Embrace The Suck

Okay, I know I'm a great-grandma. I know I'm a little bit prejudiced. But don't you agree that this is about as sweet as it comes? Be still my heart. Sleep tight, Little Gracie. May bands of angels watch over you. Today I'm grateful for babies and soft little nightgowns. May your world be so blessed, Merry ME

Photo: squidoo.com "Serendipity. Look for something, find something else, and realize that what you've found is more suited to your needs than what you thought you were looking for. Lawrence Block A few months ago I had a psychic reading by Dani's friend, Brett Arras*. Since I was still in the throes of some pretty heavy grief, I'm surprised he could sense anything about me other than extreme sadness. But he did and offered me a peek at a few things that could come into my life later in the year. A spiritual awakening was one of them. When talking to my therapist the subject of spirituality came up again. At the same time I began reading Homecoming by John Bradshaw. In it he says "children are naturally spiritual. (pg. 38) Spirituality involves what is deepest and most authentic in us - our true self. When we are spiritual we are in contact with our unique-ness and specialness. Spirituality also involves a sense of connection and grounding in something greater

"We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken." Fydor Dostoevsky A few weeks ago I made mention of the fact that I preach the stranger danger rule to most anyone who will listen. Don't talk to strangers I tell my daughter when she tells me she's setting out for some new adventure. Don't talk to strangers I tell my sister, or my son, or my Sweetie. There are boogie men out there and I want the ones I love to be aware of them. Ever since I wrote that post, I've become aware that as my Sweetie says, I really don't know a stranger. I seem to feel it's okay to talk to old people and babies and little kids who have been warned not to talk to strangers so we're both breaking the rules. I guess if you smile at someone in the grocery store and they smile back then there's a good chance they aren't serial killers. Although, if I was a se

"For fast-acting relief try slowing down." Lily Tomlin Looks like it's been a while since I last wrote here. And if you asked me what I'd done in the interim I'm not sure I could tell you. Well, maybe that's not exactly true. My muscles, my sciatica and my arthritic thumb could tell you I did something I rarely do. I worked in the yard. My dad had a lily bed out front that was in desperate need of thinning out. I'm not sure how I new that, except that it looked crowded and tight. Plus there were two seemingly immaculately conceived maple trees smack in the middle of all the lilies. To get to them, I had to dig up lilies. And one can't just dig up one lily. One leads to two and two leads to four. And four often leads to whole lily families in one bulb. It was hard work. I broke a shovel and Sweetie broke a rake. FYI: If you are digging something that is apparently bigger than what you think it is and you lean on the shovel handle with all your might t

"... then sigh not so, but let them go be you blithe and bonnie converting all your sounds of woe into hey nonny nonny." Shakespeare I've noticed lately that I seem to sigh a lot. Not ho hum kind of sighs, but deep-breath-in-woe-is-me sighs. I wonder if it's because I'm not breathing deeply enough so I have to fill my lungs to the top every once in awhile. Or maybe it's like sleep apnea (which I've been accused of having, thus turning me into a chain saw-sounding snorer) that I have to gasp for a gulp of air before I fall of my chair. Really, I find it weird and a little disconcerting especially now that I'm aware of it. Silly me, it never occurred to me that it could be just one more symptom of grief. In his discussion of repressed emotions and defense mechanisms (pg. 70) John Bradshaw says that body therapists have been able to describe the way some of these work. "Emotions, for example, can be numbed by tensing muscles. People often grind thei

"Blue skies smiling at me, nothing but blue skies do I see. Blue days, all of them gone, nothing but blue skies from now on. " Irving Berlin I wasn't going to write about 9/11 today. Partly because between the "media" and the blogosphere I doubt there is anything else that can be said, and partly because even though I am a go-with-the-flow kind of person, I do have a stubborn streak in me (handed down on a silver platter by both my mother and father) that kind of likes to step on the brakes and turn in a completely different direction from the flow. For instance, if I were a salmon, I truly believe that as important it might be for me to join my other salmon school mates swimming upstream to salmon nirvana, I think it would be a whole lot easier to let the natural current take me to places my buddies might never see. But in her blog this morning my friend Amy said it would almost be disrespectful to write about anything else besides 9/11. I get that. And while

