The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree?

This year was the first year I’ve ever had a fruit tree produce and allow a harvest. I’ve picked up apples full of bugs, lots of bruising, with worms, attractive on the outside but rotten on the inside, some tart, some sweet, and small knobby and full of juice ones. My thinking has been stewing about “the apple falling” every since the harvesting started.

I’ve heard it over and over again…by people reading about problem children, about teens who are into troubled times and on call after call…as co workers have to start dealing with children of repeat offenders…saying, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Well, may I suggest, the fate of the apple…is not up to the tree.

I’ve seen great guilt over a child’s behavior as well, as the child embarrassed by a parent’s behavior. I’ve seen parents frustrated with their children’s behavior, embarrassed at times, and so put out that they are ready to disown them. I’ve seen parents not recognize the precious “fruit” they have produced and the joy they bring to others. I’ve seen parents just not care about the harvest.

And I have something to say…cause nature teaches us along the way if we pay attention.

Think along the lines of the apple tree…How can so many different apples fall from the tree? In the process of bloom to “the fall” many things can happen that will enhance or take away from the desired function. Fungus, bugs, birds, worms, animals, weather (lack of/heavy rains, heat/cold) to name some…So when “the fall” occurs…being produced by said tree or the short distance it falls from said tree, neither are responsible for the condition…or usefulness of the apple.

These “apples” that don’t fall far from the tree…mentioned by folks who think the parents are always responsible for the actions of the child…these “apples” are more precious than any fruit. So many experiences can determine the usefulness of these “apples”…that the parent tree cannot prevent or just didn’t see it coming so to prevent. Think about worms such as a sexual predator or the teen who is introduced to drugs by “a friend.” Think about media, the influences music, movies, television have on the developing mind. Think about nutrition and how the lack of can affect brain cell growth and health. Think about education, how the lack of it or the false teachings can affect the mind. Are these not just like the many causes that affect an apple on the tree?

Again I suggest, the fate of the apple…is not always up to the tree.

 “Train up a child in the way it should go and when it is old it will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6) Notice it doesn’t say, “Train up a child and it will never make mistakes.” Notice it doesn’t say, “Train up a child and you are totally responsible for all of their actions.” It does suggest…there are choices involved…and they are up to the child…and all the parent is responsible for is the training.

When I was in first grade, I checked out the same book every week from the school library. It got so that the librarian said I had to wait in between checkouts to allow other children a chance. Rain Makes Applesauce  (Julian Scheer(Author),Marvin Bileck(Illustrator)). I loved the nonsense. I loved the illustrations. Now that I’m older I love the idea, that a life process produces beyond what you generally think. For those adult children that think their parents are rotten apples…for those parents who think their children are rotten apples…God makes Applesauce…doesn’t matter the tree…or the condition of the apple…He can make something good from it. I'm not just talking silly talk.

For those parents who feel guilt…for the disease your sweet apple may have, for the choices your sweet apple has made, for the predators that lay hands on your sweet apple…I understand the guilt…but it’s unwarranted.  Guilt is a nasty habit. Work at letting it go. As I’ve learned from a very wise lady… “Life happens and you are not in control. Let the choices of others belong to them. Own your own choices. Let God reign over the evil and wickedness of this world… help make a difference when you can.”

And too...many parents are often given credit for the inspiring behavior of their adult children. When in fact they may have produced the child but another tended the fruit. Which reiterates, my thinking...the fate of the apple…is not always up to the tree.

So consider stoping…stop comparing parents and their children whether it’s giving them credit/responsibility for good/bad behaviors…just stop, it’s like apples and oranges.

Capturing Life...Just Peanuts

Peanut has been with us since Sunday. His family was able to go on a trip so special with Sophia (Read about Sophia Grace on Facebook under Sophia's Journey). He was elected to vacation here on the 100 Acre Wood. He’s adjusted quite well. I learned right off when Peanut doesn’t get his way, he acts out. I’ve raised six children…I got this.

Peanut liked it here...right off...I placed him on the lead shortly after his being here and he did not want to come in. Just enjoyed lying out staring into the field, meditating enjoying the air.

 

                                                             Peanuts first hours here

Peanut’s insistent barking responded well to Mr. Squirt Bottle. This I didn’t figure in until after the second night of serious sleep deprivation. Once figured in, we sleep straight through the night Mr. Squirt Bottle on guard at my bedside table. Peanut’s crate within reach of, let’s say the long arm of the law. I’ve not had to use it during the night because the day I figured it out was Tuesday, when Cora and Grace were here. I used it once as Cora slept and now Peanut just has to see it standing guard and compliance comes naturally. The rumble mumble that took the place of the barking is so much more pleasing to the ear.

From Monday evening, the second day, I have let Peanut off his lead to play ball in the field. He enjoys playing ball just as much as Daisy and Autumn and his focus stays with it. In fact he is very aggressive and tries to catch all of Daisy’s throws and his. In this setting the barking is permitted…outside where there are no walls to bounce the sound around. I throw the ball to Daisy, he runs after her and it barking like crazy, “It’s mine! It’s mine! I got it! I got it! Most of the time Daisy has it before he gets there so he’s ready to see where his throw is going next. They will play over and over…and now I’ve added another to the line that stands looking at the top of the refrigerator at the “Chuckit” requesting ball time.

 

Peanut loves to ride and I take him with me somewhere every day. On a Starbucks run, to Papa’s, to the dog park, etc. He’s a good rider, too. It’s obvious he’s a “let’s go” kinda dog.



                                                              National Dog Day

Tuesday, evening we went to Coldstream Dog Park. Perfect gentleman…didn’t bark at the other dog that was there, in fact, for a brief time decided walking with them was more exciting than walking with the two blonds he arrived with. We played ball (hid the balls so we could chance venues) and then walked a lap. It amazes me the focus these canines have for a ball. When we completed the lap, all three lined up and were ready to get their leash.

