An attempt at making sense of it.

I like to say that children are jewels, precious gems.  Some people are called "diamonds in the rough" and while this seems cliche, there is some truth in it.  Because I have an affinity for pearls, I tend to look at my own children as such.  It isn't because they begin as irritants and end as beautiful works of an oyster.  It is akin to being a "diamond in the rough".  They are literal grit, softened and beautified over time, and having many, many formative layers.
People, in a general sense, are continual works in progress, being slowly tumbled, tried, and polished until they are perfected in the eyes of those who love them.  But they are loved all along.  If a child is perfected long before we expect it in our own minds, does that mean the work is over and they can be safely tucked away in the Master's pocket?  Or does that stone become somehow flawed or crushed under some unseen pressure?  If my precious stones were to be snatched from me, I would no doubt go through the various stages of anger, doubt and resentment toward the One who gifted me with them.

This is where my mind is right now as I think about our young people in the wake of another loss.

What causes some of these gems and pearls to break, and to break too soon?  What does a parent go through in trying to comprehend such loss?  What questions do their friends, family members, teachers, and other supportive people ask themselves during a time like this?  I can think of a thousand 'what-ifs' and 'why-didn't-I's",  many of which I have already heard uttered by the anguished.  It is so easy to fall into a mire of guilt and regret, as a by-product of utter sadness.

And of course, "where is God?"

In an effort to sort through this, I wanted to look to the scriptures for some semblance of an answer and also offer it to you.

Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth.  -John 17:17

Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.  -1 Peter 5:8

What parent doesn't inevitably blame him or herself for tragedies that befall their children?  I know I would. "What didn't I do?" "Where did we go wrong?"  "Did I not love enough?"  The torture of one's own soul has the potential to consume entirely.  But look at what Peter says; we are all fighting the enemy.  There is spiritual warfare going on all around us; we don't see it, but it exists.  

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.                -Ephesians 6:12

I do believe that God is there in that moment and that he remains in control; however, every person has his own battle against despair and discouragement, and is his own moral agent.  And thus that person's cross to bear is transferred to others...all those people who love him take up this cross of despair and sadness.  We have to give it to Jesus.

May he strengthen your hearts so that you will be blameless and holy in the presence of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all his holy ones. -1 Thessalonians 3:13

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. -Psalm 46:1

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort  -2 Corinthians 1:3

I pray for our Heavenly Father to wrap his arms of peace and comfort around this family and to love them and all the classmates and friends through this sad time.  

Briefly, what of this sweet soul who left too soon? Can he rest peacefully?  I hope so in my heart and I believe that God has great mercy.  Consider this from Paul's letter to the Romans:

Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus -Romans 8:1

Forgive me, please, if my words are no help, I am merely a lay-person attempting to make sense of this and find my own comfort.  If nothing else, I hope that the Words of the Scriptures bring about some peace in someone.  

Last evening, several pearls and their sweet mothers gathered in my home to support one another.  We didn't know how to help these young people, we knew not the words.  We only knew that they needed each other in that moment.  And I am so incredibly thankful for their youth pastor who came by to help them and us through the utter shock of what has occurred.  

Arielle, you are a blessing.  We thank God for you.

We thank God for all our precious gemstones and pearls and their bonds for each other.

We thank God for this sweet young man who was in our lives for such a brief moment.  

We pray for Comfort that only the Lord can provide for his family and friends.

That's all I have.  It's just love and sadness.  I guess the two will eternally go hand-in-hand in the same way that love and joy are also intermingled.  The three cannot be separated, and must be embraced as a whole.  But embracing this whole is made easier when embraced by our Master.

...ships

I realize as I have gotten older, that perhaps my introspection gets the better of me.  It seems to me that I have, all too often, allowed the possibility of vulnerability to keep me from moving forward.  The act of writing in a public space opens one up to vulnerability, which is less and less comfortable a zone once you begin to get too personal.  I live inside my head.  Whole conversations happen inside my skull.  If I'm caught doing it, and I seem to wear the process on my face, someone might ask, "what are you thinking?"  Because I often wear migraine headaches on my face as well, I am often tempted to fall back on that as an answer.  Typically, though, I feign some empty thought.

"Oh, I just have a lot on my mind."
"...just looking at this."
"Well thinking about what I need to do next."

What's the truth...and this is the funny part...I'm usually wondering about relationships.

Readers here might be able to understand why I might avoid giving up a truth.  After all, it is possible that most people find themselves stuck in a loop and when snapped out of it by an intrusion, realize how absurd thoughts can become if left to their own devices.  You heard me right, our thoughts have minds of their own.

But I digress.

Relationships.  Just having them leaves you naked and afraid.  When a relationship flags,  you find yourself wondering so many things.
What did I do wrong?  Did I say something hurtful?  Was I being weird and uncomfortable again?
You find yourself becoming defensive in your own head.  At some point, apathy sets in.
Communication, or lack thereof, seems to breed apathy.  And trust me when I say, I know something about lack of communication.  When you consider what I do for a living, my reluctance to talk doesn't make a lot of sense.  I like to say I'm reticent, which is better than being outright antisocial.  But you see, I'm just making excuses for the fact that I am notoriously bad at making small talk.  This is a problem, since apparently, relationships of all kinds, depend upon some level of small talk.  Pointless prattle between individuals who are working hard at passing the time and filling the air with words.

