Life is a Gift

During this holiday season I am reminded that life is a gift – a wonderful gift. Waking up each morning I realize that it is a new day and I have been given this precious gift of life and the best part is I can choose to use this gift any way I want.

My first thoughts turn to gratitude in being alive and able to have another day to celebrate my life. Being grateful for each breath I take and each opportunity I will have to be the person I’m meant to be is the first thing I do each morning. And then I ask myself, “How will you live this day?”

Knowing that I’ve been given the opportunity to lead a life centered in Christ, my life should be an example of that gift. In what place to I stand when given the opportunity to choose how I live? Will it be in joy, in love, in compassion, and lovingkindness? Can I be the person I am called to be? Can I walk-the-walk reflecting the light of God to all I meet? Will I accept this gift in the manner in which it was given – with wholeness and holiness?

First I must learn to accept that everything I do is a reflection of God’s love for me. I have life so the Living God can have life. Over the past ten months my life has been a journey of renewal in many ways, but one has been the commitment to lose weight. Someone recently commented on the change in my appearance and I gave them my usual spill, that I took a look at myself and did not like what I saw. I told them it was a God thing. She looked at me and I went on to say that I told God, “If I live so you can live then we better lose this weight so we both can have fun and be healthy.” My friend blinked a couple of times and then said, “Beautiful; just beautiful.” Twenty-four pounds later, both God and I are happy, healthier, and enjoying the gift of life.

“This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” ~ Psalm 118:24

The Christmas Wish

Shawna was thirteen, overweight, and precocious, but she had a sweet heart and only one wish for Christmas. Shawna wanted a family. The oldest child in her foster home and the only African American made the odds of her being adopted by Christmas pretty slim. But that didn’t stop her from wishing it, even if it was the same wish year after year.

This year was going to be different, Shawna told herself; this year, the TV station was spotlighting her so that all the viewers could see what a great addition she would make to any family. Her foster mom had found a pretty red dress with a black sweater, black tights and black Mary Jane shoes with flat heels. At five foot two, she was already full size but she didn’t want to appear older than she was. She’d never get adopted that way, she was told.

The day came for her to be interviewed by the nice lady who anchored the news for the local TV station. She was pretty and smiled a lot and asked Shawna lots of questions. And while they walked around the Mall during the interview a camera followed them around. She asked and Shawna answered, but Shawn couldn’t remember what she asked later and when the actual interview was on TV, Shawna became embarrassed and walked out of the living room at her foster home.

Eleanor was sitting on the couch in the den watching her two children as they attempted to decorate the Christmas tree. She had managed to drag the box with the artificial tree down from the attic, and then she had stood it up in the corner of the den in front of the window as her children insisted. It was a beautiful tree at almost seven feet tall, and the fact that it came with the lights made decorating it that much easier. Carrying the box with all the ornaments had been harder for Eleanor as it was bulky and most of the ornaments were breakable. However, once the box was down the stairs her children eagerly began decorating the tree. Their goal was to get it done as fast as possible before their mother changed her mind as she had done the past three years.

The twins were nine years old; Jeremy and Janice. Handsome and beautiful children, both had blond hair and blue eyes, like their mother, Eleanor. They attended public school and enjoyed sharing the same fourth grade class at the school down the road. Now that they were on Christmas break, the twins spent all their time together and although writing a letter to Santa seemed a bit immature for nine year olds, their teacher had used it as a writing exercise the last day of school asking his students to write a paper describing one Christmas wish. Later the twins shared their letters with each other and realized that their Christmas wishes were the same – to be a family again.

After her children had gone to bed, Eleanor fixed herself a cup of hot tea and continued to sit on the couch staring at the twinkling lights. As she did her mind wandered to years past and other Christmas trees in her home when life was good and her family was whole. She saw her husband John kneeling on the floor holding the fresh fir tree trying to steady it while Eleanor directed him to lean it this way or that way. In the end it was always crooked but always perfect. And she could see their beautiful daughter Emily standing on the step stool placing the angel on the top of the tree. The oldest of their three children, it was Emily’s job to place the angel they had gotten when she was born on Christmas Day thirteen years ago.

And then Eleanor’s mind wandered to the present day and she focused her eyes searching for John and Emily. Expecting them to walk through the door just in from the store, it still took Eleanor by surprise when she realized this was not going to happen. Then she remembered over and over that horrible day when a drunk driver ran through a stop sign and crashed into John’s car killing both him and Emily who had insisted she go with her father to the store.

Shawna had thrown herself on her bed in the room she shared with two other girls and was crying her heart out when her foster mom came into the room. Putting her hand on Shawna’s back, she rubbed her gently comforting the young girl. Shawna knew that the things she said during the interview would make people laugh at her; that they would see her as crazy for thinking someone could love her or would want her as part of their family. Had she actually said she wanted a single mom? Did she really want a brother and sister? And did she say she wanted to be a lawyer when she grew up because she liked to argue? She didn’t mean to say these things; they just came out when the nice lady interviewed her. But Shawna knew the truth. Who would want to adopt a thirteen year old black girl whose mother died of a drug overdose and whose father got drunk for the hundredth time and killed a man and his little girl?

Christmas Eve morning arrived. The twins came downstairs and found their mother asleep on the couch in the den. Most of the time their mother was fairly normal acting, but each year at this time of year she fell into a depression that they could do nothing to help her but tiptoe around her and stay to themselves. There were no presents under the tree which was not a surprise to the twins. Santa would come as he did each year even after the accident three years ago, and their grandparents would drive in from the country and bring gifts, but there were no presents from their mother. Jeremy and Janice looked at the beautiful tree and especially the angel on top and saw that it was glowing like a bright light bulb.

Eleanor heard the children come down the stairs and sat up stretching her arms high above her head. She had not meant to fall asleep on the couch again, but feeling the loss of her husband was more than she could bear. So she remained on the couch where she could bury her sadness under the crocheted afghan her mother had made her when she was a child. Eleanor looked at her precious twins and saw their faces glowing, a reflection of the light coming from the tree she thought. And then she looked at the tree, and she too saw the angel on top shining brightly. Made of straw and calico cotton, and without electric power, the angel’s glow was shining from within radiating out into the room.

Then the angel spoke to them saying, “Your family is whole; your Christmas wishes are granted.” And suddenly the glow from the angel spread throughout the room filling it with a brilliant blue and yellow light swirling and swirling around the family of three. And when the light went out, Eleanor found that she was holding her children in her arms clinging to them. And even odder, the television set was on. Eleanor didn’t remember turning the set on or leaving it on the night before. The three of them turned toward the TV set and saw a beautiful young girl being interviewed and making her Christmas wish to have a family. She was thirteen, talented, funny, and a good student. She was well-liked by her friends and respected by her teachers. She wanted a single mom and a brother and sister for Christmas – a family who would love her as she loved them back. Eleanor looked at her children and they looked at their mother whose eyes were twinkling with happiness along with her pink cheeks and a smile on her beautiful lips. And she said to her children, “Let’s go bring Shawna home.” To which they responded, “Let’s go be a family!”



Merry Christmas from the Shartle family:

Happy Birthday Mama

Yesterday was my mother’s birthday; born December 6, 1928, she would have been 81 if she were alive today. She was 63 when she died in 1991. Her favorite story to tell was sitting in the movie theater in Baton Rouge on Third Street with several of her girl friends who gathered to celebrate her 13th birthday, December 7, 1941, sixty-eight years ago. In the middle of the movie, that afternoon, the manager stopped the movie and told the audience that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. Later President Roosevelt called that day, “A date which will live in infamy.”

For my mother, it did, as she never celebrated her birthday again without remembering the attack on Pearl Harbor the next day. In fact, what became even stranger was that we often made her birthday celebration a two-day event. She always felt cheated that they couldn’t finish the movie and so my father would make a special dinner for us or take my mother out to dinner on December 6th and then on December 7th we kids would bake and decorate a cake for her and give her presents. We hoped it would make up for her missing that birthday party in 1941.