Peanut understands the Pika rules here now. At 13 years old, this cat has a right to have a few expectations. “Stay outta my butt, and I’ll let you be in my company.” She told him…and now they even lay around together.

Wednesday, we went to the creek. Once down by the creek, I took off Peanut’s leash. Nothing about the creek concerned Peanut. He was off and playing…like a duck takes to water…Placing his whole face into the water trying to catch anything. Once it was time to leave, he came to me with what seemed like a request to put his leash back on, so I did. Further into the field, I took it off and let him run with Daisy and Autumn. He scouted and George and I put him back on the leash at the hay barn.

 

 

 

It’s all been a very interesting ride one I felt was going well. But I had gotten so used to Peanut’s compliance that I forgot the first thing I learned within 30 mins of his being here… when Peanut doesn’t get his way, he acts out.

The reminder came today, Thursday, at 8AM…after a great night’s sleep. They begged to play ball…”It’s too early,” I tell them. They insist. It was an odd start as Peanut started attacking Daisy for her ball and not paying any attention to his own. So I put him back on the lead…threw with Daisy for a bit and then it was Peanuts turn. I took him off the lead, threw the ball, he retrieved it and ran around the house. Wait this is not in the program. Never has been. So, Daisy and I go to locate. Yep, he’s just taking a dump in the front yard…pissed and marking…it’s gonna go bad…just then the hay guys pull in and Peanut runs to the truck barking like he might chew their legs off. Really, Peanut…all this time…really…while I’m in my pj’s with no over the shoulder boulder holder…(I’m clear I don’t have boulders, guys, but it rhymes, ok!?) And then with no reason whatsoever, as in a defiant manner, he runs to the base of the driveway into Hume road…with me yelling…and running after him. As I ran, I threw the ball down the drive…hoping the drivers who couldn’t see me yet would see a ball and stop…you know like…ball in the road, child may be close? Right….I get to the entrance the red truck that was in the right lane had three vehicles behind it; two were coming up on the overpass the other direction. And Peanut? Running back and forth in the lanes. I stepped out into the road…yes, in my pj’s…put both arms up with my hands indicating stop in both directions and wishing I had my traffic whistle instead, yelled at the driver of the truck, Stop!!!! He hit his brakes and everyone on both sides did…I walked the middle of the road so they were clear not to move and called for Peanut. He came to me…only about five inches from arms reach and then ran again. The lady who was in front to the line that stopped on the overpass, got out and Peanut finally went to her. I thank the drivers as they passed holding Peanut close to my chest…for several reasons.

Returning to find Daisy sitting at the entrance to the driveway (where she is not permitted to cross) holding the ball in her mouth. I wanted to capture that image…I love to capture life. But right now, it’s just Peanuts.

 

Peanut as I type this...Probably dreaming about his little run down the road.

 

Three Years Have Past...

 

Today...on this the anniversary of Moma's new birthday, I thought of how she wasn't supposed to have children...how with the rematic fever she so suffered from when she was a child taxed her heart in such a way the doctor advised her not to have children. I thought about if she hadn't been such of a fragile body, hadn't had four children whether she would have lived longer. How different things would be, huh?

 

I thought about how I must celebrate the life/lives she left behind. I made sure I noticed things throughout the day...the butterflies that danced along the fence line at the dog park as Daisy and Autie enjoyed their doggie adventure...I made certain I held the hand of the man she thought so highly of...I called her Aunt that was like a second mother to her...and I ate ice cream as that was the last thing she ate before she left us.

 

And at the end of the day, as I am alone, I cannot help but cry...but as I do I can hear the the birds singing...and notice the apples on the tree that have never been so present and recognize the life they represent...and when they are ready for consumption...I will make a pie...and give it away

...as "baking and sharing" was also something Moma wanted to do in her last days.

 
So, her giving will go on...not just in our hearts.

 

First I've seen these apples on the 100 Acre Wood

“For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It’s always our self we find in the sea.” – e.e. Cummings

I’m not a science fiction kinda person. But I remember somewhere in a television show or a movie there was a person who appeared in a hologram kinda thingy. I always think it would be cool if God appeared to us like that. Cause I have so much swimming around in my head. That’s how it is when I’m “tripping.” Tripping on Marco Island this week…and even though George and I have brought a teen and a five year old along, I still have too much time to think. Probably more than usual. At home I can stay so busy I can’t make stops at the shelves in my mind where things are stored. But when I’m tripping…and it’s raining…and exhaustion makes me slow down I tend to pull the dusty boxes off the shelves and rifle through them enough just to stir up the cobwebs and create chaos.

George needs his sleep for his adventure coming up so I crawled out of bed as not to disturb him. It’s too early for the seasoned sleeper to arise especially while on vacation. So, I got the coffee brewing and decided to get some of these thoughts on paper. While watching it rain…from the fifth floor of the condo overlooking the vastness of sea. I want to settle some things before the younguns drag out of bed, before George texts me and requests his coffee. I set up on the balcony with everything I think I will need to complete this task, returning to the kitchen for the coffee.

What I found when I returned was a sight that made me squeal with  delight…and I ran back inside and got my camera. Stretched across the ocean in bright array was a double rainbow. You could see it from one side of the balcony to the other. Like it was framed just for my viewing. The full rainbow was sitting like a hologram on the waves. I had never seen any rainbow like it. Its colors were brilliant. The bow had precise definition. The movement of the waves under the end of the rainbow gave such holographic imagery. I had that wondermous feeling…I was where I am supposed to be.

To some readers you may think, “You are on a beachside vacation, of course you are where you are supposed to be.”  It’s not that easily decided in my complicated mind. I have to have holographic images, voices from heaven and signs to show me the way. There has been great guilt lingering in my mind as my granny passed only three weeks ago to this day.

