Random Thoughts

Morning Has Broken

2012-01-23T19:44:00.001-05:00

Well, I must say that this day was not anything like I expected it to be a couple months ago. Not long ago I did some EMDR and "re-programed" the day of Dad's death. I looked at it not from a caregiver's point of view, but from Little ME's. Don't ask me how, but it took away a lot of the sadness and fear.

To honor his memory, I decided to go to Dad's favorite beach instead of the cemetery. It was an overcast, foggy gray morning. The tide was low enough to drive onto the beach and watch the waves come rolling into the shore. "Only the waves are faithful" my father once said after being ditched by his fiance for a Community Theater cast party. After awhile, standing in calf deep surf, I scattered some of my parents' ashes. Prayers came easily. Along with comfort and grace. Then I went to church, bought myself some sunflowers, and listened to a radio station that plays only Country Music oldies. A perfect tribute, I think, to the man whose presence has been gone for a year, but whose spirit lives and breathes in the walls of this house.

Today was also the first day of an on-line class I'm taking called Breaking into Blossom - moving into an improvisational life.

"What is improvisation to you?" was the first question asked. Seriously all I can think of is Comedy Central where actors are given an assignment like - you're an escaped monkey from the zoo and you hail a cab that takes you to Madison Square Garden. Then of course the talented actor(s) performs a skit dramatizing that very thing without even giving it a moment's thought. I guess that's where the improvisation comes in. He doesn't think. He just moves into it.

I'm still working on the questions how and when do I improvise. I'm sure I do, just not sure I'm aware of it. Maybe going to the ocean instead of the cemetery was a form of improvisation. Maybe taking my Oki bear for comfort, a prayer book for peace and a journal for thoughts were all improvisation as they were the things I picked up as I walked out the door with no thought as to why or what I'd do with them.

Another assignment was to pick one of the instructions from "A Poem of Change" by Pauline Oliveros and watch how it "colors your work, your play." I chose "change with the light."

At first I interpreted "light" as being the opposite of heavy. My thought being that if I can, indeed, take off the mantle of grief, like some old Jewish lady, then my body is sure to feel if not ready to do a jig, at least lighter.

As I headed to the beach, however, I saw how gloomy the sky in the East was. I saw that while it wasn't dark, it wasn't really light either. I sat on the beach and took it all in - the gray sky, the white foam at the tips of the waves, white crests on the sea birds, a couple white clouds trying to break through the fog, and finally the sun glistening on the water. Being there in the moment, seeking light felt right. Is that improvisation I wondered.

After a time I packed up my things and headed for church. I was not even out of the state park before I noticed the blue skies. It was if I was driving from the dark into the light - going from the gloom into the light of what comes next. Waiting for the service to begin I looked over my shoulder and beheld light streaming through a marvelous stained glass window reminding me of the Elizabeth Kubler Ross quote:

"People are like stained glass windows.
They sparkle and shine when the sun is out,
but when darkness sets in, their true beauty
is revealed only if there is a light from within."

I'm not so good at patting myself on the back or acknowledging my good deeds, but I think I can say that in my years of caregiving, even though I cried many a tear and shouted many a curse word, there was a light within me. I didn't always see it or believe it, but it was there.

Change with the light. I will continue to work with this thought as I move into what comes next.

May your light shine,

Merry ME

Moving Forward

2012-01-21T22:09:00.001-05:00

Has it really been 17 days since I last wrote anything. Funny how time flies when you are suddenly hit by a killer kidney infection. For 5 days all I could do was lie in bed and let the war between the germs and antibiotics take place. I can't say my fever raged because it was never much over 100 degrees. But let me tell you, I neither shivered or sweated like that. And talk about ache ... OMG! With the delightful care of my own Frank Nightingale, aka Sweetie, black kitty sleeping partners, and a faithful hound at the foot of my bed I finally began to feel well, if not perky, again. I was ready for a haircut and trip to the mall today.

I have been at the computer most of the day, scrolling through 3 months of sent emails prior to my father's death. To think I have several years is a bit daunting. I want to what I wrote about life, friendship, writing, and caregiving in one place and then see if there is a book there.

A book? You? Who do you think you're kidding? Questions my scaredy cat self asks on a regular basis. The flip side to that coin, is yeh, ME, Merry ME, I can write a book. Because a book is just a story. And that's what writers do ... tell their story. For me a journey of 60,000 words must begin somewhere and today was the day. A half ream of paper is now stacked up ready to be culled for content. Nobody ever said writing is for sissies.

The trip down memory lane had another purpose to, though I didn't realize it until an hour ago. Reading about Dad's final months and the struggle(s) we had and the good things we shared was like watching a movie you've seen before and even though you know how it ends, you sit on the edge of your seat and immerse yourself in it.

Monday will be the one year anniversary of Dad's death. I've cried some but have felt surprisingly in control. I do not know how I will honor that day but I will somehow. And I will honor my daughter/caregiver's journey. I don't expect my grief will end because a day on the calendar says it's been a year. My heart will still skip a beat when I am startled from a sound sleep hearing Dad call my name. Or I see his picture, or I shred boxes of papers (once the accountant gives me the ok) or whatever calls him to mind. It will continue to be gentle with myself, feel what I feel, comfort my inner child, and let my Sweetie comfort me. I will remember the past as I begin to FOCUS on the future.

And write. Because that's what writers do.

My Blog-iversary

2012-01-04T21:43:00.002-05:00

Five years ago today I started this blog. Five years? How can that be? I barely even knew what a blog was back then. But I did know that I had words inside of me that didn't want to stay bottled up any more. Computer journaling seemed as good a way as any to start working on stretching my writing muscles.

When I look back I am amazed to see how technology has put me in contact with people I would never have known. For instance when I started writing, I only had a few followers and they were all relatives. I didn't know Terri St. Cloud which means I didn't know Pam, or Dani, or Sorrow, or Molly, or Mandy, or Stephanie, or Patty. And I hadn't read Mothering Mother so I didn't know Carol O'Dell, had never been in a writing group before, had never been brave enough to submit my writing for critique, let alone publishing, and I didn't have the beret-wearing friends known as Le Chat Noir. I'd never talked on the radio, never had my name in the author section of a book, never heard people say, "you ARE a writer, even if you don't know it" instead of something more ego-busting like, "go put THAT in your blog" accompanied by a mean face and hurtful look.

So here's to ME! And to writing! And to being brave! And to keeping at something for 5 years. That's a pretty good record for me.

Today was the first day back to the writing group since the holiday break. Remember how before cell phones with keypads that take pictures when you'd start back to school and couldn't wait to share all your new clothes or fancy gadgets. It was the same with us, except we shared about our lives and filled in the blanks of the past month. There was a hush at our table upon learning the death of someone close to two of our members, but mostly there was laughing and heartfelt support from each of us to each of us. I truly am blessed to be a part of this group.

In order to get our thinking caps back in working order, Carol suggested we make a list of things we love. As I crawled back into bed yesterday morning - the coldest we've had so far - after coercing the dog to go outside to pee without me, I made the list in my head. My poor short term memory makes that exercise kind of pointless but it did make for an easy transition back to the land of nod. I'm not sure I could come with 1000 things I love (a la 1000 Awesome Things) but my list wasn't too shabby. Maybe I'll start it here then move it over to my sidebar and keep it going.

Things I Love ...

1. My Sweetie

2. My kids

3. My grand daughter

4. Amazing Gracie

5. My sisters

6. My aunts, uncles, and cousins

7. Silly old hound dogs

8. Kitties

9. Rib eye steak cooked medium rare

10. French bread for dipping

11. Panera's Broccoli Cheese Soup

12. Quilts

13. Books

14. Long hot showers

15. Writing

16. Feeling loved in return for loving

17. High mass with organ music

18. Communing with God in the holiness of the great outdoors

19. Babies

20. John Denver songs

21. Flannel pjs

22. The sound of the ocean lapping the beach

23. Birds singing outside my window

24. Sitting on Buck Bald and taking it all in

25. The Grand Canyon

Okay. I think that's enough for now.

Today I'm grateful for blog friends I've never met face to face but who have encouraged and inspired me. I'm grateful for my writing group buds. And I'm grateful to Weneki and Just Jenni who convinced me I should try blogging.

Wishing for you an opportunity to do what you love,

Merry ME

I Get To ....

2012-01-03T23:39:00.001-05:00

"Organizing is what you do before you do something,

so that when you do it, it's not all mixed up."

A.A. Milne

I haven't gotten too far into my stack of Christmas books. However, I did pick up The Awe-Manac, A Daily Dose of Wonder and read through the first few pages. In her own words, Jill Badonsky says,

The Awe-manac, [is] sort of like an "almanac" but with that sublime state of "awe" instead of the overwhelming state of "al". Awe in this particular awe-rena, means the wonder and cultivation of the mind's possibilities.

I stopped on page 5 to marvel at how the universe is already reminding me about my word, focus. There is was plain as day, item #1 on a list of things the Awe-manac will You Do ...

retain your thinking to focus on thoughts that make you more confident, creative and joy-filled.

A rather large mission for a book, don't you think? But, even if I don't do anything but look at all the pictures I think I will be on my way to adding more joy to my world and maybe, while I'm at it, get a little more focused.

In her directions on how to use the Awe-manac, Badonsky suggest using the "I Get to" spell. The point being, " to energetically shifting to looking forward to your day rather than dreading it." I tried it before I went to sleep last night. I said to myself, "Self, tomorrow you get to organize your half of the office." I kind of wanted to add, "because it looks like a tornado blew through and you can't tell what's what and the clutter is driving you crazy, so why don't you get in there and get to it." I refrained from this self-defeating harangue as I thought it totally ruined the "I Get to Spell."

So this morning, which was really closer to afternoon than morning, I walked into the lion's den and got started. I should have taken before and after pictures to document my work, but I don't think you'd be able to tell the difference. My kind of organizing is kind of like shuffling cards, just rearranging the clutter. I know I've made some progress, though, because there is a full trash can beside me, my shredder has whirred itself to a grinding halt, and several notebooks are now labeled with articles I've saved neatly filed by order of date. Alas, there are also piles of papers to be put somewhere else. There are calendars and note pads to send to the Seaman's Institute. There are papers I don't know what to do with but can't bring myself to toss out just yet.

In the midst of all this sorting an old, faded, sepia-toned picture fell down from one of the shelves above my desk. I don't know where it came from and for quite awhile I had no idea who might be in the picture that I might know. It is a group of men, perhaps a high school graduating class, all in suits, backs straight, hands neatly folded in front of them, hair combed with a touch of pommade. I suspected my grandfather could be in the mix though it's hard to see any of the faces. So I got out a magnifying glass and scanned the rows for someone that looked familiar. To my surprise I found a young version of my father in the back row. I was going to toss away, because really, what's the point of keeping a picture of people you don't know. No one in generations to come is going to know who is in the picture either. But now I look at it, and see the man my father once was - handsome, dark haired, without glasses. There is a hint of the man I knew as Daddy, but the eyes seem to be searching rather than resigned, a touch of wanderlust perhaps, as if he's ready to make his mark in the world. I've gone through several boxes of photographs and slides in the last year. Things I can't bring myself to get rid of, yet I wonder who really cares? Keeping them in a box for someone to go through when I die doesn't make much sense.

The picture now lies on top of one of the new piles, next to a box of staples, and papers that still need to be organized. I guess that's where they'll stay til tomorrow when I "get" to continue making my little corner of the world just a little bit neater.

Today I'm grateful for a fabulous facial and neck massage. I'm not sure it get's much better than an hour of pampering.

Wishing for you opportunities to create joy,

Merry ME

*The Awe-Manac A Daily Dose of Wonder, Jill Badonsky, Running Press, 2008

Public Service Announcement

2012-01-02T22:10:00.001-05:00

"For any mental disorder (including substance disorders), the lifetime prevalence rate is an astonishing 57.4 percent. That’s more than every 1 in 2 Americans. If you don’t think mental illness will impact your life, you’re sadly mistaken. If it doesn’t hit you, it’s going to hit someone you love or are close to."*

This may not be the happiest of ways to start a New Year's blog. But I think it's important. Ever since the Beyonce Rooster story from a few months back I have followed Jenny Lawson, aka "the bloggess." Sometimes her language makes me cringe, but almost always she makes me laugh. In the past she has written about her anxiety disorder, but until tonight, I was not aware of her fight with depression.

I have had my own struggle with depression. I've been battling it for almost 45 years. I came out of the mental health closet years ago, but I never really thought about wearing a ribbon. But you know, Jenny is is right. There are colored ribbons for all kinds of diseases and causes. As well as 5K runs and telethons and address lables in the mail donation requests. I'm not sure I've ever seen one for depression or bi-polar disease, or life altering anxiety, or cutting, or hoarding.

If you ask me, the Bloggess is not the person I'd have picked as a poster child for depression. It just goes to show you, how well depressives fight to keep the disease at bay. Like Cinderella at the ball listening for the clock to strike midnight, I could put on the face of a PTA parent, or supportive Navy wife, but when I was home in the safety of my room I would lie in bed and alternate between sleeping and crying. There were times I felt so rotten about myself that I believed I couldn't even "do" depression right. [One day on a locked ward was enough to scare me into holding onto a piece of sanity that I knew if I lost I'd be gone forever.]

Here's part of what Jenny posted tonight. Please read it and go to her blog for the rest of what she had to say:

The fight goes on.

JANUARY 2, 2012
in MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE,SICKNESS
If you follow me on twitter you already know that I’ve been battling off one of the most severe bouts of depression I’ve ever had. Yesterday it started to pass, and for the first time in weeks I cried with relief instead of with hopelessness. Depression can be crippling, and deadly. I’m lucky that it’s a rare thing for me, and that I have a support system to lean on. I’m lucky that I’ve learned that depression lies to you, and that you should never listen to it, in spite of how persuasive it is at the time.
When cancer sufferers fight, recover, and go into remission we laud their bravery. We call them survivors. Because they are.
When depression sufferers fight, recover and go into remission we seldom even know, simply because so many suffer in the dark…ashamed to admit something they see as a personal weakness…afraid that people will worry, and more afraid that they won’t. We find ourselves unable to do anything but cling to the couch and force ourselves to breathe.
When you come out of the grips of a depression there is an incredible relief, but not one you feel allowed to celebrate. Instead, the feeling of victory is replaced with anxiety that it will happen again, and with shame and vulnerability when you see how your illness affected your family, your work, everything left untouched while you struggled to survive. We come back to life thinner, paler, weaker…but as survivors. Survivors who don’t get pats on the back from coworkers who congratulate them on making it. Survivors who wake to more work than before because their friends and family are exhausted from helping them fight a battle they may not even understand.
Regardless, today I feel proud. I survived. And I celebrate every one of you reading this. I celebrate the fact that you’ve fought your battle and continue to win. I celebrate the fact that you may not understand the battle, but you pick up the baton dropped by someone you love until they can carry it again. I celebrate the fact that each time we go through this, we get a little stronger. We learn new tricks on the battlefield. We learn them in terrible ways, but we use them. We don’t struggle in vain.
We win.
We are alive.

If you are one who suffers from this dis-ease, know this ... you are not alone, there is help. Whether you've been depressed or lucky enough not to have these demons, please, please, look kindly on your fellow traveler. Your smile, or shoulder or ear may be the life jacket that keeps someone else from drowning.

Tonight I'm grateful for others who speak their truth. I'm grateful for the quick and efficient care my Sweetie got in the Emergency Room last night, that he has vertigo not another heart blockage.

Wishing for you, good health and good cheer,

Merry ME

*http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2010/05/03/mental-health-statistics/

Looking Back/Looking Ahead Part 4

2011-12-31T00:29:00.003-05:00

Things That Moved me in 2011

The final hospice experiences: gentle nurses, wise doctors, "Manhattan" communion, friends' visits, holding Dad's hand, Brother George's phone call, washing Dad's body, gently and reverently dressing him, saying goodbye.

Sunflowers

A green blanket

Pomp and circumstance of burial in a National Cemetery

A hootn'nanny songfest

Seeing the granite headstone for the first time

-----

Johnson's many talents

Squircles

Traveling with my Sweetie

Napping on a screened porch while rain fell gently through the mossy trees

Le Chat Noir Writing Circle

LCWC recital

The Hair Whisperer

Grasping the concept of the "communion of saints"

Seeing Suzi's brown eyes through the cage and knowing she was the one

Traveling to Paris, picking sunflowers and lavender without leaving home

My Family Tree

Boy Cat donating blood

Declaring my Sovereignty

Weneki blowing out all 40 candles

Bok Tower Gardens and Carillon

Amazing Gracie

Visiting Brother George's church and home, seeing him settled and happy

Kids at Oaks Indian Mission

Sister Jean finding a new "home"

Watching Johnson and Crazy Maizey together

Watching Crazy Maizey with Bob the trainer

Collecting books for the Homeless Shelter

Wreathes Across America

Patriot Guard Riders

EMDR sessions in the safe embrace of Ginny, Linda Lu and Aunt Letty

Painting, coloring, collaging

"Grace" by Michael W. Smith

"Christ the King" by Dan Fogelburg

Amy and Frankie

The smile on Weneki's face after finishing a triathlon

3 deserving women winning the Nobel Peace Prize

My Oki bear

Holding Little ME, looking her in the eye and saying, "You don't have to be afraid. I'll take care of you."

Being a part of the circle of women whose love, encouragement, understanding, cheerleading, and spiritual knowing have been a candle in my darkness

And last, but not least, my Sweetie who has not left my side for a moment. I don't think I could have come this far without him.

Today, December 31, 2011 I am grateful for all the above and more. Mostly I'm fall on my knees in gratitude to the Creator God for all my blessings, even the ones that didn't feel so much like blessings at the time.

Wishing for you some quiet moments to reflect on the year past.

Merry ME

Looking Back/Looking Ahead Part 3

2011-12-30T12:37:00.002-05:00

Last night I decided my word for the new year would be:

FOCUS

It just sort of came to me a few days ago and I've been ruminating on it for awhile. To make sure it was the word that would best fulfill my intentions for the new year, I looked it up in the dictionary

Dictionary.com defined focus in several ways - most having to do with light and lenses and refraction which I confess, I am not so sure what they means. One definition is even associated with Geometry which is for sure not my intention. Another with geology - the point of origin of an earthquake.

While my intention for the new year is to see things more clearly, and perhaps that could lead to an earthquake of new ideas and creativity, the definition that speaks most to me is the verb form: "to concentrate, i.e. to focus one's thoughts." Yup, that's what I want to do in 2012. I want to concentrate more on things that are right in front of me. I want to focus on where I lay my glasses down. I want to focus on eating less and traveling more. I want to focus on finding ME, while at the same time, focus on others.

This is not a startling epiphany, and maybe I've said it in 100 different ways since that fateful day, but it came unbidden into my mind as I walked the dog this morning. It appeared to be in sharp focus. When my father died, parts of me died too. This whole year I've mourned the loss of the man who shaped me, the way I think, and how I act, as if the Divine Sculptor handed him some clay the day I was born and said, "here, go to work." Now I'm not giving all the credit for who I am to my father. DNA, nature vs nurture, outside influences, my soul peeking through and my reflexive/rebellious proclivities all added to the composite which is ME. However, for most of my life, who I believe I am, because of or in spite of, has been seen through the lens of my father's desires and opinions. With that lens gone, I've had a hard time seeing myself. Who am I is a question I've asked myself several time this year. No wonder Little ME feels scared and alone. Physically and emotionally I feel lost. Yet, coincidentally, I also feel closer to a higher power. Perhaps with the clouded over lens removed, I'll be able to see the true essence of the girl Spirit meant to be.

As I continued reading the definition of "focus" I found synonyms listed interesting as well - center, core and heart. When I looked up the definition of core I was amazed to find this: " the inward nature, true substance or constitution of anything, as opposed to what is accidental, phenomenal illusory. And for heart: " the center of the total personality especially with reference to intuition, feeling, emotion." Its synonym is "essence."

So in the days, weeks and months ahead of me, as I intentionally lay the mantle of grief aside, I hope to see ME more clearly by concentrating on my core, my heart and my essence. With that thought in mind I went to bed and had all sorts of weird dreams where my father figured prominently. My father and moving furniture!

The first email in my inbox that did not have to do with advertising or sales contained this quote from the Daily Love:

"Where focus goes, energy flows. And if you don't take time to focus on what matters, then you're living a life of someone else's design."
Tony Robbins, peak performance coach, entrepreneur and best-selling author.
Another coincidence? You decide.

Today I'm grateful for the willingness to join dots together to get a clearer picture of how I want to live my life.

May you be blessed with vision and heart.

