that an ominous sign - some poor fairy had lost her wings? Or was it an omen - I needed to dig deep and bring my fairy self back to life? I would have whipped a James Bond (or James Ellington) u-turn, but there was a big fence in the middle of the highway. So I drove west, turned south, crossed back over the freeway, drove past the wings twice, turned around on a side road then parked in a deserted parking lot to get to within a block of the wings lying forlornly in the gutter.

As if I were rescuing the whole fairy not just her wings, I picked them up tenderly and checked for any breaks. Except for a slight tear in one corner, these gossamer glories were in perfect condition. I knew I had discovered fairy paydirt. I knew these wings were meant for me. White with silver glitter.They even match my hair!

When I got home, I tried them on. Like Cinderella's glass slipper, the elastic bands that hold the wings on, slipped right into place. The wings sit just over my shoulder blades resting comfortably on the spot that I believe was made for such glamorous accoutrements. I am pretty sure I can fly if I close my eyes and stand on my tippy toes, but for now, just wearing the wings is enough.

I don't know why things happen the way they do. I don't know how the wings got to where they were or why I was the only person cruising down the highway who decided to stop and pick them up. But I do know that something as simple as fairy wings, can make a person feel lighter, happier.

Clapping my hands because I believe, I am,
Merry ME

Sunday, November 16, 2008

Crayola Wisdom

"No word in the English language rhymes with the color names orange, silver or purple."

I've said it before and I'm sure I'll say it again. I love Reddi Arts. It's more than an artist's paradise of canvas, paint and brushes. There's a little bit of heaven for everyone who walks in the door. You want books? Reddi Arts has them. Not your every day, run
of the mill, novels. Reddi Arts stocks books that speak to your spirit. The kind of book that cries out to you when you pick it up to scan the jacket, "take me home, you'll be glad you did." Reddi Arts is the place to go if you want a picture framed. Reddi Arts is a kaleidoscope of delight if you are a lover of anything that has to do with paper, pens, crayolas, paint, glue, ribbon, greeting cards, soap, stamps, and on and on.

I love Reddi Arts!

I think it's been a few months since I have been in the store. It's a dangerous spot for my pocketbook. But today I had to drop off a piece of material for the print department. It was a simple/in and out task. A half hour after my original reason for being there passed and I was still wandering through the aisles. A book in the baby section spoke to me. I flipped through it, savoring the quotes and poems. I scribbled a few on the only piece of paper I could find in my purse - a torn and tattered dinner receipt. Is that cheating, to write down something you like in a book, but not buy it? I'm pretty sure I'll go back and buy it someday. Today I was keeping my promise to Wendy not to use my credit card.

Just as I was putting the book back on the little stand where it belonged, I read one more quote. Something that made me pause and think, "I wish I'd said that." I googled it as soon as I got home. The receipt wasn't big enough to write the whole thing. Apparently this little gem is not new:

"Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with their imagination."

I wonder if Barak Obama might consider Robert Fulghum for a position on his cabinet. In my opinion this is the kind of change the world needs. Crayola bombs and Cotton Candy grenades.

Wishing you a colorful day,
Merry ME

Friday, November 14, 2008

The "C" word

"When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope?
We have two options, medically and emotionally:
give up, or fight like hell."
Lance Armstrong

We've actually been saying cancer in our house for about a month. It was tentative at first. We've known the doctor was removing "spots," either by cauterizing or surgery. But each time I figured the cancer was gone. After the last surgery, the doctor pretty much assured us that the cancer was going to repeatedly return. It was time to consider a more drastic kind of treatment. That, or be prepared for surgery every few months. Neither option sounded good to me and I'm not even the patient.

Today we got the rundown on the corresponding "C" word - chemotherapy. Because Dad's age and so-so health the optimal treatment of bladder removal is a no-go. Thus, Dad and the doctor agreed on a mild dose of chemo. I asked a lot of questions but basically I'm just along for the ride (and, I suspect, to clean up the mess.)

I've got to tell you, nothing about this treatment sounds pleasant. On the other hand all the staff, nurses and doctors appear to do their best to make the ensuing treatment bearable. Only time is going to tell how Dad will respond, physically and emotionally.