When one enters into a new friendship, there is so much to learn about that person; the conversation never seems to lag, right?  Then, at some point, it does begin to lag.  But why? Did the parties cease being curious about one another?  Did engaging suddenly become too taxing?

My husband and I agree on this: Most relationships exist for a time to serve a purpose.  Once that purpose has been fulfilled, much less effort is expended and the relationship stands to lose ground.  Despite what I have heard to the contrary, a true friendship requires work and effort.  In our technology-based, social networking society, work and effort seem diminished.  I don't mean to say that timely relationships have no value.  They have much value; some even save lives, and I appreciate each person whose path has crossed mine.  I suppose, the hard part is the lament over lost friendships.  Once a person is in my life with less of a presence or with less frequency, the person tends to become a work of fiction in a way.  The memory of what was seems a little sweeter, making an evening without a friend a little more painful.

But the worst pain, is to invest your heart in a person; to really love a friend, only to lose them to a death.  Giving of yourself as a friend, a daughter or son, a spouse, a parent, and then having to say an eternal goodbye can change you.  It will change you.  You cannot help this because a thread has been pulled from your fabric, and your pattern has been altered forever.  You wonder why you ever endeavored to weave this person into your existence.  You would never have to hurt, if only you hadn't loved.

This, of course, is not reality.  Most of us need to experience the joy of relationships, even if it leaves us open to annoyance, pain, and vulnerability.  In the end, the process is worth it.  My mother always said that, at any moment, you can count your real friends on one hand, and that is being generous.  She knew that all relationships come to an end.  Indeed, she was my best friend.  Alas, I could no more keep her with me than I could eat cheese from the moon.

With those rambling notions exposed for the world, I toast each of those past, present and future relationships.  We may have quit on one another. We may have become too busy to stay in touch.  One party, perhaps discarded by the other.  Purpose fulfilled.  Some endings not yet written.  Some ties going strong.  Others barely hanging on.  Some lacking depth.  Others hungry for more.

I never do how to wrap these things up.  Let's leave it as this: If you have yourself to give to another human, even for the briefest moment, it may just be the meaningful gift that human needs at that moment.  Who are we to deprive one another of love?

Peace

"A Writer Writes"

The title, "A Writer Writes" was a quote from a former Radford professor.  She also said, "A writer reads."  Both are as true as the wind blowing in Autumn.

I have taken a very long break in writing for several reasons. The main reason is that whenever I attempted to write in the last two years, it was always about my grieving process.  There is only so much to say on the matter that is even rational.  After a point, one begins to just murmur in a way that is unattractive and not at all productive.  Grieving is such an ugly past time; while one must get through it, one maybe should not bore others with it.  I will forgo this tedious process for the time being and write on writing.

I recently took on the challenge of writing a poem which honors a friend.  Tonight I read this poem to a room of guests, including the guest of honor.  I had a good two months, at least, to fashion this "ode" as  I call it.  I am a procrastinator by nature and while a task such as this looms overhead and creates great anxiety for me, I found myself writing the bulk of it over the last two days.  Granted, I did write a poem about a month ago, and I found it to be rather corny and impersonal.   I scrapped the original completely.  My initial plan was to reach out to others for inspiration and I found that, indeed, this was necessary.  I really needed to research, both by interviewing others and by reading some of the work of the subject.  I admit, after returning to Plan A, I felt like I was doing the natural thing.  Last night, as I wrapped up the finished product, I realized that I truly missed the process of writing, both poetry and blog entries.

I treat them differently.  For a blog entry, such as at this very moment, I type and if I hate it, I backspace.  For a poem, I have never, and never will, use a computer. It all must be hand written, struck, re-written, struck again, and so on.  It has been this way since college.  I was so sure I wanted to be a writer that I had disciplined myself to this ritual.  But I decided also that I was sure I wanted to eat so I did not become a writer.  My compromised that I would not seek a Master of Fine Arts, but rather, I would become a professional Speech-Language Pathologist and write in my spare time.  Any mother with a full time job knows that this is nearly an impossibility, at least while the kids are young.  You sacrifice.  You put dreams on hold.   You stop writing.  You stop painting.  You stop pretty much everything.  Not with any ill feelings, mind you.  No regrets.  Children are totally worth it.  They deserve your all-encompassing attention for a season or two.

Tonight, I realized that, while I already suspected it, I miss writing.  The poem was well received and our guest of honor insisted on putting it in his pocket and taking it with him.  This is the highest compliment of all; my writing preserved by someone I care for.  Stay tuned.  This challenge, which I desperately needed, may be just the thing to get me going again.  I guess time will tell.

Best,
Steph

On twelve months

It is twelve months since losing my mother.  There is no poetic way to write it.  She is gone twelve months.
It was twelve months ago our family gathered around her bedside and watched her fade away.  Afterward, we spent time just being silent, just being.  I tried to speak into her ear and my voice would not work.  I screamed but all was quiet.  I was a silent strain.   My sister and I dressed her for her final ride, knowing that she would want it to be done properly.  She was a dignified woman and a lady.  Cancer never took my mother's dignity, even though she felt that it had.  As long as you hold yourself to the highest standards, you still have your dignity, even when it is difficult to reach the bar you keep setting for yourself.