Merry ME

Looking Back/Looking Ahead Part 2

2011-12-29T21:09:00.004-05:00

I guess I'm not the only one using these last few days of 2011 to look back and take stock. My pen pal and blog friend Molly, commented on my last post about a site she found. Cortney Carver of bemorewithless suggests making a love list:

"Instead of firm goal setting or setting resolutions, make a list of the things you’d love to do or start doing in 2012. A new year allows for a fresh start, clean slate or new approach. Actually, you can create those things for yourself anytime, but a new year is a special invitation to be bold, brave, and different.

Make a love list for 2012 including every possible thing you would like to consider in life, love, business and relationships. What would you really love to do in 2012? What would you like to see? Who will you be and who will you be with in 2012?

Before you start your list, eliminate the roadblocks and dream killers. This is not a list for accountability. You won’t be crossing things off or crying over your undone tasks at the end of the year. Instead, use your list to fuel your creative pursuits and to encourage routine breaking behavior. Let your love list remind you what is most important in your life."

I kind of like this approach. I'm always saying I'd like to do this, or I wish I could do that, but often get distracted by the minutia of life and sadly, due to a few less brain cells than I once had, often forget the things I thought might be fun. Making a love list, like picking a word for the new year, can help set the intention in a more positive way than making resolutions you probably won't keep anyway. Seriously if the choice is between "Lose 20 pounds" and "I'd love to color a picture with every crayon from a brand new box of 64" which are you more likely to do?

Another list I'd like to make before the year ends is the one my daughter calls "Things that Moved Me." Weneki has been making this list for years and added some categories like shows, and movies. Every year I look forward to her Christmas card, not just to see the picture(s) she picked but to read her list(s). I do admit, however, that sometimes when I read it I feel like I live under a rock because most of the bands, many of the movies and some of the food/beverages I've never heard of. As much as it is a good thing to look forward to things in the new year, I like the idea of making note of the really special things from the year almost gone. Weneki keeps a notebook nearby at all times, I, sadly, rely on my aforementioned memory. Perhaps 2012 will be the year I start jotting things down.

What moved you this year? What made you shiver with delight? What would you love to do in 2012?

Today I'm grateful for a table for one by the window at my local Panera Bread, not to mention the bowl of potato soup, yummy salad, twist of baguette and cold iced tea. I'm grateful for a really cool pair of running shoes that don't crunch my toes or cause my feet to hurt. And I'm grateful for a silly brown dog who looks at me like I am the Queen of Siam and acts like she is my dutiful servant (unless, of course, I ask her to go out to pee when the grass is wet.)

May you be moved by all this world has to offer.

Merry ME

Looking Back/Looking Ahead Part 2

2011-12-29T20:24:00.004-05:00

I guess I'm not the only one using these last few days of 2011 to look back and take stock. My pen pal and blog friend Molly, commented on my last post about a site she found. Cortney Carver of bemorewithless suggests making a love list:

Instead of firm goal setting or setting resolutions, make a list of the things you’d love to do or start doing in 2012. A new year allows for a fresh start, clean slate or new approach. Actually, you can create those things for yourself anytime, but a new year is a special invitation to be bold, brave, and different.

Make a love list for 2012 including every possible thing you would like to consider in life, love, business and relationships. What would you really love to do in 2012? What would you like to see? Who will you be and who will you be with in 2012?

Before you start your list, eliminate the roadblocks and dream killers. This is not a list for accountability. You won’t be crossing things off or crying over your undone tasks at the end of the year. Instead, use your list to fuel your creative pursuits and to encourage routine breaking behavior. Let your love list remind you what is most important in your life.

I actually kind of like this approach. I'm always saying I'd like to do this, or I wish I could do that, but often get distracted by the minutia of life and sadly, due to a few less brain cells than I once had, forget the things I thought might be fun. Making a love list, like picking a word for the new year, can help set the intention in a more positive way than making resolutions you probably won't keep anyway. Seriously if the choice is between "Lose 20 pounds" and I'd love to color a picture with every crayon from a brand new box of 64" which are you more likely to do?

Another list I'd like to make before the year ends is the one my daughter calls "Things that Moved Me." Weneki has been making this list for years and added some categories shows, and movies. Every year I look forward to her Christmas card, not just to see the picture(s) she picked but to read her list. I do admit, however, that sometimes when I read it I feel like I live under a rock because most of the bands, many of the movies and some of the food/beverages I've never heard of. As much as it is a good thing to look forward to things in the new year, I like the idea of taking note of the really special things from the year almost gone. Weneki keeps a notebook nearby at all times, I, sadly, rely on my aforementioned memory. Perhaps 2012 will be the year I start taking notes.

What moved you this year? What made you shiver with delight?

Today I'm grateful for a table for one by the window at my local Panera Bread, not to mention the bowl of soup, yummy salad, twist of baguette and cold iced tea. I'm grateful for a really cool pair of running shoes that don't crunch my toes or cause my feet to hurt.

Looking Back/Looking Ahead

2011-12-28T12:54:00.001-05:00

Instead of making resolutions I would most likely ignore, at the beginning of 2011 I picked a word that would set my intention for the year. I didn't know at the time my father would cross from this world to the next in 23 days. I didn't know that my desire for "freedom" was going to be handed to me on a silver platter and I was going to stand, frozen in place wondering what to do with it.

I'm reminded of a video I saw recently about some beagles who had spent their whole lives as test animals in a laboratory. They'd never been out of a cage, seen the sunlight, peed on grass or chased a ball. I'm not sure how it occurred but a group of volunteers rescued them, undoubtedly just before the executioner's song played. The video showed how tentative the dogs were when the doors to their traveling cages were opened and they were given an opportunity to step out into "freedom." It took several minutes for one of the dogs to slowly venture out, touching grass for the very first time. Gradually, with much hesitation each dog left the safety of the only home they'd ever known. My point, is that is kind of how I felt after Dad died and the funeral hullabaloo settled down. My cage door was open, I had all the freedom I had asked for, but stepping out into it terrified me. Even when I got the nerve to leave for minutes, hours, days at a time, I always felt safest and most secure when I moved back into my own little world.

After what could be the longest year of my life I'm once more on the threshold of a new one - a clean slate, an open door - wondering what word will I choose to take with me?

My writing coach sent the group a list of questions to help us assess 2011. By looking back, she suggests, we can see what patterns developed in our relationships, writing, creativity, work, etc.. What worked and didn't work, what we'd like to take with us and expand on in the new year and what we'd like to leave behind. As if piggy-backing on that theme my Brave Girl Note for today said:

As the year draws to a close, beautiful friend, please remember that you get to decide what heads into the next year with you and what doesn't. It would be worth some of your beautiful minutes to sit down and really think about the baggage that you have been carrying around that you just don't need anymore ... and then decide that it is not invited to come with you into the next year ... and it will no longer be a part of how you view yourself, your possibilities, your commitments, the way you spend your time and what you have to give in the world.

Decide what you will focus on, what you will think about, where you will spend your time and how you think about everything and everyone around you.

So here I sit, typing away instead of answering the questions. Typing, I think, has become a kind of meditation for me. I seem to get more clarity than trying to sit with my legs trying to stretch across the expanse of my middle. In the few days left of 2011 I'm going to spend some time a) answering the 2011 assessment questions b) choose a word and c) pack some of my unnecessary burdens in the old suitcase that sits in the garage taking up space that could be better used.

What about you? What hopes and dreams and intentions will you take with you into the new year? What will you leave behind? Do you make resolutions or pick a word?

In case your interested here's the 2011 Assessment:

What worked?

What energized me?

What did I look forward to?

Who were my favorite clients? Students?

What strengths did I enrich?

Who were my favorite teachers?

What were my favorite projects?

What did other's notice? What did they say you were good at?

What intrigues people about me?

What was easy?

When did time expand?

When did I reach flow?

What did people ask for?

What feeling state did I most enjoy? Why?

What would I have regretted not doing?

What was challenging?

What activities were draining?

What felt like a flop?

What were my least favorite clients?

What did I not look forward to?

What did I dread?

Where did I procrastinate?

Where did I verbally vent?

Where did I feel tired?

What made me cry? Why?

Today I'm grateful for time to think. I used to be good at multi-tasking, now not so much, so having time to concentrate on things that are important is a gift.

Wishing for you a clean slate and a new box of chalk in lots of pretty colors.

Merry ME

Books, Books, Books

2011-12-27T23:17:00.001-05:00

When my kids were very little, the excitement leading up to unwrapping Christmas presents grew with each passing day. My then husband was every bit as much a child as the kids. He liked to count the number of packages with his name on them. He liked to rattle and shake and try to figure out what was in each present that I had wrapped to look like something from a Hallmark commercial. I admit it drove me crazy. In my family of origin Christmases there was a no touching rule. There was also a nothing gets opened before Christmas rule which I tried to hold on to but was out-voted 3-1. Trying to contain all the real surprises for Christmas morning, I usually allowed one present, to be picked out by me, to be opened on Christmas Eve - cute flannel pajamas that would look good in photos the next morning.

One year I made the mistake of letting the kids pick out the gift they wanted to open. I think Johnson must have just grabbed the first thing that he saw and been happy with it. Weneki carefully chose a small package. Hoping, I'm sure, that the adage about good things coming in small packages would be true. She ripped the paper off a gift from Mamaw, who, to put it kindly, no longer had any idea what made small children giggle and grin. Weneki unwrapped a book, which ordinarily wouldn't have been a super bad present. However, for a child in kindergarten, a chapter book with lots of words and no pictures didn't quite ring a bell on the excitement meter. Weneki's face fell, then she started crying about opening something else. Her father was appalled at the fact that she was so ungratefuland I was appalled that he didn't understand her disappointment. Words were exchanged and the whole evening turned into a Christmas Eve nightmare with everyone going to bed mad about something.

I thought about that Christmas when I looked at the stack of books I received as gifts this year - most of them from Weneki, a girl who has grown to love books way more than that early experience might have foretold. I'm sure as a child I would not have been as thrilled as I was this Christmas to see so many different boxes arrive from Amazon. And each one was a surprise because they were selections from my Wishlist which is full of titles I don't even remember adding to the list. And to add even more reading delight I was also gifted books by my niece, and blog sisters Dani and Po.

In the mix there is:

a self-help book - The Amazing Power of Deliberate Intent by Esther and Jerry Hicks
a book of poetry - Thirst by Mary Oliver
a self-published book of words and photos - Twelve by Pam Stead Jone
a novel/mystery - The Outlander by Gil Adamson
a memoir - Nothing Daunted by Dorothy Wickenden, and
a daily dose of wonder titled, the Awe-manac by Jill Badonsky

As slow as I read I've got enough to keep me entertained for months. Sweetie likes to get his books from the library. He has a running list of books he's either picking up or returning. In between those days he has a shelf full of mysteries neatly filed in order. I admit it is awe-inspiring. My books, however, are in a wobbly tower sitting precariously close to the edge of my night stand, leaving just enough room for the alarm clock and phone. One wrong move by a certain Boy Cat and they will all come tumbling down. I love that books are last thing I see before going to sleep and the first thing I see when I wake up. There's just something magical about them.

Tonight I'm grateful for books ... hardback, paperback, ebooks, Nooks, Kindles, Ipads, library books, books with pictures, scary books, books that make you laugh and books that make you think. And I'm grateful that my daughter wasn't scarred by that less than stellar holiday.

Wishing for you a comfy chair to sit in, a cup of tea and a good book to read.

Merry ME

The Sacrament of Smiling

2011-12-26T13:13:00.001-05:00

"Don't cry because it's over

Smile because it happened."

I think it's true what people say about having dread-filled expectations. Often the worry and anxiety are worse than the speech-making, solo-singing, or 24-hour train trip sequestered in a closet-sized room with 2 kids. No, I think that last one was about as awful as I expected!

It's no secret I've been dreading the holiday season knowing there would be empty seats at the table and ghosts of Christmases past hanging around the house. I dreaded being sad when everyone around me was going merrily about their business. Mostly I feared awakening the grief monster who seems ready to hang out in my heart, uninvited. To my surprise and delight, with the exception of a few crying jags, some extra naps and low periods brought on by deja vu, I got through the season with a minimum of sadness.

In my mind I keep going back to the Christmas Eve service at church, and how it summed up the beauty, magic and hope that is my "the reason for the season." There is just something about a candlelit sanctuary and children singing with gusto and slightly off-key that leads me to imagine a Bethlehem night filled with the light of a bright shining star and angel choruses getting carried away with glor-or-or-or-or-ias. Sitting shoulder to shoulder with people you know and strangers who only come to church on festive days bring to mind the shepherds and kings who visited the stable to see what all the fuss was about. The good news spoken from the pulpit mixed with peace-filled greetings and holy food retell and foretell the message of hope that was born that night.

I was moved by all of that and wish for a photographic memory to keep it clear for days days to come. But what I want to remember most was the smile I noticed on a young mother's face. A mother who lost her only child a year or so ago. A mother who has stayed away from church because she couldn't reconcile a loving God and a dying child. A mother whose heart I thought would never mend. How could it? What could possibly happen that would turn her frown into a smile? How could her grief ever let up? And yet there it was, a simple smile that seemed to whisper to me in the gentle voice of the Holy Spirit.

"Yes, dear one, life is hard.

There will be times when you feel so broken

even super glue won't hold back together.

In order to love with your heart's full measure,

you must also, at some point, bear the deep pain of loss.

But it is so worth it.

Trust ME.

You will mend.

You will smile again. "

When the Japanese mend broken objects, they often fill the cracks with gold, believing that when something has suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful. The sacrament of smiling, I think, is the outward and visible sign of an inward and spirit-filled heart veined with gold. It doesn't mean forgetting. It means remembering. It means holding on to the memories and letting go of the sadness. It means filling the empty spaces with golden rays of hope for the future. It means being awed by a sunrise that says goodbye to the night. It means feeling the pure love of a child cover you like a security blanket. It means living in order to honor the life that was lost.

As many of you know, lately I've felt lost in my loss. But on Christmas Eve, while the choir sang Silent Night, I held a candle and smiled.

Today I'm grateful for many things, mostly for the gift of a smile. I hope you'll share yours with others.

Merry ME

Christmas 2011

2011-12-25T22:37:00.003-05:00

The house is quiet except for the whirring of the dishwasher. Sweeties is trying to figure out a new toy, the dog settled in surrounded by several new bones. One cat is asleep on Grandmother's quilt and the last time I saw the other one he was behind the tree planning a kamikaze attack.

Christmas Eve service at church last night was beautiful. Sitting in the church surrounded by the holy-day sights and sounds made me heavy with missing mom and dad. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning Dad called me. I awoke with a start, opened my eyes and listened for more. That was all, just his voice calling my name.

Sweetie was the first one awake this morning, anxious to see what Santa had brought. It was fun to watch his very neat and organized way of selecting presents from under the tree, then carefully opening each one and depositing used wrappings and bows in a tidy pile. I'm more of a rip it open and see how high you can stack the paper!

After awhile, the White Beast, Maizey, joined in the fun. Maizey is Johnson's dog who has not quite perfected her indoor manners. She likes to chase the cats, jump on Suzi, run through the house at Mach speed and ignore every command she's learned from the house-calling trainer. This morning, Boy Cat held his ground and may have gotten in a swipe or two. Suzi claimed possession of Maizey's bone and in a what could be considered a Christmas miracle, Maizey not only let her have it, but rolled over in a temporary display of submission.

The rest of the day was spent quietly preparing dinner, reading and snoozing. We had a very nice dinner, even though the sweet potato casserole changed from a pretty orange to icky brown. A veritable smorgasbord of desserts topped things off. Now I feel like an exhausted but happy Christmas elf who wants to put on her flannel jammies, crawl into bed and dig into her stack of new books.

Tonight I feel grateful for Christmas - the baby in the manger, the angels and shepherds, little drummer boys, decorated trees, twinkle lights, cards, and wrappings and bows, sprinkle covered sugar cookies, silly dogs, Christmas elves, and family near and far. My heart is full. My little girl content.

I hope your day was filled with the miracle of love in all its different forms.

Merry Christmas everyone,

Merry ME

Happy Birthday Mom

2011-12-23T23:12:00.004-05:00

Had she lived my mother would have been 90 years old today. The fact that I can say that without an ache in my heart or tears running down my face is proof that the pain of mourning does diminish over time.

Mom was born in an Army field hospital in Koblenz, Germany. Her father was in the Navy so she moved around a lot which was good training for being the wife of a naval officer. Mom knew how to pack and unpack a household in record time. She knew how to keep things to a minimum, unlike my father who was a self-proclaimed pack rat. Mom was the epitome of a 1950's housewife, though I don't think I'd call her June Cleaver.

Before her a virus damaged her brain, my mother was a force to be reckoned with. She was small but fierce. Early on in their marriage my parents must have drawn up job descriptions - Dad worked outside the home, and mom's domain started and stopped at the front door - and they rarely, if ever, veered from their appointed tasks.

My mother could cook, sew, knit, crochet and do just about anything with her hands. She didn't shy away from intricate patterns or large sizes. Once she started something she kept at it until she finished. My mom could whistle and make a bed so tight you could bounce a coin on it. She liked to go to the circus and, in her heyday, loved to dance, play tennis and was a fencing champion. Before she married my father Mom performed in community theater groups. Dad didn't care much for that so she gave it up. That's what women did back then. Going to church was important to my mother. She was a devout and fervent pray-er. My mom could have been a professional baby rocker, cat feeder or dog petter.

For most of the nine years after her death I lived with my father. It's when I learned that my mother should have been nominated for sainthood. I began to understand the times she slammed a kitchen cabinet so hard it was left swinging on a broken hinge (slight exaggeration for effect). As much as he loved her, my father could be infuriating. I always wondered to myself what planet he lived on when he would say that they never fought. But then, maybe they didn't. My father was not one you could argue with, so while he might have gotten the last word, Mom's door slamming was the period at the end of the sentence.

I often lament the fact that before my mother's brain damage I was still pretty egocentric. After, when I came home to help care for her, she couldn't have conversations. It was impossible to ask her about her life, her dreams, her disappointments. Well, I could ask all I wanted, but she couldn't answer. She hated not being able to talk. Cat she'd say when she was talking about the dog. That man (meaning George W. Bush) she'd say with coal black eyes when someone would ask her who was the president. Usually at this time of year we could get her to sing Jingle Bells. Hearing her sing that simple tune was like listening to the Hallelujah Chorus.

I feel like missing my mother has been overshadowed by mourning for my father. Perhaps I'd feel the same way if their deaths had been reversed. I hope there is some kind of reunion in the afterlife. I like to think of my parents together in heaven. That whole soulmate thing.

Today I'm grateful for the woman who gave me life. If she were here tonight, I'd tuck her into bed, make sure she had her tissues wrapped around her fingers, and kiss her goodnight. I hope wherever she is she's surrounded by angels and singing Christmas carols.

I love you Mama,

Merry ME

2011-12-23T10:45:00.002-05:00

Dear Beloved Girl,

When we have old things in our hands that we are afraid of being without, with our fists tightly clenched around those things...and we walk around fearing what will happen if we ever open our hands and let those things go...when we worry whether or not anything else will make it's way into our lives...if we will ever have enough...if our hands will always remain empty if we open them and let the old clenched stuff go...........if we keep doing that, we will NEVER be able to grasp onto what is meant for us.

What is done is done. What is over is over. We are meant to move forward, we are meant to progress. Everything natural and beautiful and true and living was designed to constantly be renewing itself, progressing, living living living and then dying....going on to the next step of it's life cycle. When we clench old things in our hands, we prevent new things from being able to hold hands with us. New experiences, new things to learn, new relationships, new things that we don't even know exist yet.

Today is a great day to finally let go. It will be ok. In fact........it will be incredible.It might hurt for a minute, just like all endings do.......but the new beginning that is just behind the ending (the ending that is long past due) is where the miracles are. Hold on to that hope...but let the rest go.

Let it go.It is time.
You are so very very very loved.

Closing in on the Holiday

2011-12-21T00:25:00.001-05:00

I'm on a roll.

Last package mailed.

Cookies frosted. Half eaten.

Presents wrapped. Under the tree.

I've got to share this picture of what my sister Linda made me for Christmas. I opened the box thinking there would be wrapped gifts inside. This is what I found:

This is no ordinary bear. Yes it is soft and cuddly. But what makes it so absolutely wonderful is that it is made out of one of my father's shirts. And he even has a pocket with Kleenex coming out of it, just like my dad. What you can't see on the back is the number "39" that came off my Dad's wrestling robe from the Naval Academy. 39 being the year he lettered and graduated.

Sometimes someone does something so totally cool you've just got to shout it from the roof tops. It's late and dark so I'm not going to climb up on the roof. So I'm sharing my bear with my favorite people.

