Treasure


Addie: What you doing Nana?
Me: Cleaning out the coat closet.
A: Why?
M: Because we need to get rid of the things we don’t use and take them to the charity shop.
A: How do you know we don’t need it? What if there are treasures in there?
Me:(Thinking, that most of it was probably junk) Well, if there are treasures we will keep them somewhere better than the coat closet.
A: Well, maybe they are treasures to someone at the charity shop just not to us.
Me: That’s possible, as I put in a coat four sizes too small for Addie into the give away bag.
A: What’s that? As I pulled out a hat and gloves that used to fit her mother. Can I have It for my dress up box?
Me: It’s a hat and glove set from when your mom was a little girl. Does that make it treasure?
A: For me it IS treasure! My mommy used to wear it.
Me: Here you go. Don’t lose the gloves.
A: Rolling her eyes at me. Nana! If YOU kept them for SO long, I can keep them safe too!

I didn’t know if she was commenting on her mother’s age or my ability to hang on to things. but she got her treasure, and she reminded me that even hand me down clothes can be treasure to those who can’t afford anything else for their little girl. She’s smart that way.

Advertisements

Where I’ve Been


On July 16, 2018, I had a heart attack. I wasn’t ill, in fact I was feeling pretty good until I started throwing up and couldn’t stop. I thought I had food poisoning, but I was getting dehydrated and went to the hospital. They made me stay there and the next morning, I had a stent installed in a tiny vein in the back of my heart. That back pain I thought was a pulled muscle, well it wasn’t it was a clogged up artery. A small one, but it still caused all sorts of trouble. I was sent home straight out of ICU later that day.

I started throwing up again later that night and ended up back at the ER. Guess what, I had an allergic reaction to the dye they used to figure out what was wrong with my heart. Not something that is all that common. It bunged up my kidneys, caused my blood sugar to get totally out of control, and made me sick as a skunk eating dog. Holy cats, NO ONE should be that sick, ever. And to make it all just ducky, I got a terrible migraine to add to all the misery. I ended up staying as a hospital guest for three long miserable days before they let me leave again, It took that long for my kidney function to recover. The details are pretty disgusting, so that is all I want to say about that.

I went to the nearest hospital, The Methodist Hospital in Olive Branch, Mississippi. Its a pretty new place, kind of out in the country, small but up to date with all the new gadgets and such. Clean, quiet, quick to get in and out of the ER, but the best part of the entire place is the staff. From custodians who had to clean up after me more than once, to the nursing and technician staffs, to the doctors who actually take time to have a conversation and answer questions, to the hospital chaplain who came more than once just to talk to me about how I was coping, every last one was kind, compassionate, genuine in their concern and care for and of me. And they were that way to each and every single person for which they held responsibility. Amazing and wonderful for someone who was feeling grotty, and yes, terrified of dying. When I mentioned that to the Chaplain after sharing a prayer, he smiled kindly and said, “Dear Sister, I saw a long list of things you still have to accomplish. Trust in the Father, he only has great love for you.” Yes, I cried. It was a good thing. Healing tears in the face of deep fear.

In 2011, I faced death more than once from a horrific infection at the sight of open heart triple bypass surgery. It resulted in two more open heart surgeries within three months. That was followed by nearly a year of recovery and several more years of regaining mobility and strength. I think of myself as strong willed and determined, but I knew I was very close to dying and my doctor confirmed the fact that he didn’t think I would make it through that final surgery. I thought I was doing everything right and never expected to have another heart attack. Not when I felt so healthy. I think I was beyond shocked, and went from, “Why am I throwing up?” to “Am I going to die?” at the speed of sound.
\
I couldn’t sleep that first night. A young nurse was assigned to me. About three in the morning, she came into check on me and found me unable to express my fear. Patting my hand, she leaned over and hugged me. We chatted a bit, and when she left she said, “I wish I had a Nana like you. Mine died when I was little. I know you’ll be okay.” Yes, I cried. It was then that I made a decision.

I was going to tell every single person who came into my room how much I appreciated their help, their willingness to do a difficult job, no matter what it was, and that all they did for a patient made them a ministering angel and God’s hands here on earth. I did exactly that. I thanked everyone, I told them how valuable they were to me as part of a group who pulled together to help me survive and heal. I prayed with a few, I cried with a few, I laughed with more, and I was openly loving and sharing with everyone. Those that know me, know I don’t open up like that – ever. When I left, every single nurse and aide on the floor hugged me. Before I made it to the elevator, several others stopped us and said thank you and wished me well.

When I got home, I was still worn out (Never go to the hospital if you want to rest), but so grateful for the love I felt, and even more for the love of my family – especially my husband’s love. A few days later, a letter came for me from the hospital. It was a card, signed by all of the nurses who cared for me, thanking ME for allowing them to be part of the process of healing. Yes, I cried.

Once again, Thank You:

Taylor, Jason, Bobby, Sibel, Lauren, Terrinay, Mariah, Jennifer, Bernie, June, Ms. Dee, Miss Ruby Rose, Dr. Patel, Dr. Showkat, All the Surgery Team, Respiratory Team, Blood Team, ER Staff, Laboratory Staff, and X-ray Staff, and especially Brother Earl for reminding me that God never ignores those of his children who are in need of his attention.