It was a little thing and when you think about it now, kind of stupid for her to hold such a grudge, but you would have to understand this woman, my mother, who lived a charmed life as a child; pretty, smart, pampered, popular, and loved by all. Then once she became an adult and felt her life was not worth living, she spent the majority of it inside the bottle of cheap whiskey trying to will her life away. And we as her children along with our father who adored her used any mechanism we could find to bring the happy, healthy and whole Anna Marie back to life.

So if celebrating her birthday for two days worked, we did it. Not to say, we didn’t mourn the loss of so many Americans that fateful day, but saving our mother was more important at the time and so in honor of those men and women who lost their lives in the attack on Pearl Harbor, I say thank you for giving your lives for your country. And to my dear mother, I say Happy Birthday….the cake’s in the oven.

Ode to Fall

I decided to write a few haiku verses related to this extraordinary Fall we are having here in Tennessee and from the observation of others also experiencing a beautiful Fall.

Leaf of God

Sitting at my desk
Music played from my CD
Something caught my eye.

Bright colored leaves danced
To the tune of the music
God was in each leaf.

Blue Skies

A fall blue sky can
Turn many shades all day long
Drawing me upwards.

Deep turquoise sparkles
Like gemstones in the ocean
And the blue was God.

The Last Flower

A pink rose stands tall
As the last flower to bloom
On my patio table.

It is very cold
And yet the flower speaks
Saying I am one with God.

Eternal Day

Life is one Eternal Day. Grasping this concept has not been easy and I must confess I work on it time and again. Basically there are two ways to measure time, chronological- using numbers to count the days or Kairos which literally means the “right or opportune moment,” or Divine time.

We have heard that even Albert Einstein concurred late in life that the past, present and future all exist simultaneously. He had already proven that time was relative not absolute like Newton believed. Later scientist Richard Feynman developed an interpretation of the quantum mechanics describing time as simply a direction in space. Professor Stephen Hawking has sense developed a theory, entitled “Imaginary Time” in which time has no boundary. “It would just BE.”

For me the question is not when does time begin and end but the challenge of living in the divine present moment. I know a man who just learned that he has at least two aneurisms that could explode at any time. A prestigious university hospital has told him to go home and live his life as usual; come back in six months and they will rethink surgery. Has this man been given a gift that is a blessing or a curse? Every day he will wake now knowing that something inside his body could at any instant stop time as he sees it ending his life. But then, the aneurisms were there before he knew of them. Why is it different; because he now knows about them? I wonder can he live each day as both the last day of his life and at the same time the first day of the rest of his life. But isn’t that we are all called to do every day? -To live each day fully and completely.

So if life is one Eternal Day with no beginning and no end; no past, no present; no future then what is life? It is timeless. And when we put down the burden of time, live in the present moment then we are making room for grace. Grace is living in a timeless trust in God in the here and now – the moment – this one Eternal Day. And the real challenge for me is am I strong enough to wake each day and not only say, “This is a good day to live!” but also say, “This is a good day to die.”

"Go Live"

Yesterday, I met with the board of the Chattanooga Writers Guild in a workshop/planning session to start the new year. It was a successful meeting and we accomplished a lot. There are four new members on the board this year. So we spent part of the session getting to know one another.

One new member could not be at the meeting because his company rolled over a new product and it was “Going Live.” Someone asked what that meant and so another member explained saying that when a new product is worked on some times for months and other times as much as a year and is ready to go into production or made public for the first time, the term is “going live.”

Having heard this term before from my son and two daughter-in-laws who have at one time or another “gone live” in their own line of work, I was familiar with the term. But the explanation this member used was like the goalie in a hockey match. When he fails to block the puck and the other team scores, bells and whistles go off telling all in the arena that this goalie just messed up big time. And so it is when a company goes live, every department or person is exposed and if something fails bells and whistles don’t go off, but everyone knows who caused the failure.

I made the comment after the explanation that I go live every day of my life. And as soon as I said it I realized the truth in that statement. Everything I do in my life, I am accountable for – no one else. And when I fail at doing what I’m supposed to do there are repercussions. I won’t hear bells and whistles, but I will know that I didn’t do justice to what I said I’d do. Or I didn’t make good on the promise I made. And why would anyone want to live like that?

I don’t. So that is why I live each day with purpose so that it will be a Perfect Day. I wake to a bright new dawn and “Go Live” living my life as God intends me to live it.

Love and Peace

I am a little bit clairvoyant in that I can sense things before they happen or I’m able to see things before they occur. It doesn’t happen often and is sporadic to say the least. I inherited it from my father.

When he was a young man, he went home to Beaumont, TX to visit his parents, leaving my mother and new born baby, me, in Gulf Port, MS. It was a necessary trip I was told later in life as my father and his parents had been fighting and he felt it was important to reconcile with them.

He failed. Leaving he was halfway to Mississippi when he had the overwhelming sense of doom and turned around only to find his brother in the driveway telling him their mother had died. My father never forgave himself for leaving mad and not being able to tell his mother he was sorry.

Fortunately, I’ve never experienced such a vision with tragic repercussions. Mine are more whimsical. For example last night the hostess for our book club forgot that two members don’t eat shrimp and that she had intended to buy some chicken for them. I offered to go get some for her and she said the local Mapco (gas station) had the best fried chicken on our mountain so I made the quick trip to the station. As I got out of the car I saw a shiny penny on the ground. I said to myself, “A lucky penny.” And I picked it up. I entered the station to find only two chicken breasts left and no more being cooked.

However there was a day in our country’s history where many people woke and found that if only they had said this, or done that, or kissed their love one goodbye…if only they could know the future.

This morning I woke early to do my devotions and as I lit my candles I began to shake and cry and could not figure out why. And then I opened my book and saw the date 9/11. You would think that after eight years, I would not still be affected by the tragedy of that fateful day. And then I thought to myself, if I am feeling this way and I only witnessed it through television, how are all the many people who were actually there dealing with it?

Then I realized that if my reaction in some way could help relieve the pain in another then so be it. I may not be there in person with those that lost loved ones or were injured themselves, but I can in Spirit share their pain and loss and if that helps then I welcome the opportunity. It is the least I can do.

I firmly believe that it’s important to remember and honor this day but I also believe that it should be so that it in no way gives the people responsible credibility. They win if we continue to give them credit for ruining our lives. Instead we honor the ones that died for our country even if they did so unwillingly by remembering this day with love and peace in our hearts.

Time is Never Wasted

I'm supposed to be at a workshop right now, "writing your family stories," sponsored by the Chattanooga Writers Guild, of which I'm a member. We tried to get a grant to have this workshop and the planning committee realized it was too late so we decided to go with the concept and see what happened.

Designed for Hispanics in the community to learn to write their family stories, the committee had translators, facilitators of small groups, and assistants (such as me) all lined up to help. But not one Hispanic signed up for the course.

But God works in mysterious ways and instead over fifteen people heard about the workshop and came to learn to tell their family stories. Men, women, young, middle-aged and old showed up, each on a mission to share their stories and pass them down to their children and grandchildren.

Since there were enough helpers present I decided to leave once we broke off to small groups, knowing that I will be there the last two Thursdays to help if needed. And in the meantime, the CWG Vice-president and I talked and decided this was a good lesson for us in that we need to find out why the Hispanic community was not interested and how great it was that there were so many others who were. This is important too because I am the president-elect for the CWG board which begins a new year next week.

Sometimes when I volunteer for things and then find I'm not needed, I become frustrated but this time I was not. Going downtown after dinner I was treated with so many different delights that I don't often have the pleasure of seeing that it was worth the drive. First of all I followed a line of cars driving slowly down the mountain behind a huge truck filled to the brim with recycled cardboard from the recycle center in town. Most people were being patient, however the car in front of me seemed out of sorts and then I realized they were on the telephone. At least they were not texting!

My son Jason sent me a You Tube video today of a reenactment of a crash that killed a lot of people including a baby, which tore him up. The driver who caused the crash was sending a text message to a friend.