Thank you Linda for the bear. But mostly for your big ol' busting at the seams heart you so generously share with me.

Today I'm feeling gratitude mixed with joy and I wish the same for each of you.

Merry ME

Christmas Baking

2011-12-18T22:24:00.002-05:00

" ...Christmas cookies without sprinkles

are like raisins without wrinkles,

and like sleigh bells without tinkles ..."

The Christmas Cookie Sprinkle Snitcher

Since my last post, I've either been feeling puny (as in running a low grade fever and feeling achy everywhere, including the insides of my eyelids) or poopy (as in sad, blue, whiney, unmerry). However, in the last few days I've felt good enough to rival a Christmas elf on sugar overload. I don't want to jinx things but I think I may just be ready for Christmas by the time it gets here.

I spent most of today making cookies - the rolled kind that still have to be decorated. I may get dough made up for some drop cookies I can make tomorrow. Yes, there is still a light dusting of flour and powdered sugar on the counter tops, and yes, the sink is still full of dirty baking utensils, but I feel like I have made great progress. The key, I realized half-way through the cookie-enhanced afternoon is that I only made one - O-N-E - batch of each dough that needed to be rolled and cut before baking, cooling and decorating. In year's past I've made at least 2, often 3, of the family favorites - gingerbread men, sugar cookies. I think I may be on to something. Doing one batch of each makes the baking marathon doable. Alas, I do not have many to give away except to my children, unbelievers who have discussed behind my back that I've "forgotten" where I put the recipes and so I won't be baking this year. I feel certain that discussion was followed by my son (the younger) reminding my daughter (the eldest) that it will be her responsibility to take care of me in the event I lose all my faculties because she had the privilege of being born first. I know they have this discussion on a recurring basis because my son has pointed out to me more than once, his good fortune to have been born last. *

As I sifted and stirred I tried to recall preparations of Christmases when I was a child. Dad bought the tree and hung the lights. We had some decorations that were pulled out every year. I remember hanging glittery glass balls on the tree., that aluminum icicles were to be hung one strand at a time. The Patty Star was, perhaps, the most memorable of all decorations.

I don't have a memory of my mom baking cookies. For that matter I don't remember decorated cookies being a big deal. Mom's forte lay in the roasting of a plump turkey or succulent roast. So I wonder when and where I developed this Traumatic Baking Syndrome (TBS). I probably baked my first batch of sugar cookies when Weneki was still a baby, then expanded my repertoire in the years that followed. In the midst of my deepest depression, baking for weeks before Christmas was part of my therapy. Gingerbread men became a Christmas tradition that my children still expect.

One of my best Christmas presents a few years ago was Kitchen Aid mixer. Every year at this time when I pull the cover off the mixer I remember my friends the Belchers. We will be forever linked, I believe, by the holiday traditions we created together for their son, my "charge" Robert. One year, when he was only a few years old Robert and I had a pajama/baking day. In his navy blue thermal jammies Robert sat on the counter surrounded by the butter, sugar and flour. I turned my back to get the eggs. When I turned around, the little boy dressed in blue, the counter and the air around him was adrift in flour. With one hand still in the bag and the other gleefully tossing flour into the air, Robert squealed, "Look Mer Mer, it's snowing!" It was one of those split second decisions a nanny/parent sometimes needs to make. Whether to blow a gasket at the mess, or grab a camera. "Yes, indeed, my little man," I responded as I clicked a photo, "it is snowing!" Did I mention we live in Florida and the child had only seen snow once or twice in his short life.

Perhaps the reason I have lost my enthusiasm for holiday baking is that there are no children to help. Martha Stewart can turn a snowflake cookie into a work of art with royal icing and silver dragrees, but she can't match the beauty of a cookie piled high with multi-colored sugar by tiny hands. And she can't turn flour into snow.

Today I'm grateful for memories of holiday's past. I'm grateful for children who put the merry in Christmas.

Wishing for you a Christmas miracle,

Merry ME

*Just so everybody knows. I put my hands right on the recipes, because a couple of years ago I had the foresight to re-type all my Christmas recipes onto un-stained, un-fingerprinted with icing festive paper and bind them all together. I followed up that bit of brilliance by putting the book in its rightful place among the other cookbooks. If I would follow this example with my keys, my wallet, my camera, my shoes and the other items I lose on a regular basis, my children would not have anything to worry about. Okay, maybe they'd still worry.

I'm Back!

2011-12-06T16:07:00.001-05:00

So I successfully made it to the end of NaBloPoMo and then dropped out of site. What's up with that? I've gotta say I'm not really sure, but I suspect it has to do with feeling so sad.

At the risk of getting started on another chapter from my grief saga, which is not the stuff holiday cheer is made of, I'll just say I think my sadness is coming from both sides - both my little girl feeling and I are feeling kind of blue in a world that has gone crazy with red and green. No big surprise there. It is to be expected. I knew it was coming but not sure there is a way to prepare for it. Like ocean waves the emotions come rolling in, sometimes small and easy to jump through; sometimes so rough that you are knocked off balance and go tumbling in the surf. I want to "feel" my emotions, or at least give them a voice and not stuff them somewhere below my liver. I tell myself it's okay to feel what I'm feeling. At the same time I don't want to give the emotions free rein so that I'm just a big ball of snotty tissues. I've wondered if I gave into the tears and really let them go, instead of just letting them quietly without drama roll down my face, would I finally, once and for all cry myself out? And once done, would I have the energy to feel festive and fa la la la la -ish? I know from past experience Christmas is going to come whether I'm happy or sad and it's always more fun if I'm on the happy side of the scale.

Last week I had an incredible and very productive EMDR session with my therapist. I can't tell you how this works. In fact I asked her if it's really just "woowoo" or something the Wizard of Oz would prescribe. Evidence is showing that this type of therapy really works (it's used a lot for PTSD) and has a long-lasting effect. I'm using it to connect with Little ME. And, woowoo or not, I go in feeling sad and come out feeling exhausted but calmer and more connected. I've found that it sometimes takes a couple of days to rest back up. I think I can compare an hour's session of EMDR to running an emotional marathon, but maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.

A couple other woowoo things have happened since then. I don't know whether to chalk it up to angels, Christmas elves, or nothing more than happenstance. If you look at it from a spiritual perspective which is the way I like to look at it, Christmas itself is nothing but woowoo. Magic really. The Divine Gift Giver handing down the a big gift in a tiny little rag-wrapped package. So I shouldn't be surprised that there is magic in the air.

I get emails from the Brave Girls' Club. On many occasions, but not always, the letter feels like it was written just for me. Like this one today:

Endings are followed by new beginnings. How true is that? And I know that which makes the sadness seem out of place. Like I told my friend Pam today, I feel like I'm in between the closed door of the past and the open window of the future and I'm surrounded by fog. One day the mist will rise, the sun will burn away the fog (sadness) and I will be able to see more clearly the window(s) that are not only open but beckoning me. Like woowoo and Christmas magic, it will happen. Until then, it is my job to connect with Reindeer Girl (see sidebar), help her to know she/we are not alone, we have each other, that I will hold her hand when she's scared, rub her back when she's anxious, hand her a Kleenex when she cries, clap for her when she sings, and when all else fails make her cookies.

Today I'm grateful for a blog to come home to. I'm grateful for gifts from the Universe.

Wishing for you holiday moments in the presence of children - yours or someone else's.

Merry ME

* a little bird told me ... your daily truth from the Brave Girls Club

NabloPoMo - Day 30

2011-11-30T17:06:00.006-05:00

"I don't think you ever stop giving.

I really don't.

I think it's an on-going process.

And it's not just about being able to write a check.

It's being able to touch somebody's life."

Oprah Winfrey

Le Chat Noir Writers Circle @ the Sulzbacher Center

Here we are at the end of NaBloPoMo. As I look back to the beginning, I think I may have gotten off track a little here and there, but kept writing nonetheless. There are several other people who bring me joy that I didn't write about. Like Akasa Wolfsong; Stephanie Darnell, Maithri Goonetilleke , and Queen Dani. Each of them in their own way have shared their truths with me. They have lifted me up when I was down, given me hope and often made me laugh. It's possible that my old friend "grief" has been a common thread in our blog relationships. Each of these big-hearted bloggers has offered his/her own personal grief journey to make a difference for themselves and others. I, for one, have been the recipient of much love and compassion.

Another common theme that all the bloggers I've written about share is their desire to give back to their community and the world. I spent most of this day at a local homeless shelter with some of my writing buddies organizing their library. We collected over 20 BIG boxes of books which seems pretty amazing for a small group like ours. And we had help from our local Panera Bread Company who let us put a collection box in their front lobby. Sorting and shelving books is a lot like sorting underwear, so my hands just picked up where they left off in Oklahoma. When we first looked at the piles we felt a little overwhelmed. But once we took a breath and dove in, there was a real sense of accomplishment as you see the work taking shape. Doing for others, feels good from the top of your head, to your tippy toes.

In the days ahead when you are feeling frantic about buying the right gift for the right person, don't forget to consider donating to charity. It doesn't have quite the same feel as unwrapping a diamond ring, or cashmere sweater, or shiny new bike. But knowing that your money has purchased a goat or chicken to help sustain a whole family is a pretty awesome feeling. And what about making sure people in drought-stricken countries get clean drinking water? Once some friends of mine gave me a Mother's Day gift of a sewing machine for a woman in another country so she could start her own business. I have to say it was one of the best gifts I've ever received. Partly because there was so much love in it, and partly because I know how good it feels to have a sewing machine and turn pieces of fabric into treasures.

Here are a few suggestions, though I'm sure if you look in your own back yard you will find a place to give:

The Wedding Ring Project at Tough Angels: Our goal is to assist in creating safe havens for women and children of violence in developing countries, providing information to educate them about HIV and supporting them in restoring dignity, hope and promoting healing.

Heifer International's mission is to work with communities to end hunger and poverty and care for the earth. By giving families a hand-up, not just a hand-out, we empower them to turn lives of hunger and poverty into self-reliance and hope.

Episcopal Relief and Development

Possible Dreams International empowers rural and remote communities in areas of extreme poverty and/or high disease prevalence by engaging dynamic rural community networks and offering compassionate holistic care in the form of emergency relief and sustainable development solutions.

Episcopal Relief and Development: is an international relief and development agency and a compassionate response to human suffering on behalf of the Episcopal Church of the United States.

The Oaks Indian Mission, by God's grace, partnering with Christian communities and tribal nations prepares Native children to lead and serve.

Women for Women International: helping women survivors of war to re-build their lives.

Charity Water is a non-profit organization bringing clean and safe drinking water to people in developing nations. 100% of public donations directly fund water projects.

Today I'm grateful for a home I can call my own. I'm grateful for recovered health, and I'm grateful for my son John who came into my life 38 years ago and has kept me on my toes ever since.

Wishing for you time shared giving to others.

Merry ME

NabloPoMo - Day 29 Chapter 2

2011-11-29T16:03:00.009-05:00

Last summer sometime Sweetie and I went to Mt. Dora. While there I tried on some shoes, sandals, as I recall. They were quite expensive so I was in luck when they did not have my size in stock. When I got home I checked on Zappos for the same shoe. Again Lady Luck was on my side and the shoe was unavailable. A sign I think that the shoes were not meant for me.

Well, ever since then I've been getting ads from Zappos that excitedly tell me new Rieker styles are available. "You asked for it and we've got it.," it says in the email subject line. I have never once been tempted to buy the shoes they are suggesting. Rieker shoes may be very comfortable. They me be stylish in Europe. But in my book they are overpriced and on the ugly side.

I know at my age, it's okay to forgo style for comfort. Old lady feet that are prone to plantar facitis need "substantial" sturdy, i.e. ugly shoes. I get that. But this ugly?

I think it's possible this ad was made for the Wicked Witch of the West, not me.

However, if by some chance this is your style I suggest you hurry on over to Zappos and get yourself a pair because according to the ad, they are going fast. At $135.00 a pop, I highly doubt this, but you never know. I've never been an icon of shoe fashion.

Merry ME

P.S. Writing this I realize that my foot is feeling better. Maybe that podiatrist knew what he was talking about when he said to stay off my feet.

P.S.S. Since I've written 2 posts today that brings my number for November to 30. Have I finished NaBloPoMo? Nah...it's not over til it's over.

NabloPoMo - Day 29

2011-11-29T00:12:00.000-05:00

When I was in the 7th grade I played the flute in the band. I was all about learning to read music, practicing, and playing in front of people. Something happened during the summer between the 7th and 8th grades. I am pretty sure it had to do with BOYS. I looked at my skinny self, whose boobs had not yet grown to their full potential, and playing spin-the bottle with no knowledge yet of French kissing. I began to feel self-conscious. I had an older sister who, in my book, was everything I was not. She was way prettier, could make her hair do whatever she wanted it to, had a flair for make-up, knew how to talk to boys, challenged my father's rules and dared to risk being "bad" if she felt like it. I began to measure my worth by how I compared to her. I wanted to be daring and sexy (okay 8th graders back then were anything but sexy, but they tried at least to be appealing to the opposite sex) and popular. I also needed to be a good girl at all times to win my parents' approval. I lived with the constant chatter of the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.

I didn't pick up my flute once during that summer. When school started again, I felt geeky. My fingers slipped on the keys and I couldn't keep up with the music. The day we had to play in front of the whole band in order to determine our seating assignments, I froze. My hands sweat so much I could barely hold on to the flute. My shallow breathing couldn't make more than a squeak come out of the instrument. I tried several times to start on the right note - B flat, I still recall - and never got it right. Mercifully, Mr. Toney, moved on to the next player. I ended up in the last chair of about 10 flutes. It was the beginning of the end of my music career.

The end came later that year when band competitions were mandatory. I'm not sure which could have possible been worse - playing solo or with a group. I joined in with 3 other girls for a quartet. As luck would have it, a college student down the street could play the flute like a pro. She tutored me for weeks. I could play that piece backwards and forwards. I was ready for the competition. Until I came down with strep throat. I was sick, as in really sick, not just in a state of panic sick. I didn't attend the competition. My group had to back out which basically made me persona no grata. I was deflated and relieved at the same time. It would be 30 more years before I'd put myself in that kind of a position again.

And I've always wondered, as if there aren't more important things to take up the empty spaces in my brain, what might have happened if I'd tried to play that piece? Can you be so scared that you make yourself sick enough to need antibiotics and a series of B12 shots?

The reason I'm even bringing this up (in case you're wondering) is because I've been organizing the first Le Chat Writers Circle Give-Back-to-the-Community - a book drive for the homeless shelter in town. For weeks I've been driving around with books weighing down the back end of both cars. And now here I am in bed, the crud having moved from my head to my chest, passing through the flaming tunnel that was once my throat. On a much smaller scale, it is flute contest deja vu. Not so much the performance anxiety, but the feeling of letting others down.

Is it better to get up, get dressed, wrap a scarf around my neck and go, putting everyone else at risk of the plague? Or is it better to stay home and let it happen without me? Do people want a leader who walks into battle with no thought of her own health? Or will they thank the Lord for my good judgement? Who am I letting down - me or them?

Deep questions for a rather soggy brain. I think I'll take a swig of cough medicine and ponder while I sleep. I'm pretty sure if I completely turn this day over to recovery, tomorrow I'll be hefting and alphabetizing books to beat the band. (Pun intended!)

Today I'm grateful for the sun shining through the blinds making a nice warm spot of the floor for Suzi, the Nurse Dog, to sleep. I'm grateful I survived the 8th grade.

Wishing for you an opportunity to move beyond life's embarrassing moments,

Merry ME

NabloPoMo - Day 28

2011-11-28T18:58:00.001-05:00

November 28.

Two days left and I will have successfully completed NaBloPoMo 2011.

But here's the thing, I've been coughing and sneezing all day so I'm having a hard time finding something to write about. I look around me and all I see is balled up Kleenex. I know that's gross but when you don't feel good and you're going through tissues at a rapid rate, it's just easier to toss them on the floor instead of crossing the room to the trash can.

Hey wait a minute. I just had a brilliant idea come flashing though my totally congested head. If I can't go to the trash can, then maybe I should bring the trash can to me.

Anyway, here's what I've been thinking about today, brought about by all the Kleenex. In the last year of her life, I started tucking my mom into bed. To make sure she got there safely but mostly so I could kiss her good night and share the last few minutes of the day with her. Mom had several rituals she performed every night. Dad called them a "habits." Both of them used the well-practiced routines, I think, like a check off sheet so they didn't forget anything. The last thing Mom did after she slipped under the covers was to check her Kleenex supply. She would pull two or three tissues out of the box, fold them neatly and tuck a couple under her pillow. But she always saved one to wrap around and under her fingers on her left hand. That way, if she woke up needing to blow her nose, she always had a tissue. She had little piles of folded tissues all around the house.

You know how when your kids were little and it was bed time and even if they were dead tired they could rally just as you were corralling them into the bathroom to brush their teeth. Suddenly there was a list of things they forgot to do, or needed to do, or didn't want to do.

I didn't kiss Daddy.

I want a glass of juice.

I'm hot.

I'm cold.

Where's my blanket. I can't go to sleep without my blanket.

He/She is bothering me.

Tell me a story.

Leave the bathroom light on.

When I first started helping Mom to bed and she did the Kleenex thing, I actually thought she was stalling for time like a kid. That's a crazy thought for a couple of reasons. #1 she was the mom and could go to bed any darn time she wanted. #2 Her routines were run by the clock. Unless she wasn't feeling well, and sometimes even then, Mom was in her pajamas and blue velveteen robe and slippers by 10 pm. She sat in her chair with a glass of milk and a handful of pills on the table beside her which she downed slowly as she watched the TV show of the night. She might doze off in the chair but refused to go back to her room before the start of the 11:00 news. Stalling wasn't necessary because it would have upset the whole rhythm of the night. Eventually I understood that the Kleenex thing, the routine, was part of her comfort zone. I think as people get older their habits become so ingrained that not to do them causes undue stress. And who needs any more stress when you're old?

Dad was just as meticulous in his nighttime routine.

Radio on. Check.

Night light on. Check.

Bedside commode in the right place. Check.

Kleenex in his nightshirt pockets. Check.

Say the Lord's prayer. Check.

Kiss me goodnight. Check.

I didn't realize it until this afternoon how important Kleenex was to my parents. Funny how ordinary things can bring them to mind.

Today I'm grateful for long-standing comforts like Kleenex and Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup.

Wishing for you a routine to follow when you want to feel safe, and courage to step outside the box when you're feeling daring.

Merry ME

NabloPoMo - Day 27

2011-11-27T17:55:00.003-05:00

The Good News:

Sweetie is feeling better.

The Not-So-Good News:

His bug hopped across the room and landed on me.

I started sniffling last night. Feel achy all over today.

Decided to wash all the linens in an effort to kill a few germs. Guess that's what they call closing the barn door after the horse is out. In between loads of laundry I watched movies on TV. A whole Sunday dedicated to Sandra Bullock and Julia Roberts. I'm not sure it gets much better than that. Well, it would be better if I wasn't feeling icky.

Today I'm grateful Tylenol.

My wish for you is a mild flu season,

Merry ME

NabloPoMo - Day 26

2011-11-26T00:05:00.000-05:00

'Tis healthy to be sick sometimes."

Henry David Thoreau

My Sweetie has been sick for 3 days. The sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, fever, can't sleep or breathe kind of sick. I've considered calling the Vicks people to offer him up for a Nyquil ad. Seriously he looks like Santa has gone to bed and may not get up in time to deliver presents around the world. His eyes have lost their twinkle. His normaly perfectly coiffed white hair is all curled up on top of his head and matted in back where it meets the pillow. Girl Cat thinks his big round belly, piled high with quilts is the perfect place to take a nap, until Sweetie coughs and sends her flying into the air looking like one of those scared Halloween cats. The sunlight reflecting of his cherry red nose rivals that of Rudolph. Used tissues that missed the trash can, OTC apothecaries, and empty juice glasses are piled up next to his chair where he lies, contemplating his Last Will and Testament.

Whatever the bug is, it's going around. Typical for this time of year. The family holding hands for grace around a food laden table is a breeding ground for germs. That whole thing about sneeze or cough into your elbow flies out the window of your consciousness when you are stuck in a mile-long line at Walmart with Black Friday deals overflowing your cart. Serious shoppers can't even find an elbow so they cough and sneeze wherever.