And here I am. On the beach. Creating memories with George and two of my grandchildren. It seems terribly wrong in my head. Like her passing wasn’t honored. Like I went on with my life and losing her was trivial. And to leave Aunt Juanita at home alone after her sister had passed…and then her 19 year old cat…seemed insensitive and uncaring.

But seeing the rainbow in its holographic state…sends a wave of confusion to my way of thinking. What if…the All Knowing, seeing that Granny would pass on June 11th, after three long months of what seems like torture in my thinking, in which I would try with all my power to prevent these torturous days…what if All Knowing wanted to allow me a regrouping time after He took her from the pain and torture? What if He wanted me where I am right at this moment…

In early October of 2012, after picking Emily up from her mother we headed to the 100 Acre Wood. We talked about so many things as we always do and then it got quiet. As any experienced parent/grandparent does when it’s quiet you always make sure all is okay. I turned to look at her in the back seat. She was deep in thought. So, I asked…”Whatcha thinking about girl?” Her response was one I’ve told many times as it made an impression in my mind, as if I took video of the conversation. Her sweet little voice, her matter of fact manner, her simple desire exposed to her Mimi. "You know Mimi; I have never been to the beach. I haven't kicked and screamed. I haven’t cried and threw fits. I've just been very patient." Yes, in her little Shirley Temple voice, with her “r” and “v” sounding like “w” and “b” I thought my heart would melt. I told her right then I would see what I could do about that. To make sure before she’s six that she would see the ocean.

On October 27th, a friend posted at 11:27 “Hey There Friends -We have a FL timeshare ON the beach that we cannot use 6/13.I am contacting a few friends to see who may be interested. It will be first come, first serve. It is June 28, 2013 - July 5, 2013.” At 11:44 I responded, “I’ll take it.” I remember it well, as George was with me and he thought I was nuts for only thinking about it in such a short time. Just remembering that moment makes me smile.

Going back to 2000, the year after Silas was born, I had him with me at one of Scarlet’s family get togethers. One of my not so pleasant memories.  Granny and Aunt Juanita was there. His smiling little face so precious to me. He loved me so and I him. I introduced him as my grandson to Granny. She immediately said, “He is not your grandson. When Craig has children then you will have a grandchild.”  Ah, I thought, tell Silas I am not his Mimi…I may not be his Mimi by blood, but I am his Mimi by heart…and that is a stronger love than any can offer.

And here I am…fulfilling a grandchild’s dream, Craig’s daughter to be exact, making memories with her and my oldest grandchild, Silas…while wrapped up in thought of my Grandmother. I tried to have all the grandkiddos travel with me…but these two, Silas and Emily were the only ones that could.  In October 2012, Granny was living with Aunt Juanita. I had no indication of what was to come. She went into the nursing home on March 13th 2013 National Butterfly Day…As the time came near for this vacation week, Melanie who was supposed to meet me here in Florida, decided she could stay at my house and care for Granny instead while I was out of town. But Granny was called home before then. Melanie’s vacation days used for funeral leave instead.

So  here I am…missing my granny…enjoying my role as a granny…in Florida, where Granny loved to travel, on Marco Island where there are butterfly gardens…where God speaks to me through a holographic rainbow.

Where the sun is shining on the clutter in my head...

The Holographic Rainbow

My grandson, Silas and grandaughter, Emily

searching for treasure...

"Life is short ... even in it's longest days"...--John Cougar Mellencamp

Grief.

After Granny's service I had Aunt Juanita, all of my siblings and their children in my house on June 14^th. I didn’t take one picture. I had all of my children and their children in my house on the 15^th. I took a few pictures of Meg and her newest niece. I don’t think I have ever felt like not taking photos. It was good to see my children and my grandchildren though. It gives me hope and a future.

I took George with me to pick up Granny’s belongings from Bluegrass Care and Rehab last night. The room was empty, her belongings packed and stored in the closet. I do not ever want to go back there again. I pray I never get dispatched there. I feel for the very few employed there that have a heart. I feel for the elderly that depend on this staff.

Walking to the creek and back feels like I’m trudging through mud.

I took Aunt Juanita some corn salad this afternoon. I had made it for my family the day before. I was so worried she might not like it…that she might be napping when I got there…that she might just be wanting her space. But when George and I got there she was standing at the kitchen sink and turned toward the door as she saw me walking up and said, “Why, there you are!” And again, I smile and this time when I do I don’t feel guilty like I have been when I smile. I give her the potato salad, ham and my corn salad. I take her trash out. She chats with George while she warms up a cup of coffee in the microwave…at 160 secs…”cause she likes it hot.” She wants to try the salad and does. And becomes so enthralled with it, she eats and eats and forgets about the milk and crackers she was getting ready to have when we drove up. She looked at me as she was enjoying every bite and said, “You make this again, you bring me some more.” She talked with us about when Granny lived with her before going to the nursing home. How she cooked good for Granny. How Granny liked to snack. And she was happy as she told us all about Granny’s appetite all the while devouring the corn salad.

I go through the day thinking I have to hurry up what I’m doing so I can go check on Granny.

It’s difficult to look at the photos I took of Granny in her last days.

I long to have captured moments like the one after the service when Aunt Juanita asked Emily to come to her and then lovingly explained that Granny went to heaven to be with Jesus and is no longer in pain.

I don’t have Granny’s laundry to keep up anymore.

I placed her two quilts on both couches and her butterfly throw on the chair…and my living room looks like a cozy Granny room.

I’ve gotten caught up in thinking about Granny’s age. 90 years old…that’s another lifetime for me. I just turned 48…

I have memories to make with my grandchildren…and hopefully, I can inspire them as I have come to be inspired by Granny.

Grieving doesn’t get easier. You perhaps just get used to it being a part of your day.