Daily, I ask myself, "How long do I have to go on this way?"  I am nearly forty years old and I have no longer the person who brought me here.  When she left, there loomed such a gaping hole that I feel I might very well be swallowed up in it.  I suppose the giant hole has a name and it is Grief.  I know that Grief can swallow a person completely and I know that some people find that they cannot face their daily business without the pall of sadness that wraps around them like a swaddling blanket. There are those who prefer to dwell there.  There are also those who let it take them.  I do not want to risk sounding suicidal, because I most certainly am not.  But I do wonder, "How long must I go on without my Mom?"  Each time I look at her photograph, I think "I miss you so much, how long do I have to do this?"  And then...tears.  Her photograph does not answer.

The presence of my children is my answer.  The fact is I had my mother so much longer than she had hers. I am in the more fortunate position of having been raised by my mother into adulthood.  She knows I would always choose to stick it out and give my children all the advantages a mother can provide.  To leave them, would be pure selfishness.  But how to answer the question of how long must one go on this way?  What I mean to say is in this condition of sadness.  I manage very well in the day to day drumbeat of life.  I enjoy my work, my co-workers, my husband, my children, my family, my church, my friends.  With the help of family and friends, we tackle the logistics of getting the children where they need to be daily.  Somehow, the basics get done and no one gets hurt.  Frankly, it is all a blur.  Most days, I feel like life gets done, but not done very well.  Getting a delicious meal on the table used to seem like such a culinary adventure.  Now it is simply a burdensome task that deserves no more creativity than picking out the which ketchup to purchase.
At what point do I attend a social function or go to the mall and not constantly think, "Mom would have liked this. I wish she could be here."?  If there is one thing I have figured out, in these twelve months, it is that it does not get any easier.  I will always miss her.

I will always miss her smell.
I will always miss her smile.
I will miss her critiques.
I miss her infectious laugh and her wicked sense of humor.
I miss calling her on the phone for every question and to tell her every little mundane detail.
I miss her encouragement.
I miss her insistent generosity.
I miss her scrappiness.
I miss her unsolicited advice.
I miss the way she bragged about her all her children and her grandchildren.
I miss her obsessive cleanliness.
I miss her pissing me off.
I miss her telling me what to do.
I miss her amazing ability to be Mom.

When you miss the good, the bad and the ugly in a person whom you love, how do you carry on and live a normal life?  Or a happy life?  And all these questions just feel like a whistling into a deep cave.  The sound just gets lost and the answers are just as vague as the inquisition.

Oh to be in the arms of my sweet mother and to tell her one more time "I love you, Mom."

There are too many names of loved ones on this list.

But it is God's Will that they appear here to see.

Like the changing colors of Autumn's leaves,

There is a season and a time for all things.

Our time is continually drawing near,

 our souls draw nearer to Thee.

Our hearts are drumbeats on

 the march to Heaven.

Praise Him.

Amen


I'm not a big fan of country music but...

Early morning gift.

*I walked into my Mother's bedroom at the Farmhouse and there she was, sitting upright, in one of her dark-stained, ladder-backed chairs.  She was surrounded by family members, who were already enjoying her company and perched on her bed and on other chairs.  I was obviously late to the party and there was nowhere left to sit.  Her smile was beaming at me and she gave me a hearty "Hey Sweet!"  I walked over, knelt in front of her, put my head in her lap and hugged her deeply.  I said, "I can't believe you're really here!" and she only said, "I hate that it's so dusty."  I looked over at my puzzled brother and then I asked her, "You mean the house?"  She answered, "No, me."  I just hugged her more while she played with my hair.  I wanted to hold onto her forever and never, ever let her go- And then I woke up.*

I didn't want to open my eyes for a long time because I was trying my best to hold on to that image of her but I knew that it was only a pillow to which I was clamoring, instead of my beautiful Mother.  When I finally peeked at the clock it read 2:30 a.m.  I had just received my first dream visit from Mom and while it was so hard watching that image fade away into the darkness, I couldn't help but feel incredibly grateful for this brief-lived gift.

It really doesn't matter from where these gifts are generated- from God, from Mom herself, from some special area of the brain- what matters is I have these dreams and they help me.  I don't know if others have this experience, but after I lose people whom I love very deeply, they will occasionally visit me in my dreams.  My Grandmother Fleta left us in the Spring of 1999.  Since her passing, she has waited at her kitchen table for me numerous times.  Sometimes my Grandaddy Reid is there as well.  We always share a quick bite to eat and I pass the napkins around.  In these dreams, I always know they are really gone from us and that I will have to say goodbye.  I always tell them I am glad to see them and that I love them; and then they are gone again.  Because this is a recurring dream, I believe that I will see my Mother again in similar dreams.  It only took a little over a week for her to appear to me but I needed it so badly.  Anyone who has lost a dear one, no matter their age or their circumstance, knows how devastating and empty it can feel.  I am happy to report that Mom looked so beautiful and healthy in my dream, like she had never been sick a day in her life or had to endure the treatments to fight her disease.
This helps me to remember that she didn't really die, only cancer died, to paraphrase a quote from one of the sympathy cards Herbert received from a friend.  I have been reminded twice in the last week to "look inside myself to find her."  I think this is true as well.  I look at her five grandchildren and see her in all of them.  I look at my siblings and see her again.  I look inside myself and there she is.  Another person wrote that "losing a parent is one of life's saddest milestones" and yet another said, "it is the season of our lives." I know that I must accept this as true, but I also know that I don't ever have to say good-bye.  It was always, "I'll see you later, OK?"