I've had a similar bug twice this year already. I've had a flu shot and a pneumonia shot. I load myself up everyday with Vitamin C, and no one could say I don't get enough rest. Airborne is my new best friend. Because even though there is no one around for me to play Florence Nightengale over - no kids, no old person - I'm still of the mindset Mom's don't get sick. I will long remember what the house and kids looked like after I'd had the flu for a couple of days and my then-hubby was left in charge of things. I vowed never to get sick again. Let me just say this as nicely as I can, the man prided himself on being a Naval Aviator (which to all Naval Aviators is just a step below God). He could fly a helicopter into and out of a potato patch with nary a scratch to the bird or crew, but he had no skills whatsoever feeding and corraling small children. I know now it really doesn't hurt a kid to eat Fruit Loops for dinner, not to take a bath or to wear the same clothes for 3 days in a row, but at the time, I'm pretty sure I stuffed some tissues in my sleeve and took over before the board of health condemned our house.

All that to say I really don't want to get sick. I'm keeping my distance from Sweetie, which seems to be okay with him because he's a leave-me-alone kind of sick person. If it weren't for the aforementioned germs, his illness is the perfect excuse to join the masses looking for deals. Whatever happened to all those blue masks people wore to prevent the spread of Swine flu? Maybe I'll dig one out.

Today I'm grateful for good health. It's one of those things you don't really appreciate until you can't move out of the recliner without your whole body crying foul.

My wish for you this first day of the Holiday Season is good parking karma.

Merry ME

P.S. Can anyone tell my what that quote means? It's kind of deep, don't you think? Perhaps Thoreau had spent too many days alone in the woods.

P.S.S. The picture above is an old one. I am not so insensitive that I'd take a picture of a person on his death bed. Okay, maybe I am a little insensitive because I did consider it. But the man is finally breathing with some kind of regularity and I didn't dare disturb him.

NabloPoMo - Day 25

2011-11-25T20:10:00.011-05:00

Plaid potholders from www.fullmoonfiberart.com

One of my favorite authors and bloggers is Jon Katz, who has succeeded in leaving the big city life behind for a farm in NY. He announced at the beginning of the week that many independent business people were going to go up against mega-businesses for holiday shoppers' dollars. Plaid Friday vs Black Friday. I think it is a grand idea. As much as I adore getting lost in Barnes & Noble and Joann Fabric I also love to wander around small, homey bookstore or quilt store where a curious cat roams the aisles and maybe there is a tray on an antique library table where you can get a spot o' tea.

Both Katz and his wife participated in Plaid Friday. He signed books and took orders by phone - no computer person to direct your call. She made plaid-backed potholders. I haven't had my sewing machine out in ages, but I imagine that making plaid potholders has got to be rather soothing.

I have always like plaid. I think I have some Scotch genes from my mom's side of the family which may acount for my plaid fancies. More likely it is because my mother was known for buying dresses in stair step sizes from baby to teen. I think there was a plaid jumper that I wore for several years because hand-me-downs kept coming!

So I'm in a plaid mood tonight:

Blackwatch plaid kilt

Argyle sweater, socks

Plaid boxers

Burberry coat

Tam O' Shanter

Madrass shorts

Gingham curtains

Duck tape (I't not your father's duck tape)

Wellington boots

Pink plaid cupcakes (allthingscupcakes.com)

Forever Plaid (a very entertaining play)

Vans and flip flops

Flannel sheets

Dog coats

Cashmere scarfs

Buffalo plaid shirts

Flannel lined jeans

Fur lined flannel hat with ear flaps

and last but not least - Scottie dogs (which aren't exactly plaid, but always make me think of a red/green/black MacGregor tartan

Today I'm grateful for movement, no sitting around whining.

Wishing for you a soft and cozy flannel blanket to snuggle under on a cold winter day,

Merry ME

P.S. Don't forget to support individual, community, independence and creativity.

NabloPoMo - Day 24

2011-11-24T15:16:00.003-05:00

"Can you be truly grateful for

EVERYTHING

in your life?

Even the circumstances, situations

and/or people that are challenging?

Christine Hassler*

Here it is 2:00pm on Thanksgiving day. I am up, showered and dressed. I've walked the dog, made stuffing, peeled potatoes and stuck my hand elbow deep into a turkey carcass. Oh, happy day!

About five last night I started flying around the house like a winged monkey in the Wizard of Oz. I frantically, vacuumed the whole house. I got down on my knees to clean cat puke stains that have mocked me for a month. I let the sweat drip off my brow like I'd run a marathon as I wondered what was wrong with me. Then I had the tiniest of flashbacks to a time after I'd first been diagnosed with depression.

I'd been laying around worrying my mother about my moodiness for days. All of a sudden as if stuck in the butt with a cattle prod, I got all crazy about cleaning my room. And when my poor mother ventured in to see what was going on, I let her have it. I was angry. Really mad. Mom was the person who took the brunt, thinking I'm sure I probably needed an exorcism.

What was I angry about? I haven't a clue. Maybe I couldn't find a sock. Or maybe my bed sheets were ruffled. What I know now is depression is often anger turned inside where it can simmer. Then one day when you least expect it, a volcano of emotions erupts and comes spewing out. It doesn't doesn't really need an earthquake tremor to start it, just one more itty bitty insignificant nudge.

Ahh, I told myself yesterday. I'm feeling angry. And my anger fueled me into action, at least for an hour or so. In that hour, I accepted the anger for what it was. Nodded my head to all the reasons I feel angry when the calendar and TV ads are telling me I'm supposed to be feeling grateful. Even when I am grateful, I know its luster is a little dimmed by the anger that buts up against it. I decided as I vacuumed, I was going to cook a turkey and all the fixings even if it's just Sweetie and I that eat it. His idea of starting a new tradition by eating at Boca de Pepo just felt less right than sitting at an empty table. Does it sound like I'm crazy? It feels a little like I am. But at the same time, I kind of feel like I'm getting closer to saneness than I would be if I did nothing.

I get a message from "The Daily Love" every morning. Yesterday I read an article by Christine Hassler that challenged me to feel grateful for everything - not just the tangible or good things. What? I'm supposed to feel grateful that I can't remember important stuff, that I bite my Sweetie's head off because MY side of the office looks like a paper bomb exploded and I can't find what I'm looking for on HIS side of the office? I'm supposed to feel grateful that my foot hurts, the dog poos in the house and the birds fling seed on the floor I just cleaned? Seriously, am I supposed to feel grateful my father died and left me feeling abandoned, scared and purpose-less?

Hassler's answer to those questions would be yes. "Instead of thinking something else would be better, move into faith that what is happening is what you actually need the most even if it doesn't feel like it. Trust me, if things were supposed to go differently they would have."

Aha! Lightbulb moment: What happened to your trust and faith, Merry ME?

In another Daily Love message, Rachel Sat Siri Dogherty in her article Gratitude for it All! wrote:

"There is always great sadness and great joy existing simultaneously in life.
That relationships with their deep and profound commitment, require the same trust of the unknown that every other area of lie demands.
There is always great light and great darkness in one's life.
Tears move to laughter. Stillness transforms into great activity."

Lightbulb reminder: There you go, Merry Me, the ying and the yang, the ups and downs, the blacks and whites of life are ever-changing. You must learn to go with the flow and perhaps live in the middle.

And one more thought. This one by Alana Sheeren: "Be honest where you're at." [That of course, assumes you know where you're at!] The intensity of grief does not last forever but it is what you're living with right now, and it can resurface powerfully at times like these. The more you're able to be present with your emotions, the more you give the people around you permission to do the same. As challenging as that can be for everyone, it is also a gift."

Light shining in the darkness moment: The intensity of grief does not last forever, Merry Me. So take your little one's hand, let her know you're a team. She's not alone and neither are you. Your life is full. Find a reason to be grateful for all of it.

Today I am grateful for the memories of people who are no longer with me in body or spirit. People who challenged me, inspired me, made me cry and made me laugh. People who loved me the best they could. People who lit my path by holding my hand in the darkness.

Wishing for you a very blessed and grateful holiday,

Merry ME

"Gorging on Gratitude" Christine Hassler.com, 11/23/2011

"Gratitude for it All!" Rachel Sat Siri Dogherty, TheDailyLove.com/gratitude-fo-it-all/

Picking Up the Pieces thoughts from Life After Benjamin" Alana Sheeren, LifeAfterBenjamin.com

NaBloPoMo - Day 23

2011-11-23T14:18:00.003-05:00

It's the day before Thanksgiving and all through the house

Nary a whiff of pies cooking for me and my spouse.

And that my friends is about as poetic as I can be.

I think I'm learning something about myself - don't know yet if it's good or bad. In years past I've whined about the stress level of everything that goes into holiday celebrations. The grocery shopping for all the food to cook. The crowds. The decorations. The gifts to buy and mail. All that on top of the regular to do lists.

So here I am the day before T'day not doing one of those things. It's past 1 pm, I'm still in my pjs, and, I'm ashamed to admit, I'm still in the sack. I hear lawn mowers and weed whackers outside the window. Neighbors and dogs and birds are all up and about. And here I sit. Not the least bit stressed and not liking it so much. But also not wanting to do anything about it.

Is that me complaining of not having stress? What? Doesn't anything make me happy? Do I want the big to do and all that comes with it? Or do I want a quiet, reflective time with a piece of pie and a cup of tea? Will I sound completely nuts if I tell you I DON"T KNOW what I want?

I've been thinking about the kids at the Oaks Mission. Wondering about what Thanksgiving is like for the kids who don't have a home to go home to. There was a woman there whose quiet, gentle presence has stayed with me since our return home. Arlene, was the cook. Twice a day she prepared meals for fifty or more people. They weren't gourmet meals. When you're trying to nourish a passel of kids from 5-18 plus hard-working grownups, I suspect you think in quantity, not quality. [Please, don't take that to mean the quality was sub-par. It wasn't. It just wasn't Martha Stewart's version of cafeteria food.] The meals were made up of homey classics - macaroni and cheese, hotdogs and beans, chicken cooked in various ways, spaghetti, and my favorite Indian Tacos.

In fact it was the fry bread tortillas that endeared me to Arlene. I don't know why. I was just taken by the way she slapped a glob of dough between her hands until it flattened out to the size she didn't have to measure to know it was right. Perhaps the recipe and rhythm was passed down through the DNA of grandmothers who mixed and slapped the same dough and cooked it on a hot rock. Maybe it was just so routine she could do it in her sleep. Either way, as her hands moved back and forth, back and forth, she took on the look of an angel. Not a singing hallelujah angel, more like a mother whose hands and heart meet the needs of her children in everyday ways. It called to mind women of by gone days who spun wool, made quilts, churned butter, plucked a turkey and swept never ending dust from her planked floors, their hands both roughed up and worn smooth by their work.

Arlene came to work every day and prepared meals for children who called the mission home. Her mundane kitchen chores and the taste of her carb-laden dinners might be the very thing these children will recall when they have homes of their own. How one woman said I love you every time she dished up a spoonful of comfort food.

Today I'm grateful for our Puritan mothers who somehow found the courage to say, "sure I'll go." [That's not to say I'm particularly proud of everything that happened once the Mayflower knocked up against Plymouth Rock.] Those hearty women, I think, were the backbone of this country from day one. I'm often scared of my own shadow and don't much feel like an adventurer, but I've got the blood of women who said "yes" in my veins. I'm also grateful for time. It just feels important to me right now. Time to do and time to be still.

Wishing for you cranberries and pecans,

Merry ME

NaBloPoMo - Day 22

2011-11-22T22:17:00.001-05:00

"Within our dreams and aspirations we find our opportunities."

Sue Atchley Ebaugh

I'm getting a really late start. Not sure where the day went, but it's just about gone.

I've told you before about my writing group, how much it means to me. Our meeting yesterday was small but packed full of information. You know writing is so much more than just putting words on a computer screen. There is so much to learn. When we "Chats" get together we laugh as much as we learn, which is like the spoonful of sugar that helps the medicine go down.

Individually and collectively, this group of writers is pretty talented, and gutsy. I'm learning it takes a lot of guts to put yourself out there. Writing is one thing, you can do it in the wee hours of the morning in your pjs. Or you can do it in a coffee shop or while waiting in the hospital. Ah, but it's the saying "please read this and let me know what you think" and the willingness to hear what needs to be done to make your work even better that takes courage. And then if you are really serious about being published, you have to go one step further and submit your work to people and places with the power to lift you up or crush you like a bug. The thought of that makes me weak with fear. That's why I still only take baby steps.

The more I am with others who show me how courageous they are, the more I think I can be brave too. Yesterday when my friend Amy called to say the book she's been working on for 2 years (at the rapid pace of 9 words a minute) has been picked up by an agent, I was as happy for her as I would be for myself. Yikes! An agent! She's on her way. I swear I could do the happy dance all over again. If you want to get a feel for Miss Amy go check out her blog.

On the heels of this information, I got a Poets and Writers newsletter today with this TED video by Elizabeth Gilbert. I swear, if you have any creative aspirations at all, you have to watch this. Gilbert really "spoke to me" about what it means to be creative. I KNEW what she meant when she talked about being a vessel for "genius" to flow through. It made me realize that I am a writer, and it's okay to say that out loud. That information and $5.00 might buy me a mocha something at Starbucks. But more than that it adds to my courage account. Like throwing pocket change into a jar at the end of the day, moving in the direction of my soul's voice is adding up. Maybe, just maybe, one day I'll have an agent too! And if I don't? Well so what, I tried, right?

Today I'm grateful for good news and I'm grateful for supportive friends who inspire me to be more of ME.

Wishing for you a glittery stairway to the stars where your dreams await,

Merry ME

NaBloPoMo - Day 21

2011-11-21T08:35:00.004-05:00

"God turns you from one feeling to another

And teaches you by means of opposites

So that you will have two wings to fly,

Not one."

Rumi

Ever felt like you were on a see-saw, sometimes at the top, your feet dangling in the air, and sometimes stuck at the bottom waiting for the person on the other side to come down so you can go up? Ever been on a see-saw when the person on the other side was bigger than you, and could hold you up in the air even when you wanted to get down? Or what about the teeterer who bounces you even when you ask in your nicest voice for her to stop? Moooommmm! She won't let me down.....

Hmmm.. Sorry. I got a little carried with memories of the playground!

I think my point is, drum roll please, lately I'm feeling a little like I'm on a see saw - either up or down, not spending too much time in the place in the middle. Perhaps this isn't the best of metaphors, because I just realized the middle of the see-saw is where everything is balanced, but nothing really happens. Life is in the going up or going down.

Oh My God! I'm a philosopher!

I read a friend's blog the other day where she talked about the transitions we have to make in life, that before we can get to the next place we have to let go of where we are. It reminded me of a daily meditation I read and carried around in my wallet years ago. It talked of the transitioning moment for trapeze artists. That few seconds they are twisting or somersaulting through the air. Having let go of one swing and not yet reaching the other, there is nothing holding them up but their own momentum. Well, that and a lot of training and prayers. It's that moment just before the audience cranes their necks towards the top of the big tent and whispers a communal "ahhhhhh" when the hands of one flyer meets the hands of another. Growth, said the unknown author, is what happens in the transition. You are not where you once were, and not yet where you want to be. In order to move on, you have to let go. Unless you are me whose transition period is rather like Suzi's when she's looking for the perfect spot to pee. She goes back and forth, around and around -sniffing, pausing, considering, rejecting - before deciding as if by some internal pee compass where to final stop and do her business.

I'm sure if I went back and read this blog from the past year, I'd see where I've moved forward and back, around and around, seldom staying put for more than a moment. I'm not sure I've reached my perfect spot yet, even knowing that the perfect spot is ever changing. Suzi has the whole back yard to pee in. Sometimes she goes in one corner for a few days in a row, then moves somewhere else. I've got the whole world - or at least the whole of my piece of the world. (Does that make sense? A whole of a piece?)

Are you wondering where I'm going with this? Well, I'm not really sure except that it seems like a good thing to hang my hat on for the next few weeks. The days are going to start moving even faster than they have been, stress levels are going to rise, parking spots are going to be at a premium, the cat's gonna knock the balls off the tree but life is going to go on. There are going to be days when I'm up and days when I'm down. And hopefully there will be days when I'm blissfully sitting on life's fulcrum, balanced in the moment, taking it all in.

Today I'm grateful for remembering something from 20 years ago which perhaps means my brain is not as dried up as I have been thinking. I'm grateful for the smiles that come from the long ago dreams of a little girl who pictured herself in a pink sequined leotard, flying through the air with the greatest of ease. I'm grateful for the ups which inevitably follow the downs.

Wishing for you moments of transition that will take you to new places, or perhaps back home again.

Merry ME

(I'd include poo in that statement except she has recently decided the best poo spot is in the dining room - nice.)

NaBloPoMo - Day 20

2011-11-20T22:39:00.003-05:00

[Note: File this under things that don't make sense but turn out good.]

Standing For Those Who Stood For Us

Patriot Guard Riders

Yesterday, after lying around all day, I got out of bed and went to the screening of a movie about the Patriot Guard Riders. Mainly I went because it was a fund raiser for the Jacksonville Branch of Wreaths Across America. Have you ever seen one of those pictures of a cold wintry day where the ground is covered with snow and all you can see are granite headstones in a National Cemetery decorated with a green wreath sporting a big red bow? Well that's thanks to Wreathes Across America.(Actually it's thanks to Worcester Wreath Company of Harrington, Maine who has been making the wreaths since 1992). I called the cemetery here, where my father and mother are buried and asked about it. Like a frog hopping from one lily pad to another to get to the edge of the pond, I made a few more phone calls, and a few emails and found out what I needed to know to make sure the Reynolds headstone will have a wreath this year. That led me to the Ralph "Drem"Terreault, Assistant State Capt, NE Florida Help on the Homefront Rep of the Patriot Guard Riders, who led me to the movie screening.

I have been in the midst of the PGRs before but didn't know about their mission until last night. A few years ago I went to the staging ground of a local fallen soldier whose funeral was being threatened by the Westboro Baptist Church (WBC) in Oklahoma. Even though I was one of only a few in a sea of thousands who was not wearing black leather and sitting on a motocycle va-rooming to beat the band, I could feel the energy, the expectation, the dedication to duty, the respect, as if a multitude of patriotic hearts were beating to the rhythm of a Harley's engine. On that day, the "wackos" (as they were called in the movie) did not show. The hearse carrying a flag draped coffin made it to the church without incident, by driving through a corridor of solemn-faced, leather-bedecked motorcyclists and flags whose stripes and stars seemed to salute in acknowledgement of the young man who died for their colors.

As I sat there before the movie started watching a slide show of PGR venues, I did have second thoughts about being there. I mean seriously, was I just asking for more tears? Maybe so, but at the moment I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to be. I was in a room where patriotism and love of country meant something. Two rows behind me sat a Medal of Honor winner Robert Ingram. Also in the small theater (with some of the comfiest seats I've ever sat in) there was a representative of Gold Star Dads (whose mission is to support each other in the loss of their sons and daughters) retired service members whose tired faces mirrored the worn leather vests they wore. There were kids and moms and a few other curiosity seekers like Sweetie and I.

Quite frankly, I cannot tell you about the movie. It's something you have to see for yourself. I will tell you that I squeezed my eyes tight and plugged my ears so I wouldn't have to listen to some of the vitriol spewed from the mouths of so-called Christians. And I'll tell you that tears streamed down my face for a good portion of the movie. Yeh, I know, what's new? I can also tell you that I was both embarrassed and proud. Embarrassed to have been a part of the generation who let men and women come home from Vietnam worse than unsung heroes. I was not in the group protesting the war, but I was not in the group that honored their service, either. I was embarrassingly silent. Last night I was made proud by what some of these same men did 30 years later, AFTER they'd been spit on, cussed, denied jobs or lost jobs because of PTSD induced alcoholism and drug abuse, who still to this day warn people NOT to sneak up behind them for what they might do out of instinct.

In August of 2005 when American Legion Riders Chapter 136 from Kansas heard the WBC was going to protest at the funeral of Sgt. John Doles in Chelsea OK, they established a mission statement which "included getting the families' permission and contacting Law Enforcement and Motorcycle groups in Oklahoma. They agreed their ultimate goal was to get veterans involved in every state so that each state could handle the situation internally and not relay on other states to do the job" to limit the intrusion of the WBC. Within weeks the mission statement was refined and a call went out to individual riders and groups across the nation to join and ride with the PGR. Today over 250,000 PGRs give to others what most didn't get when they returned home - love, respect and welcome home. Vietnam Vets who learned not to talk of their time "in country" have found a place to "belong, to comfortably interact with others who were like them and a road back to reason and healing."

I'll say that again. Healing. A little late perhaps, but recovery nonetheless.