As I crossed the Tennessee River, the cool breeze coming in from the open windows picked up the scent of the new tar the state was pouring on the highway under construction downtown. Oddly it was a pleasant smell. I was amazed at the number of orange barrels lined up along the highway and was reminded of the black kerosene lanterns that lit up the roads when I was a child marking a construction zone.

Coming home, I passed the National Cemetery and saw the symmetry and angles of the headstones lined up one hill after another. The sun setting behind them cast a shadow so that the number of tombs appeared doubled. Out of place were the satellite discs standing behind the offices at the cemetery - beautiful mountain stone building and huge gray discs?

And then I was driving toward town through the university and there was no car, no student, no one in sight but I kept to the speed limit and drifted toward downtown only to look in my rear view mirror and see a car behind me being pulled over by a Chattanooga police car. I guess 25 was too slow for the person behind me.

Happy I was paying attention, I was even more happy when I passed through town to be rewarded with a magnificent sunset. Yellow skies, low clouds orange on the bottom and purple on top and I watched as a breeze passed by me and picked up a group of birds that flew together first swooping down then up then down again all in rhythm as if it were choreographed just for me.

The last thing I saw before I made the climb up my mountain was a crowd in the stadium at the Lookouts baseball game. As I crossed back over the river, the stadium to my right almost close enough to touch I glanced at the scoreboard and heard the crowd cheer. Oh how I love a baseball game at night! And then I realized the last game I went to was over a year ago. How did the time fly? It was Jason and Laura's wedding announcement party and he threw out the first pitch - a treat Laura secured for him. What fun that was. The family laughs at me because I keep score of what each player does at bat. But I get the last laugh when they turn to me and say, "What'd he do last time?"

And so it wasn't a wasted evening. Time is never wasted. Every minute is precious and I'm thankful that I have special events, tranquil drives, beautiful sunsets, and special memories to remind me.

It Is What It Is

As most of you probably know my favorite part of each day is just before dawn followed by daybreak, watching the sun rise. From on top of a mountain surrounded by trees, watching the sun rise is a challenge.

It comes to me through the leaves shining as diamonds sparkling, shooting out beams of sunlight. I sit facing the Light so that I can feel God's presence in each beam of light radiating out in all directions.

I sometimes think I could sit all day enjoying the peace of the morning. It is usually at this time of day that I am most inspired to write. I think because it is such a calming feeling to be surrounded by the presence of God. And although I am fortunate to feel that all day, there is just something Holy about that first ray of Light filled with so much love.

Last year I was overcome with the busyness of life to the point that I forgot to Let Go and Let God be in my daily thoughts. I was trying to do it all on my own and there was no peace in my life. And then I discovered the daybreak and it became my precious time to start the day.

I wrote this poem early one morning in June 2008, after watching the sun rise through the leaves of the trees on my mountaintop:

It Is What It Is

So we look into the world and see our lives entwined.
We have to ask ourselves to explain what we see.
For what purpose are we here on this magnificent earth?
To be one; to be a few; or to be a collection of all there is?

We move and lean into the daily grind of wake and sleep.
To be calm one minute and then thrown into the storm the next.
Listening to the sounds we hear call to the person we are.
But is that person you or me or the one down the road?

The candle burns slow and steady moving with grace.
Our life is a reflection of that light as it flickers in the breeze.
And when that light is extinguished the flame is still there.
Only it is hidden from our sight but not from our hearts.

We move, we grow, we let go and then just be.
Our life on a journey is moving from one experience to another.
Never knowing if this is it - is this all there is?
And in the end we rest in peace secure that all is well.


Unlike last year, when my life was not simple, today, I am whole and well, happy and content, and filled with love and so blessed. I can look at the sunrise and know that I am loved and know that all is well. Thanks be to God.

The End of Summer - Friday

This week has been a week of times remembered and I decided today's post would be the last for this week. That is because today was a day of firsts - not lasts.

Today was Paige's first day of preschool for the next school year, still a phase in day, but a real day. Monday was visitation but today they followed a schedule. And upon picking her up the teacher handed me a note. On it the teacher had written Paige's response to what she liked most about the day and it was the playground!

No surprise there. Paige loves being outdoors and playing. But she also has a wonderful gift of imagination and can play indoors just as happily. This is a good thing as she spent the entire afternoon inside "working" at the store with me. Six hours she entertained me and I entertained her and when we had customers, she rang them up and helped me behind the counter.

Although we had set up the back room with the TV, games, books, play-doh, and lots of snack food, it was her Dora backpack filled with goodies that kept us both occupied the most. Her favorite activity the whole day with me was to create games for me to play and for me to make treasure hunts for her to go on.

Paige had a clip board and pen and I gave her ten steps to take and at the end of each step she would find a treasure which I had hidden (in plain view). She would "read" each step with me where some of the words were pictures and others numbers that she recognized so that she was able to follow the step without any problem. She enjoyed the treasure hunt so much that she pretended to write one for me and hid objects all over the store and "walked" me through it just as I did her. It was remarkable to see my little four year old granddaughter appear so grown up.

But the activity that really got to me was the one she invented. She had a whistle and she said she was the "conductor" and that she would count to three, blow the whistle and I was to toss the LIG dog ball into bucket. The bucket she created by standing the shirt folder up on its sides so that it created a tube. She first placed it about fifteen feet from me and I was so poor at getting the ball into the tube, she moved it closer (without telling me.) I moved it back and she said I was cheating. I said she was being too kind making it close to me so I could get it in.

Every time I made the bucket she would turn and write down something on her clip board. At one time I asked her if I could have a second chance and she said, "Girl you had all the chances I'm going to give you!"

When it was time to close the store, she insisted on turning out all the lights and taking down the OPEN sign. She was tired and I was tired and we drove home thinking about the homemade pizza we planned for dinner and the sleepover she was going to have with us. And then came the final first for the day. She asked to go home after dinner. She did not want to stay with us overnight.

She backed out of sleeping over at her other grandparents last week, so we were not surprised. It is just a phase. So after dinner we loaded up the car and drove down the mountain and met her mommy in the Bi-Lo parking lot as she was on her way home from her company golf tournament which she helped organize. Paige was so happy to see her mommy.

I was reminded of all the times I spent the night out at my grandparent's house while growing up and what a wonderful feeling it was to come home the next day and see my parents. And I do remember a time or two changing my mind and someone coming to get me. I didn't love my grandparents any less, I just wanted to be home.

Just as Paige is growing up and experiencing a lot of firsts these days, I too must grow along with her. I just have to be patient and know that she will always love her Mimi as much as I love her.

The End of Summer - Thursday

The first thing I remember about being on my own was that I could do things without asking permission. Not living with my parents meant that I was in charge of my life; however it didn't mean I stopped asking for advice, recipes, and help now and then.

I remember the fist time I wanted a Coke and all I had to do was open the refrigerator and get it. There was such a sense of freedom. Cokes were a treat growing up. And since I didn't work when I was first married, the first thing I did each morning was turn on the TV. And the last thing I did at night before going to bed was turn off the TV. Something we were never permitted to do growing up.

Today I have a TV in the kitchen, den, and two bedrooms and rarely do I watch it. Yes, it's off and on throughout the day, but never on ALL day.

But I find that is changing when the grandkids are at the house. It came to me on Thursday, when baby Hayden was with me. He likes the noise of the TV and really likes Play With Me Sesame Street or Fox News. At almost six months, he's trying to sit up by himself. So we sit together on the afghan I have on the floor and he struggles to play with his toys in front of him or look up and watch TV. It is so funny, but I'm happy to say, the toys usually win out.

I didn't realize how much TV I was watching with him until my husband and I sat down in front of the TV to eat dinner (a habit I hate) the other night, and I found myself talking out loud to the commercials, responding to the questions before the actor could. Pretty sad...I thought to myself, I have to stop watching so much TV.

