Category: Family

A Blank Page

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There is something about a blank page that bugs me. It doesn’t matter if it is on my computer screen or a real piece of paper, it screams out for something, anything, to be written or drawn on it to make it unique.

When my kids were little, paper was a way to keep them entertained for all of two minutes while I made a bathroom stop. A notebook and pencil in my purse or diaper bag was a must to hold off boredom in places like restaurants and church. As they got older, we used paper and pencils to write words, and draw pictures to go with them. Sometimes, if we were in an appropriate, and sometimes not appropriate, place we would make paper airplanes, or fans, or anything we could by folding paper. It was a useful tool.

Then, when my kids were teenagers, before we all had text messaging, they left me notes on the fridge, the front door, in my car, and sometimes, on me, to remind me of things they needed or places they needed to be. I did the same for them and for my husband. Notes became an every day way of communicating in a busy teenage household.

But always, through the years, writing down my life was a part of my daily routine. I filled pages of paper in journals telling my story. Then I started writing down imaginary stories, always trying to write something that would teach, lead, or entertain others. I wrote letters, by hand, and notes saying Thank You, or You Are Invited To An Event, to others. I wrote love letters to my husband, and letters of appreciation and admonition to my children and grandchildren. I wrote the histories of my ancestors, and reams of papers for college courses.

Today, I still write every day. Sometimes it is just a blog, sometimes I work on a book or a short story, sometimes I just write an email, a response on social media, or to my elected officials. Like reading every day, writing is as much a part of my life as breathing. I can’t imagine being unable to do either.

So, today, when I was faced with a blank page, I thought about how important it is to write things down. Because once you are gone, and your children are gone, who will remember what you said, how you though, or the feelings that filled your life? This is your chance to put down the words that mean something to you. This is your time to tell your own story, opine on your ideas and dreams, and your time to say what you really think about any and every subject that comes to mind.

Every personal story is important. Without personal accounts of events, real history will be lost to the ages. All that will be left is what the professional politicians had to say, or the media of the day had to say, not what every day people had to say about a moment in time. Daily grind events are just as important as life changing events. And in the future, some many times great grandchild will sit in wonder reading what you really thought, did, or felt in your life. It will amaze, thrill, and surprise them with the turn of every page. Write it down. Inquiring minds will want to know.

A blank page is an opportunity. Don’t waste it.

Broken Memories

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A Valentine for my husband of 46 years.  In all the years of pain, loss, joy, and happiness, we have fallen in and out of love many times.  Today, we have found each other again. And this is what came to mind today. I love you old man, I always have, even when I got lost in the sorrow.

Broken Memories

Memories of your arms

holding me, hands touching me

reaching for you, touching

broken memories.

Memories of laughter

sunshine days, warm nights

gentle loving,

touching broken memories.

Memories of joy

memories of contentment

careful words, giving

broken memories.

Memories of loneliness

memories of emptiness

memories of needing you

lost in broken memories.

Memories of growing old

lost and alone

finding you in my heart

mending broken memories.

Reaching for your arms

touching your love

finding warmth

leaving behind broken memories.

Every Day Heroes

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A friend told me about an accident she and her husband came upon the other day. A car was on fire, and someone was trying to get out. Her husband jumped out of their vehicle and ran to help him get out, stayed with him until medical people arrived to fly the injured driver out to a hospital. Her husband was banged up a bit, but fine. Everyone was commenting on how much of a hero he was for helping and putting himself at risk. She demurred. I wrote in her comment section the following.

“Heroes are every day people who do extraordinary things without worrying about the consequences.”

I thought on that later, and I have come to the decision that all of us are everyday heroes during our lives. Often we don’t think of our actions as heroic or special. We simply react to what is happening in the best way we can. Sometimes it is helping someone survive a horrific accident. Sometimes it is taking soup to a sick friend. Sometimes it is a listening ear, and sometimes a swift kick in the attitude of someone having a pity party.