Other possible C words associated with chemo:

Curmudgeon - the cancer patient's general disposition
Crybaby - the caregiver's general disposition
Crap - what both the patient and caregiver say when they get to the clinic only to find the scheduled appointment has to be postponed due to low blood counts
Clean - what the caregiver is going to have to improve so as not to cause the patient infection
Comfortable chairs - what the caregiver is going to need to sit through 3-4 hours of treatment. It looks like all the patient has to do is ask, and he gets all the comfort he needs.
Compassion - a skill the caregiver needs to improve upon

Wish us luck,
Merry ME

Tuesday, November 4, 2008

Alls well that ends well

I was strolling through the hardware store when my phone rang. Expecting it to be my Sweetie wanting something else from the plumbing aisle, I was surprised to hear a woman's voice. Thick with what I thought was a Spanish (but turned out to be German) accent the voice expectantly asked if I might have her dog. Remembering to be careful about who I turned the stray over to, I asked a few questions. Not that I really needed to. From the moment I heard the yearning in the woman's voice I knew she was the one I worried about after I stopped worrying about the dog.

She described him to a "T" even telling me about how he yelps when you touch the bump on his tale because it was once broken. Before the phone call was over I was making an appointment to give Blackie, aka Spud back to Eva.

I tried not to be sad. In all honesty I can't afford the vet bills for another pet. Mainly I was really pleased that this story was going to have a happy ending.

At 5:30 on the dot, Eva knocked on the door, starting a chain event of dogs barking, cats scurrying and my heart thumping. I opened the door an excited black dog at my heels. It only took one nano second to see how much this woman and this dog meant to each other. There was more barking. Poor Eva couldn't stop crying.
It is still a mystery as to how, why and where Spud made his fateful escape from Eva's car. The reason I never saw any "Dog Lost" flyers was because they were posted on the other side of town. Although the pooch was last seen near where I found him, he'd still done some traveling and crossed some busy roads. It explains why he just plopped himself down and decided to take a nap.
Seeing how happy the reunited family was as they walked down the sidewalk, I felt pretty proud of my rescuing abilities. Hard as it was to see them drive away, I know I did the right thing by keeping the dog rather than take him to the pound. Spud's visit added some much needed spice to our otherwise stagnant lives. Even Dad enjoyed seeing the spunky pooch chase a ball and bark at the cats. However, I think Black Beauty breathed a sigh of relief when the little whippersnapper was led away. There's only so much butt smelling an old lady dog can take.
Eva promised to bring Spud back to visit. The cats can't wait!
Feeling good,
Merry ME

Monday, November 3, 2008


Perhaps I've watched to many episodes of Cross Country and the Dog Whisperer. Perhaps I'm just a sucker for big brown eyes. Either way, I have fallen for a wayfaring stranger with 4 short legs and tail that seldom stops wagging.

Last week, after dropping my sister off at the airport I drove home in one of those fogs where you think you're driving safely but in all actuality your mind is a million miles away from the activity at hand, i.e. going 65 miles per hour on a 4-lane highway. It always kind of surprises me to find I've gotten myself home in one piece.

As I neared my own neighborhood on that fate-filled day, a black fur ball on the sidewalk next to a busy street pulled me from my depression. It seemed strange that a dog would have picked that particular spot to lie down and take a nap. Something was not quite. In an instant, I went from woe-is-me mode to Super Girl. Knowing I couldn't do the rescuing myself, that I needed my trusty sidekick, I sped home and yelled from the door, "Sweetie, I need you!"

Talk about fast moving. When I yell like that my man can hustle. He stopped only long enough to slip on some shoes and a shirt. Without a care for the early morning chill, he jumped in the still running rescuemobile without long pants or a hat. Bundled up in a warm sweatshirt, I didn't even notice that my sweetie might soon be in the same state of hypothermia as the dog we were going to pick up.

I drove past the dog once heading North, then made a U-turn across a lane of cars heading for work in the other direction. Al Unser couldn't have done it any better! To my semi-observant eye, the dog had not lifted one paw in the ten minutes since I'd last seen him. I stopped the car right next to the tired pooch, and the real rescuer hopped out of the car - noticing for the first time the temperature was hovering in the 40's. Undaunted, my man walked up to the black bundle of nerves. He carefully but with authority (like I said we've watched a lot of Cesar Milan lately and know the human has to assume the role of Alpha dog in all situations) held out his hand for a good sniff by a dog who could barely hold its head up. Having grabbed a collar instead of a jacket, Sweetie slipped it around the dog's neck with a swift singular motion. The dog then stood and walked himself right into the back seat of the car as if he knew it was his lucky day. If dogs pray, I've got to believe this dog's prayers had been answered. It might sound egotistical, but if I were a dog that needed to be rescued and didn't live anywhere the Selah, Washington, I'd want to be rescued by Sweetie and me!