But here is the funny part. My husband tunes the commercials out and so when I talk he thinks I'm saying something to him and we go through this routine like Abbott and Constello's "Who's on First":

Him: What'd you say?
Me: When?
Him: To me?
Me: I don't know
Him: You just said something
Me: I did?

Well, you get the picture. And then I am suddenly reminded again that I've got to stop watching so much TV. So when my husband came home on Thursday, instead of sitting in front of the TV with baby Hayden, we walked outside and sat on the stoop of the porch and watched the cars go by, birds dart in and out between the trees, and squirrels dance around and around the trunks of the trees or throw their acorns down to the ground like bombs. Hayden just loved it, laughing and giggling and smiling.

And when his daddy drove up and got out of the car, his face lit up and he reached for him with such love. I knew that he would have a pleasant drive home to N. Georgia after spending time outside in the fresh air instead of inside by the TV.

Maybe I should follow my own advice and go outside instead of sit by the TV....who knows what I might see. After all I am in charge of my life!

The End of Summer - Wednesday

Okay so the week is going faster and faster and yet time seems to be slowing down.

Really...

Summer heat has finally settled on our mountaintop and it is suffocating me so I'm forced to stay inside...inside the house, the store, the car...where air conditioning is sending out its cool breezes that keep me sane.

I know I should not complain. My friends and relatives in Louisiana and Texas have been sending me messages on Facebook to stop bragging about the wonderful temperatures we've had this summer. But the summer is ending and NOW we get hot weather?

The crickets are chirping so slowly you can hear their heartbeats in between each chirp; the birds have all gone silent; and there are no children playing outside after school. It is pretty lonely on our street.

I remember one very hot summer in Houston just before school started and the kids were bored stiff and getting on each other's nerve and completely destroying what little bit of mind I had left. They were doing anything and everything to stay occupied and although I tried to wipe this out of my memory I was reminded today of what happened one afternoon when I used what I thought was the ultimate last resort comment:

"I have had it up to here (pointing to that spot just under my chin); now go to your rooms and don't come out until your FATHER comes home." Like that was going to do any good. My husband wasn't due home for several hours thanks to a two-hour commute, the threat was an empty one and my kids at the young age of middle and elementary school knew it.

But it did give me some peace and quiet for a little while...and then it got too quiet.

I remember hearing some noises that seemed out of the ordinary so stepped outside onto the patio only to see the neighbor's cat walking along the roof line between the garage and house. I thought it odd, but the heat was horrible and so I retreated back into the house in the cool of my bedroom to read a book behind closed doors.

And like most mothers I came to my senses and realized I couldn't punish my kids forever so I decided to go upstairs and check on them. I found the youngest son asleep in his bed, the room dark and cool as he had drawn the curtains to keep out the sunlight. And I found the door to my oldest son's room closed. I guessed he and my middle son were inside the room. This was before the days of personal computers, TVs in bedrooms and cell phones so I had to ask myself what were they doing?

I knocked and opened the door to find them sitting on the floor surrounded by a horrible mess of crushed raw eggs. They said the mean girls next door threw the eggs into the room from the outside. There was a flat roof outside the big double window and the screen was missing (later found on the ground below). The window was covered in raw eggs.

My gut reaction was to kill the girls next door - not really but almost. At the very least to go tell their parents what they had done. It was about this time that my husband arrived and when we didn't greet him in our usual manner he went upstairs looking for us. He in his most executive manner, standing in the door with his suit coat draped over his arm, tie pulled a little loose around his neck, and cold Budweiser in his right hand, (which he grabbed as soon as he came into the house), he took one look at the situation and surmised what had happened. The boys began to reiterate their story about the girls next door, however their father pointed out that their story was flawed.

The raw eggs were on the inside of the window, not the outside!

Needless to say I was furious all over again, but really was more embarrassed. Because I had let the heat of the day get to me; the tension of the children get to me; and then instead of finding some fun and calming solution to the situation I was in a way a contributor to the problem, closing myself off in my bedroom and giving the boys an opportunity to get the eggs from the kitchen and then spend an hour or so throwing them at the window enjoying them as they exploded all over my oldest son's room.

I came to realize that at least they kept the mess in the room, and everything would come clean (after I gave them rags and cleaning materials) and in the end the only thing that was hurt was my self-esteem as a mother. Of course they were punished and hopefully did not forget that what they did was inappropriate.

But in truth, the person who learned the most was me. Never ever let the heat of the day or any circumstance control my life. I can't control what happens - only how I respond. And there is great power in that.

So today in the dog days of summer, I welcome the heat and relax in the knowledge that it will pass. All I have to do is breathe deeply and remember the lessons I learned that hot day in Houston many years ago.

The End of Summer - Tuesday

I'm not sure about you, but what can more nostalgic than a funeral? A reunion maybe, but isn't that what funeral turns into? It did for me. On Tuesday, I drove to Atlanta to celebrate the life of my cousin, Florida Hatcher Cobb, 88 years young.

My great-grandfather had three wives and each wife had two children. Florida was the daughter of his first child and my grandfather the son of the second wife, making them second cousins, I think. Whenever the McCrary's get together we go through the same process, explaining to the next generation or two how each is related and who had what grandmother.

Being with my grandfather's family brought back so many memories including my first reunion in 1964 when I was fourteen. Held at a lake outside of Atlanta, we shared two cabins. No one missed the reunion. I came home with two things, pictures of my mother and her cousins dressed in short shorts standing arm and arm and me with sores under both knees from riding a wood board that was being pulled by a motor boat. To make matters worse, my parents made a quick stop in Destin Beach on our way home and stayed at the Capri By the Sea; a cinder block motel that was right on the beach. It was the first time I saw the Gulf of Mexico. The salt water was not good for the sores on my knees which still today can be seen.

I love my McCrary family. With emails, Facebook and letters I keep up as much as possible. I was honored to plan the 2005 reunion in Chattanooga. I missed the 2000 in Mobile, but had my whole family at the 1995 in Montgomery, AL. We chose that sight because as decedents of E. W. McCrary, my great-grandfather, it seemed fitting to be near his home in Orville, AL, called Crumptomia. A plantation now owned by Mennonites who graciously let us tour the home in '95.

But Tuesday was different. Solemn and yet tenderhearted; we talked a lot about Florida and her wonderful spirit and determination, not unlike her precious mother my Aunt Sissy, which was short for Sister, her family nickname. Everyone had a nickname that had no rhyme or reason. Florida's was Aunt Bobby. I never knew why my Mamma called her that. And so we did too until recently. I saw cousins, and my great Aunt Frances who will be 90 on January 6th. We are planning a party for her in Birmingham but she says no, that she is moving so no party. We say something else. This is the woman who was the president of the United States Post Office Auxiliary in 1979 and flew to a national convention in Denver and took time to visit me and my family while there. She is also the person that took a Greyhound bus and rode all the way from Birmingham alone to come to my wedding.

So it was a few hours of my time there and back...so what? It was worth a million hours to be with my family. I was there for my mother and her father, representing them at my cousin's funeral. I was there for Cindy and Jim and there families as they mourn their mother. I was there for myself to remember who I am and where I came from. I cry at weddings and smile at funerals. Call me odd, but I don't care. I am nothing without these memories of my family.

The End of Summer - Monday

Today was the first day of school for Paige. She will go three days a week now and is in the "Sunshine" class at her preschool. Her daddy takes her to school and I pick her up so I needed to be there to introduce myself to her teachers. I also help out when I can at parties and special events since her mommy and daddy work full time. The plan was to all meet at 10:00.

I arrived first with baby Hayden coming down from the mountain; Debbie was next coming from her office in N. Chattanooga, carrying with her Paige's school supplies. Daniel and Paige arrived last coming from their home in N. Georgia. Debbie offered to carry Hayden in his car seat into the classroom. An offer I gladly accepted. (You'd know why if you ever had to lift one with a baby.)

Paige practically ran into her new classroom and barely said hello to her new teachers before exploring the different learning centers and settling in the homemaker section, doing what she likes best pretending to cook, clean, and play house along with two new friends. Debbie and Daniel sat with all the other parents at the child-size tables filling out forms.