Saving a life is a big deal. It is a lot of responsibility and takes someone with inner strength of steel and granite to do what has to be done. Pulling someone out of burning building, out of the twin towers; running into the line of fire to rescue someone, standing up to the local bully to protect someone; leaving the abusive spouse, male or female, and taking the children with you; moving back home to take care of aging parents and giving up your plans to raise a child you didn’t expect to raise. All of those are heroic things. It takes guts, selflessness, and a willingness to deal with unforeseen consequences due to your actions to fulfill the title of hero.

Some people have jobs that are more like callings which are intrinsically heroic. Fire fighters, Law enforcement, Military men and women, Emergency Medical Personnel, are all in highly dangerous occupations. People are willing to accept those dangers. They train and work hard to gain the skills to do their jobs to the highest degree of proficiency. They are heroic in going out into the harsh world and fulfilling their duty.

Some people are heroes for taking on responsibility that they didn’t sign up for in their lives. They don’t run into burning buildings or chase down criminals, nor do they go out and put an end to evil regimes that threaten their countries and ours. These are the average moms and dads who sacrifice career advancements, educational opportunities, and being upwardly mobile so that one of them can stay home and raise their children. These are the single moms and dads, who, for whatever reason, are raising their children without benefit of a spouse. These are the single parents who are working, going to school full time, and being a mom or dad too. They could easily drop the kids into the system, hand them off to grandparents or other family members, but choose to be the mom and dad, provider, and give up personal time to be the best parent they can be.

There are heroes who teach, guide, lead, discover, and reach out to students who are on the verge of becoming another statistic to the poverty, gangs, and violence of their cultural world. Older men and women who set out to be an example to younger men and women, becoming a mentor and someone who believes in a young man or woman who has never had an advocate for their potential. And some heroes who coach and shape young people into strong, independent, thinking adults become the silent hero in the lives of the lonely, lost, and ignored. Most of them never know they made a difference just by their example.

And there are the every day people who reach out to everyone around them with friendship. Sometimes all it takes is just one person to change the life of another in a positive way after the slings and arrows of life has beaten them down. To the one they helped, they are doing something extraordinary. They cared enough to encourage someone on the abyss to keep going, not to give up, and ask for nothing in return. Sometimes all it takes is one person, just one, to change the trajectory of the world for another lost or grieving soul. Who is your hero?

Every day people, doing extraordinary things . . . think about it.

Boys

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Boys.

If they can climb it,

jump on it,

stomp in it,

roll on it,

swing on it,

and even better, jump off it,

they love whatever it is.

If it gets them dirty,

smelly,

sweaty,

wet,

or even better, muddy,

they want it.

If they can eat it,

drink it,

throw it,

smear it,

and it still tastes good,

they will take it.

If they can yell,

scream,

whistle,

shout,

growl,

and be loud,

they say it.

Boys.

Not your cream puff video game players,

Boys.

Learning to be men by doing, playing, coping, challenging.

Boys.

Hard to raise, harder to let go of.

Boys.

Pride, honor, dignity,

mine.

Husband at the Nail Salon

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Today I made a memory, well actually, we made a memory, my man and I.

The weather has been horrid for the past several days, well below freezing and there is still ice everywhere on the roads. I managed, some how, to break one of my fingernails. I am not a vain woman for the most part, but I do like to have pretty nails. Since the nail salon was still open, but he didn’t want me driving on slippery roads, my husband drove me to the salon, and to keep from freezing to death, went inside with me.

Like most Saturday afternoons, it was pretty busy. But not as packed as usual since the roads were bad. We had to wait for about twenty minutes before they got to me. He came prepared with his Kindle and his tablet to kill time while waiting for me to get finished. It always take about an hour to get my nails back to perfection. He patiently sat and waited, no fidgeting, no complaining, no deep sighs or any of his other signs of dissatisfaction. Meanwhile, the shop slowly filled up.