"The people who gave him CPR are what gave him a chance at all. Dave Cook My uncle sent me an email today about a new way to do CPR. Here's the video . Check it out because you never know when you might need to have the information in your back pocket. After watching it I asked Sweetie if he'd let me try it on him so I could have a feel for what it would feel like. Put one hand on top of the other, fingers entwined. Lock elbows Find the sweet spot in the center of the chest, between the nipples. Fall on to the hands. Don't stop. Good Sport that he is, Sweetie stopped what he was doing and laid down on the floor. Once down there, I assumed the position with Suzi Q looking on. Once I put my hands on Sweetie's chest Suzi could tell something important was happening so she joined in. [The way this dog sits cracks me up!] The cool thing about this type of CPR is you don't have to do mouth to mouth breathing. All you have to do is keep doing compressions until help

"The dew of compassion is a tear." Lord Byron So I'm waiting at the photo counter in Walgreens (for the third time today) when a nice looking, well-dressed, clean and smelling good man announced that it was his birthday. He had a big ol' birthday smile on his face and two twelve-packs of beer for celebrating. Even though I preach "don't talk to strangers" Sweetie says I rarely practice it. So of course, I smiled right back and told him congratulations. That might have been the end of the conversation except the birthday boy kept praising the name of Jesus and I had just come from church so I could relate to his spiritual enthusiasm as well. Then as if a switch had been flipped, he told me tonight he'll celebrate his birthday and tomorrow he'll bury his best friend. His voice cracked. When he got close to tears, he'd praise Jesus. Since I'm still pretty raw emotionally when it comes to grief issues, I put my stranger danger warnings in my

"One of the most powerful handclasps is that of a new grand baby around the finger of a grandfather." Joy Hargrove I don't know whether to laugh or cry. It seems like my emotions have turned upside down. Ever since I got the news yesterday that Gracie had been born, I've smiled like crazy on the inside and cried like a girl on the outside. I've tried to figure if it's an inner child issue, hormones, or the tears that come after finding out what you've been anxious about for months turned out okay. The baby was born quickly and safely. Her mom is a natural at giving birth. Her Grandpa arrived safely in Virginia after a 9 hour drive through the remnants of Hurricane Lee. What is there to cry about? Who knows? But I've been crying anyway. Grandpa Johnny called earlier to say he'd been given baby duty tonight which means he'll try to sleep in between bells ringing, nurses turning on the lights, and "Squirt" (as he affectionately calls her

Eleyiana Grace Ellington Born: 1:05 pm Sept. 5, 2011 7lb. 5 oz. Be still my heart! Today I'm grateful for new life. I'm grateful for easy labors and safe deliveries. I'm grateful to the Divine Babymaker who keeps giving us little tiny bundles of love as a reminder that the world should go on. May your day be filled with newness and joy. Merry ME aka Great Grammy

NewNOMG! Boil some water! Start pacing the floor! Ashley's in labor. John is enroute. I'm sitting here feeling like the parade has passed me by. Gone are the days I could think fast on my feet, grab my purse and head out for a road trip. Dang! Stay tuned! Almost Great Grammy, Merry ME

Making a wish! I'll huff and I'll puff .... I did it! "This is the day the Lord has made; we will rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118: 24 It is also the 40th anniversary of the day my daughter, Weneki, was born. Let cymbals and bells and whistles proclaim it is a day for celebrating. It is really hard for me to figure out how the years that seemed to stand still at times have passed by so quickly. How is it possible that my bald headed baby girl is today a grown woman who laments all the gray hair showing through her color treated hair? How is it that she can on the West coast celebrating with her friends while I'm on the East coast getting ready to go to bed without bestowing one birthday hug? There are many things I could tell you about Weneki. I've already done that in several posts since I've been writing this blog. To say the day she was born was a highlight of my life would not be an exaggeration. She makes me proud. She makes me happy. She makes

"Long after the price is forgotten ... you still have your tattoo. Doc Webb, San Diego* My friend Dani told a story on her blog today of shoe love and friendship. She asked her readers to share their personal stories of either or both subjects. I was immediately transported in time to the day my friend, Fluff, accompanied me to almost skid row in downtown San Diego to get a tiny little tattoo on my thigh. Tattoo parlors and tattooed people have come a long way from the colorless days back in mid-1980's when only drunken sailors and women of questionable repute used their skin as a canvas. So much so that it is hard to believe the tattoo in question packed the same punch as the "shot heard round the world," that started the American Revolution. The day I walked into Doc Webb's tattoo parlor, pulled down my pants to expose my salon tanned, virgin-skinned thigh and asked for a $20 heart was the day I fired the first salvo in the war of my independence. When I lo