I stood next to Hayden just inside the door. Leaning against the door frame, watching Paige and her enthusiasm I was brought back to some of my first days of school and in particular the year I was in third grade. Mamma insisted we take a picture dressed in our school clothes on the first day of school. I remember that even though my little sister was too young for school, she was in all the pictures and so it is fun now to look back at the three of us at the end of each summer.

My summers were a mix bag between Girl Scout camp, swimming lessons at the City Park pool, my treehouse in the backyard, forts in the woods by the railroad tracks, and sleepovers at my grandparent's house. But probably the most influential thing I did over the years each summer was to spend a week to six weeks in Jackson, Mississippi with my Great Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Phares. It would take a series of blogs to share those days, but the summer before third grade was life-changing. I cut my hair. Or I should say, Aunt Lorraine cut it - much to Mamma's dismay.

I had long thick brown hair that was naturally wavy and so I wore it in a ponytail and when it got hot I had a halo of curls that surrounded my face. Mamma loved my halo of curls, but Aunt Lorraine thought my hair was too heavy for my little face so she took me to her beauty parlor and asked her hairdresser to cut it all off, in a pixie style. She then took me to a dress shop and bought me some new dresses for school.

When Mamma and Daddy came to get me they were horrified at my new haircut. I remember feeling such shame and embarrassment which was just the opposite of the way I felt the day I had it cut - free and light and happy. A few weeks later I dressed for school in one of my new dresses, a cream-colored sleeveless cotton shirt waste with bright colored umbrellas printed all over it. Standing in the front yard with my brother and sister Mamma took our "first day of school" picture and smiled. She said I looked beautiful and I realized she was not mad anymore about my hair cut and that she loved me no matter how I looked.

Standing there in Paige's classroom on her first day of school, dressed in her new jeans, pink shirt, new school shoes, and surrounded by new friends I imagined what she would remember about that day. That her Mommy and Daddy and Mimi loved her and saw how beautiful she was? I hope so.

The End of Summer - Sunday

What is it about the end of summer that makes one nostalgic? This week seems to be a week of memories from my past. It began on Sunday morning when I woke before dawn. I walked out on the back porch to enjoy the silence and was first greeted with out-of-the-norm cool temperatures and then no silence.

Our pond had a frog and he was croaking just enough to keep the crickets, tree frogs, and other insects flustered. If I closed my eyes I was instantly brought back to a time when my parents had a camp at False River, north of Baton Rouge. Sleeping on the back porch, the smell of the water, the sounds on the lake came to me instantly. I was reminded of those wonderful days when my biggest problem was what swim suit to wear the next day, because we lived in our suits and brought several with us each time we made the weekend trips. I hated when summer was over and trips to False River ended. I was so afraid we wouldn't have a camp the next summer. All of that came back to me listening to the frog in my pond.

Later I decided to cook my Mamma's homemade potato soup for lunch. The smell of onions and potatoes always bring back good memories of my mother. It didn't matter if I woke up to the smell of her soup cooking or came home from school and see her standing at the stove smashing the onions and potatoes, the steam spiraling high up above the big pot, it always made me feel grounded. This was Mamma's go to meal when someone was sick. She'd pour it into an old glass mayonnaise jar and deliver it that day, sometimes while still warm. Me, I toss a salad, throw in some French bread, bag it all up and take it to my friends. I am never surprised at the reaction I get from family and friends when I bring them Mamma's potato soup - soup for the soul, I call it.

I decided to make BLT sandwiches to go along with the potato soup. My favorite part is the first bite especially if I get a good taste of mayonnaise with it. Long gone are the pork bacon and real mayo sandwiches like the ones my grandmother Claudia made; now made with turkey bacon and mayo with olive oil (a new discovery that is delicious) but nothing beats a tomato that is homegrown. And although I have one yellow, two red, and one pink all heirloom and one hybrid Big Boy tomato plants, I am getting one tomato at a time. Very odd, but it's been an odd summer.

Today it was a yellow tomato that I almost let get too ripe as it turned orange on the vine! But delicious and perfect for our BLT's. And like my grandmother, I don't toast my bread. And also like my Mamma's potato soup, my grandmother would make her BLT's for breakfast, lunch or dinner and usually anytime I requested one. We'd sit at her round oak table in the kitchen covered in a cotton print tablecloth with a matching napkin next to our Haviland china plates. She poured my milk into a tin glass which kept it very cold for a long time. I guess now every time I eat a BLT I'm reminded of my grandmother's grace and dignity and ability to make a child feel special just by eating a bacon, lettuce, tomato sandwich.

A Brand New Day

My favorite part of the day is waking up; opening my eyes and realizing it's a brand new day! Sounds like a coffee commercial.

I step out of bed and take those first few steps and say, "Thank you God!" And then I hold the post at the foot of the bed to make sure I can stand up okay. (This is an old habit that goes back to a few years ago when I broke my foot; back when I thought I would never be able to stand without pain.) But those days are gone. Instead I'm ready to start the day by thinking ahead immediately of what is coming up.

I read a great book for my book club this month called The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein. It is told in the first person by a dog who's master is a race car driver. Not only does it have a good storyline, but the main character, the dog, is delightful, smart, and very spiritual. He's says at one point that since God didn't give him a human tongue to communicate with then he should at least have a voice synthesizer like the one Stephen Hawkins uses.

A point the author makes is that a race driver is always thinking ahead, not focused on what is happening but already anticipating what is going to happen. In a curve for example, the driver is already looking at the next curve preparing for it and since he already saw the curve he's in now, he doesn't have to focus on it and can look ahead. But he must be prepared to react to the unknown.

This is not unlike sewing a straight seam with a sewing machine. I'm not looking at the needle as it goes into the material. I'm watching the guide. Or when I bowl, I aim for the pins by looking at them not where I'm throwing the ball.

It's a pretty easy concept to grasp but I guess I just never thought about how much we apply it to our everyday lives. I'm putting my foot down and taking the first step of the day, but I'm focused on what is going to happen today, not that step I'm taking.

This week I had the privilege of seeing my granddaughter, Paige, experiment in throwing a rubber ball. We were down in the basement changing the laundry when she found an old blue ball, one you find for $2 in a wire bend at the grocery store. At one time we had a bunch of them, all assorted colors to have on hand to toss, kick, and roll around the yard/patio. But this was the last one and she found it tucked away in a corner.

She said, "You want to catch the ball Mimi?" And I said, "Of course." So she tossed the ball to me and as she did she wasn't looking at me, just throwing the ball. I realized I had an opportunity to teach her the art of throwing a bouncy ball and so I explained to her that if she would focus on me and my hands poised to catch the ball, instead of looking at the ball, she would most likely throw it right into my hands. I was glad it worked.

The delight on her face when I caught it was almost as amazing as the delight on my face when I threw the ball back to her and she caught it. She had been able to reverse the process without me teaching her, by looking at the ball instead of me, she caught it every time. Only a few throws later, she wanted to move on to making the ball bounce before catching it.

It was a tiny bit of my time, but a big step in her growth, learning to focus on what's ahead and learn to react to sudden moves or changes. Simple tasks we adults take for granted not unlike getting up every morning to a new day. Stay focused, be prepared for all the curves, and yet rest assured that with God I can react to the surprises with grace and joy. Not unlike that which I witnessed in the eyes of a child.

It's All About the Climb

Today I had one of the best experiences in my life...I went to the movies with Paige. A four-year-old and a movie don't sound like they would co-exist, but in this case it went very well.

In fact, it went better. She and her mother went to see Hannah Montana, the Movie last week and Paige asked to go again. Today was Dollar Day at the Regal Cinema at Hamilton Place Mall. So I asked Paige if she wanted to go with me some time and she said, "How about today, Mimi?"