I was a different person walking out of the theater than the one who walked in. I can't tell you exactly how or when this happened. But for me, there was another step in healing from my grief. I was reminded that this sadness I carry around with me is something that can't be bottled up, it has to be worked through. In essence I heard strangers say "do what you gotta do to get through it." I also got some insight about my father, the veteran. Why military service was so important to him. Why it's important for me to continue to honor that service, and his almost-OCD behaviour when it came to flag etiquette. And, even though I totally do NOT get the whole war thing, why it's important to be grateful for and respectful of the men and women who go into harm's way every single day so that those of us who are back here on red, while and blue terra ferma can enjoy the freedoms we all too often take for granted. Someone bestowed the title of "greatest generation" on men of my father's era. No doubt they deserve it. But I gotta tell you there are men and women in every generation who become great beyond measure when they put on the uniform of their country. Are their some bad apples? Sure. Are there lots of heros? Sure. I think in the end they deserve a lot more than an evergreen wreath on their grave. They deserve the respect, honor, and remembering the wreathes represent.

Today I'm grateful to the PGR's for the work they do. I'm grateful for the flag that stands out in front of my house. I'm grateful for the people who will take the time to lay over 3500 wreaths on gravesites at Jacksonville National Cemetery next month.

Wishing for a time when every Johnny ever sent to war will come proudly come marching home again.

Merry ME

Patriot Guard Riders, A Film by Ellen Frick

NaBloPoMo - Day 19

2011-11-19T14:00:00.003-05:00

"Live your questions now, and perhaps even without knowing it,

you will live along some distant day into your answers.

Rainer Maria Rilke

How many times can you to be blasted with headlines about Kim Kardashion's life before a) you start a "We are the 99% (who don't really give a damn what's happening to any of the Kardashions, or Justin Bieber for that matter) Movement" or b) stop reading the stories ?

How many times can you watch Say Yes to the Dress and ask a) $10,000 for one dress? or b) why would anyone include her mother-in-law-to-be, her father, her 4th cousin once removed and her gay friend in her dress-buying "entourage"?

How many times can you try on sweaters in Florida that were made for wearing somewhere north of the Mason-Dixon line without figuring out a) you look like The Pillsbury DoughBoy wrapped in yarn or b)they are just hot flashes/melt downs waiting to happen?

How many times does your dog have to tear the newly installed screen in the back door so she can scratch on the wooden door which is the dog equivalent of ringing the doorbell before you a) remove the screen door or b) ignore the bad behavior and reward the good, i.e. wait til she has gone to sleep in the sun before you call her in ignoring the look she gives you that insinuates you are a rather dense dog parent?

How many days in a row can you lay your hiney in bed past noon and a) vow to get up at 7 am tomorrow and start and exercise program or b) feel like a giant slug?

How many times do you have to tell your Sweetie you feel at sixes and sevens before he a) stops loving you anyway or b) tells you to grab a five or an eight and get a grip?

How many times do you have to put down and pick back up the emotional baggage you've been carrying around for most of your life like it's a gift from Louis Vuitton himself before you a) have it surgically removed or b) just leave it there and don't look back like the day you put your first born child on a school bus bound for Kindergarten?

How many times are you going to wish things were the way they used to be when a) how they used to be wasn't so great and b) things aren't really so bad right now?

"The answers, my friend, are blowin' in the wind,

the answers are blowin' in the wind." *

Today I'm grateful for the luxury of lying my hiney in the bed as long as I want. And I'm grateful for the aroma of potatoes and onions cooking in bacon grease coming from the kitchen at the other end of the house which is enticing enough to get up and start my happy day even if it is already half over.

Wishing for a you answers to all your questions.

Merry ME

*Blowin' in the Wind lyrics by Bob Dylan

NaBloPoMo - Day 18

2011-11-18T10:29:00.002-05:00

"they know me in a way no one else ever has.

they open me to things i never knew existed.

they drive me to insanity and push me to my depths.

the are the beat of my heart,

the pulse in my veins, and the energy in my soul.

they are my kids."

terri st. cloud

By a series of serendipitous events, Terri St. Cloud crossed my blog path a few years ago. Terri is kind of like a lightening rod. She attracts and invites people into her world on the premise that they are doing something to make her feel better. When really, what's happening is she is all about doing for others. Through bonesigh arts she shares her story of self-discovery, lighting the way for those who feel stuck in their own darkness. If you know Terri, you know what I mean. If you don't, then you just have to hop on over to her blog/site and rest in the branches of her white tree for awhile.

Terri has done a lot of inner child work. In fact to know Big Terri is to know Little Ter. Her work in this area encourages me to do the same. It is basically all about learning to re-parent one's wounded inner child. When I think of Terri, I can't help but think of her in terms of both the child and the parent. She easily slips between the two worlds. It's Terri, the parent I want to tell you about today.

"every time I looked up at Noah or Zakk,

I was so glad to be out there with them.

the smiles that passed between us, the laughter,

the just being a team.

it was absolutely being a family in the truest sense.

I knew it. and it felt great."

tsc

Terri has 3 sons, or apes as she affectionately refers to them. Josh, Noak and Zakk. It's perfectly understandable for a mom to be proud of and want to shout out to the world about her kids. Terri's no different in that respect, only she seldom takes any of the credit herself. I haven't met her sons so I can't speak from personal knowledge. But I gotta think a lot of who they are as adults has to do with the way they were raised by Terri.

First of all she home-schooled them. In my book, that takes a special kind of person. I'm guessing her natural curiosity was as much a teaching aid as any manual she might have used. Then there is her willingness to be open and forthright about her emotions, her creativity, her business, her view of the world, and anything else she considers important. Her lead-by-example style must have been the fertile ground the apes needed to develop their own character. This is evident by the fact that even though Terri wanted them to follow the traditional, i.e. safe, go-to-college path, each of the boys opted to follow Terri's entreprenurial endeavors. Hard as that is, they saw her succeed which helped cast away their fears. I'm sure it helped to have a cheerleader mom like Ter on the sidelines.

So who are these men?

Well, Josh, the oldest, is a musician/entertainer. He's one of those guys who doesn't know a stranger. He is also a guitar teacher with students from 8 to 68. Terri calls him, "an old soul with a big heart." What is it they say about an apple not falling far from the tree?

Next there is Noah - the middle child - who is known as the "peacemaker". Noah is the "out front" man in business he shares with his brother Zakk. He is a photographer and designer of web-based company.

Zakk, is the techie behind the scenes. Got a computer problem, Zakk is one to call on.

Each of these guys is a businessman. But that doesn't tell you much about their heart. They work separately and together giving to their community whether it's raking a neighbor's yard, or sharing hope with someone they know whose having a hard time. Did I mention they like to take day trips, instead of expensive vacations, with their mom of all people. All 4 of them packed into one small car with the radio blaring Stevie Ray Vaughn. [Excuse me for sounding cynical, but I've been stuffed into a vehicle with 2 kids and a husband oblivious to the friction in the back seat, so day trips have never been my cup of tea. The fact that Terri and her boys do this on a regular basis is one of the reasons I know she's made of special stock.]

I love to read on Terri's blog that she and the apes are spending time together, because I like to vicarously share in their joy. Seriously, this family has the spirit of Norman Rockwell even if they sit around a table full of vegetables and tofu instead of some kind of roasted fowl. You don't have to be a Musketeer, to be all for one and one for all. You just have to pick up a snow shovel, slap on a mustache, or pull a welding shield down over your face and jump into the fray.

Today I'm grateful for families who share laughter, tears, love and time together.

Wishing for you time spent with people you love,

Merry ME

P.S. For a more up, close and personal feel of the boys here are their individual web sites. You have to admit, they are pretty talented.

Josh - http://joshurban.com/
Noah & Zakk - http://mazuzu.com/#!/Home
Noah - http://misternoah.com/

NaBloPoMo - Day 17

2011-11-17T12:18:00.001-05:00

Editor's Note: I've moved off my "People Who Bring Me Joy" theme for the day.

"Life goes not backward, nor tarries with yesterday."

Kahlil Gibran

I'm not even sure what that quote means. I think I'm trying to tell myself not to look to keep dwelling on the past. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of that. I mean I'm not in denial about the past, I am trying to work through some of my "issues" but I'm not dwelling there instead of moving on.

The thing is, it doesn't take much of anything to send me right back to a place of sadness, whether I want to be there or not. Like yesterday, for instance. I went to the doctor for a checkup. No big deal. Only a couple questions about my hurting feet and a shingles vaccine.

The doc comes in and says how you doing? First of all, if you're sitting in his office on a table covered in tissue paper that crinkles every time you move, the chances are pretty good you're NOT doing so good. Most of the time you're there because you don't feel good, right? Why ask? But that wasn't the case for me yesterday, so I said I'm doing pretty good. I ask my questions, he listens to my chest, by-passes the discussion on my weight and I don't "go there" either. Then as he sits at his computer typing in my prescription renewals, he says, rather blithely, obviously making small talk, not looking for a much of an answer .... "what are you planning for the holidays?"

7 little words. That's all it took to start the tears silently rolling down my face. I'm not so good at faking this grief thing. And the holidays are already screaming, "Be happy!" "Be grateful!" "Spend money!" "Gather your family around you and eat too much!" "Ho! Ho! Ho!" "Fa la la la la!" Each and every time I'm reminded that the "you better not pout, you better not cry" time of the year is just around the corner, I like pouting and crying, usually at the same time. I feel sad cause everything is different this year. Po'd cause everything is different. Sad cause I miss how things used to be, which has got to be all about my inner child's memories, not my tired old Scroogy ass adult. And mad because I want to "Fake it til I make it" but can't stop the tears from falling and being reminded that I'm a lousy faker.

It was also time to see my shrink for Rx refills, so basically yesterday was a double whammy. I tried to brace myself, but sitting in the quiet of his office, in a leather chair worn in by patients over several years, I felt safe enough to say, "You know I'm not doing as well as I'd like." You can't reach a lot of resolution in a 15 minute appointment. But really, what could either of us say that was going to bring about resolution anyway? I'm on a path that is going to take some more twists and turns before I round a corner where I'll be able to let go of the hand of sadness, leave my father's ghost where it belongs and more forward. I would like to think that each step I've taken since saying goodbye on that January afternoon, has been in a forward moving direction, not back. The truth is probably more like being Max's partner on Dancing with the Stars, going forward and back, twirling around in circles, dipping and leaping in a dizzying dance that I can only hope to follow so I don't fall on my ass. Only I'm wearing comfortable fat-hugging yoga pants not a sequin dress.

According to the doctor who traveled this road with me after my mother died, my father still takes up a great big space in my psyche.

Is that space gonna get smaller as time moves on? Yes.

Is the day going to come when I can think about, talk about my father without it feeling like I've just picked a scab off a very tender sore? Yes.

Do I believe that? Kind of!

Does that make it easier right now? No.

So I move through each day as it comes. I get up, make the bed, write, run errands, walk the dog, go to church, smile and greet people. And sometimes I cry. Sometimes I pray for what was, then pinch myself so the pain will penetrate grief's numbness and remind me of the more realistic view of the last few years.

I'm not so selfish that I'd wish my father's last years, months, days back on him. He is where he wanted to be. What I seem to be grieving as much as the loss of his larger than life image in my little girl's mind, is the fact that the little girl who, in his own words, "brought our family together," no longer knows what her place in the world is.

The past is gone. The present is moving at the speed of light. And the future is kind of scary. My little girl asks, who will show me the way? Who will hold my hand? I know the answer is me, but since I'm still having to get used to that concept, my positive delivery is not so good.

And this my friends is what steam of consciousness writing is all about. Perhaps I should delete this post and start over, but I'm not sure I could do any better.

Today I'm grateful for the book I'm reading which distracts me enough so that I don't dwell in the dark place. Cause even though you might not belief it after reading this diatribe, I am surrounded by light.

Wishing you a day of peace,

Merry ME

NabloPoMo - Day 16

2011-11-16T13:42:00.001-05:00

Angels around us, angels beside us, angels within us.

Angels are watching over you when

times are good or stressed.

Their wings wrap gently around you,

whispering you are love and blessed."

Angel Blessing

Ashley Van Zant

I've been working with Shands Hospital for the last couple of years in connection with the Guild of the Christ Child. They have a program called Little Miracles. Every few months I'll load up my car with shoebox layettes and take them down to my friend Ashley Van Zant. It's a toss up which I love more, seeing the shoeboxes wrapped in baby colors ready to be given to moms who might not even have a onesie to take their newborn home in. Or visiting with Ashley.

Even a few minutes with Ashley is like taking a double dose of feel better medicine. She's one of those people who, even when she's having a hard time (and believe me she's had some hard times lately), she makes you feel like you are the only person in the world and you can take up as much of her time as you need. That's what she brings to the bedside of each of her patients.

Ashley is a nurse. But she's much more than just a nurse. I can't name them all, but there are lots more letters behind her name than just RN. More than that I think she is one of those angels God sends down to walk among some of the neediest people here on earth. And here's the neat thing, she loves her job. How many people do you know that can say that? "

"I feel honored to be able to do what I truly love and have a passion for and get paid to do it."

Supposedly she is only a part-timer but ask her husband about that and he'd have to disagree. She admits she rarely gets home until hours after her normal quitting time. Ashley's side of the maternity ward is not always the happy side. Some days she spends her extra time just lending an ear or a shoulder to mom's who are waiting to have their babies, or mom's who have lost their babies.

"My dedication and compassion is to those that may be encountering financial, health care issues, or infant health problems, along with other issues, some feel like they have no one there, even to talk to, much less confide in!"

Ashley has an office that's not much bigger than a large closet. It is full of books, pictures, baby gifts and a collection of angels. Co-worker, Charlene Brazeale, told me "it has been a pleasure working with Ashley throughout the years. She is a joy, to come to work with every day. She always has a smile no matter what the situation, has always been their for her patients - 100%." I suspect everyone who works with Ashley would say the same thing.

I don't get to see Ashley as often as I'd like to. But every time we get together I feel like I've been touched by an angel.

Today I'm grateful for people who go above and beyond what is expected of them.

Wishing an angel to watch over you,

Merry ME

P.S. The little Miracles Program was started in 2000 in response to the high infant mortality rate in Duval County. Since it began, Little Miracles has assisted over 30,000 mothers.

2011-11-15T09:38:00.001-05:00

"Red is the ultimate cure for sadness."

Bill Blass

I got up this morning seeing red. Not the I'm mad as hell kind of red. The autumn red of the maple tree we planted last year. By the time the dog walk/pull/sniff was over and we were coming into the final stretch, I noticed the tree. It's been gradually turning from green to red, but this morning it stood proudly in its red coat, as if daring the winds to blow the it away.

So I started thinking about red. Maybe because "red is the color for Tuesdays".* Red has always been one of my favorite colors. Not sure why. I just like the way it makes a statement.

When I was a little girl I liked to watch my mother get dressed for a party. Around the holidays she wore a red chiffon dress that made her look hot. Even though I was too young to know what hot meant, I knew she was changing from everyday mom to va va voom mom. Before getting dressed, she stood in her slip putting on makeup. Then she took the pin curls from her hair and brushed it all into place. Next she sat on the bed, roll her stockings between two hands then ever so gently and with a touch of grace, pull the silky nylon up, up, up her leg, attaching it with a quick clip of a garter. Then she slipped her dainty feet into a pair of high heels that added about 3 inches to her height. Taking the dress of its padded hanger she carefully pulled it over her head without messing up one curl. As I recall the dress wasn't exactly strapless, but eased off her shoulders. I don't think of my mother as a primper. She didn't turn back to front checking herself out in the mirror. It was as if, to my little girl's eyes, she knew she got it right the first time. She had no self-critical doubts. She knew she was beautiful.

Before leaving the room to sip on a martini while she waited for Dad to throw on a clean shirt and change his tie, Mom added a spritz of 4711 cologne. With the precision of Michelangelo tapping away the last piece of stone, she applied lipstick in the same shade of red as her dress, kissed a Kleenex to blot off the excess and turned out the light. The red chiffon swished as she walked down the hall.

I sat on her bed in the dark afraid if I moved I'd break the fairy tale spell. Mom had been transformed from a Cinderella-esque house keeper into a beauty ready for the ball. At the time I was pretty sure all one needed to be beautiful was a red dress. I think that still might be true today. In fact a little bit of red can brighten just about anything.

Want to stand out in the crowd? Wear a red dress.

Want to feel good? Eat an apple.

Want to feel comforted? Crawl up under your Grandmother's handmade red and white LoneStar quilt.

Want to look regal, jolly, or sexy - throw on a splash of red.

Here are some red things that make me happy at this time of year:

Honey crisp apples

Cranberry sauce

The rosy cheeks of little ones who've just come in from the cold.

Glittery garnet nail polish

A cashmere sweater

Boots 2 sizes too big worn by a little boy who likes to play in puddles

Cinnamon-scented candles

Pomegranates

Santa's velvet suit

A wool scarf made of red and green MacGregor tartan

Corduroy jumpers

Candy canes

Cardinals in the tree outside my kitchen window

Salvation Army kettle

Flags in a parade

Fluffy red-slipper socks

Today I'm grateful for the tree we planted last year. I'm grateful for the songs Hoppin' John shared with us for 4 years. RIP my little friend.

Wishing for you a touch of red to add pizzazz to your day,

Merry ME

*http://crystal-cure.com/red.html

NabloPoMo - Day 14

2011-11-14T20:43:00.001-05:00

I wonder if copying an email into your day's post is considered cheating by the NaBloPoMo police? I'm going to have to risk it - kind of like walking down to the first rest stop (essentially a big rock where you stop to catch your breath and take a photo, reminding yourself NOT to look down) into the Grand Canyon, then calling it done and buying the T-shirt that said, "I Hiked the Canyon." As noted by our Indian guide, Mel, that my sisters and I hooked up with later in the day to show us the dinosaur tracks that were supposedly made thousands of years ago, "I'm a cheater."

I've been trying to write something for most of the afternoon but kept getting distracted. I hate it when I think something I need is right on my desk but isn't. At least it isn't until I check my desk a third time and find it right where I thought it was to begin with. Basically I lost my focus. My last resort is to post something somebody else said.

I've just become a fan of Creativity Coach, Jill Badonsky. I don't even know where I first saw her stuff. My writing coach lent me one of her books just last week. I think that's a sign, don't you? A sign for me to be open to new things. At first I was drawn to the pictures, then the words, then the possibility behind the words. Check out her blog here.

So I got this email today from Badonsky with the above quote attached. She suggested closing your eyes and thinking of 5 things that went right for your in the last few hours.

"How'd you do?" she asked. "How'd that feel?"

"Counting the things that go right can keep you in a place of fullness

and when you're ful-filled you're

more likely to allow yourself to get to your creative work.

Procrastination is like punishment.

Let me give you permission to believe

that you deserve a creative life."

I thought I'd try the exercise, while I'm sitting in the quiet of my kitchen with few distractions other than the hum of the fridge and persistent meow of a certain Boy Cat who seems to think I won't remember giving him a treat 10 minutes ago. Smart cat!

What went right for me today?

1. Suzi continues to pee outside after breakfast instead of on the carpet. Of course she does this trick at anywhere from 4:00-5:30 am which are both way before my normal waking hour. But hey, it's a routine I can live with that doesn't involve a rug shampooer.

2. I fell right back to sleep after aforementioned outdoor pee.

3. I remembered the pants I wanted to have altered BEFORE getting to the seamstress without them. I only had to go once around the block.

4. The Priority Stamp I'd put on the package I was mailing was enough postage to send it on it's way.

5. I found a candle on sale at the grocery store that has a really nice smell - raspberry.

6. I marked a few things off my TO DO list.

7. I found the missing paper, i.e. I'm not going crazy.

You know, I think, Badonsky may be on to something. Making a list of things that go right for you is like making a gratitude list. When you put your mind to thinking positively or giving thanks, it's hard to be all poopy and negative. I like that.

What about you? What went right in your day?

Today I'm grateful for new insights that appear like magic in my Inbox. I'm grateful for my kids who both made me smile today, not by doing anything special, but just by being themselves.

Wishing for you many blessings to count,

Merry ME

P.S. This may not be a good thing to admit, but using someone else's idea made this post flow pretty easy.

P.S.S. Just my opinion, but I don't think you can go wrong signing up for Jill Badonsky's newletter.

NabloPoMo - Day 13

2011-11-13T14:34:00.011-05:00

"To many people holidays are not voyages of discovery, but a ritual of reassurance."

Philip Andrew Adams

In the past week I've been knocked low by pre-Black Friday sales, stores decked out in all their Christmas regalia bypassing Thanksgiving, and a radio station already plays Christmas carols round the clock. On a quick run to the grocery store last night, I even heard the tinkling of the Salvation Army bell. Is it just me or does the earlier - merchandising of Christmas make people feel less merry, instead of more? By the time the actual 12 Days of Christmas get here, I dare say the birds will have quit calling, the geese stopped laying and the Lords may hop but will be way too tired to leap.