I found this beautiful song that I hope you will take time to hear.  It is a reminder that while I am waiting for her, she is waiting for all of us.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61_qsDeuFu8&feature=share&list=ALYL4kY05133oxiIx_-pldYAFVm2Q_EwRM
This is Michael Kiwanuka, an artist recently seen on Austin City Limits.  It is beautiful song.  You will cry.

This post dedicated in the remembrance of my Beloved Mom, Cathy D. Ramsey, who left us far too soon, on November 6, 2013- Rest In Peace, Beautiful Lady

This is not a cry for...

Not a cry for help.  Not a cry for sympathy.  Not a cry for validation.

I usually enjoy picking a topic and writing about it.  At times, my topics are tangential and folks who actually know me know that is pretty true to my nature.  I spend much of my time out in left field.  It is where I prefer to reside.  But this entry is all about me.  Not about work.  Not about food.  Not about some random event.  It is all about me.  More precisely, it is about me being a downright failure.
I have a hunch that I'm not alone in this feeling of being a failure, but right now, indulge me.  But, again I say, it isn't a cry for attention, sympathy, sad looks or even prayers.

This has been a week of abysmal fails.  I failed as a mother, sister, friend, daughter and caretaker.  I failed as a professional speech therapist, diagnostician and clinical supervisor.  I fail each year as a writer, musician and artist.  I fail every second as a dreamer and visionary.  I fail as a Christian and church-goer.  I fail as a housekeeper and gardener.  My knees and I fail as a runner.  I fail miserably at being a wife.

I lose my patience, I cuss, I roll my eyes, I blow, I neglect and I may not be loving enough.  I have not kept up with my friends in the way that I should.  I do not keep up with the journal articles nor do I stay abreast of the latest research on therapeutic modalities.  I feel lost at sea when it comes to the voluminous mess of paperwork that faces me each week.  I fail to model best practice consistently.  By the age of 40, my first novel should be written and I should have already learned to play the violin.  My career is not what I wanted it to be and I don't see my way clear to get it there.  I am cynical and I hate kool-aid.  There are so many days I do not feel I can face my fellow man.  I do not send the cards I want to send nor do I make the phone calls I need to make.  I am inflexible and grumpy.  My house is a mess and the weeds have taken everything out of doors.  I let the frost kill my tomatoes and I neglected to plant my mums in the ground or even keep them watered for the last week.  I love to exercise but exercise hates me.  As I am writing this at almost midnight, The Dude is working in the kitchen at making a soup because I haven't cooked in a month.

This has been an exercise in emotional cleansing.  I have a lot of work to do on myself.  I keep thinking I need to move back to Colorado to get myself straight, but then I realize I would only be trying to run away, hence failing at living honestly with my failures.

Don't cry for me, Argentina, or anyone else.  I am just having one of those moments.  You know, the moment when you stop blaming everyone else for your problems and you admit that you are the epic fail you never meant to become.  I'm not the only person who realizes this... right? Don't answer that.  I don't want to hear from a soul.

(The soup smells pretty good.)

"Life is only one time around"

I took this photo last night as I was driving home from my mother's house.  The message is on the marquee outside of the church in which I grew up.  It was really late but when I spotted it, I had an uncontrollable urge to share it with my little FaceBook community.  These words really spoke to me, especially in light of our current situation.  There is just so much to say but no words in which to say it. There is much I cannot express, but these words on the church marquee seem to express so much of what I am feeling.  Many little platitudes and sayings are so cliche; however, I am not turned off by this one.  Think of "You only live once" and "Live life to the fullest" and "Live like every day is your last."  Those sayings don't seem to capture the essence of the problem.  The real crux of the matter is written on the marquee right there.  The pretty horses on the old merry-go-rounds go around and around and around.  You get one spin on the ride of life and then the guy at the controls stops the ride and somebody else gets a turn.  At this point in the revolution of my life, one of my favorite riders will be getting off and I have to enjoy riding with her the best way I know how for as long as possible.  That last line, just got me really, really - I cannot even begin to find a word to describe how it just made me feel.

This must be why I have been avoiding this.  Maybe, I am not as prepared as I thought I was.

I have so much to say.  God only knows when I will be able to articulate it and give it the justice it deserves.  Until then, Peace be with you.
SWB

A blurb on Graceland

In 1985, I was ten years old and Paul Simon had entered Johannesburg, South Africa to find local musicians and create one of the most amazing collaborations ever.  The fact that this collaboration even took place is a marvel given the political environment of the day.  Mandela was imprisoned, apartheid was the law, people lived under suffocating oppression.  By all accounts, the tour and album should never have materialized, but despite all odds, there it was.  So many years later, in 2011, Paul went back to Johannesburg for a reunion with all those musicians, another marvel, as everyone was older and dispersed.  I am watching a recording of Under African Skies which is an account of this reunion, early this morning since sleep eludes me lately.  Watching some of the political aspects of the film reminds me that there are brilliant and resilient people all over the world.  The racism and oppression depicted in the film is unbelievable.  The people in South Africa were not free in 1985 and they managed to find such joy in music despite the hatred of the day.  We think we have problems here in our community; when the sad truth is, most of us have not yet been put in a furnace.  I am not certain I could locate brilliant and resilient people in the community in which I live.  Oh sure, there are plenty of pretty smart cookies around but they all seem to be competing with one another for who can shine the brightest and they seem to really dislike being questioned or challenged.  They have difficulty shifting their mindset from "I must enlighten you with what I know so you can do this my way" to "Let's enlighten one another and better our community together."  Paul Simon and his contacts in Johannesburg, enlightened one another and made the world a better place.  Thank you world, for giving us Graceland. Brilliant. Enlightened. Satisfying. Wonderful.
"Homeless, Homeless, Moonlight sleeping on the midnight lake."
http://youtu.be/Sg7IlKl-nkc

I've got some really great shower curtain rings to sell you...