When we arrived I was impressed that there were no less than five stations to purchase tickets and I happily gave them my $2. And I was even more impressed when we went to get popcorn and soda at the concession stand. I ordered a small popcorn and coke for Paige, pointing to her and the young girl behind the counter said the kid's package would cost less. And then when the young man dished out the popcorn, she took it and added more.

We were only a few minutes early, however the theater was just about half full, but by the time the movie started, there was standing room only. Ushers were walking up and down the isles with tiny flashlights searching for open seats. Amazing...I have not seen this in years. Children, teenagers, young parents, and other grand parents like me filled the theater.

I don't know what I expected but it certainly wasn't what I got. This movie was unbelievably wonderful. Cheesy and slapstick and done with great taste and timing, but more importantly it told a very loving story. The music was wonderful, the scenes of Tennessee were absolutely magnificent, and the storyline was at times spiritual.

I found myself crying at least four times and laughing out loud many times more. Paige laughed and Paige watched and it was amazing to see her experiencing this adventure. At one point I was reminded of the last movie I saw with my own grandmother, My Fair Lady with Audrey Hepburn. It was a lovely experience and one I will always remember. I should be so lucky to have Paige remember this day.

For those of you who have not see the movie, the story is about a young girl who becomes a famous rock singer, Hannah Montana, but keeps her true identity Mylie Stewart (a.k.a. Mylie Cyrus in real life) a secret to all but one friend. When her grandmother celebrates a birthday back home in Tennessee, Mylie's dad (Billy Ray Cyrus - real dad and dad in the movie) forces her to come home for two weeks.

Once home and over missing out on the lime life as Hannah Montana, Mylie writes two songs that are beautiful, falls in love for the first time, remembers who she is and where she came from, and most of all finds herself without sacrificing her Hannah Montana identity.

Leaving the theater, ushers held doors for us and thanked us for coming. Everyone was smiling and I was overwhelmed with a wonderful feeling of gratitude. Grateful that Paige wanted to go with me, grateful for the opportunity to see such a well-written and performed movie, hear some beautiful music, and most of all grateful to be in a room with hundreds of other people who also shared in this experience with me.

You'll have to see the movie to understand why "It's All About the Climb." Silly, funny, delightful, heart-warming and so much more. Available next week to purchase, it is worth it, if nothing else to lift your spirits and feel the joy of love of friends, family and life in general.

The Light of God

I've decided that if I ever get a tattoo it will be a star; a tiny one just above my left ankle or maybe like a lot of celebrities put it on the inside of my left arm just above my wrist.

A star symbolizes so many things to many different people but for me it symbolizes the light of God. I read this anonymous quote recently that only confirmed my belief:

"To be a star, you must shine your own light, follow your own path, and don't worry about the darkness, for that is when the stars shine the brightest."

I ask myself, who am I? Am I a star that shines my own light?

Do I follow my own path? The answers, of course is YES.

It is very comforting to be a shining star, the light of God. I can feel the glow on my face and in some cases even the heat. This can come when I hold a grandchild in my arms or walk into a room filled with strange people and not feel alone.

Everyone I meet is a reflection of myself, and if I am a shining star, then too are the people I meet. As simplistic as it sounds, if I'm a shining star and the person I meet is as well, and the next person and so on then the earth would be the brightest star in the universe.

I wrote this poem a few years ago about the light of love, God's love:

The Light of Love

The light of love touches my cheek
as a ray of sunshine.
It may come as a blinding light in early morn or
as a beam dancing around the shadows of trees.

The light of love warms my fingers
in a sink of sudsy water.
A simple task that can be done alone while meditating
or shared with someone I find dear.

The light of love tugs at my heart
when my granddaughter calls my name.
“What darling?” I ask in response
as she begins to tell me about her day.

The light of love is a gentle hug
from a dear friend.
Old or young, the gesture binds us to each other
reminding us of the power of touching.

The light of love is the Divine presence
surrounding me.
It lights my life, warms my heart, and
reflects back into the lives of the people I touch.

Yes, I can say who I AM - the Light of Love, walking as the Light of God, a Shining Star.

Raindrops, Dewdrops, and Teardrops

This past weekend Mark and decided to make a quick trip to Charlotte, NC to visit the Swing family. We left early Friday morning after making what we affectionately call "the Mall run." This is the process Mark goes through each morning that is in effect restocking the merchandise at the stores sold the previous day. Brian offered to do this while we were out of town.


We woke to rain and it continued all the way to North Carolina as we passed no less than four accidents on the highway. Once in the mountains the raindrops turned to very intense rain and the usual 60 miles an hour dropped to 45 or less with heavy traffic taking its time to be safe. But there are few places in the USA that can match the beauty of the Appalachian Mountains and even in a heavy rain, we could feel God's presence.



Finally we arrived in Charlotte meeting Kevin at Lexi's daycare. She had a picture of her Mimi and Mark in her arms and reached with open arms to greet me, which of course thrilled me to no end and assured her concerned mother that the pickup was going to go well. Once home she showed us all her toys and ate everything I put in front of her for her snack.

Kevin and Jenn came home from work and after changing clothes we all headed for a local pizzeria which had the best pizza I've had in years! Even Lexi loved it. After dinner she had her bath and played with her grandfather who teased her endless that he was going to take her passy away. She loved it and finally wore herself out laughing and went to bed.

The next day Jennifer, in her most organized manner, had an itinerary for us which we followed almost to the letter. We woke up and there was a soft dew on the ground and low clouds that threatened rain. After I fixed breakfast (giving Kevin a break since Jenn doesn't cook), we drove to the train station and road downtown and toured the Epicenter. It was too early to shop in the stores but we were impressed with the three story "outdoor" facility with a stage on the third floor outside being set up for a band and sitting behind the curtain was a Red Bull aluminum bar. Pretty cool. Then we walked to the center of downtown Charlotte where there was an open market including a live band. We walked around in a misty rain but stopped by the waterfalls to take a few pictures.




Getting back on the train and on perfect schedule we stopped and got off at Pike's, a local restaurant that used to be a drug store. Serving home style food and homemade cream sodas and desserts, I had the vegetable plate - sweet potatoes, green beans and squash. I should have had sweet potatoes x's three - OMG - It's a miracle I only gained one pound over the weekend!


However the highlight of lunch was watching Lexi eat. The child is in a growth spurt and eats with her hands (due to the daycare not having enough time to spoon feed all the children; they just put the food in front of them and let them have at it.) I videotaped it and if I can figure out how to download I'll add it but you have to picture Patti Duke as Helen Keller in the Miracle Worker eating her food without a fork to appreciate the intensity in which Lexi ate her macaroni and cheese and green beans. She practically cleaned her plate, if you don't count the handfuls that fell on the floor. For a child that spent the first twelve months of her life hating to eat/drink her bottle, I for one was very happy to see her wonderful appetite and did not mind how she ate it.

The rest of the day we shopped for food, wine (Two Buck Chucks which is now $2.99 a bottle), fresh vegetables at the market, and clothes sometimes together, sometimes just the men, sometimes just the girls. For dinner, Mark and Kevin grilled ribs and chicken while I made stuffed baked potatoes and baked corn on the cob and sliced some of our fresh tomatoes from the market. Kevin and Daniel's high school friend Matt Thomas who lives in Charlotte, joined us with his girlfriend Gretchen. We spent the evening playing cornhole. It's a beanbag toss game which takes time getting the hang of, and which I managed to score only once. I was told holding a beer in the other hand would help with your balance, but I didn't think it would work well with a glass of wine so didn't try it. Lexi had fun watching us all play.

That night the thunder rolled and rain fell and we were very happy it didn't rain on our cookout. Lexi, Mark and I spent the evening watching Ace Ventura until she fell asleep in Mark's arms. Jennifer got some great shots of her going back and forth to the two of us stalling before going to bed.

In the morning I fixed biscuits, sausage and cheese grits which the Lou Lou loved. And then we all kissed goodbye and Mark and I headed back to Chattanooga. As usual my tears were both happy and sad ones. Sad to be leaving my daughter and her precious family and happy to see them so happy with their life; and grateful for having such a good and peaceful time enjoying their company proving that little drops of rain, dew or tears didn't ruin our trip, it only made it better!