Celebrating our Granny....Georgia Virgina Haggard

 

 

On June the 11^th, the good Lord looked down upon His child, Georgia Virginia Haggard, heard her cries of pain and gave her rest. She needed this rest you see because of years and years of giving and doing…of ministering to those in need…of ignoring her needs so she could provide for others. I believe He carried her home, welcoming her and proclaiming, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

I want to share with you the kind of strength and love my Granny displayed by sharing some of the many endeavors she embarked upon. It was after her death that each piece came together revealing a quilt that truly covers the realness of Georgia Virginia Haggard.

The quilt began when she married at fourteen and had her first child at fifteen. She went on to have two more children. One who would be very ill in her childhood because of rheumatic fever, another that was deployed to Vietnam. The giving wouldn’t stop with the child raising years for she was called upon to  provide again for her adult son who suffered such in a vehicle accident that it rendered him dependent. She provided and cared for him from 1975 to 1994. Even when she could not care for him full time, she picked him up from the Stewart Home in Frankfort  for holidays and weekend visits. She would later care for period of time for her adult daughter who was diagnosed with kidney cancer. And perhaps the most loving giving sacrifice that truly shows her heart was how she took her own mother into her home for 17 years so her mother would not have to go to a nursing home. Her family was her joy. Her obligation to her family did not waver. All of her grandchildren, great grandchildren and great great grandchildren have been touched by her giving soul, her precious smile, her relationship with God. There is no doubt she blanketed them in times of trouble disregarding her needs and giving beyond measure.

Her tenacious spirit was not just with her family. She and her sister, Juanita Carter would visit the shut- ins and those in nursing homes where church members were residents every Tuesday. They would take them pumpkin pie, bananas and goodies. They would send cards and notes. They visited nursing homes in town and in Lancaster, Harrodsburg, Nicholasville and Georgetown. Aides at the homes would give them names of residents that did not have visitors and ask them to take them under their wing. It was on January 21^st of 1990 Wallace York of Ashland Avenue Baptist Church honored them as the Barnabees—daughters of encouragement for their ministry to the shut-ins and the nursing homes.

Granny developed friendships with people everywhere she went… in McDonalds, with Marietta, her hairdresser of 25 years, with Pat, a housecleaner/yard keeper/genuine friend for 13 years. Her neighbors knew and loved her. Even the teen children across the street would seek counsel from Granny.

She had presence… and the people around her respected her. She worked successfully at FW Woolworths and at a drug store that is no longer on Maxwell and Limestone. She was a supervisor at Irving Air Chute selling Avon as a second income. Juanita talks of how the district manager at the Irving Air Chute factory on inspections would ask Granny if she would jump using one of her parachutes. And she would reply emphatically, “Yes!” She was that confident in the work of those she supervised. Not only was she successful in her supervisory position in the factory but also quite successful in the sales of Avon. She received many awards and accommodations for her sales. Her sincere love for people no doubt aided with her success in this role.

Now Granny didn’t get her driver’s license until she was 50. Once she did, there was no stopping her. She drove I believe until she was 88. And oh, the places they did go. Their first trip was to Virginia to see family. They made five or six trips to Daytona Beach, to visit family, to Gatlinburg TN driving in the mountains to country rides as frequently as they could. It was like a trinity, my Granny, her Sis and the car. They would pack coolers of food and just couldn’t wait till the time to stop and get into them. When it came time for Granny to stop driving, I believe a piece of her soul was taken.

I wonder if somewhere on the way to Daytona Beach, in a little bar and grill if there is still an irregular parachute that the owner on one of their trips asked Granny to bring…and she did next trip…and on other trips she would stop in and connect and find her parachute was still being used as a canopy…

Granny had talents …at making quilts, at painting ceramics, growing flowers, and bowling…for some of her talents she recieved trophies for others they became heirlooms.

She rocked all of her children and passed her rocker on down to my mother who passed it onto Scarlet.

The heritage she passed on is priceless…her heart was gold…her love for God was strong…

And I learned from her…so much about her and myself these past months…And I miss her so…

The night Granny passed I went to her sister and made sure she was okay…and I felt a piece of Granny was still here. The day after Granny’s last breathe I went again to see her Sis…and again the heart wrenching pain I felt eased a bit while sitting and listening to Aunt Juanita talk about her little sister. They were truly bonded…nothing could separate them. Granny helped Aunt Juanita through so many surgeries. They were the Golden Girls to me…because they were golden to each other. Granny and Aunt Juanita were a team. Their travels were together. Their stories include each other. The hearts melded together. In the final days, Granny’s pain was Aunt Juanita’s pain. And I watched as Aunt Juanita wanted to take it from Granny. I watched as she petted on her little sis encouraging her. And I am inspired to make certain my sisters and I have just a piece of what they had together, for just a piece of what Granny and Aunt Juanita had would create a wave of care that could cover us till the end of our lives.

Aunt Juanita loved her sister very much…the closeness they shared closed each day. And every night as her sister lays her head down to rest, I’m certain, Granny’s nightly conversation with her will replay in her mind:

“I’m going to bed now, Sis.”

“Goodnight.”

“I love you.”

“God Bless you!”

 

 

We Pray for Children.........

We pray for children

who sneak popsicles before supper,
who erase holes in math workbooks,
who can never find their shoes.

And we pray, for those

who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire,
who can't bound down the street in a new pair of sneakers,
who never "counted potatoes,"
who are born in places where we wouldn't be caught dead,
who never go to the circus,
who live in an X-rated world.

We pray for children

who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions,
Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish,
Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money,
Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink,
Who slurp their soup.

And we pray for those

who never get dessert,
who have no safe blanket to drag behind them,
who watch their parents watch them die,
who can't find any bread to steal,
who don't have any rooms to clean up,
whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser,
whose monsters are real.

We pray for children

who spend all their allowance before Tuesday,
who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food,
who like ghost stories,
who shove dirty clothes under the bed,
and never rinse out the tub,
who get visits from the tooth fairy,
who don't like to be kissed in front of the carpool,
who squirm in church or temple and scream in the phone,
whose tears we sometimes laugh at
and whose smiles can make us cry.