I make one exception to the hurry up or you're gonna lose out hype. It's the Joann Fabric ads for Christmas flannel that start in July. It makes sense to me that people who make Christmas gifts have to start early. Buying feels-good-on-your-cheek flannel in holiday prints of red and green is a holiday tradition for me, like others who sleep on the sidewalk before black Friday. The thing is I don't buy it for myself. The best part of the tradition is to send it to my sister Linda who turns it into a Christmas stocking worthy of every treat Santa wants to stuff inside.

Linda is one of my very favorite people. She is kind and giving all year long, but at Christmas she has a way of ramping up her generosity that makes me both grateful and tired. I don't know how she does it all and still keeps a smile on her face. Linda has often told the story that as a kid growing up, no matter how bad things got at home, she knew all she had to do was hold out til Christmas. Everything was always okay at Christmas. I get the same feeling when I see the stockings she makes.

This year's crop!

I am keenly aware of what was happening this time last year. I get sad and don't know what to do with that sadness. It's pretty hard to be merry and sad at the same time. I want to honor the holiday, enjoy what the season has to offer. But I'm afraid seeing the empty chairs at the Thanksgiving table and missing a certain old man who acted like a Scroogey curmudgeon and a little kid at the same time. I can't say how the holidays are going to go for me. Whether I will go all out decorating, singing, baking, and wrapping or just put up a tree and go with a simple Bah Humbug theme. One thing for sure, I'll hang up the stockings made with love and know that somehow everything is going to be all right.

Today I'm grateful for a big sister to lean on. And I'm grateful for holidays made special by two people who didn't always know how to show their love, but let it shine on Christmas morning.

Wishing for you joy, no matter where it comes from.

Merry ME

NaBloPoMo - Day 12

2011-11-12T00:00:00.001-05:00

"The limitless loving devotion to God,

and the gift God makes of Himself to you,

are the highest elevation of which

the heart is capable;

it is the highest degree of prayer.

The souls that have reached this point

are truly the heart of the Church."

Edith Stein

The Rev. Judi Howell and The Rev. Dr. Gloria Kennedy

I'd be the first to admit I'm not a student of the Bible. I know a few verses but rely on Bible.com to help me find a passage I'm looking for. I do know, however, that the Bible is full of stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Moses was a stutterer, yet he was chosen by God to speak for his people in front of the Pharaoh. David was a little kid who downed Goliath with one good shot. Mary and Joseph were going about their daily business when an angel spoke to them and changed their lives forever. John the Baptist, by all accounts was a bit of a fruitcake, yet when he spoke people listened. Jesus picked fishermen to share his ministry - not priests, politicians or publicists.

It doesn't take a student of the Bible to know that the common denominator among these people was that they were chosen by God to make a difference. Sometimes the Almighty speaks through burning bushes. Sometimes His words are written on slabs of granite. Sometimes He speaks to people in the stillness of their dreams, and sometimes He speaks in the humble actions of every day people.

The ones "who help at the soup kitchen, or lead the Bible study or make quilts or visit the Veterans hospital. Some of them are barely getting by, but still manage to bring something to the potluck or make a donation to World Hunger. When they say they'll pray for you, you know they will. These are women and me you can count on. They see service and loving loyalty - hesed - as an expression of their faith."*

I dare say all of us know people like this. Even if we don't always know them personally, we see their good works and are moved to be like them. There are several of these people where I worship. I have witnessed saintly deeds performed by every day people. In particular, the Mothers pictured above.

Over the last couple of years Mtr. Judi and Mtr. Gloria have quietly and faithfully served our church with their prayers and simple ministry of presence. Whether leading a Bible Study, making a hospital visit, holding the hand of one who is dying, praying for healing, sipping tea, singing praises or serving Communion, the Mothers humbly go about the Lord's business. They love.

"Love one another and help others to rise to the higher levels,

simply by pouring out love.

Love is infectious and the greatest healing energy."

Sai Baba

The Mother's often visited my father before he passed away. They made him laugh as often as they calmed my nerves and wiped away my tears. They encourage me in my spiritual walk. They bless me every week when they greet me with a smile.

It's hard to tell sometimes what God has planned for your life. It's especially hard when one is running around like a goof ball shouting at heaven for a neon arrow to point the way. I think the trick (which is especially hard for me to do) is to get quiet and listen. And maybe all you have to do is follow the example put right in front of you.

Today I'm grateful for Mtr. Judi, Mtr. Gloria. I'm grateful for ordinary people who aren't afraid to go when they are called. Or if they are afraid, go anyway.

Wishing for you the answers to all your prayers.

Merry ME

* Kate Sprutta Elliott, "Voices: Unexpected Heros," Lutheran Woman Today, May 12, 2008

NaBloPoMo - Day 11

2011-11-11T11:11:00.002-05:00

"How important it is for us to recognize and celebrate

our heroes and she-roes."

Maya Angelou

In honor of Veteran's Day my grand-niece, Chloe, has drawn this picture of a veteran standing in front of the flag. The only thing missing is a country full of people saluting and saying thank you.

Good job, Chloe!

Today I'm grateful for the men and women who put their lives on the front line in defense of liberty. May God and His band of angels protect them and bring them home safely.

Merry ME

NaBloPoMo - Day 10

2011-11-10T16:24:00.002-05:00

"A dream is a wish your heart makes."

Mack David, Al Hofman, Jerry Livingston

Walt Disney's Cinderella (1950)

Yesterday's message for me from the Universe, via other blogs, was "Dreams really do come true. "

Dictionary.com defines a dream as: a cherished ambition, aspiration or ideal. But it also says a dream is an unrealistic or self deluding fantasy.

Aspiration or fantasy? Guess it depends on who's doing the dreaming.

I'm probably more of the self-deluding fantasy kind of dreamer. As a child I had the idealistic dreams other girls have. Grow up, kiss a prince and live happily ever after. I can assure you in my dreams my prince always referred to me as "darling" and we never went to sleep angry! After my children were born my dreams consisted of Norman Rockwell dinner portraits, all of us neatly dressed, hands and napkins in our laps. No one crying that someone else touched them or crunched while we ate. Now that I'm older and wiser my dreams run to world peace and brotherhood of man. Again, I ask, aspiration or fantasy?

I've been around other dreamers enough to know that when you have your heart set on something, it needn't be a fantasy. In fact, I think it is in the believing that the dream is real where its power to come true is born.

I've been following Patty Mosca's blog for a couple of years now. For awhile we were on parallel caregiving paths. Each of us had the task (and privilege) to walk with a person we loved to the end of his life. It was not always a pretty walk or easy. There were times we wanted to throw in the towel. But we always found our way back to the love that made us caregivers in the first place. Patty's husband, Michael, died a few months after my father. Like me, her past few months have been filled with grief. But as you read her blog you get a sense of healing and hope. I was delighted to read yesterday that she trusted in her art/book dream enough to push the send button, and it is becoming a reality.

"I believe in myself ...

I trust myself ...

and I am cheering myself on

as I reach up and look for

that next dream floating right above me."

P.M.

Camille Olivia's blog, JoysaChoice, is based on the basic premise that what you choose is what you live. If you want joy in your life, choose joy. Maybe a little simplistic but that's the beauty of it. That's why I enjoy this blog so much. It's all about joy and I'm never disappointed. On the heels of Patty's blog, I read Camille's. Again the message was repeated:

"... for every dream realized,

a new dream is born.

Because it is truly the nature of the Beast.

We do not stop at one.

There is always more to see, more to want, more to be."

C.O.

Today I'm sitting here writing about dreaming instead of dreaming. I wonder why it's so hard to let my mind go and DREAM? Why is it easier to believe in someone else's dreams than my own? What am I afraid of? What would happen if I had a dream and it did come true? What if it didn't? Do all dreams have to be sail-away-from-the-pier-and-find-new-lands BIG? Or can they be as simple as being comfortable in my own skin?

Like my life list from the other day, perhaps it is time to start dreaming. The first thing that comes to my mind is this: To be of service to others. Maybe it's not as tangible as having a book published, or being on the Oprah show, or sitting down to dinner with the President. But every time I hold the door open for a man using a walker, or an old lady with a cane, or a mother with a baby stroller, my dream is coming true and another opportunity is being born.

Do you have a dream?

Today I'm grateful for dreamers for they are the ones who show take us to new heights.

Wishing for you a dream to hold close to your heart.

Merry ME

NaBloPoMo - Day 9

2011-11-09T22:15:00.002-05:00

"To me, the greatest pleasure of writing

is not what it's about,

but the inner music the words make."

Truman Capote

Carol O'Dell

Yesterday I felt poopy. As the day wore on, I felt even poopier. If asked I'd be hard pressed to tell you if I was angry or sad. Probably some of both. And, even though I explored the why's of the feelings, I couldn't figure it out. Instead, I just went to bed. I was asleep by 8:30.

Today was a different story. I felt energized and connected. It was writing group day. There's just something about being with these woman that makes me happy. That's not to say that I've always been happy when I'm with them. But that doesn't seem to matter. They let me be however I am. There's something so freeing about that. And validating ... which also happens to be my word for what I get out of writing. Even when I haven't written anything. Along with my blog buddies this group of talented writers is (goofy as it sounds) the wind beneath my wings.

The woman who started it all is Carol O'Dell. I've told the story before, but it bears repeating. How in the middle of a caregiving fog, I read her book Mothering Mother and felt an instant connection. Her mother and my father were both demanding of the daughters who cared for them night and day. Carol wrote about taking long walks by the river to clear her head. Even though we live miles apart the same river flows in my neighborhood. I fantasized about walking with Carol when Dad had driven me to the brink of tossing a coin as to whether or not to do damage to him or me. Even then, when she didn't know I existed, her words calmed me. When I finished the book I cried for the end of a one-sided relationship. As if by magic her email address was at the end of the book. I wrote her. She answered, and a real relationship began to take shape. Later that year, she invited me to the first meeting of a writing group she was starting. The rest, as they say, is history. In the four years the group has been together all of us have become good friends and even better writers because of Carol's mentoring.

"Critique groups give us the chance to bring our gifts to the table."

Recently I nominated Carol for a caregiving award. I thought she was a shoe in. In addition to the writing projects she is involved in, the speaking engagements, the classes she teaches, the painting and gardening she does, Carol continues to be a spokesperson for caregivers. She writes a weekly column at Caring.com, contributes articles that address current caregiving issues and is a featured media presenter for Caring.com. She also writes Mothering Mother and More, a caregiving blog with over 300 posts dedicated to issues, diseases and challenges that come with caring for those we love. Yesterday I got a letter from the nominating committee that informed she didn't win. What? Didn't win? Maybe that's why I felt poopy. Cause for sure, I can't think of anyone who could possibly deserve this award more.

On top of all that Carol is beautiful and smart. Her smile beckons you to come, sit, and stay awhile. Her soft southern drawl oozes emotion that can make you laugh or cry depending on the story she's telling. She cares about people - even people she doesn't know. She's a great mom and relishes being a grandmother. But perhaps her greatest asset is her great big generous heart that reaches out and makes you feel like you can move mountains (or speak in public) even if mountain moving (or public speaking) never entered your own mind.

Carol, being named on my blog isn't exactly the same as getting a prize from the Eldercare people. It also won't cost you 50 bucks for dinner. But I want you to know your friendship and mentoring is every bit as comforting as a soft green blanket.

Today I'm grateful for chance meetings and people who share from their heart.

Wishing for you a group of like-minded friends,

Merry ME

P.S. Carol also has a personal blog you can check out here.

NaBloPoMo - Day 8

2011-11-08T10:54:00.003-05:00

"Life is partly what we make it,

and partly what it is made by

the friends we choose."

Tennessee Williams

A note from Weneki on November 8...

Oh happy day, KDub!!! I am so lucky to call you, friend! Here's to you, Gorgeous Girl! I raise my glass to you. To your generous spirit. To your love of movies (romantic and action-packed and everything in between). And flowers. And dark beer. And whiskey. And tea!! And the power of now. And the phrase "poop poop peedoo." And glassy babies. And quilts. And tasty meat. And stories of love. And HGTV. And pink pens. And your amazing fam. And your silly dogs. And the Oscars. And Hawaii. And cute clothes. And men in kilts. And cake frosting. And lunch getaways where we solve all the world's problems while nibbling the smallest bag of tater tots.

You are the bravest of brave.
Hardest of workers.
And very kindest of friends.
You make me laugh, and really see me (one of the most wonderful gifts you can give someone).
So, so happy to have you in my world.
Happy Birthday!!
Love, Weneki

Since I have been less than social for the past few years, most of the people I'm really close to live in the Blogosphere. Our words and feelings have brought us together, not work or kids or workouts at the gym. In fact the other night I had a very weird dream (which is not so unusual of late) in which I was sitting in this circle of women. I was bombarded by lots of family stuff, but I kept sitting in the circle cause that's where I felt the most comfortable. There was also cake involved somehow. Maybe in celebration of my loosening some of the dysfunctional family chains that have kept me bound up.

I sometimes live vicariously through my daughter and people she calls friends. Ever since she was a little girl Weneki has made good choices about the people she liked to be with. She has conversations with friends she knew in high school. The years in between don't seem to matter. They just pick up where they left off months or years earlier. Today she shares a lot of her time with a group of people who have weathered many of life's storms with her. They have supported and encouraged her, wept and laughed with her. They were there when her heart was full and when it was broken into a thousand pieces. And, since friendship is a two-way street, I'm proud to say Weneki gives as well as she gets. I hate being so far away from her, but I know she is well cared for.

Kathy is one of the first people Weneki met when she went to work in Seattle 17 years ago. This has been a hard year for Kathy. But from all reports she's flown over each hurdle with courage, fortitude, and a smile. The caregiver in me wants to hop on a plane and do something to help. The woman in me marvels at Kathy's strength. And the mom in me is grateful she is my daughter's friend.

So today I'm using my blog as a place to shout out Happy Birthday to this special lady. If you know Kathy feel free to leave a comment. If you don't, well comment anyway! Or why not take a moment to call someone in your life who brings you joy. Tell them what their friendship means to you, that they make living in this crazy world a whole lot easier.

Kathy,

Here's a birthday blessing for you from ME!

May God give you…

For every storm, a rainbow,

For every tear, a smile,

For every care, a promise,

And a blessing in each trial.

For every problem life sends,

A faithful friend to share,

For every sigh, a sweet song,

And an answer for each prayer.

Today I'm grateful for friends old and new.

Wishing for you a day filled with the gift of friendship.

Merry ME

NABloPoMo - Day 7

2011-11-07T10:00:00.002-05:00

"35 million people in the U.S. are hungry

or don't know where their next meal is coming from,

and 13 million are children.

If another country were doing this to our children,

we'd be at war."

Jeff Bridges

Sometimes when I go to the grocery store, I'm all about pushing my cart around the store and getting what I need, paying no attention to anyone or thing around me. Sometimes, though, I kind of stroll the aisles smiling at babies, helping old people, scanning the magazines for news other than what's happening to Kim Kardashian and Justin Bieber. Today, I became aware of harried-looking mom's and dad's pushing carts with a couple kids in tow. Sunday being a day to finish a week's worth of errands. What was evident was how they were checking the prices, searching through coupons, and trying to balance budget constraints with treat desires.

In the cereal aisle I saw a young teen pick up a box of Count Chocula. Not the healthiest of cereals, and one that was sure to be rejected. I'm a mom. I've heard the word "please" drawn out by four year olds that can hold high C longer than any opera singer. And I've seen pouty faces, you're-the-meanest-mom-in-the-world faces and angry faces that have been turned away from me in stony silence. I feel sure he was preparing his case before he turned the corner to meet up with his mom and I smiled at his willingness to give it a try. It didn't work. All that happened as I did my so-normal-I-can-do-it-in-my-sleep shopping. Hmmm, I said to myself, how blessed I am to be able to shop without counting pennies.

Every year about this time in Jacksonville, an "Empty Bowls" Luncheon is served downtown to raise money to feed the homeless. Bowls are made by local students. For as long as I've lived here, I have wanted to attend the lunch. The question to be asked is why haven't I done it? I'm not sure of the answer.

"Empty Bowls is a grass roots movement to help end hunger."

www.emptybowls.net

You can find Empty Bowls campaigns all over the country. I have a friend who, among her many other talents, not only makes some bowls, she heads up the program for her community and teaches others how to make bowls. Because I donated some money last year, she sent me one her creations this year. It's been sitting on my desk ever since I unwrapped it. Sometimes its filled with papers I can't seem to throw away and sometimes it sits in stark emptiness. A perfect metaphor, I think, for a tummy that is either full or empty. I was going to move it into the kitchen or put it on my dresser, but I've decided to leave it right here where I can see it - empty or full - and be reminded to be grateful.

As I looked at it and thought about writing this post, I realized just how much I want to make a bowl - not just any bowl, but a bowl that will raise money to feed the hungry.

A few posts back I mentioned that my daughter, Weneki, has made a "Life List" in preparation for her visit to Camp Mighty. I talked to her yesterday and asked about it. As she read some of the things she's got on it, I thought I need to make a list like this.

That said, there is no time like the present.

Merry ME's Life List

1. Make a bowl

Today I'm grateful for inspiration. And I'm grateful to people who help others. May they be doubly blessed.

Wishing for you a box of your favorite cereal.

Merry ME

P.S. What you can't see in the picture above is this inscription around the rim:

"Each day your bowl is filled be filled with gratitude ~

Nourish yourself with what heaven fills you"

NaBloPoMo - Day 6

2011-11-06T15:33:00.003-05:00

"Photography is a way of feeling, of touching, of loving.

What you have caught on film is captured forever ...

it remembers little things, long after you have forgotten everything."

Aaron Siskind

[Take # 34: One more time... everyone look at the camera and say cheese!]

Around the time I was three years old my father took up the hobby of photography. He had fancy cameras, a darkroom, boxes of neatly filed slides and a fire to take pictures. This is where our family tradition of posing on the chow bench (a small Asian table my parent's acquired in Guam, I think) all decked out in birthday or Christmas attire was born. Like getting your picture taken at school you primped until you thought you looked your very best, then had to wait for the person in front of you to finish her turn. With five of daughters, my mom and sometimes a self-timed family shot which included the dog, the photo sessions could take a long time and waiting wasn't always the forte of little girls in scratchy crinolines. Which you could tell because there was always a photo of someone with a frown or red eyes from crying. Much as we may have disliked it, each of my sisters is glad to have the old photos. The slides Dad made and collected sit in boxes on his closet shelf curling from age and climate. Not sure what I'm going to do with them.

The photography bug must have been passed along via DNA to the follow-on generations. The girls who didn't like the picture process have been shouting "say cheese" or "whiskey" at their children and children's children. And yes, I was even saying it to 6 week old Gracie who only smiles when there is a little gas on her tummy.While it does nothing to organize the pictures I have stashed in boxes in every room of the house, the invention of computers with storing capabilities, and sites like Shutterfly where you can keep them in a place you won't lose them have made the taking and saving of pictures a lot easier. No more trips to Walgreens with film to develop. Everything is digital.

My photography skills are minimal. However, as my ex-husband used to say, even a blind elephant will find a peanut now and then. On occasion I take a picture I really like. Not a masterpiece, but something pretty.

There are several blogs I like to go to that are nothing but photographs. The pictures are the only words needed.

molly-blogs.blogspot.com

First there is Molly who is always studying and perfecting her craft. I love the way she catches the light in places I'd never know it exists. Molly has an architectural bent to her work, as well as the ability to catch her Golden Retrievers, Gus and Cotton, looking their doggy best.

byrdonfire.blogspot.com/

Another great photo blog belongs to Mandy, aka Firebyrd, who lives in England. Oh my goodness, can this lady take some photos. Most of what I know about England is what I've read or seen in movies. If I ever get in the mood to travel outside of my little corner of the world all I have to do is go to Mandy's blog. There are landscapes, seascapes, all kinds of flowers and things she sees on her ten mile walks. Some day if I ever do travel I'd like to take a walk through Mandy's garden.

The thing about photographs is they help me remember. Since my son has been living with us he tells all kinds of tales about places we lived and adventures he had when he was small. Personally I think he makes most of it up. But I can pull out old photo albums and see the places he remembers not quite like it was yesterday but at least that it happened. Pictures I took last year at this time are some of the last I have of my father and I. Our roles had almost totally reversed, even the photography ones. I was the one asking him to look at the camera and asking him to smile.

Indeed a picture is worth 1000 words. I'm grateful to have them, and I'm grateful to the blogosphere where so many talented people willingly share their talents.

Wishing for you a picture perfect day.

Merry ME

P.S. Mandy also moderates another blog called Beautiful World where photographers from all over the world post theirs pictures. Beware: it's the kind of place where you lose all sense of time when you start scrolling through the pictures.