Lately I have noticed there is quite a bit of 'selling' going on.  Whether I need it or not, it is in my face.  Constantly.  Ad nauseum.  A proverbial dead horse.  Beaten.  Until there is nothing left.
And it feels gimmicky.  You know the kind of thing I mean?  Try this new handy housewives helper with thirty different functions.  You'll be glad you did.  (I mean, we have no real proof that it will make your life better or your chores easier, but we just think it will look great in your house.)  And did we mention that "Thirty Helens Agree" that this thing is awesome?  How can you agree with that many nodding 'Helens'?  (Nevermind that we have all those Helens on the payroll and it is their job to agree.)
And it has a cool, gimmicky name also- Helen's Handy-Housewives Helper.  This is way better than the old tool box you keep under your sink with screwdriver, wrench and hammer.  This is new! This is, of course a better way to do things simply because the Helens say it is.

More on this later, I have much to say on the issue of 'selling.'  Right now, I want to sleep.  Not because some know-it-all has told me that research suggests I require the sleep, but because it is past my own personally-prescribed bedtime and I can no longer keep my eyes open.  Until next time, thanks for joining us, Helens!  It is always a pleasure to see you all!!

This is a repost from my FB page...for posterity only

I get a little sad thinking about the ridiculous turmoil around us. When people don't agree, neither side needs to be labeled positive nor negative. These are simply opposing views, which I feel is healthy. I think we can all agree that when you look at a photo of your own children, all you want is the very best for them. When you consider someone's child or their money, you MUST understand that emotions will be high. You don't mess with a mother bear's cubs, so you should tread lightly with human children as well. These are my girls. They belong to Me, Chris and GOD Almighty! I will always have an opinion where their well-being is concerned. I obviously have to tread lightly myself so I don't voice all of my opinions in a public forum; however, I respect those who have chosen to do so. I love my girls so much that I will always try to ask thoughtful questions, consider all angles, observe if necessary and formulate my own conclusions with an open mind.

I call this "Things That Fly"

I shall attempt to ease myself back into writing again by creating a theme for this first post in nearly one year.  The theme is "Things That Fly" only because I began by picking five photographs from this summer and they all had flight in common.   In case some might be wondering about where my writing has been this last year, let me respond by saying that I feel as though someone has absconded with both my creative mind and my initiation skills.  It is rare, of late, that I have had just first of all, time to sit and write, and secondly, the discipline to do so.   But I have noticed that, as the last few months have gone along, I am restless, indecisive and panicking to put words out there.  My mind is in so many places, I am not even sure where to begin.  There is much to tell, yet much to keep close to my vest, simply out of love for others.  Therefore, I must proceed with calculated caution.

Above: Tethered balloons at Lakefest 2013  

This is a great opportunity to visit and talk with people whom you may not see often.  Because I am not myself these days, I lounged on a towel and stayed very close to my children.  I am not quite the conversationalist I would like to be and I avoid people more than I used to.  It is sad, but I have become painfully, socially awkward, much like I used to be prior to my years at college.  For the most part, I am most comfortable with family and close friends, because they are good at making me feel safe.  I realize this part of the story exposes some real vulnerability on my part; this is who I am at this stage of life.  Anyway, my youngest had decided to brave the balloon ride this year.  It was to finally be her year.  Once she got in the basket and she heard the burner, terror set in and she became Edvard Munch's The Scream.  My girlfriend got it on film, but Elena would kill me if the photograph ever made its way onto the internet.

Above: Wild ponies in Corova lending a resting spot for a bird.  

I understand this is not quite symbiosis, but at least the bird has a place to light for a while.  The pony says, "What have you done for me lately?"

The Dude and I own this lovely bit of sand up on the four-wheel-drive area north of Corolla.  We have big dreams of one day building a house there.  It would be a rental property but we would also be able to enjoy it during the year.  It is a nice dream.  When we visit there, it almost seems like it could come true in a heartbeat.  But then we come home to reality and it seems as though the dream might never come to fruition.  Oh well, as Pete quipped in the movie Rudy, "Having dreams is what makes life tolerable." You can see that here--> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QdYI9hwf-tk

Above: Osprey with his prey in the dead tree behind our place.

Above: Our nation's bird, The Bald Eagle, in the dead tree behind our place.

That dead tree is quite a hangout for all sorts of birds, especially buzzards and crows.  Occasionally, we have special visitors like ospreys and eagles.  I love where we live, mainly for this reason.  We have wildlife all around our home.  I find it relaxing to watch the turkeys, owls, deer, foxes, bunnies, and, especially, the birds in the dead tree.