And we pray for those

whose nightmares come in the daytime,
who will eat anything,
who have never seen a dentist,
who aren't spoiled by anybody,
who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep,
who live and move, but have no being.

We pray for children

who want to be carried
and for those who must,
for those we never give up on
and for those who don't get a second chance.
For those we smother…
and for those who will grab the hand of anybody
kind enough to offer it.

We pray for children.

Amen

 

We Pray for Children, 1995, William Morrow publishers

 

Easter Blessings

The Last Supper...A meal of celebration…a gathering of family most not even aware of what was to truly happen, but a sharing so each one could remember His instruction to drink from his cup as they would later literally in the days to come. A reminder that they were family and the experience to come was to be reflected upon and respected.

The Bible tells us, Jesus knew what was to come, yet He bravely walked forward. The embarrassment of being stripped in front of so many, being mocked, stuck, spit on, made to wear a crown of thorns, hung upon the crucifix. He had a purpose and He fulfilled it…He could have called 10,000 angels…

Even in his dying moments He was true to the cause…and glorified God.

Easter…celebrate your family…your experiences together…celebrate your liberator…celebrate His willingness to provide what you needed at his expense…celebrate His God…celebrate that He allows you to be a part of His story…celebrate life…celebrate death… …may you be able to function past the dread of whatever you have lying before you because you know He’s got this…all wrapped up…may each day for you be as the child who with anticipation opens that egg looking to discover what special treat is hidden inside…May you remember that because He has risen, you can live triumphantly, too…and because He lives…you can face tomorrow.

Because My Tears Cannot Change Their Fate

“Come to me, I need you,” she said from the front seat of the state car. “Oh, Baby, let me get your baby brother in his car seat and I will come right to you.” As I am trying to strap the one month old infant in the seat in the cold dampness of the early morning, the five year old little boy beside his infant brother says, “Take me home with you, plllleeease…take me with you,” as he leans into me staying as close as he can.

 

I spent the past nine and a half hours in this house, with what started as a call about pit bulls fighting in  the back yard. When I gained entrance into the home, the five visible grownups were sitting calmly in the living room. As I walked out into the back yard, I felt as if I could explode but yet so helpless as I saw the four pit bulls chained to the fencing, and the brown one so thin, cowering, with blood all over his ripped face. He wasn’t showing any aggression toward me but silently requesting aid. I was so locked into wanting to help that it took me a bit to realize there was a chain and collar on the ground without a canine. After searching the missing dog was found, in the master bathroom with the owner. It’s leg ripped and bleeding heavily, it’s face the same, still wagging its tail as I approach. Animals and children can be so forgiving…

 

The time spent with the children in the time it took for paperwork to be completed by the cabinet allowed me to play, cuddle, encourage and support these innocent souls. Children who are not giving what they need by their caregivers often experience attachment issues. And these children were no doubt experiencing such. Their mother there with them after she had time to return from being bonded out from jail, the two older ones knowing they were waiting to be taken to a Foster home… choose to attach themselves to me. And I remained strong and encouraging until I got into my cruiser and drove home. Then I cried and talked to Daisy. She listened … I believe she smelled the fear and blood on my pants where I had helped load the dogs into the Animal Control wagons. She understood.

 

This morning…I woke crying again. I look into Daisy’s big brown trusting eyes and I cry. I look at my grandchildren’s portraits on the wall and I see their love and trust as they looked at their Mimi snapping the photo and I cry.

 

I was divinely given a video to view on this day…

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvuU9WNXy-I

 

On this day…a heavy heart…and was reminded that the video just shows that there is strength in numbers and if we have strong leaders such as me…to rally the troops, eventually we take our children back.

 

With that I can go out again tonight and face whatever comes at me…knowing He delivers just what we need at the time we need it most.

 

And so I’ll pray for the children…the animals…and I’ll continue to stand for the innocent because my tears can’t help…they just cleanse my soul so I can keep fighting new.

 

On This...National Butterfly Day

After Ariel picked Grace up this afternoon, I went to pick up Emily from school. Then, I assisted with acclimating Granny in the “Rehab” center today. At least that’s what we call it. Emily went with me. Her son and his wife did a lot of paperwork in an office room. Aunt Juanita and I talked to Granny. She tried to be brave. We left and I knew it was not okay in her mind. Aunt Juanita knew it, too.

Today is 03/13/13….National Butterfly Day. Granny loves butterflies. Perhaps that’s where Moma learned to love them so. Today, a special butterfly landed on Bluegrass Care and Rehab. I only hope they recognize her beauty.

I took Emily to George’s house. Daisy, too…She had sat in the truck, Daisy did, for the two hours that we were in the nursing home. So patient. Emily played hand games with a patient who was rolling by in a wheelchair and by doing so made the lady smile and Aunt Juanita smile, too. She was terribly disappointed when a nurse came behind the strange lady and guided her away.

I ran by Aunt Juanita’s and picked up Granny’s Bible and glasses. Aunt Juanita was very worried about her sister. She expressed her gratitude regarding me stopping and talking with her for a while. This is not easy. And we decided that every time we worry about Granny, we will pray instead. She had me take pictures of her making a face at Granny hoping to cheer her. I did…and as she stuck her tongue out allowing me to take a photo of her, I thought, sisters…only sisters would do something like this to cheer each other.

And then I went back…to the Rehab…and as I walked in the door, my granny was in a wheel chair at the nurse’s desk and the looks on all the five that were standing there made me think Granny was conducting a “come to Jesus” meeting. She wanted to leave. She was angry. She wanted them to call her son. They had a wrong number and couldn’t. I gave them the correct number and they dialed and handed the phone to me. I looked at them like it was a dangerous object and handed it off to Granny. When he answered she set him straight, too. After a couple of minutes he must have asked if anyone was there with her…cause she looked at me and said, “What’s your name!?” “Donna”, I answered, “Granny, Donna.” She went back to the conversation and said, “Donna is here with me, Donna Lynn!!!” Then she went back to telling him how he needed to come pick her up and how she’s of age.