The woman doing my nails asked if my husband wanted a manicure, I explained he was just waiting for me since he didn’t want me to drive on the bad roads. She, and the two women on either side of me thought he was pretty special to do that. I don’t think he noticed all of us glancing at him as we discussed why he would do such a thing. The lady on my right sighed, “He must really love you. How long have you been together?” I told them I met him when I was 15 and married him when I was sixteen. Neither family thought we would last, but here we are 46 years later. The lady on my left, did the “isn’t that adorable” coo women make when something touches their heart. The woman working on my nails smiled, “You so lucky, Ma’am.”

Apparently, she told her co workers in their language what was going on. All the women looked at me and smiled. Then all looked at my totally oblivious husband who was lost in his book. Then all of us did the woman’s coo thing. A round robin of chatting took place with women commenting on how long they were married, and how they didn’t have a man who would treat them with such sweetness. After a few minutes, everyone went back to their business. But glances were cast at my husband and myself every so often as the news filtered around the room.

When I was nearly done, I asked my husband to come take a look at the color I had chosen. They were the color of a stormy winter sky with sparkles. He loved them. Said they looked like I had stars on my nails. Everyone around me giggled. The lady on my right winked at me, the lady on my left sighed, “He is a keeper, honey.” I agreed.

When he went to pay for my nails, a lady who was waiting looked at me with shock. “That man your husband?” I said he was. “And he payin’ for your nail without getting mad?” I said he was. “Girl, you all gotta be newlyweds.” I laughed, “No, we’ve been married for 46 years, and he is almost house trained.” She laughed out loud.

My husband always helps me on with my coat. Always. Just like he always opens doors for me, and helps me up and down stairs. He is, quite frankly, a real gentleman. I know, quaint. But it is one of the things I love the most about him. When he helped me on with my coat, every single woman in the place was watching. When he hugged me, and then opened the door for me and offered me his arm, like he always does, every woman in that room collectively sighed and did the woman coo thing. I smiled to myself, feeling, a bit smug. But also, grateful for the man I love and the gentleman he is. And he never once noticed he was the center of attention of at least thirty women. It is a good memory. It will still make me smile years from now.

Living in Her World

Posted on Posted in Children, Choices, conversation, Family, Grandchildren, Habits, Parenting, Story TimeTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

She lives in a world of princess dolls, tea sets, and toy horses, each enhanced with her imagination into a fantasy world of unending play and drama. She has deep conversations and interaction between her dolls and horses, and a tea party will include every toy she can find and her grandfather. She dances, prances, twirls, all in her tutu of the day – without an ounce of self conscious behavior.

In her world, everyone is expected to understand the rules that she sets forth and changes from moment to moment. It is her world after all. Her princesses posture, argue, share, and talk for hours, just like people in the grown up world. However, it is all driven by the imagination, intelligence, and curiosity of a four year old girl. When I over hear her say something that sound remarkably like something I have said to her, or her Mommy has said, it makes me smile. There are time she sounds amazingly mature, and other times it is clear she is fully engrossed in some magical moment of discovery.

In her world, her teddy bear, toy cat, and prized princess horse can have an intense conversation over pretend tea and cookies, while her imaginary sisters squabble in the background. I don’t know how she keeps the story lines straight. Maybe it doesn’t matter, because it is her world and subject to change without notice. And, like it or not, those of us on the peripheral are involved when we are needed to further the narrative.

Living in her world includes frequent costume changes, and requires a fashion show for each change. Sometimes it requires a new way of doing up her hair, different shoes, and a full change from the skin out. She dances her way through the day, fully aware of her beauty, and proud of her ability to be a princess one moment and a baby the next.

In her world, where she displays supreme self confidence and control, she has no fear, except a fear of the dark. She faces monsters, outrageous characters, stubborn dolls, and the occasional grumpy horse that needs a talking to. She laughs and dances through the story, the moment, the magic. And, at the end of her day, she crawls into her Papa’s lap, asking for a story to go to sleep by. Then, the next day, that story finds its way into her world, continuing on in her imagination.