P.S.S. The pictures above belong to their makers so I hope they don't mind that I copied them here.

PoMo - Day 5

2011-11-05T14:31:00.001-04:00

"Clogged with yesterday's excess,

the body drags the mind down with it."

Horace

I'd just about given up finding a quote for today's post, then I came across the one above by Horace. Not sure who Horace is, but he's hit the nail directly on my head. Yesterday Sweetie and I went to the Fair. Before leaving, however, he let me know he does NOT do rides - not even a Ferris wheel, my fave. The thing about fairs is there is so much more to do than ride scary, moving-so-fast-you want-to-hurl-or-scream and usually at the same time. There are 4-H farm animals to see. Side shows like the 2-headed calf and bearded lady. Prize winning arts and crafts displays of quilts, knitting, woodworking, and photography. Country music bands and people selling just about anything you can imagine.

Oops, I forgot to mention artery-clogging, heart-stopping, sugar-laden, grease-covered food. Next to rides this, in my opinion, is the best part of the fair. Even if you don't eat anything, just walking in the gates and getting the aroma of sausages cooked with onions and peppers makes the trip worthwhile. Okay, no, that was an exaggeration by an adjective proned writer. In the olden days that might have been true. I discovered yesterday that going to the fair is no longer an inexpensive way to spend the day. I would have had to take out a loan if I had small kids with me. Since Sweetie and I went with eating on our minds, we stopped at the first food stand we saw. They had everything from the sausage concoctions, to corn dogs, to Nachos, to French Fries, to Chicken on a Stick, to funnel cakes - all cooked, I believe in the same grease.

I know - gross. But I didn't think about that when I stood at the window ordering. The already cooked hamburgers looked a little nasty, but we weren't getting hamburgers - we wanted fair food. $37.oo later we had lunch and about 10 minutes after that we threw half of it away and headed for the 4H displays.

Good golly cows are big when you get real close to them, and roosters are rather loud inside a closed arena. Perhaps roosters are loud wherever they are. I have to say the chickens didn't really do anything for me. Instead of marveling at the Rhode Island Red, or the Chinese hens that looked like those troll dolls from the 60's, I kept seeing the "chicken on a stick" I'd just tried to eat. I have to say, though, there is just nothing cuter than a porky, pink piglet.

While I stood watching for a chick to peep out of an egg, Sweetie wandered down to check out the horses. By the time I stood next to him and said prayers of gratitude that there was a large fence between us, Sweetie was already conversing with the horse like they were old friends. It was quite fun to see. I kind of expected the horse to say something like Mr. Ed. Instead he just nodded his head in agreement to the brilliant things Sweetie was saying. One wise horse!

[Notice my law abiding Sweetie sticking his right hand inside the fence with total disregard for the nearby sign that says "do not stick your hand inside the fence."]

With farm animals checked off our list we headed for the arts & crafts barn. To say I was disappointed would be a bit of an understatement. There was one barn full of plants, which if you are into raising exotic plants would have pleased you. I was looking for the quilt displays, and cake decorating displays and art pieces by elementary school kids. There was ONE quilt with a blue ribbon. It may have been ribbon worthy but it was folded up so I couldn't even see it. What's up with that? Shouldn't quilts be opened up so women can ooh and ahh over the tiny stitches? There were a few honey and jam sellers. The hall was mostly taken up by old cars and a place to play Bingo. Sweetie and I moved on.

We walked and walked and walked but never even got near the rides. If there was a carnival lane for throwing ping pong balls into fish bowls or shooting at ducks on a motorized track for a big stuffed animal, we never saw it either. Much less the side show attractions. Turning right off one of the main drags we hit Fair Food alley, a veritable smorgasbord of junk food. Seriously, you can't even disguise the fact that deep fried Snickers bars are anything but bad for your health. At the end of this alley my sore foot couldn't take any more walking so we headed for the exit which put us right by the Vietnamese Pig Races just as the pigs were being herded into the slots for the first race. I swear it made the whole fair experience worthwhile. The only thing cuter than the aforementioned piglets is seeing them dive into a lap pool and head for the home stretch where an Oreo treat was waiting.

I probably shouldn't admit this after telling you I had already spent a king's ransom on fried food. The thing is I hadn't yet bought a funnel cake which was one of the main reasons I even brought the whole trip up. Staring gluttony in the face I bought one of sugar-encrusted confections. I was covered head to toe in white powder by the time I got home, and my stomach kind of squished from so much grease. I settled into the recliner with an icepack under my foot and fell into a sugar-induced coma. Thank goodness the fair only comes around once a year!

Today I'm grateful for Pepto Bismal.

Wishing you a day of sweet delights and moderation.

Merry ME

NabloPoMo - Day 4

2011-11-04T00:00:00.001-04:00

"No one has ever become poor by giving."

Anne Frank

Yesterday the Florida Lottery was over $245, 000,000. Dang that's a lot of money.

Today, it was down to a paltry $20, 000,000 - which means someone woke up this morning a millionaire several times over.

I confess, I wish it was me. And on top of that I confess that there have been times when I sent up a prayer or two to the Divine Banker promising to use it wisely if He would just send one of his angels down with a satchel full of money with my name on it. Sometimes it's hard not to get Santa Claus and God mixed up. Maybe I need to refocus my prayers.

You may be thinking I should be happy with I have when so many have even less. And, believe me, I am - even if it doesn't sound like it so far. But the reasons I'd like to have the money might be different than what you think. Since I've never had more than three zeros after a number in my check-book, it's hard to say if I would know how to react to having millions. Here's the thing. I want to know what it would feel like to give that money away. Well, maybe not all of it. And for sure there would have to be financial advisers, men in suits wearing dark sunglasses with a valise stuffed with stacks of money handcuffed to their wrists walking next to me all the time, and accountants. I know I'm the least likely person to have a pile of money but I'd like to think I'd be good at distributing it.

With the "economy" the way it is many people who supposedly live in the land of plenty have nearly nothing. Others work their fingers to the bone but can't afford housing or medical care. Since I would only be perpetuating a welfare state by handing out money on the street corner, I'd probably go the route of behind-the-scenes, John Beresford Tipton of the 1950's TV show, The Millionaire. For sure I'd be a lot quieter than Ty Pennington shouting through a bullhorn to "move that bus." I want to have more so I can give more.

Like I said, my wants and my abilities where moola is concerned are far, far apart. I eke by because I'm my own worst money manager. I'm more into giving than holding on to. Which brings me to a blog lady that totally fascinates me. Cinderella11pm is what she calls herself.

If you go to her blog you'll find reviews of Luxury Travel sites, posts pertaining to Body, Brain Heart & Soul, and a few opinions she defines as "politically incorrect." I like how pretty her blog is. But what I really like is when I hop over there and she's giving something away. Giving, as in no strings attached ... you leave a comment about a question she has asked, she picks your name and you're a winner. How cool is that? Blog giveaways are not new. I just think Cinderella does it with real sense of goodness, generosity, and warm heartedness that befits a Princess.

One of my friends used to tell me I was the nosiest person she ever knew. I think that's a bit of an exaggeration, but if the glass slipper fits, perhaps I should wear it to the ball! I asked Cinderella how it is she can be so generous. I mean it's hard times for everyone, right? Well maybe not for Bill Gates and Oprah and mortgage company execs, but for the rest of us it's hard to make ends meet.

Here's her all-American answer: "I worked my butt off for what I have."

"Part of the wonderful thing about having abundance

is being willing and able to occasionally share it with my cyber friends."

As well as blog giveaways, she donates to local charities that protect animals, feed the homeless, and give scholarships to deserving kids. I love that.

Another reason I like to visit Cinderella's land of enchantment is because she seems to take great delight in experiencing luxury. Luxury with a capital "L". The closest I've ever gotten to luxury was staying in a hotel in Monte Carlo. It had wooden shutters that opened up and looked over the magnificent yacht harbor. Walking the streets of that country made me feel every bit of the country bumpkin I am. Cinderella talks about 5 diamond hotels and resorts like I talk about a getting a free breakfast at a Holiday Inn Express. She's not snooty about it. She knows what she likes, and tells it like it is. She is in the business of being good to herself as well as others.

Today I'm grateful for good examples. Bravo, Cinderella, Bravo.

Wishing for you a little extra at the end of the day and a willingness to share some of it.

Merry ME

P.S. While I've never won a Cinderella11pm giveaway, she is a regular commenter here at Random Thoughts for which I am always appreciative.

NabloPoMo - Day 3

2011-11-03T00:00:00.005-04:00

"You gain strength, courage and confidence

by every experience in which you really stop

to look fear in the face.

You are able to say to yourself,

I lived through this horror.

I can take the next thank that comes along.'"

Eleanor Roosevelt

Making a wish!

Getting ready to blow!

Her feet actually left the floor after extinguishing all 40 candles!

Weneki

There are few things in this life that make me smile more than being in the company of my daughter, Weneki. The thing is we live on opposite sides of the country so our time together is rather limited. I don't know if it's maternal instinct or just the bond we've forged over time. But sometimes I can conjur up a vision the little bald headed baby the nurses laid in my arms 40 Septembers ago and actually see the stages of her life pass by as she became the awesome woman she is today.

Like most of us who have lived any length of time, Weneki has experienced some heartbreaks. I believe it's her losses that have made her more.

More courageous.

More giving.

More understanding.

More adverturous.

More flexible.

More willing.

More beautiful.

More interesting.

More loving.

More loveable.

More herself.

I could write a book about this gal o' mine, instead I'd like to share with you a part of an email she recently sent out:

I’m going to Camp Mighty this November. It’s a retreat where people get together to have fun, trade ideas, learn some things, make Life Lists, and find inspiration to live big. That may sound a little woo woo, and I suppose it is. But those of you who know me well, know that I’ve got the woo woo in me. And I’m always looking for ways to soak up life whether it’s through live music or fitness goals or an amazing sandwich or hang time with friends and family.

So, #106 on my Life List is “Do some good.”

To that end, we have a Camp Mighty group service project for "Charity Water" You may have heard of it before. I actually donated to this cause back in August after reading about 9 year-old Rachel Beckwith on CNN. Charity Water’s vision is simple: Clean, safe drinking water for everyone on the planet.

And 100% of the money raised will go directly to people in need.

Have to admit, I take clean water for granted. We’re very lucky to be able to drink when and how much we want. And do as many loads of laundry as we need.

So there you have it, straight from the horses mouth, my daughter is a little woo woo. And that's one of the things I love most about her. I can't help but marvel at her willingess, even though she is sometimes prone to bouts of anxiety, to step out of her comfort zone to "soak up life." Now that's a pretty good example to set, don't you think?
Today I'm thankful for all the stars in the universe but especially for the one that I call my daughter.
Merry ME

Day 2, Continued

2011-11-02T21:44:00.005-04:00

Perhaps I lied in my previous post.

Just came home from church where there was service to honor those who had died in the past year (All Souls Day).

Violin music started the tears. My heart cracked open. I tried to see Dad in the "communion of saints" standing behind the altar ( a vision described by the priest who facilitated my grief group). I couldn't see anything but fractured candle light through my tears.

Candlelight procession was a walk in faith that I wouldn't trip while limping on my sore foot, and cause the people behind me to tumble like a row of dominoes.

Stayed in the Peace Garden that meant so much to dad until they came to blow out the candles.

Noticed someone has trimmed the holly bushes again - one of his pet peeves, of which there were many.

I can't remember what he looked like. If I see a picture, I recognize him of course. But I can't conjure up his face. It's nothing but selfishness (is that a word?) and I wouldn't want it for him, but some days I wish we could turn back the clock to when I was sitting next to his bed in the Hospice Room. There was a peace between us in the silence of the room. I want to go back and sit there and hold his hand, say the Lord's Prayer with him, tell him I love him, tell him I'm sorry though I'm not even sure what for.

And you know what really makes me sad, is I can't remember my mom. Not sure I even miss any more. I miss the idea of her. Is that what happens when grief goes away?

NaBloPoMo - Day 2

2011-11-02T00:00:00.007-04:00

"Surround yourself with only people who are

going to lift you higher."

Oprah Winfrey

Pam Jones Stead

So I made this decision to write about people. I have a list but wasn't sure where to start ... randomly, alphabetically, chronologically. I can't even spell that word, so I guess a counting system is out. Today my decision was made for me when I read Pam's blog.

Pam lives in a small town in Pennsylvania where parades down Main Street are the highlight of many holidays. She is a mother, grandmother, wife, daughter, sister. She is witty, courageous, sympathetic and enthusiastic about most things. She's a story-teller, drummer, bubble blower, and woods walker. She has a knack for being able to converse with birds and teenagers in their own language, which is a feat unto itself. The only thing Pam and I have ever disagreed on is whether or not it is prudent to visit Disney World in Orlando in the middle of the summer. I say it's foolhardy. Pam answered that volley with two words - air conditioning.

Pam, aka Po, is a sister-friend who speaks in photographs and paints the pictures of her heart in words. Pam's blogs are testaments to these qualities. Every day she posts a picture she's taken, usually on her morning walk, then follows that up with what has become for me a short meditation or sermon on how to live a happier life.

Pam's life has not been without sorrow. Years ago, she endured the heartbreaking loss of 7 year old son. I didn't know her then, so I don't know what her grief journey was like. What I know now is that when she speaks to me of loss and grief and moving away from despair she has walked the walk so her talk is easier to listen to. It borders on impossible to me but that death helped shape her into the person I love today.

This morning I actually wrote these words in an email:

"For the last year grief has kind of defined me. I think I'm growing beyond it."

I didn't even know I felt that way. The words just came out. Then, I read Pam's blog about how the recent snow storm damaged some trees in her neighborhood. You must read it for yourself because truly I cannot paraphrase it. Here's how she ended her story and what resonated inside me:

"When the next storm arrives, they will be ready to bear its wind and the weight of the storm. The wind will shake them and test their roots, but a little testing often makes our roots stronger.

I returned from my walk today with a lesson from the trees. What really matters is not what is pruned away. What matters is how it strengthens what remains."

Ten months ago I might have said phooey to that kind of tree wisdom. Hell I probably said phooey to anything regarding the possibility of a life without my soft green blankie and box of Kleenex next to my bed. I didn't think it would be possible. But today I can see how there are times we have to cut away some of the dead branches of our lives in order to make room for new blooms and bird's nesting in hair.

Today I'm grateful for the gift of Pam in my life.

Merry ME

NaBloPoMo - Day 1

2011-11-01T00:00:00.000-04:00

"Beginning is easy - continuing hard."

Japanese Proverb

I have decided the theme of my daily posts in the month of November is going to be "People."

People who have impacted my life in some way for the better. People who make me see more clearly, feel more deeply, or love more quickly. People who have made me laugh and people who have been there for me when I cried. I haven't added them all up, but in thinking about the people I want to write about I realize just how blessed I am. I'm both lucky and grateful to rarely venture far from my home, yet know that my circle of friends reaches to many faraway places. My father told me once that the Internet was the work of the Devil. Someone probably told him the same thing about calculators, power screwdrivers and microwave ovens. I understand that something as big as the world-wide-web is bound to attract some unsavory characters and troublesome headaches. For sure, one has to be careful when exploring it. At the same time social networking has connected people in a way far more long-reaching than the fickle finger of fate. I, for one, have benefited from friendships I have made, pictures of places I'd never see otherwise, and stories of hope, joy, beauty, inspiration, and love.

A lot of the people I want to share with you I've never met except through the blogpsphere. Some of them I've written about before, but I believe they are worthy of a double, or triple shoutout. If there is a problem with this plan, it is I may not know 30 people to write about. I've decided that doesn't matter. If you know someone whose horn needs to be tooted just write a comment and I'll get back to you for details.

"In this life we cannot do great things.

We can only do small things with great love."

Mother Theresa

I know that getting a star on Merry ME's walk of fame is not quite the same as getting a nod from Oprah, or winning a Nobel prize. It's simply my way of saying thank you to people who have shared their light with me and others.

Today I just have a big open heart full of gratitude.

Wishing the same for you,

Merry ME

P.S. I just remembered something I can't believe I forgot. It's the Merry ME "You Rock" Award. Along with my gratefulness, this swell award is something the people I mention can brag about to all their co-workers!

Candy Corn - Love It or Leave It

2011-10-31T14:35:00.000-04:00

"All the candy corn that was ever made was made in 1911."

Lewis Black (Stand-up comic)

In a few hours I hope to be able to say that I made it through the Halloween season (which started somewhere back in July) without buying or eating one piece (bag) of candy corn. There is still one more trip to the grocery store that stands in my way of victory. But I hope to cut it short by leaving Sweetie in the car with the engine running. That way I won't be able to stand and stare (drool) at the bags of orange and yellow and white globs of sugar that make my teeth hurt just looking at them.

I cannot say exactly why I like this candy so much. It doesn't have the appeal of any kind of chocolate, peanut and caramel mixture. Yet, for me it is as impossible to eat one (or one handful if we're being honest) of the triangles as a Lays potato chip. I wonder, is there really some place in my sugar crazed brain that thinks that when I'm chowing down on candy corn, I'm really eating a freshly roasted, buttered and salted ear of corn?

According to Wikipedia (and we know we can trust them) candy corn is "primarily sugar, corn syrup, artificial coloring (what that isn't real yellow and orange?) and binding. What is left over after the primary ingredients is not so appetizing wax. Wax? [OMG I'm having flashbacks of summer days drinking fake fruit juice out of a mini soda bottle then eating the bottle. ] A serving of Brach's candy corn (19 pieces, but who's counting?) packs a walloping 140 calories but here's the good news - no fat.

I Googled Candy Corn this morning and found, to my amazement, that there are some out there who seriously detest the stuff. They even call the people who give out this treat which has been around since the late 1800's mean names. According to Shawn Norris of guyism.com candy corn heads his list of "10 Biggest Candy Fails." In essence a list of the worst "treats" to hand out to scary looking goblins who knock on your door begging for candy then apparently have the gumption to diss what is put in their king-sized pillowcases. I'm not sure I can put much stock in Shawn's candy assessment, however, because he also includes Tootsie Rolls on the list. Seriously, if I were on a sinking ship and had to choose between taking TR's or CC with me on the lifeboat to a deserted island, I think the boat might be waterlogged before I made up my mind. There's just something about working your back teeth into the tough chocolately outer layer of a TR. Eventually when you have salivated long enough to turn the gooey mess into something chewable, the hint of chocolate you taste is worth the effort. Sure your jaw begins to ache after the third or fourth piece, but again the taste seems to outweigh the work and the pain.

Alice Lausdale (blogs.dallasobserver.com)ranks CC at the top of her "Five Things to Hand Out If You Hate Kids" list. She even suggests that trick or treaters dump all their candy corn on the offending "Treaters" lawn. I'm a little offended by this. I don't hate kids. I just happen to like CC. And it seems a little harsh to put CC on the same list as raisins or bible tracts. However, I must confess here. I rarely if ever hand out candy corn. If the stuff happens to jump off the shelf and into my basket and makes it all the way home to my kitchen counter, well then I'm going to reward it's tenacity by eating it, not giving it away.

All that said, there is a bright side to my beloved striped candies. They are just the right size and color for making Halloween crafts. Now given the choice between eating the sugary nuggets and stringing them individually to hang on your mantle or over your doorway which is going to attract sweet-toothed varmints. I've tried stringing popcorn and cranberries in an effort to make an old fashioned Christmas. As I recall cranberries are juicy and more popcorn ends up on your lap than the string. Getting a sharp needle to go through the point of a sticky triangle seems like more effort that it is worth.

Other crafting alternatives involve a glue gun. Again, I think it would be easier to hand some fake spider webs and be done with the decorating.

Ah, but look at this - candles surrounded pretty candies. This is my kind of decoration. And if the wax drips into the candy, well, will I even know?

Perhaps as a child I enjoyed the whole get dressed up and go hobgobbling around the neighborhood. There may even have been a time in my life when I drank beer instead of eating candy in the graveyard down the street. As an adult - an old fuddy duddy adult - I think Halloween is just another ploy that merchandisers throw at the uncontrolled desires of kids and adults who remember the good old days of sheet covered ghosts and bobbing for apples.

Cecelia Hanley of CBS Atlanta wrote last week that Candy Corn "is as American as Apple Pie." and that "when it comes to candy corn, people either love it or hate it." I'm on the side that hates to love it. Hanley quotes Nicole Stokesbury DePalma when she wrote on FB, "I totally consider candy corn an actual vegetable during the fall season." Even I think this is a pretty big stretch. What side of the sugar debate do you fall on?

Today I'm grateful for the sweet things in life.