I asked they give her something to calm her as at night she experiences anxiety and confusion. And I got her to take it. She chased it with a bite of homemade chocolate cake I had brought in with me. She allowed me to stroll her back to the room and we chatted as the medicine began to work. But it didn’t work fast enough…she begged me to take her home. She told me of all the people she thought I would be the one to look after her. She cried and cried about being scared. She cried and talked about how lonely the room was. I scooted her close and hugged her as she cried. She begged me to get her out of there. And it went on for a long time as the medicine kicked in she was able to listen to what I had to say. And even though she refused me to help her prepare for bed, she started to calm. Then the nurses came in for the head to toe assessment. For 50 minutes Granny cried, screamed and moaned as they removed bandages and replaced them after assessment. She is a frail woman…her skin hurts so badly. I think since she’s 90 and had never been hospitalized her entire life till this past week, had never visited the doctor regularly…no series of tests in her life, etc, I think it makes this whole experience even more traumatic. She had hoped to avoid it. And for 90 years, she did. It was hitting her like a tidal wave now…and she just didn’t have the experiences to help her cope. She asked me repeatedly, after the assessment, “Who’s going to stay with me? You aren’t leaving me alone?” “I’ll remember this,” she told me. I told her I had to get Emily in bed. But I would be back in the morning. I told her about Aunt Juanita (Yes, I showed her the photos earlier and she made the face back at Aunt Juanita as if they were face to face….sisters) but I told her about how Aunt Juanita and I were thinking every time we worry we should pray instead. And I told her I didn’t want her to stress…”no more stressing, Granny. It’s not good for you,” I told her. She closed her eyes and said, “I know stress makes mess.” I wanted to take her home with me, but instead I bent over and kissed her forehead and told her I loved her and would see her in the morning.

And I left.

And I cried.

And I prayed.

I had to get it together to pick up Emily and Daisy from George’s. I didn’t mention…during the assessment, Granny cried out, “Don’t let the little kids see me like this.” I assured her Emily was at home that she was not in the room. Protecting. That’s what she was doing…that’s just what we do. Even in our pain.

It’s almost 9:30 and we are all three heading back to the 100 Acre Woods when I realize I have no milk for cereal in the morning. Too exhausted to get out at a store, I drove through the Wendy’s drive through and ordered milk. I realized I hadn’t had dinner, Emily had eaten with Papa. So I got some food, too, since I was there. Two vehicles in front of me. I just wanted to get home. My safe place. Finally when I got to pull up to the window, the big black truck in front of me slowly pulling away, the worker explained to me this:

“Ok,” he said, “there seems to be a string of good deeds going on here tonight. The one in front of the truck paid for the one in the truck behind him. The truck behind him paid for yours. So, you don’t owe anything.”

I immediately looked behind me, feeling desperate, as there was no one waiting. “But I don’t have anyone behind me so I can carry it on!”

He said, “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.” I sat there for minutes hoping someone would pull in. Emily was thrilled. I was grateful. Grateful that I had a gentle reminder that God cares. That He allowed me to be ministered to at a time when I felt so beat and spent. That I had to accept the gift and couldn’t repay it so quickly…that it was suppose to stop with me…to take care of me…to speak to my heart.

And tomorrow, I can wake up and began again…creating good, bringing happiness to others, using what I have to show I care….

Tomorrow, I’ll pay it forward. Tonight, I will sleep and remember He cares…and will go out of His way to show it.

Things Were Looking Up

Out in the back yard, tossing ball with two furry, impervious to the cold, canines I used the work building to block the bone chilling wind. There happens to be a ladder leaning against it…like for the past four months…I walk under it occasionally just because. Today as I stood under it tossing the ball I was forced to look up…and what I saw spawned a number of thoughts.  Those of you that are frustrated writers understand what happens here…thoughts turn into possible titles…stories…captions and a flurry of brain activity creates a meltdown which leaves you so exhausted from just thinking about it that you don’t even try to put it into words.

My pictures are words, thankfully, so, I have a second outlet option.  I immediately started taking photos to at least capture the moment and allow my thought process to have a backup.

This is what I looked up and saw:

 

 

 

I immediately thought of my sister-in-law, Nancy. How if she could; she’d climb up to the heavens to see Missy Rae. How wonderful it would be to “climb up to heaven” to visit our loved ones, hold them, sit and laugh with them for a spell, and know we can hold them again at anytime.  The stairway to heaven…in my back yard.

This then tossed me into thinking, “The sky’s the limit.” How those I know, including Missy, have pressed on and rose to heights others dare to go. Climbing beyond their boundaries…utilizing what life hands them.

Then my thoughts went back to first grade. The “Rainbow” song. I have sung all my life. It is a simple tune that sings, “When I grow up I will someday, paint a rainbow that will stay. I’ll stand upon a ladder high and paint a rainbow on the sky.” The ladder, the revisiting sadness, the thought of rainbows, this gem I’ve carried from first grade and on as it did with my dying mother, me running outside as she lay bed ridden, to take photos of a double rainbow to share with her.  I still have my first grade music folder, taught by Ms Evelyn at Bath County Elementary.

 



 

Of course when I look at it, I’m pleased how at six years old I colored the photo and placed an "M" above the girls head for Melanie, my sister. Not clear as to why I chose her to paint the rainbow, but she was lucky to be the one. Maybe, she “painted rainbows” for me as I was growing…creating hope for her little sister and so I naturally gave her the position on the coloring sheet.