Living in her world is a delight, a blessing, and an unending adventure. Her favorite living companion is her Papa, who willingly joins her world, and deeply misses her when she is away. We are old, she is young, but with her in our lives, in our hearts, we have learned to play again. Time to go see what is next, a tea party or a pretend trip to the barn. Either way, we will be in her world, and it will be an adventure worth remembering.

Dancing in the Kitchen

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We were newlyweds living in a house built in the 1800’s up in the hills above Mill Valley, California. We were deeply in love, but still adjusting to each other. It was a bad day, we had argued off and on all day about silly things. He made me cry, I made him swear. It was a typical lover’s spat made worse because we were so young, both of us were still teenagers.

I went into the kitchen to start cooking dinner. As I usually did, I put on music to help me deal with the stresses of my emotions. The Everly Brothers were, and still are, one of my favorite groups. I always sing along with music I love. The song “Let It Be Me” came on the stereo. I started to sing along, when I felt my husband’s arms come around me. He turned me to face him and we started slow dancing in the kitchen. That was the first time we danced barefoot in the kitchen.

We’ve been married for 46 years, over the years we have danced barefoot in kitchens all over the world. Last week we danced in our kitchen here in Mississippi to the same song. It still makes me teary eyed to feel the deep love we still have for each other. The last dance I ever have, when we are so old a decrepit that we creak, will be dancing barefoot in the kitchen. And we will be just as in love then as we were the first time we danced barefoot in the kitchen back in 1972 in that old house on Rose Avenue in Mill Valley, California.

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=everly+brothers+let+it+be+me

 

 

Do You Remember

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I noticed, last time we were out to dinner, that there were a lot of couples and families around us who were sitting at the same table, but not in the same space. The adults were never looking at each other. They weren’t talking to each other. And they looked, well, alone and lonely. I have been married for 46 years to the same man. We always have things to say to each other. Sometimes they aren’t always nice things, because we do argue about stuff like all couples. But we rarely sit at the same table and ignore each other – unless we are arguing, and that never lasts past the first course. What has happened between these couples who are older? Drifting apart? Different interests or hobbies? Bored with each other? Have they forgotten why they fell in love in the first place?

I know, we all look different from our youth. Gained wight? Gained wrinkles? Slower to get around? Tired easier? Of course. But so what? Under the age, and changes, you are still the same people who, once upon a time, met, fell in love, and knew you were meant to be together.

Oh, I know, modern marriages are a mishmash of divorce, remarriage, loss and remarriage, and folks who never want to marry but are so lonely they want someone in their lives in some permanent way. I get that. But, for those of us who have stayed married, who are so much a part of each other’s lives that we understand each other without words, we are in danger of becoming strangers living in the same house.

So, let me ask you a few questions:

Do you remember the first kiss and how overwhelming it was?

Do you remember the first time you knew this person was the love of your life?

Do you remember the fear of the commitment, but how much you wanted your love to be your love forever?

Do you remember how bereft you felt when you had to leave his or her arms?

Do you remember that magic moment when the love of your love looked at you and smiled, and your knees went weak with happiness?

Do your remember where you were when you had your first fight and you knew you blew the whole relationship?

Do you remember saying the words, “I love you” and knowing you meant it with every thing in your heart and soul?

Do you remember the first love letter? Not a note, text, or email, but a real letter. On paper. Do you still have it in a treasure box somewhere?

Do you still feel that goofy feeling of joy when you see each other after being apart for a time?

Does your heart ache with emptiness when you have to be separated for long?

Do you remember the one habit drives you crazy with frustration, but you still put up with it because it is a part of who they are?

Do you remember the first time you felt like you were home when you were held in his or her arms?

Do you remember when you stopped being embarrassed to be seen less than perfect, like when you were sick or in a bad mood?

Do you remember when you knew this was forever, not just until you drifted apart?

Do you remember when you decided that you would fight for this relationship come hell or high water, because this was the only one you would ever want so much?