Thanks Jennifer, Kevin and Miss Alexandra Anne Swing for a great visit! Love you, Mimi.

A Lesson on Being Present

For two days now, we have wakened to the sound of rain falling sometimes as a drizzle and other times as a hard rain. Oddly, there is no thunder or lightning with this rain. Yesterday the rain was much heavier and lasted until mid-afternoon. Just in time for Paige and me to make Ming-Ming cupcakes.


She arrived carrying her Thomas the Tank Engine umbrella, a gift I purchased when Thomas came to visit Chattanooga this spring. I bought it and tucked it away to give her at her birthday at the end of May, but forgot about it. We found it hidden in the closet one day and she was just as surprised and pleased, being the great Thomas fan that she is.


Bringing also her backpack, Leapfrog book, two video games, her digital camera, assorted books, workbooks, fake cell phone, doll in a carrier, and a Barbie scooter she asked me to download a recipe she saw on the television early that morning at, and I quote her words, "pbsparents.nickjr.com."


The recipe was for Ming Ming cupcakes from the Wonder Pets show. So with a break in the rain, off we went to the grocery store, list in hand. People followed us around listening to our conversation and one man, a friend from the Lions Club, who worked at the store helped us find all the strange ingredients that probably any mother of a young child would know, but to me were alien foods.


Other than mixing the cake with the hand-mixer (because she hates loud noises), Paige made the cupcakes. After cooling she iced them with the colored icing and then decorated them to look like Ming Ming. (I had to melt the candies in the microwave and then shape them as the pattern suggested.) But Paige did all the work. I was happy to get 6 of the 18 cupcakes decorated considering the detail undertaking that it became.


But what fun we had! I at the sink cleaning the pans and mess up, she licking the spoon in the bowl of leftover cake mix and said, "Umm. Mimi...guess what I did?" I turned to see she had put both hands in the mix and was stirring it with her fingers. I said it looked like we wouldn't be using the rest of the mix after all.

In the end, she sorted them out equally giving some to her Uncle Jason and Aunt Laura, one to her grandfather, Mark, and one each for her Mommy, Daddy (who she insisted was going to grease his cupcake), and one for herself. (None for me, she knew, because Mimi's always on a diet! And Uncle B doesn't eat sweets.) And so proud she insisted her Mommy eat hers when she came to pick her up after work. And what a kind and loving mother my daughter-in-law was to eat a delicious cupcake covered in icing, tootsie rolls, m & m's, starburst, and fruit rolls.


And to see Paige's face when she showed off the final Ming Mings! It was worth a thousand pictures. But here is one.



Today, she is back with me sharing the day with her cousin Hayden. Happy and healthy once more, Hayden has been sleeping more than awake, but they did have a good time playing this morning. Hayden loves his cousin Paige and can't take his eyes off her when she is in the room, but I managed to get a few pictures before he went down for his second nap.
Tomorrow we head for Charlotte to visit Little Lexi Lou Lou. I plan to come home with some great pictures and some great stories to remember.


Someone asked me what I did this summer and I answered nothing much, just took care of the grandkids.....NOTHING MUCH??? What was I thinking? I am one lucky woman and I shall not forget it!


I thank God every day for bringing my grandchildren into my life! What a blessing!

Let's Go Shopping

What girl does not like to shop? Not many I venture to guess. However, shopping with a four year-old can be a challenge and yet her mother and other grandmother and I decided to go for it.

It helped that we had a great reason to shop - my other daughter-in-law, Laura's birthday is this week and we asked my son, Jason to do the impossible, come up with some ideas. Instead he asked her and emailed us a list. Very business-like of him, but also a very kind thing to do with his busy schedule so we were grateful. Unfortunately, we forgot to print the list out and bring it with us so we had only our memories to recall what Laura wanted.

We decided to meet after a birthday party they were all attending. I was waiting at the downtown Grapevine where they picked me up. We then drove to Chickamauga, GA , one of my daughter-in-law's favorite places to shop. And since she was out in California with my son and their baby visiting her family, there was no chance we'd run into her.

Unfortunately, although the birthday party was a big hit with the four year-olds who were fed something for lunch, the grown-ups were not and so my daughter-in-law and her mother arrived starving. Our first stop was a quaint little cafe directly across the street from the Gordon Lee Mansion.

The cafe had only been open one week but the food was great. Although I had already eaten my lunch, I could not pass up the fried green tomatoes. While eating we took a few pictures.

The is a picture of Grandma, Paige and Mimi (me):

The second is a picture of Grandma and Paige:


And the last was taken BY Paige of Mommy and Mimi:



We had a lot of fun going into two shops and picking out some great gifts for Laura. Paige was a trooper the whole time and it was such a joy to see three generations having such a good time together.

But the heat of the day got to us and so we loaded up the trunk with our gifts and piled into the car, Paige in her car seat with Mimi beside her in the backseat and Grandma in the front seat with Mommy. As we drove through the winding tree-shaded streets of this historical town, Paige asked her Mommy one last question:

"Are we shopping any place else Mommy? Because if we are I'll just be exhausted." And within a few minutes her elbow resting on the arm piece and chin resting on her hand she fell into a deep sleep and never even saw her two grandmothers leave the car a little later.

It was a fun, happy and good weekend thanks to a special day with my granddaughter Paige, my daughter-in-law Debbie and her precious mother Gil.

God is Good!

Mindfulness

I have come to really appreciate this word - mindfulness. It says, to me, much more than what it means; "Inclined to be aware," according to the dictionary. For me it is a state of being and it takes practice and discipline. But most importantly it takes the courage to listen to God.

The courage is NOT in listening to God; the courage is in responding to the messages we get from God. What does that still small voice inside tell you? For me it is to be mindful to things I see, hear, smell, and experience on a daily basis.

When I was a young girl growing up I talked to God on a regular basis. If I had a problem I would bring it to God, release it and wait for a response. Not an answer, but a feeling that the problem was solved. Sometimes it wasn't the response I expected but I accepted the answer because I asked and God answered. Much fiction has been written using this form of talking to God - George Baily in It's a Wonderful Life and The Bishop's Wife to name a few well-known movies.

People don't usually go around telling other people that they talk to God. Back in its early days the TV show Seventh Heaven told a story of a school janitor who told people that he talked to God (and that God talked to him). It took courage for him to admit it to a crowd of angry school board members and parents. And when the main character who is minister at a local church stood up to defend the janitor he pointed out the injustice in thinking the janitor was crazy while it was okay for him to talk to God because he was in the "God" business. He was successful in delaying the board from firing the janitor only to learn that the police found the janitor in the middle of the night painting the bleachers at the football field. While doing so the bleachers collapsed.

Angry and ready to arrest the man, the police pointed out that if he had not been there that night working on the bleachers then they would have collapsed the next day during the football game and there would have been lots of injuries. The janitor said God told him to go there that night and instead of thinking he was crazy, the school board thanked him and welcomed him back into their open arms.

Being mindful, does mean being receptive to hearing God's messages; but it is so much more. It is hearing those messages in a beautiful poem a dear friend sends me, a touch of my grandbaby's hand on my cheek, a hug from my sweet husband, hearing a song that lifts my spirits, taking a walk at dusk with my granddaughter, seeing my daughter and her family on my computer camera, sharing a good meal with my family, seeing the sun rise between the trees like diamonds sparkling, and so on and so on....

God is everywhere and present and being mindful of this strengthens me and gives me the courage to listen to the still small voice that speaks to me and most importantly to act on what I hear.

Send in the Clowns

The grandbaby arrived early, hungry and with a bad cold. He was tired because the cold kept him from sleeping well the night before. Normally the happiest baby offering his Mimi great big smiles, he just looked at us as if to say, "help." My son, hugged and kissed him goodbye and I assured him all would be fine. My daughter-in-law called from work and I assured her that all would be fine.