Above: Sandpiper (Scolopacidae) at Kill Devil Hills

There is something very amusing about the behavior of the sandpiper.  They skim along the surf there, constantly searching for some piquant treat in the sand.  Then as the tide comes in, they skitter away, just far enough ahead of the water to avoid getting their feathers wet.  It is like a tiny clown act at the circus, yet it is part of the bird's very survival.  This one probably would not appreciate me being amused at his expense, if he were aware of me, 

which he was not.

And so goes the first entry in about one year.  There is not much to tell, other than I remain, and I feel blessed to remain.  Thank you for reading.

Checking in

It's been quite a long time since I produced a blog entry here. Do people even do this anymore? Is the act of jotting down a few thoughts even en vogue these days? I wonder if technology has left me behind, especially since I never even bothered to open a Twitter account and I don't know what any of the little acronyms and symbols mean. Like, when I cruise through Instagram and I see something like #feedyourface, I don't understand what the little pound sign is for. And then I look at some of the other blogs out there and I see how complex they are...do these people have real jobs and kids and other stuff to do?? My little footprint looks so lame over here on blogger. It's more like booger.

Anyway, where have I been for these last months? At the risk of sounding like a "How I Spent My Summer Vacation" report, I'll sum it up like this- I set out with two goals this summer. #1 (and I know what the pound sign means in this context) Spend as much time with Mom as possible without making a nuisance of myself. #2 Spend real quality time with my children and put aside selfish personal pursuits in order to do so. This includes living on FB continuously, blogging, even reading and scrapbooking. I think I accomplished both goals #1 and 2, I even took a poll with my kids. They tell me they had an awesome summer and now they are so excited to be back at school. Yes, there have been brief flashes of inspiration to pull out the laptop and write something...but I simply could not bring myself to turn on the 'hotspot' and pull up my page and do it. If I'm to be totally honest, I think a part of me is running away from my fears and my sadness. I'm not going to dwell on that point here, at least no further than to make another appeal to my friends and readers to continue to lift Mom up in their prayers. I can tell you that we enjoyed some tacos together this evening and three of the the grandkids managed to entertain in their special way... I'll leave that to your imagination.

This school year promises to be a busy one for me and challenging for my girls. The funny thing is, as busy as I know it will be, it doesn't seem to phase me these days. I hope this positive outlook continues despite the few folks who like to fling their negativity around like stinky poo. If you see me, I'll either be smiling or I'll have my focus face on. Focus face doesn't mean I'm unhappy. It only means my head is full of my to do list...so for the love of tacos, don't say something asinine, like "smile Stephanie"- I could smack people for that. Don't ever presume that someone is unhappy and needs you to tell them to smile. Nothing makes me go from a perfectly awesome mood (albeit with a neutral, focus-face) to a totally annoyed condition faster than the directive to smile. How about you go find something productive to do since you are so bored that you have to worry about what my facial expression is. I'm not directing this to you, fine feathered friends and readers; just venting about this little pet peeve of mine. Anyway, back to my point, this is going to be a great school year, I'm positive!

The Dude will be back on stage next month in the lead for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. I was not excited about this at all until we sat down and watched the movie together. I must say, it was one of the best movies I've ever seen. I was sad when it ended. So now I'm excited to see how it goes here in our little community theater with hubby as the lead.

One last note: I had the BEST of intentions that I would write this detailed entry on our trip out to Yellowstone and surrounding areas this summer. It never happened. The closest I got was posting some random photos onto FB. I'm attaching a few of my favorite photos from the trip here. Go to Yellowstone. It's awesome. That is all I have on that for now.

...where the evening meal is negotiable if there is one.

A completely irrelevant title for my ramblings. The thing is my kids have fallen in love with Paul Simon's Rhythm of the Saints and for now, they want me to play it every time they are in my car. It's so cute when you realize how cool your kids are. Their taste in music is so like their Dad's it's not funny. And the things I love that he doesn't care for, well they just happen to dislike as well.

I'm sitting here at Duke Radiation Oncology waiting for Mom's appointment and today she has run into a familiar face and she is enjoying a normal conversation with this lovely smiling person. I'm so grateful for friendly people because it makes a difference when sweet people reach out and treat you like a person.

Here, enjoy some of what the kids and I are enjoying!

The Coast

Proof

Yah! We love Paul.

FROG

"Helpless now I stand..." -Hodel

I know that it seems ridiculous, but this may be my favorite photograph ever taken of myself. Of course, it's me pretending to be someone else, and I'm wearing a funny hat, and I'm singing really loudly, which is the only way I know to sing.

Anyway, I feel helpless. I'm guessing this is a natural feeling. Some days I get angry, but mostly I feel helpless. Then I feel guilty for focusing so much on what I'm feeling.

I used to think I was a pretty strong person but nowadays, inside, I'm an emotional train wreck. I do a fairly good job of hiding it and so everybody thinks I'm on the level. Truth be known, I'm just a ball of nerves, rolling down to the bottom of a rocky hill, hoping for a soft splash into a pool. At this point, I'm hoping not to land against a tree or into more turbulent waters (i.e., the Upper Gauley). It's just that none of us knows what to expect out of the situation. With Mom beginning her radiation and chemotherapy drugs tomorrow, I can't help but be scared for what is to come. So many potentials and no certainties. Possible sickness, hair loss, short term memory fails, emotional turmoil, you name it, these things are all looming over us like a giant storm cloud. And are we promised sunshine later? No, I think not. I hate stepping into a giant unknown and I hate it that Mom has to lead the way for us all. She made the comment after her first visit to Duke that although the new cancer center is beautiful, all the people appeared as if they were thrown adrift in a sea without a life-raft; and that she is one of those people. It is the most tragically poetic thing I've ever heard my mother say. I don't want her to feel adrift, and damn it, I don't want to feel that way either.