Do you remember saying yes to, or asking for marriage? (I know, marriage is so yesterday, but that commitment is still vital no matter what you call it.)

Can you still look at the love of your life and know that he or she is still the love of your life?

Do you let life, kids, family, work, hobbies, and technology get between you? Why?

If you are feeling distant, or as if there is no spark left, then do something about it.

Write a love letter.

Make sure to tell him or her, that you love them daily. And not just an off hand “love you” as you leave for work in the morning. Take the love of your life in your arms, share a kiss – not a peck, and say the words like you mean them.

Spend time doing something you both enjoy.

Take a long weekend – and don’t tell any of your kids where you are going.

Turn off your phone.

Make time together special – whatever that may entail. It doesn’t have to always be romantic either, just special.

Take a moment to let other people know how wonderful your love is and why.

It isn’t wrong to be madly in love with your spouse or whatever you call each other, even after years together. Let them know. Just say it. Often. When least expected.

Laugh together.

Love together.

Support each other and encourage each other.

Take time just to be together, doing nothing in particular.

And remember, one day, it will be just the two of you again. You will have to speak to each other about things other than the mundane. Talking about how much you love each other is a great topic.

One day one of you will be gone, you don’t want to have regrets because you didn’t take the time to say what you felt, thought, and how much you loved.

Taking my own advice, “I love you, Harold B. Combs. Always have, always will.”

Please Stop.

Posted on Posted in Choices, Faith, Family, Habits, History, Law, lossTagged , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Last week, a man fulfilled horrific plans he had made over more than a few months. He stockpiled weapons, ammunition, and bomb making materials, holed up in a hotel room, and opened fire on a crowd below him who were doing nothing more than enjoying a concert. He killed 59 people, injured hundreds of others, and like the coward he was, he killed himself rather than face his crimes against humanity. Most mass killers are like that, cowards at heart who die rather than face their charges.

Seeing all of the sadness, the horror, the pain, the deep unending need to know why will overwhelm everyone who is touched by this madman and his desire to kill. How do I know this is what they are feeling? Let me tell you.

On a cold winter’s day in January 1996, my son was murdered along with his friend Ralph. It was and is a very painful event in our lives. After 20 years it is as much a part of who we are as our names. One learns to live with and through the pain, but it is ever present. A man shot my son and Ralph. I don’t blame the gun, it is just a tool, I blame the man who pulled the trigger.

For all of you who are on your high horse about how bad guns are, just stop. Stop making this about YOU and your political agenda. Stop talking, just stop. Take a minute out of your IMPERSONAL outrage, and allow those who are directly involved to talk. Listen to them. Just stop and listen! They will want to tell you about how wonderful their loved one was. How they lived, what they thought, how much they are loved. They don’t give a flying damn about your politics right now. It isn’t about YOU, or gun control, or where you were, or how oppressed you feel, or any of that.

This is about human beings who were living and laughing and having a great time up until a bullet took their lives.

So just shut up, stop talking, stop arguing, stop all of this crap that has nothing to do with the LOSS OF A LIFE of someone’s son, wife, husband, mom, dad, daughter, child, friend. Stop making about you. By all that is holy and loved in your life, have some compassion, gentleness, and love. At least let them bury their dead, mourn them, and get used to the new emptiness in their lives.

Tomorrow, you will get out of bed and go on with your daily routine. Your lives aren’t changed forever, your normal is still the same. You can go on your merry way, doing your own thing, whatever it may be. But some of those families will be burying their loved one. Some will wait minute by minute to see if they need to make funeral arraignments, or plans for a long recovery for a wounded family member, some of them will weep in sorrow and deepest despair. And the weeping will go on for the rest of their lives.

In unexpected moments, a memory will come to them that will bring them to their knees in pain. Or someone will laugh, and they are sure it was the one the lost, or they will see someone in a crowd that looks like him or her, and the pain will wash over them in waves of agony. And it will go on.