But as the morning wore on it was clear this little five-month-old was not feeling well and so we walked the house, rocked on the back porch, sang songs, and he tried to drink his bottle. But it hurt too much. And just as I was beginning to feel like I was failing him I got two emails that lifted my spirit and assured me that all would be fine.

The first was from a dear friend who reminded me that what I do for my grandbaby is of immeasurable value. The second was from a fellow writer who epitomizes the definition of "super woman" and yet she complimented me by saying that I was amazing and must have traveled in the circus at some time in my life because I was so good at juggling all the things I do.

Reading these two emails put things in perspective. First I was reminded that one of the biggest challenges I have is applying my spiritual practice into my daily life. So I relaxed and rested in the knowledge that my dear husband has rearranged the work schedule so I can have the luxury of staying at home with my grandchildren. My sons and their wives have given me a wonderful gift, a chance to spend a portion of time with my grandchildren. What a blessing!

As far as traveling in a circus - that is true if only in a spiritual sense. About twenty years ago a friend and I took an all day workshop on clown ministry. At the end of the day we were trained in how to completely transform ourselves into a clown including full make-up. We both agreed to be silent clowns and found a way to introduce ourselves to the congregation at our Presbyterian church. It being Pentecost, we conspired with the minister, and with his approval, and we being ordained elders, presented the bread and wine for communion that Sunday morning - in full clown attire!

The congregation had been given balloons as they entered the sanctuary and the minister invited them to release their balloon during the service when they felt moved or touched by the Spirit of God. And so throughout the service balloons floated up to the ceiling until there was a cloud of color, not unlike a rainbow, covering the sanctuary. And then expecting the line of elders to march in, the people were very surprised to see two clowns come in with boxes wrapped in colorful paper. My friend and I quietly placed the boxes on the altar and turned and ran out of the sanctuary. The sermon was on looking at life from a different perspective.

The whole experience was rewarding, well-accepted and life-changing for me. It wasn't until the end of the day after the church picnic that fellow members knew who the two clowns were. Being a Clown for God, may have seemed irreverent to some, but for us it was as if God was there having as much fun as us - quietly spreading joy and love throughout the day.

Being a good grandmother and juggling my time between all of my responsibilities may seem daunting at times, but I can remember to be like the Clown of God and do so with joy and love and doing so will help me to keep my spiritual practices in my daily life.

Life is a Gift

Sunday afternoon turned cool with temperatures dropping into the high sixties. And considering the fact that it is mid-July, it was quite comfortable if not a little dis-settling. After picking a batch of purple hull crowder peas, tying up some tomato plants, and picking a few weeds all in the garden on the patio, my husband challenged me to a game of Scrabble.

The kids gave us a new board for Christmas, one that spins and stores everything in hidden drawers under the board, and it is one of the few board games we enjoy playing. We both had some great words; filled the board completely with less than three letters each at the end. But as usual my husband won. (Hint: don't play with an accountant and expect to win. I think they actually count the letters!) Me, I have to keep glancing at the cheat sheet to see how many A's are left and what my chances are in getting a U to go with the Q that I've had forever. I still have to use a cheat sheet when I play poker because I can't remember what's better two pair or three of a kind. (It doesn't stop me from being a pretty good poker player.)

We decided homemade black-eyed pea salsa (hoppin' jack) and chips along with beer and some Two Buck Chuck wine from Trader Joe's in Atlanta would make for a great dinner which we could enjoy while playing our game.

Somewhere in time, about three fourths of the way through the game we decided to have philosophical discussion on death. My husband always feared he'd follow his father and die in his mid-fifties of a heart attack. He passed that mark and has no clue when he'll die (like most of us.) His mother died in her seventies like my father both of what I like to call "old age." My mark is to live past my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother who all died around 63 of cancer (or consumption.) Does this mean I have only a few years left to live? Or will I too die of "old age?" Of course we could both be hit by a car today and solve the mystery.

The point of our discussion was not what happens when one dies but the effect death has on the ones left. In the case of his father and my mother, both died without any warning and so we were never able to say "goodbye" or prepare ourselves for their death. My husband watched the paramedics try to revive his father while I got a long-distance call from my sister telling me our mother died in her sleep and we didn't even know she was sick.

Tragic yes, but so are buildings being attacked by terrorist, plane crashes and war. In the grand scheme of things, there is consolation that our parents didn't suffer and they didn't have to grow old and suffer from all the debilitating, embarrassing and sad life the slow death of old age can be.

But as the game winded down and the beer and wine started to run out, we settled on the one death that impacted us the most - the loss of our dog Speck. Okay you can laugh, but it is true. For fourteen years he was the one constant in our life. He loved us and we him and when he died a few years ago, even the kids struggled to come to our house knowing their precious pet was gone.

We buried him before dawn one morning wrapped in my old pink satin robe that he loved. It was a very cold February and the ground was iced over and crackled when my husband was digging the grave. We placed him in the grave with one of his favorite tennis balls and covered him with rich dirt, pine needles, and said a prayer thanking God for his life.

Remembering that day brought tears to both of our eyes and the game of Scrabble was over anyway so we closed up the board and continued to cry but this time for not only our dog, but our parents and our friends who have died. It was good to set them free and release them, but not from our hearts where they will always remain.

I'm not sure if there is a moral to this story; that Scrabble, beer and cheap wine mix with a discussion of death but for us it worked. The point is to live each day as if it is your last - no regrets. (I don't mean live irresponsibly but live with conviction and purpose.) Be the person you are supposed to be glad in it.

Life is a gift from God - cherish it!

A Little Bite in Life

Yesterday, my daughter sent me a frantic text message on my cell phone. Her baby girl had bitten another child at daycare! My daughter was horrified. At almost fifteen months, my granddaughter does not know what she did nor the consequences of her action. She is still a baby!

And although the caregivers at the daycare assured my daughter that the other child was fine and they had explained to her daughter that this was not acceptable, the person who needed the most comfort and assurance was my daughter. Knowing this I called her only to hear her embarrassment and concern for her daughter's actions.

It reminded me of a similar incident that occurred thirty-five years ago when my oldest son was the recipient of many a bite from the little girl that lived across the street. Unlike my granddaughter who is very young, my son was three years old and so was his friend. He complained to me often about the biting and I tried to get the child to stop when she was at my house playing, but it was to no avail.

But the worst part was that as a young mother, I had not developed good parenting skills and so kept asking my sweet little boy what he had done to make this other child bite him. When one day I looked into his crystal blue eyes and saw the tears on his face and heard him, really heard him, say, "I didn't do nothing Mommy."

I immediately took action and told the other child's mother what had been going on and although she was horrified I could see that she too felt my son had brought it on himself and there wasn't much she could do about it. Then one day we were sitting in my living room enjoying a cup of coffee and waiting for my newborn baby to wake up. He was asleep in his room and the two three-year-olds were playing in my son's room. Or so we thought.

A piercing scream from the nursery made the two of us run only to find my newborn baby screaming in his bed and on one of his arms was the impression of a full set of teeth made by my neighbor's daughter. There was no blood but deep red marks. And while I picked up the baby to comfort him, I heard more screams, this time from the little girl who's mother was biting her arm like it was a chicken leg. I know it sounds funny and in an odd way it was, but that child never bit my son or anybody else again the rest of her life.

I spent the rest of the afternoon comforting my friend who was horrified at her daughter's actions but in the end, we smiled and laughed and realized we'd each grown up a little that day.

And that is what is happening with my daughter. Being a parent is an on-going process and her children are going to do things their entire life that will encompass a multitude of reactions. This is only the beginning but one day her little daughter will be grown up and a mother and is going to send her a text (or whatever communication is in the future) and my daughter will be ready to help her just as I hope I am there for my daughter now.

And on a side note: In addition to texting me with her daughter's actions, my daughter also sent a text to her two brothers. (The three-year-old and newborn in the above story). Both did their best to comfort their sister by making her laugh, a true gift they both have proving a little bite in life is not going to hurt.