Even though I did everything a good rescuer is supposed to do, I fell hard for the cuteness of this dog. I called around to the local shelters leaving my name and number as well as a description of the dog. I called a dog rescue place only to receive the helpful information that I should NOT give the dog to just anyone because lost dogs are often used for dogfighting bait. (I could have lived my whole life without knowing that.) I had the pooch scanned for a microchip. I put an ad in the newspaper. I drove around the neighborhood looking for Lost Dog signs. Then, feeling like I'd done all I could do to no avail, I let down my guard, shot right past like and began loving the transient canine.

In the beginning my Sweetie demanded that I wash my hands every time I touched the dog. Dad paid little attention to the visitor as long as he was restricted to a pallet in the garage. He made it clear HE already had a dog, and didn't need/want another one. Then I had a thought; just a little tickle at first, but one I couldn't let it go.

One of the first pets my parents got when they returned to the mainland after their Hawaiian honeymoon was a black cocker spaniel, named what else - Blackie! The more I thought about the coincidences - my sister's visit, the John Edward's show, a dog that seemed to be waiting just for me to drive by and my parent's history with cockers - I pretty much convinced myself that Blackie, or Frank as others are trying to name him, is a sign from my mom that she's hovering nearby. Sure, she could have tried to reach me by making the washing machine spin backwards. Yet in typical mom fashion, she knew I need a love message not more work.

It's a stretch I know. Still, I haven't gotten any calls from disheartened owners. The pallet piled up with blankets has moved into the family room. Black Beauty (Dad's dog) has let the interloper know she's boss. The cats are slinking through the house taking a wide berth around a dog who just wants to play. I'm pretty sure our family has been increased by one. One very cute, obedient, just-what-Mama-ordered black dog. [Photo Left: "Maybe if I just sit here but don't look at her, the cat won't even know I exist."]

I'm holding off a visit to the vet. I don't want to pay to have the dog examined, immunized and neutered only to find out he is a Grand Champion canine whose stud fees could bail out Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac.

I don't know why these things happen. But I do know a dog by any other name has got to be love.

Merry ME

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Touched by an Angel

" A little consideration, a little thought for others, makes all the difference."
Winnie the Pooh

Terri St. Cloud became a friend of mine through one of those circuitous and serendipitous moments that life sometimes throws at you. A year ago, I took myself to the beach for a brief retreat. As if I had all the time in the world, not just a Saturday afternoon, I strolled into a store full of sweet smells, handmade gifts meant to bring one comfort and serenity. I met Bella who, not only convinced me of the recuperative value of a Tibetan Bowl massage, she pointed pointed out some bonesighart prints. Rather uncharacteristically attuned to the moment, I felt as if Bella was some kind of angel put in that spot on that day just for me. Her advice was correct on both counts. Sadly, not long after that the store closed and I never saw Bella again.

I checked out the bonesighs web site, and through another angelic turn of events, began exchanging emails with Terri, a really cool lady ... artist, author, mom, teacher. I don't recall now what our original correspondence was about, but I immediately felt safe opening my heart to this wise stranger. She made me feel at home even though we live in hundreds of miles apart.

I don't know Terri's whole story but I know she's had her share of sadness - lots of sadness. Instead of dwelling in that pain, Terri used it to make a better life for herself and others. Thus bonesigharts was born.

Along with everything else Terri does, she writes a blog - Honor Yourself ( In fact, she is a blogging queen. She even has her own blog groupies! So imagine my surprise and good fortune when she wrote about me, not once but twice. That's pretty cool, but that's not all. She gave me this blog award.

The award comes with instructions to pass it on which I will do when, as Terri says, the spirit moves me. I wonder if it's okay to send it back to her!
I've been thinking lately about how connected we are on this planet. Even though many of us (me included) muddle through life in our own little world, I think we are meant to embrace each other - loved ones and strangers alike. It's that power of love thing; positive energy rippling across the universe. Surely one day love is going to win out. Terri says it better. Here's a quote from an Oct. 28th post:
"we matter to each other.
we just do.
and our moods and interactions with each other
really do make a difference.
and we have no idea how much, do we???"
Well I certainly know what it means to have a mentor like Terri. If you haven't been there before now be sure to visit her website ( you'll be glad you did.
Thanks, Ter, for all you do to lift my spirit. My prayer is that it will return to you four-fold.
With a grateful heart,
Merry ME