While you, in your self contained world, will natter on about political this, and demanding that because a mad man killed a bunch of people in Las Vegas, Nevada in October of 2017. Meanwhile, the urgency of the event will fade for you, become part of the history of your life, and lose its meaningfulness in furthering your agenda. Other people will die in other events, and for a few days that will grab your attention, but it will fade. And life goes on.

For those who lost someone in that horrific blood bath, it will never fade. Never. They will remember each and every second of the moment they knew they had lost someone. It will take conscious effort to remember to breathe, move, even speak at times. It will never end.

With time, they will learn to live through and with the pain and loss, if they are fortunate to have others to uphold and help them. Some will give in and stop living, some will end it all. Some will find a reason to live and some will simply survive until they can take a breath or a step without feeling like they are going to break into a million pieces like shattered glass.

I know this, because I have been in their shoes and walked that mile. If you haven’t, then shut up, sit down and listen to those who have been there. You are not qualified to know how we feel, what we think, and where our hearts and minds dwell.

Just stop, stop, stop….please.

Soap Box Rant

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WARNING: SOAP BOX RANT

I saw a commercial today for Little Cesar’s Pizza Company. I found it absolutely disgusting.

A little prince of a brat was sitting in a chair while his Dad brought him a pizza. He told his dad about a sale at Little Cesar’s Pizza and when his dad shamefully admitted he didn’t get that deal, bratty prince told is father to bend down and the bratty prince removed the #1 logo from the Dad’s hat and threw it over his shoulder in compete contempt for his father.

Was that supposed to be funny? Was it meant to diminish the father in importance? Was it supposed to make parents want to buy pizza for the little brat prince from a store like Little Cesar’s Pizza? Was it supposed to make the bratty prince look smarter than the dad? Was it supposed to make a statement on family dynamics? What the hell was that about?

Why would anyone who is a parent, who acts and behaves like a parent, not a peer of the bratty kid, ever buy anything from a company who has so little respect for fathers? Would they have that same role filled by a woman who was supposed to be a mother? Nope. Would the dad role be filled by a gay guy, black guy, Hispanic guy? Nope. Only a white guy can be such a schmuck. A middle aged, somewhat paunchy, white guy to boot. Why? Because we all know a middle aged white male is nothing more than a schmuck who is worthless, and the only good he does is bring home the bacon, or pizza in this case.

Subliminal messages abound in advertising, movies, television and even in books. We are all rotten parents because we don’t give our little princes and princesses exactly what they want, when they want it, and how they want on a daily basis. We are no longer #1 Dad or #1 Mom or grandparent, we are failures in the eyes of the men and women who run big business. We are failures to be mocked and insulted on a daily basis, yet it is folks like the dad in that advert who actually pay the bills and buy most things for the household and the bratty kids.

Every time I see that ad, I get ticked off. If my child had ever behaved in such a way, they would be doing chores for a month straight, and that is after being told off in no uncertain terms about how much of an ungrateful, wretched little monster they were! Makes me want to reach through the screen and smack that kid right out of the chair he is lounging in along with his hateful attitude.

It isn’t right to portray parents who are trying to feed their kids as inept imbeciles. It creates the idea in kid’s heads that their parents aren’t Number One in any way. Sure teenagers feel that way, but that is part of the whole distancing themselves from their embarrassing parents that happens to every family. By making this kid in the ad ten years old or under, the subliminal message to all kids that age who see the ad, is that Dad is just one stupid mistake from being a total failure who doesn’t deserve the kid’s respect.

Next time a commercial comes on that your child is likely to see, pay attention to the subliminal messages, as well as the context and content of the message. Kids remember what they see and hear, and many copy it as well. And folks, never, ever, buy the products that are using ads that promote division, insults, or politically correct attitudes toward parents who are adults that actually parent, or their children. They don’t deserve your money, time, or loyalty.

I am getting off the soap box now. Going to go educate my cussing corner for a minute. Have a good evening.