I imagined I might not even had payed attention to this scene had the sky not been so blue and the clouds so fluffy. Blue sky’s create a joy in my soul that cannot be explained. If I had to choose between blue skies and coffee, I’d choose the blue…and that is saying something for this coffee loving diva. Then it would be “Nothing but blue skies…”

And then…since I was all wrapped up in the blue of the sky by now I started trying to capture that, too.

 

But I couldn’t quite capture the essence of the moment something golden was missing. Didn’t take me long to figure out the missing pieces…as you can see here…Daisy and Autumn accentuate the beautiful sky.

 

Blissfully Accentuates



The Heart in the Matter

Megan had posted a clip on her FaceBook:

"Every creature on earth has approximately two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise, and live to be two hundred years old, or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird, and live to be two years old." Brian Doyle "Joyas Voladoras"

I had never read before. But just that clip was profound to me...I was thinking...Yep, you need a shell of protection to live to be two hundred years old...God knew what he was doing for sure....

Then David commented:

"You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words "I have something to tell you," a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children."

And I began to think...I need to read this in it's entirety. Now that I have, I want you to read it also.

Joyas Voladoras

Brian Doyle

FROM THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR

CONSIDER THE HUMMINGBIRD for a long moment. A hummingbird's heart beats ten times a second. A hummingbird's heart is the size of a pencil eraser. A hummingbird's heart is a lot of the hummingbird. Joyas Voladoras, flying jewels, the first white explorers in the Americas called them, and the white men had never seen such creatures, for hummingbirds came into the world only in the Americas, nowhere else in the universe, more than three hundred species of them whirring and zooming and nectaring in hummer time zones nine times removed from ours, their hearts hammering faster than we could clearly hear if we pressed our elephantine ears to their infinitesimal chests.

Each one visits a thousand flowers a day. They can dive at sixty miles an hour. They can fly backward. They can fly more than five hundred miles without pausing to rest. But when they rest they come close to death: on frigid nights, or when they are starving, they retreat into torpor, their metabolic rate slowing to a fifteenth of their normal sleep rate, their hearts sludging nearly to a halt, barely beating, and if they are not soon warmed, if they do not soon find that which is sweet, their hearts grow cold, and they cease to be. Consider for a moment those hummingbirds who did not open their eyes again today, this very day, in the Americas: bearded helmetcrests and booted racket-tails, violet-tailed sylphs and violet-capped woodnymphs, crimson topazes and purple-crowned fairies, red-tailed comets and amethyst woodstars, rainbow-bearded thornbills and glittering-bellied emeralds, velvet-purple coronets and golden-bellied star-frontlets, fiery-tailed awlbills and Andean hillstars, spatuletails and pufflegs, each the most amazing thing you have never seen, each thunderous wild heart the size of an infant's fingernail, each mad heart silent, a brilliant music stilled.

Hummingbirds, like all flying birds but more so, have incredible enormous immense ferocious metabolisms. To drive those metabolisms they have racecar hearts that eat oxygen at an eye-popping rate. Their hearts are built of thinner, leaner fibers than ours. their arteries are stiffer and more taut. They have more mitochondria in their heart muscles—anything to gulp more oxygen. Their hearts are stripped to the skin for the war against gravity and inertia, the mad search for food, the insane idea of flight. The price of their ambition is a life closer to death; they suffer more heart attacks and aneurysms and ruptures than any other living creature. It's expensive to fly. You burn out. You fry the machine. You melt the engine. Every creature on earth has approximately two billion heartbeats to spend in a lifetime. You can spend them slowly, like a tortoise and live to be two hundred years old, or you can spend them fast, like a hummingbird, and live to be two years old.

The biggest heart in the world is inside the blue whale. It weighs more than seven tons. It's as big as a room. It IS a room, with four chambers. A child could walk around it, head high, bending only to step through the valves. The valves are as big as the swinging doors in a saloon. This house of a heart drives a creature a hundred feet long. When this creature is born it is twenty feet long and weighs four tons. It is waaaaay bigger than your car. It drinks a hundred gallons of milk from its mama every day and gains two hundred pounds a day, and when it is seven or eight years old it endures an unimaginable puberty and then it essentially disappears from human ken, for next to nothing is known of the the mating habits, travel patterns, diet, social life, language, social structure, diseases, spirituality, wars, stories, despairs and arts of the blue whale. There are perhaps ten thousand blue whales in the world, living in every ocean on earth, and of the largest animal who ever lived we know nearly nothing. But we know this: the animals with the largest hearts in the world generally travel in pairs, and their penetrating moaning cries, their piercing yearning tongue, can be heard underwater for miles and miles.

Mammals and birds have hearts with four chambers. Reptiles and turtles have hearts with three chambers. Fish have hearts with two chambers. Insects and mollusks have hearts with one chamber. Worms have hearts with one chamber, although they may have as many as eleven single-chambered hearts. Unicellular bacteria have no hearts at all; but even they have fluid eternally in motion, washing from one side of the cell to the other, swirling and whirling. No living being is without interior liquid motion. We all churn inside.

So much held in a heart in a lifetime. So much held in a heart in a day, an hour, a moment. We are utterly open with no one in the end—not mother and father, not wife or husband, not lover, not child, not friend. We open windows to each but we live alone in the house of the heart. Perhaps we must. Perhaps we could not bear to be so naked, for fear of a constantly harrowed heart. When young we think there will come one person who will savor and sustain us always; when we are older we know this is the dream of a child, that all hearts finally are bruised and scarred, scored and torn, repaired by time and will, patched by force of character, yet fragile and rickety forevermore, no matter how ferocious the defense and how many bricks you bring to the wall. You can brick up your heart as stout and tight and hard and cold and impregnable as you possibly can and down it comes in an instant, felled by a woman's second glance, a child's apple breath, the shatter of glass in the road, the words "I have something to tell you," a cat with a broken spine dragging itself into the forest to die, the brush of your mother's papery ancient hand in the thicket of your hair, the memory of your father's voice early in the morning echoing from the kitchen where he is making pancakes for his children.
›› Brian Doyle


Beautiful...