My good friend, Lucy, whom I love so so dearly, wrote in an IM to me today "FROG" This means "Fully Rely on God" and then she followed it by saying that I WAS strong despite how I was feeling right then. Lucy and her FROG are my inspiration for today's post. Thanks Mrs.Lucy for your continued support and love and prayers.

Step through the door for Normal's room and look around.

It didn't last very long but I was able to catch a glimpse of Normal for a little while. She was playing in her room, in the corner labeled "Crabtree Valley Mall". She was beautiful.

It rained buckets in Raleigh, but we were undeterred because in a mall, you don't much care what the weather is out of doors. My mom had been itching to go shopping at Crabtree for weeks. She seemed to be carefully storing away some extra energy like a hungry squirrel. For us, making a plan like this is a daunting task. It's kind of like holding your breath to dive down into the deep end in hopes to find the ring you just lost 11 ft. down. Who knows what you are liable to come up with. Thanks to a wonderful friend and brother and sister-in-law, my kids were taken care of for the day so I could roll with whatever happened.

Mom and I got a late start due to some fresh-homemade-tiramasu-bearing visitors who had stopped in, (I am absolutely not complaining- you NEVER complain about delicious desserts being delivered to you.) and then we were off.

She wanted to shop; she shopped. She needed some space and independence, I gave it to her, not going too far of course, as I'm horribly protective. She very much blew me away with her ability to be herself. The woman is strong and determined and very much wants to be back to being her. Shopping is a big part of that. Shopping alone, being free to browse where she pleased, is a big part of that. For me, stopping in for a quick snack at Khanki's sushi bar makes Cinco de Mayo totally bearable. I make chit chat everywhere I go, so the chef and I got along famously. All in all, it was the most normal thing I had personally done in a long time. Really since March 23rd...you never completely push your reality out of your thoughts, but it's nice to bury it under receipts and shoes and jewelry and clothes.

Therefore, after 37 years of being on planet earth, I finally understand Retail Therapy.

Warning: Angry Post Ahead

It's not that there's any new information out there. It's not that something worse has happened. I'm just ANGRY today! I am so angry at this whole cancer thing. I hate it. I hate cancer. I want to kill it. I want it to die and leave my mother, and so many other beautiful people alone! If it were a giant beast lumbering around in my yard, I would go out with a sling blade and hack it to bits and then I would laugh in its mutilated face. I hate you, stupid disease. Die you dirty, sorry, sack of ... well you know the rest.

And this is how it goes. I have a little peace and then I'm sad and then I just want to throw something like a tantrumming child.

I mean, hey, I know we all have to go sometime. But nobody bargains for this crap. What a load of bologna. (As a side, folks may wonder how it is that I can hold my faith in God through this sort of weather. My answer to this is "If I abandon my Lord during a storm, how can I expect Him NOT to abandon me?" I'm angry at mutating glial cells, not God.)

I want use lots of lots of expletives here. I'm used to them shooting out of mouth most anytime; however, it's just not nice to type them here when most anyone can pull it up and read my words. Just know, that today, I'm pretty ticked off at this ridiculous disease and it can kiss my butt.

Have you ever?

Have you ever stared up to a starry sky?

Last night, after the opening night of Fiddler on the Roof, and after relaxing with a few friends, I looked up at the stars and thanked the Good Lord for such an awesome evening.  Not only did the show go well, but my beautiful Mom was able to come and actually enjoy it.  I had feared and fretted that the stars would not align properly and she wouldn't feel like sitting for a three hour show.  But I fretted for nought. The Lord is SO GOOD!
I had said to myself that if I could get through this one night, with Mom watching, and give her the best performance I personally could give, then the rest of the nights would be a piece of cake.  This remains to be seen of course, but I think I did my very best last night and I enjoyed every second of it.  All day, prior to curtain, I was pumped up, as if on some illicit street drug.  It's amazing what adrenaline can do for you. I felt the way I feel when I reach the end of a tremendous, exhilarating hike in the mountains.  You know, the kind of trail that takes you up and up until you reach a gorgeous hanging lake filled with trout?  That kind of high.

Additionally, I find myself amazed at the talent in the cast and crew of the show.  I find it so cool that I'm working with brilliant actors!  I'm enjoying the experience of acting with my Dad and also pretending to be, what, fifteen?  I pull of fifteen pretty well I think!  Ha!  I don't usually laugh at my own jokes...

Anyway, four more shows.  Prepare to be amazed.  This may be little C'ville, but we put together a killer show!