Wishing for you treats but no tricks,

Merry Me

Craft pictures from http://www.womansday.com/Articles/Home/Holiday-Decorating/7-DIY-Candy-Corn-Decorations.html

NaBloPoMo - Again

2011-10-28T22:57:00.001-04:00

"The secret of getting ahead is getting started.

The secret of getting started is breaking your complex

overwhelming tasks into small manageable tasks,

and then starting on the first one."

Mark Twain.

I first started blogging after reading my daughter's friend's "Just Jenni" blog. She had signed up for National Blog Posting Month and I was pretty impressed that she could think of something to write about every single day of the month. I've tried it a couple of times - I can't even remember how many - and I think I only successfully completed the challenge once. Well, here it is almost November again and I've been getting notices from NaBloPoMo announcing (daring?) that the contest will start on Tuesday. During NaBloPoMo there is no posted theme other than to write something every day during the month of November. They have joined up with BlogHer so I'm guessing there will be lots more serious bloggers than I am used to running with.

Last week my writing group facilitator has been telling us that it's important to write a little every day. She challenged us with ten minutes or 1000 words, even gave us prompts for 14 days. I have noticed that giving me these kind of suggestions is similar to my father telling me to save money. It makes me want to do the exact opposite even though it isn't hurting anyone but me. Crazy.

In the case of writing I kind of freeze. I spend all day at the computer but I can't seem to put ten words together on a blank page. I'm not sure how I'll ever get past the unknown writer stage on my path to becoming a famous author if I can't even flex my writing muscles a few minutes every day. Alas, I see that writing, in my case, is like doing situps. If I had a daily routine, eventually I 'd have abs of steel. Right? Okay maybe not of steel, but at least stomach muscles that boast a little firmness. If I disciplined myself to write for 10 minutes a day, just think how strong my writing muscles could be.

So, I know it may sound a little fool-hardy but I think I'm going to sign up for NaBloPoMo. I've got some ideas of what to write about. And I have 2 weeks of prompts if I get stumped. For inspiration, I have friends like Terri and Pam who seem to effortlessly post to their blog every day. Hmmm, I just realized they both walk every day too. Is there a pattern there I should be wary of?

Now that I've put it out there I already feel the pressure to stick to it. Please wish me luck. And it might not hurt to add a comment every now and then to spur me on. You can be my cheerleaders when I've got the the ball but don't feel much like running down the field.

Today I'm grateful for big salads and steamy baked potatoes.

Wishing for you incentive to put your best foot forward in the direction you want to go,

Merry ME

Looking Back - Part 4

2011-10-24T17:40:00.004-04:00

"God is the friend of silence.

See how nature

- trees, flowers, grass - grow in silence:

see stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence ...

We need silence to be able to touch souls."

Mother Teresa

Some of the unexpected delights of my trip to Oklahoma were the number of opportunities for silence. One of our main goals was to interact with the kids there. We all know kids are anything but quiet so I didn't really think about silence. At first I missed the music I had expected would accompany our journey - modern day praise songs, or old fashioned hymns.

[Finally after not-so-patiently waiting and clicking the button about 6 times, this butterfly opened its wings and said, take your best shot.]

After the first day, I heard music in the somber cooing of doves, creek water dancing over stones, a light breeze whistling through the tree leaves, and the sound of stillness as little girls fell asleep. Though I wasn't prepared for the holiness of early mornings with dew still on the grass, a harvest moon rising up over the trees, sparks flying up from a pep rally bonfire rising to heaven, I knew them all to be a symphony played by the Divine One's orchestra. When Sweetie and I were alone in the clothes closet, the rhythm of our hands working in tandem resembled a chant by Gregorian monks. Who knew the sounds of silence could be so moving?

If those weren't hymns enough, my heart smiled every time the children voted to sing the "Johnny Appleseed" song before dinner. Tears trickled down my face when a girl we'd barely met handed Sweetie and me a cross she'd spent time coloring. Need I mention there is no song more holy than the sound of children laughing?

And there was also the sound of kindnesses shared.

People at Fr. Georges's church making us feel at home.
A United Airlines ticket agent, saying, "I'll take care of it."
A fellow team member saying to me, "you see old and unfit, I see wisdom."
A young girl sheltering another with the warning, "she's shy."
Hands held out to help the "wise" ones in and out of the crowded van.
Zo's impeccably good manners.
The "Beep! Beep!" of the cart driver as he made his way through the airport.
A parking attendant's smile.
My own bed saying "Welcome, Traveler, come let me wrap you in the comfort of home.

There were indeed many blessings to be had on our trip. Perhaps none so great as the silence that gave us a chance to hear the words of our heart.

Today I'm grateful for "the things I need. The sun, the rain and the appleseed."

Wishing for you moments of golden silence,

Merry ME

Looking Back - Part 3

2011-10-23T18:47:00.001-04:00

"There are a whole lot of historical factors

that have played a part in our being where we are today, and

I think that to even begin to understand our

contemporary issues and contemporary problems,

you have to understand a little bit

about that history."

Wilma Mankiller

(First female chief of the Cherokee Nation)

On our last afternoon at the Oaks, most of the Good Goers team climbed into a well-used old truck and headed down to the place where a concrete foundation had been laid at the beginning of the week. Near the edge of the creek, an earthen overhang sparkled with dancing reflections of the water, was the site where original Cherokee elders prayed. The foundation was the beginning of a worship center that would be built by other teams coming to the mission. Our task was to clear away brush and weeds and rocks. Within minutes of arriving at the spot the sound and smell of gasoline-powered weedwackers broke through the reverent silence.

Each of us went at our own pace, whacking or raking or picking up sticks.

Hope declared herself a litter picker upper, which was a rather unique way of getting to cool off by walking in the creek. Our leader, Steve, accomplished one of his goals by finding a spear head in the pile of dirt that had been displaced for the concrete.

Eventually a fire was started to burn away the debris. The dry timber burned well, but the green vegetation pretty much just smoked. Still, as with most fires it kind of mesmerized all of the tired workers who braved big ugly spiders to rest in the holiness of God's outdoor sanctuary.

As promised on the first day at Oaks one of the house parents, Travis, whose lineage goes all the way back to the Trail of Tears, joined us to tell stories. Like most early historians Native Americans traced their heritage and beliefs through the tradition of oral story telling. His slow, mid-western drawl and flair for oratory, made Travis a natural. It was as much fun for me to watch the others as it was to hear Travis. While the kids tried playing some stick ball, Sweetie and I slowly made our way back to the dorm house.

Friday night at the mission was all about the High School football game. Most people hurriedly ate their dinner, donned sweatshirts and walked across the street to the field. Sweetie and I knew there was no way we'd make it home if we didn't get our bags packed and settle in for the night. But we could hear the loudspeaker announcing play and a low score for our team from our room, so we weren't totally anti-social!

~ ~

Before turning in every night, our team met for a recap of the day and some prayers. Each of us was asked for our "picture" of the day - something that moved us or spoke to the task we were doing. I found it interesting how we had a different pictures even though we'd all pretty much done the same thing all day. What really impressed me was how even the two children on our team (Hope age 9 and Zo age 8) sat without fidgeting and always spoke from their heart. After the trip was all over, and we'd gotten home and I'd rested my feet which cried "Uncle" somewhere near the B concourse at the Houston Airport, the memory of the kids was my picture of the week.

A week spent with and for children was like a magic elixir for my heart. I told myself I would leave all expectations for the week at home in Florida. But a part of me still expected (wanted) some kind of life-altering experience, a Moses moment, if you will. I really hoped God would tell me of His plan for my life. Alas, no visions or sky-writing. Just a knowing that the Divine One uses each of us where we are. The service I do right here in my own back yard is as important as traveling to third world countries.

Today I'm grateful for the opportunity to do something so far out of my comfort zone. I'm grateful for the lessons I learned, for time to draw closer to my Sweetie. I'm grateful to the people of Oaks Indian Mission who have stepped up to the plate to make a difference in the lives of the children they serve. And I'm grateful to Good Goers for all the work they do.

Wishing for you unexpected blessings,

Merry ME

Note: You can't really tell from this picture but the object of stick ball is to catch a little ball in the itty bitty cup of the sticks (think LaCross) and pass it around to others on your team (think football) and somehow try to fling the ball to the top of a really high lodgepole (think basketball). Stickball was a way to dispute smaller grievances without going to war. Men from disgruntled tribes would meet in a field that was hundreds of yards long. It's been said that anything short of murder was allowed on the field - biting, crippling- tackling, etc - and players did die on occasion. The point of the game was to score a pre-determined number of goals. The game was never called for inclement weather. Even if a few players were killed in a game it was considered better than going to war. Usually men played but there were times women were allowed in the game. From the sounds of it, the women were given the advantage.

Looking Back, Part 2

2011-10-19T14:49:00.004-04:00

"You never know where a blessing can come from."

Teena Marie

On our 2nd full work day at the Oaks, there was a choice of three projects: to finish painting one of the dorm houses, to paint picnic tables or to organize the house that serves as a clothes closet for the mission.

Okay, it's not really a whole house, more like a large shed. And "organize" might be too big a word for unpacking, sorting, and sizing about a kazillion pairs of underpants and socks. When it comes to "organizing" however, my Sweetie considers himself a world champion. I would say that I run a pretty close second but some of you may question the veracity of that statement because of the stories you've read about my propensity for clutter. While the rest of the Good Goers team grabbed paint brushes, Sweetie and I sequestered ourselves across the campus. The closet is full of donated items from bedding, to jackets, to shoes, to towels, to jeans and backpacks. And did I mention underpants?

[Before]

I didn't know that when you return something to Walmart it is sent to a central Return Center instead of being put back on the shelf. Maybe there is a plan to how the returned items are packed up and sent out to places like the Oaks, but it seemed pretty willy nilly to me - as in dumped in a box and mailed. When we walked into the room where we would be working, we couldn't see anything but mangled cardboard boxes and dead spiders on the floor. Other teams had worked here so there was a basic layout as to where things should go, but in my humble pot-calling-the kettle-black opinion it looked like an underwear bomb had been detonated. After two days, organized boxes overflowed with neatly folded underpants, but the shelves still seemed dwarfed by the contents.

[After]

There is really no way to start a project like this, other than just dig in. Sweetie went first. It took me a little longer to get up my nerve to open the first box. After awhile we both got a rhythm going and we worked non-stop til lunchtime, then returned and kept going til dinnertime. It wasn't what you'd call "hard" work, but steady. We talked a little, but mainly just shared the time together in convivial silence.

In the quiet I became aware of two things. Blessings, really. As I stood knee deep in undies, I realized I've never once had to stop and wonder where my next pair of underpants might come from. I thought of the kids who live at this mission (or homeless shelter, or ghetto, or you-fill-in-the-blank) who sometimes lack the very basics. Food and shelter would undoubtedly rank first on the scale of basic necessities, but covering one's body, which is a way of keeping it holy, is right up near the top. I would think that for children who have been abused clothing would be a kind of protective armor. I've been blessed in my life to have not only have clean underwear when I needed it, but a dresser drawer to store it in. Seems weird to say, but I now understand that blessings don't have to be huge miracles. They come in all sizes and colors and sometimes have Superman on the front. Blessings don't always have to come from wealthy donors or over-zealous missionaries. They can be as simple as a pair of panties neatly folded by loving hands.

I also became aware of the fact that although Sweetie and I have been together for close to seven years and sometimes feel like we've been to hell and back, this might have been the first time we worked side-by-side with a common goal. In the past our habit has been to divide and conquer. I felt blessed to spend this quiet time with the man I love.

There were a couple other times during the week that I saw Sweetie as if with new eyes. One night at dinner, I listened to him talk to a young girl and watched as she opened up to him. Another night, during arts & crafts time, I watched Sweetie share a coloring book with one of the kids. Neither of us could even remember the last time we colored. As a light-hearted banter took place about whether or not it is better to color inside the lines or out, I felt our inner children settle into the moment. Perhaps my favorite moment was when Sweetie, aka Grandpa, let a young girl decorate his face with stick-on jewels. It's hard to resist a man all decked out in sapphires.

Gratitude is that place in the heart from which blessings flow.

Merry ME

Looking Back, Part 1

2011-10-18T15:11:00.002-04:00

"One's destination is never a place but a new way of seeing things."

Henry Miller

The forced replacement of Cherokee Indians from Georgia to Oklahoma was aptly named The Trail of Tears. Not just for those who made the trek, but also for those hearts that break a hundred years later upon hearing the story. In my opinion there is no better place to live than the US of A. That said it doesn't take away some of the black spots in the history of our great country. It is estimated that over 4000 of the 15000 Cherokee who were transplanted to what was called Indian Territory (in the present day state of Oklahoma) died on the march. Standing on/near the spot where so many Native American people ended their tearful journey made me weep with shame.

"I fought through the War Between the States and have seen many men shot,

but the Cherokee Removal was the cruelest work I ever knew."

~ Georgia soldier who participated in the removal

On Wednesday (Oct. 12) of our trip, the Good Goers team spent the day at the Cherokee National Museum. We were ushered through a typical Cherokee village and a museum full of artifacts, art, traditional crafts and historic records.

When I walked in the door of the museum a wooden sculpture by Willard Stone took my breath away. Exodus is part of a trilogy of sculptures. Although it depicts a Native American mother with a baby on her back, I immediately thought of Mary, the mother of Jesus and how she must have had her own trail of tears as she followed him to the cross.

Near the same area of the museum entrance there was a cross section of a tree that was just a sapling when the Cherokee arrived in Oklahoma. The tree fell down a couple of years ago in an ice storm. Dates and important events were marked on the age rings of the tree. Apart from the rest of the group who were looking at native-made souvenirs, I stood next to the tree and prayed. With my hand gently caressing each ring, I felt as if it was speaking to me. Not so much in words as in feelings. I imagined a cross-section of my own heart. Concentric circles representing good times, others when it felt wounded. Yet, in the stillness of the moment I had a knowing that the Creator always walks with me, like the wind and rain and sun on the tree. It feels especially true this year as my personal trail of tears leads me from my past to my future. I'm aware of the hands of the Divine Comforter wrapped around me, holding me close.

The Cherokee were part of the 5 tribes (Cherokee, Muscogee Creek, Seminole, Chicasaw, Choctaw) that were known as the "civilized." They lived in permanent structures often inside palisades to keep out raiders. Our guide said most people are surprised to see they didn't live in tee pees.

We watched a man make arrowheads from a piece of rock with nothing more than an antler, and another showed us how his bows and arrows were formed. Demonstrating his talent for accuracy, his arrows flew straight and fast into a target across the compound that I could barely see.

Women made baskets for cooking and carrying. Like the sea-grass baskets we saw in Charleston, each were intricately made for both functionality and beauty. We sat inside a large lodge where community decisions were made, tried to imagine scoring goals at the top of a pretty tall pole on the stickball field and stood outside a church - a large circle with a fire pit in the middle. This is where stomp dances were held. Men and women (with turtle shell rattles on their legs that weighed several pounds) danced and prayed around the fire from sundown to sunup. Their prayers floated to heaven on the rising smoke. We also walked through a more modern village that depicted what it life might have been like after the Cherokee settled in Oklahoma.

After eating an al fresco lunch of ham sandwiches and scarfing down chips and homemade cookies, we packed back in the van and headed for the 5 Civilized Tribes Art Gallery and Museum in Muskogee. It was hard not to sit and stare and be awed by the talent represented there. Although I came away without emptying my wallet, I fell in love with a picture by Native American artist Troy Anderson called "Daughter of the Sun" - a young Indian maiden surrounded by red birds. Whenever I see redbirds, I think of my grandmother. Since the day was spent looking back, I felt like the painting was a reminder to me of the people in my life who are no longer here.

I think this post is longer than a boring slide show. I'm not sure how to wrap it all up. In many ways the day linked together the past history and present day life of the mission children. Many of them have been abused and broken through no fault of their own. Their stories are full of tears and heartache. But at night, after dinner when I sat on a picnic bench and watched them run and play and laugh, I began to understand how important the work of the mission is. Started by Moravian missionaries who traveled from Georgia with the Cherokee then passed through the hands of the Lutheran church, the Oaks Indian Mission is now a private entity and has to raise all it's own funding. To say it is a daunting task would be an understatement. The work we did was nothing special, a coat of paint here, some weed whacking there, but it humbled each of us on the team. For five days we lived Mother Teresa's words ...

"Let us not be satisfied with just giving money.

Money is not enough, money can be got,

but they need your hearts to love them.

So spread your love everywhere you go."

... and it easily did as much for us as it did for those we served.

Stay tuned!

Today I'm grateful for reminders of things past and hope for things to come.

Merry ME

P.S. Not sure how I neglected to mention one of the best parts of the day. For people who were 3 days into fast food withdrawal, a stop at Cherry Berry, a self-serve frozen yogurt store, was a particular delight. I'm from the school of thought that says if you're going to eat something cold and covered in sprinkles, you might as well go all the way with real cream and sugar and "just say no" to the yogurt. However this stuff was so good, I was fooled into thinking I was eating something decadent. With so many choices of flavors and toppings, it was no surprise that there was a steady stream of customers coming in the door and the Good Goers returned to the mission refreshed.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggedy Jog

2011-10-15T22:35:00.003-04:00

"No one realizes how beautiful it is to travel

until he comes home and rests his head

on his old, familiar pillow."

Lin Yutang

We arrived at the Tulsa Airport this morning around 10:30 and set foot back at home around 9:30pm. One uneventful but very long day. An angel disguised as a Continental Airlines ticketing agent managed to get us on an earlier flight out of Tulsa which cut the wait in the airport by about 2 hours.

Sweetie called the planes we flew on puddle jumpers. I call them sardine cans. Flying today is all about getting from point A to point B with few frills. But we made it home safely and that's really all that counts, which is easy to say now that I've stretched my legs and gotten most of the kinks out.

I know I promised tales of our adventure and I will try to recap the week in the next few days. I've seen and learned many new things. I stretched some muscles I didn't even remember having. Some of my beliefs have been challenged. We met some wonderful people and breathed in lots of fresh air. I'm glad to have made the trip and glad to have come home.

Tonight I'm grateful for safe travels.

Merry ME

Day 4

2011-10-11T22:15:00.003-04:00

Just got the password for the Internet this evening. I'm really too pooped to write much. My idea of blogging as the week progresses has come to a screeching halt. All I can think of is to crawl into bed and rest my weary feet.

The team was split into two groups today. I was in the half that finished painting one of the dorm houses - 3 women, Sweetie, and a 9 year old. After spending so much time with a paint brush in my hand last spring, it came back to me pretty quickly. We've still got trim to do which I could cause me to say "ugh" but I've learned painting is a lot -LOT - easier than what the other half of the team did. They got the concrete assignment. And it wasn't just pouring concrete. It was hefting 80 lb. bags on and off a truck just to get them to the right spot. I'm pretty sure I couldn't have lifted one 80 lb bag, let alone a whole pallet full. I'm feeling pretty grateful tonight that I didn't get picked for that team.

There is something about my appearance that makes 8 year old boys challenge my abilities. Last night when kids were running around like kids do, playing basketball and doing arts & crafts, "B" sidles up to me and says, "So Grandma wanna play some football?" It wasn't the question so much as the look in his eye that told me he didn't think I could do it. Of course he was right, but I didn't want to tell him so. Thankfully the footballers were on the other side of the field B left me coloring with the girls.

So this morning, the youngest member of our Good Goers team, Lorenzo, who has enough energy to make the Energizer Bunny look like a slacker, challenged me to do some sit ups. Then he said, "oh, you're old." Well, yes, I am old, and have some extra pounds to crunch, but I got down on the ground while Lorenzo held my feet. He promised not to laugh if I couldn't do one sit up. And I said a silent prayer I wouldn't toot. It took me three tries, but I got my top half up and over my bottom half. It's hard to know who was more surprised, me or Lorenzo.

After painting came dinner and more crafts. I got out the fabric and paints I'd brought with me. With the help of several young girls, we made a couple banners. It proved to be another lesson for me to release my need for control. When you've got kids and paint in the same vicinity of each other, the chances for a neat, orderly project kind of go out the window.

Needless to say it was a long day, but a good one. I'm grateful for Divine Intervention when it came to team choosing. I'm grateful for the feeling of a paint job well done. I'm grateful for fresh air and light sprinkles of rain. I'm grateful for this opportunity.

More tomorrow.
Merry ME

Day 3: Part 2

2011-10-10T22:15:00.001-04:00

First Good Goers meeting to find out how the week will go.

"B" our guide for the afternoon.

Overlooking the field where the Union Army camped for about 6 months.

The original Spring House constructed where the Trail of Tears ended.

No one has explained yet why they stopped here.

Resting after a lengthy hike through the woods to the creek.

Arts & Crafts after dinner.