I was moved to tears as I read, "But we know this: the animals with the largest hearts in the world generally travel in pairs, and their penetrating moaning cries, their piercing yearning tongue, can be heard underwater for miles and miles."

Traveling in pairs...moaning to each other as they move slowly across their watery world.
It yanks my heartstrings.

 

Fragile Hearts

 

I'm taking down my Christmas tree...and I must be so careful with these hand blown glass heart ornaments. Last year I broke several. You can actually hold them too tight, they are so fragile. Some have defects, all have different shapes, but still recognizable as a heart. I was texting with one of my children who is having difficulty and requesting prayers for that family. And I'm taking these fragile hearts off the tree...one at a time...like a family tree...of fragile hearts. I'm thinking I'm grateful I can trust my family of fragile hearts...that are a part of my family tree to the creator of the tree...the inspiration for Christmas...and I lay each one gently on the table. My eyes full with tears as I stand back and look...yes, one heart representing each one of my family...even the three new ones added with Craig this year and one for the baby girl coming in the spring. Not one more...not one less. Nothing on my part planned this...and I feel like dancing.

It Ain't All Gravy, Baby

 

It's a new year...and we’re off….

 

This morning at 6AM, one of my furry house guests woke up vomiting. Just grass…but a rude awakening and several spots to work on. She’s fine, no worries. We all went back to sleep for a bit longer.

Upon awakening, I remembered I had  several pounds of chicken breast that I unthawed yesterday and needed to cook, so before breakfast, I cut them into strips and commenced to frying chicken strips.

And with all the drippings, chicken gravy was a must…but all I had was almond milk, vanilla almond milk. And I wanted to blog about it…More on that later.

Just as I got the dishes ready for the dishwasher, the chicken resting….baha! And the kitchen area wiped off, Daisy came to the door, hanging her head.

Oh, please, no…Daisy. But no such luck…she had rolled in poo poo…and with a big blob of the “stuff” stuck on her neck, very close to her jingle bell collar, stood there hanging her head…”oops, I did it again,” seemed to ooze from her psyche.  

I let her in, of course, scolding her in my most loving voice. I’m not sure why I do that. I didn’t do that for my children as they blundered through childhood. My scolding voice for Daisy seems like a little ole grandma fussing. It’s weird.

 

She went straight to the bathroom. I remembered I had finally cleaned BOTH bathrooms last night.  I was so irritated I called her back out to the front yard and told her she was going to have to deal with the water hose and the cold water. We went outside I hooked up the hose only to find the water inside the hose was frozen and wouldn’t go through. I struggle with trying to unhook it from the spigot, with no success. I have to remember to go back. It was just too chilly in a t-shirt and pj bottoms to be out there wrestling with the hose. I turn toward Daisy and say, “We’re gonna have to do this in the bathroom,” and she gives me a sad, “please make up your mind, Moma; I have this “stuff” hanging off of me.”

So again, I let her in, she heads to the bathroom. (Oh, yeah, the resting chicken…I actually thought to go put it to roost on the frig cause, Lexie can reach just about anything when you aren’t looking).  I tell Daisy to get into the tub. She says, “Please, Moma, no” I commanded again and she complied. It’s such a sad sight to see her climb so slowly into the tub with such dread.

 

By the way, Bishop thought the whole time he wanted in on it, but I’m sure he was confused.

 

 

After all was cleaned up, a load of wet towels started, I sat down to blog…you know from the inspired moments with the almond milk. All the dogs were placed outside, Bishop on his cable… Lexie opted to stay in. Daisy just likes to sun after a bath. As I sat beginning to expand on my thoughts, Lexie decided she wanted out. I let her out Bishop in. Then I sit back down. I see Daisy jump up from sunning. I jump up to make sure she doesn’t run after whatever she barking at and WHALA! Bishop runs out the door like it was planned. Bishop was born to run. He knows no boundaries. He has no limits. Just a few short hours before his masters arrive…he manages to escape.

I put more clothes on, as my Pajama Day is not working out and grabbed a leash. This time I was able to catch him within ten minutes of his escape. He got on the other side of the fence and flipped out. With Lexie, Daisy and me on the other side of the fence, he came to me…surprisingly came to me…I reached through the fence, put the leash on his collar and walked him along the fence, me on one side, Bishop on the other, to the gate…and promptly placed him in his comfy cozy crate. He may stay there until his Moma arrives…but then again the howling is not as easy to tolerate as my strong side thinks.

It’s 1 o’clock …and this and more has transpired. I’m not sure how it happens. I was supposed to have Grace today, too. I hate that she’s sick. But she was better off not being at Mimi’s today. When Ariel told me last night that Grace wouldn’t be coming today cause she wanted to look out for me being that Grace was sick….look out for me…she just had no idea at the time…how Gracie not being here today had really been a good decision.

And now…the real meat of this blog posting (thanks for allowing me to whine about my morning)….

I didn’t want to waste the fried chicken drippings remember? With no milk, I used Almond Milk. Oh, right “vanilla” Almond Milk. It was the smoothest, prettiest chicken gravy. It was screaming for biscuits. I knew the “vanilla” might have been a problem, but I proceeded. I proceeded with the same mindset that I usually do thinking, “This is probably not gonna turn out like I want it to.” I do it in so many life situations. Convincing myself that, “I’ll make it work.”  I continue on a course, even when my gut tells me, the odds are against me. You know, they say, “Your strength is your weakness.” I can attest to this. Tenacious to a fault.

There are some things a person cannot change…no matter how strong they believe they can. This was something I wanted to jot down so I can review later…as well as share. I know I’m not the only one. What looks like gravy, smells like gravy, even shows consistency like gravy might not taste like gravy. In this life lesson, it ain’t “all gravy baby.” And it would be good for me to sink my teeth into this…for this year and the rest of my crazy days.