Musings of a Tired Girl

Mama had said, lying in her ICU bed in Lynchburg, "I want to have a party. I want ya'll to cook some Boston Butts. Everybody bring a dish. And I'm not going to lift a finger! Ha ha ha!" Even in her weakened state, she was party planning. I can tell you, she didn't lift a finger tonight but I suspect she had a mighty fine time. Thankfully, she was having a really good day (as opposed to one of those other days when she was so sleepy she was unable to find a good reason to get out of her chair). So many wonderful people attended her little soiree, from family members to friends to acquaintances just wanting to show support. It was amazing! I felt God's presence in so many of the happenstanceness (I know, not a word, so I made it up) that made up this great event. You know, the kind of random things that made a party memorable and amazing. Mama's cousin, whom I have only seen one other time in my life, just happened to be visiting from Rhode Island and came to be with her tonight. We just happened to have the very best cooks in the world working on those famous Boston Butts. Seeing Mama sitting in the sun, early in the afternoon, shooting the breeze with a small crowd, was a beautiful thing. In her attempt to give a small speech, she brought several of us to tears with two simple sentences. I just can't get over the strength this woman has in the face of adversity. Some of my close friends came and showed their support and so many people said all the right encouraging things. The above photo shows a small amount of the people who came, beginning to line up to eat. There's no telling how many people attended tonight and I am thankful for each one! Mama showed off her appetite for all the wonderful food people brought. Thankfully, she still loves food! She got to sit at the table with her cousins and this seemed to be the best medicine. It's not often you have so many of the extended family all in one place. Some very talented guitar players just happened to pull out their instruments and play as some of us sang along (and then along with that, I was able to pin down my accompanist for an upcoming wedding- yay!). Just when I thought Mama was losing steam, Herbert brought in her baby, Trac the furry maltese, and sat him in her lap. You have never seen such a smile! I guess I never realized how therapeutic a small pooch could be.

I had an inspiring conversation with one of my favorite people and she said to me that on some days I would have 'stand in the gap' when Mama could not. This got me thinking about the Lord and His Miracles, His Greatness and His Grace, His Mercy and His Love. I've always believed in God on some level but I've not always understood many things about God and the mysteries that go along with having a faith in a supreme being. I know some people go to churches where they seem to experience the Spirit on a level I can't quite figure out. They 'lay hands' and they are more verbal than I'm used to. They might 'speak in tongues' and they may even heal the sick right there on the spot. I do not in any way dispute these experiences. I just can't help but wonder why I've not had the gift of the Spirit come on me in a public place like that. It's another mystery. Anyone who knows my own story, which shall not grace this writing, knows that I have my own experience with The Lord. My good friend, Christy and her hubby once told me that I seemed, for a while there, to have a 'direct line to God,' and I absolutely did. Trust me, it's a party line, anybody can call Him on it. And the other mystery to me is how so many wonderful people I know who don't know God and don't believe that a 'Maker' even exists. It is so strange to me how the human race runs the gamut from one extreme to the other. So back to standing in the gap. I came home tonight, tired as I am, and determined to write a blog entry to give my humble perspective on the celebration, found the need to research 'standing in the gap' just a bit. I found several webpages which gave the scripture where it can be found in the Bible and other miscellaneous sites, but the one I really like is this one -> http://www.bible-knowledge.com/tbn-testimony-stand-in-the-gap/ with an amazing testimony illustrating just what 'standing in the gap' even means. So I learned some stuff too and that's always a good thing.

To all the wonderful friends, family, and acquaintances, I just want to say how grateful I am that you attended Mama's party. And didn't she just GLOW, even when she began to get weary!? You all have given her support and encouragement that will continue to carry her in her fight and I can't begin to thank you for that! Wow! What else can I say? And Amen!

Reason #67 why I love spring.

Morning Strut. Spring Gobblers. Love. The last couple of years we have missed our wild turkeys. Dude said he thought the coyotes had eaten all the babies. But this spring, our handsome, bearded Tom and his lady friends have returned. It's a perfect sight, sitting there with your coffee in the morning watching the gobblers walk about. It's not much to write about today, but it's better than writing about my current frustrations. We'll stay on a positive tip. Now if only I had more free moments in the morning to enjoy Tom and the ladies.

Life and How to Live It

LIFE AND HOW TO LIVE IT

I look in all sorts of places for hope these days. Mom's attitude is wonderful; this gives me hope. She gets stronger everyday; this gives me hope. Last night, she said to me on the phone, "I don't think the Physical Therapist had me up walking enough. I'm going to ask for more walking tomorrow." HOPE HOPE HOPE! I must say, my Mom is AWESOME! I found a page today on Duke Hospital's website which I will share right here. It if full of HOPE! I also found an interview with Dr. Friedman at Duke's Brain Tumor Center which gives me HOPE also. When I found out, through my sister, yesterday that Both Dr. Allan Friedman and Dr. Henry Friedman had agreed to take on Mom's case, I began to cry and praise Jesus. The Lord has given us this HOPE!

I went to play practice last night with this praise on my mind and it was a much better practice than the last one, where I became breathless and numb, and angry and hysterical. Mom says she's going to try to come to the opening night and so I have every motivation to be the best Hodel in the world for her.

The above photograph was taken at the Rembrandt exhibit in Raleigh, NC. It was the last excursion she took with her granddaughters (sorry, Bentley probably wouldn't have enjoyed Rembrandt). We took the trip thinking it would be fun before she had her last back surgery. We never dreamed we would be where we are now. I had been kind of dreaming about going to the beach with her and the kids this summer for a long weekend. I'm still holding on to that one, and why not? I haven't been on vacation with Mom in many years. To write off this wish would mean I've given up HOPE, which I'm not.