You are indeed ministering angels and God’s helping hands on earth.

A Childhood Memory


When I was a little kid, my family went to a parade. It was wonderful. All the men marching in step, the tanks rolling by, all the armor, jeeps, and first and foremost, the flag flying high over everything. I remember the sky was bright blue, making the colors of the flag stand out, each color brilliant and fresh. A band marched by, playing loud and proud. When they passed us, they were playing Grand Old Flag. It was all so exciting. My mother kept us kids under control, but the entire crowd was cheering, like they were welcoming heroes home. It was the Fourth of July and we were in Germany in the early 1960’s. Somewhere among those marching men was my father.

I was too young to recognize the importance of that post WWII and post Korea moment. I grew up in the military, I thought everyone’s dad marched in long lines and wore a uniform if they were American. It was normal. All the kids I knew, except for the few locals in our area, had dads who wore uniforms. The women and children in our house area waited for dads and husbands to come home from “the field” just like we did. And everywhere we went, from the school to the doctor’s building, there was a flag with the same bright colors flying above it. It was normal.

When my dad left the military, I was shocked to see buildings without the flag, people without uniforms of any kind, and complete disrespect for any sort of organization. It was hard to become a civilian, I missed the comfort of normal. I missed the feeling of security I had always had, even in the midst of the cold war that could send us on a bus or train with one bag for our whole family at a moment’s notice. I was never unsure, I was never alone, as long as there was a man in a uniform like my dad wore.

One day, I was at school very early for some reason. I was wandering around waiting for school to open when I saw the janitor come out of the building. He unfolded a flag, and pulled it up the flagpole. There, against the bright blue sky, the colors of my flag unfurled. As the wind caught it, the flag waved proudly above the land around it. In my mind I heard Grand Old Flag, as the janitor stepped back and saluted with all the dignity and honor of a soldier. Tears came to my eyes, because to me, he no longer wore a gray shirt and pants of a janitor, he wore a uniform of a soldier, and I knew as long as there were men who had served, men who knew the value of freedom and sacrifice, we would be safe.

Today life is very different in our country. But still, men and women serve to protect what is ours, and our freedom. No matter what politics you hold, no matter what lifestyle you profess, no matter where you live, the military protects you. The flag some spit on, burn, and trample still flies proudly from front porches, flag poles, and buildings. Be it against smoke from a riot, storms, or skies of bright blue, the flag still watches over our land and our people. The little girl in my past and the old woman I am today salute them. In memory of all those who have served to protect our homeland from the Revolutionary Founders through today, Thank You and God Bless America.

Oh Brother…


There is a vast difference between stating my opinion and offering advice, telling someone what to do, or how to think. However, apparently from the attempted dressing down I got from someone on social media, they are exactly the same thing. Unless, of course, I agree with everything he says and march in lock step with all others to his commands and demands. In short, I have no right to an opinion, and I have no right to express anything differently than what he says. He would be a great socialist/communist comrade for the snowflake agenda. Devoted to everyone being exactly the same, but only if people like him are there to tell everyone what to think. I suggested he move to Russia or China, or better yet to go educate those in the Middle East or African countries who live under violent rule. He wasn’t amused. How can these people walk and talk at the same time without coming to physical harm? Have they ever read the Constitution and the reasons why America separated herself from England?

Today they scream oppression or racism at every turn. They haven’t a clue what oppression means. They have never suffered the likes in the USA. Young, semi educated, well fed, healthy snowflakes think they are being oppressed if their latte isn’t perfect or cell phone coverage is spotty. They get offended just hearing any adult tell them they can’t do or have something they want. They have no idea how to wait and plan for something instead of having a hissy fit if they don’t get it immediately. But they still feel offended, unappreciated, and furious at the world when told to wait their turn. They DEMAND respect, and they DEMAND they be first in all things.

I will appreciate you if you do something worth appreciating. I will think highly of you once you stop putting yourself before everyone and everything else. I will want to have a conversation with you when you stop swearing and yelling at me when I state my opinion. I will respect you when you learn to respect others who have lived through a life of ups and downs, raised kids, adapted and over came all sorts of difficulties. I will listen to you when you are willing to listen to me. We can disagree and still cohabit this earth. You are not the be all, end all of this world. Only in your mind are you that important.

I am an old woman, I have seen your behavior many times before. People like you either grow up, get a career, or job, that pays the bills. Take some hard knocks, and learn how to get along with all sorts of people, or they end up being 40, 50, 60+ immature whiners who live off others and encourage young mush brained brats like you to grow up to be just like them. Because who else are they going to feel superior to? The only exception are the spoiled rich kids, politicians, and performers who actually think their opinions are prophecy to the idiots of the world.

So, my former friend, I will tell you the same thing I told my boys when they were about fourteen (Your approximate mental age), “Grow the hell up, son, and get over your damned self. You aren’t that important to the world. I love you, I will always love you, but I am not your nursemaid or servant.” Yes, it ticked them off too. They got over it. You, however, have left it a bit late.

Interlude


When we went out for ice cream the other day, a mother with identical twin girls got in line behind us. The girls were three, and cute as could be. Addie was so interested in how much alike they were. The mom was kind enough to answer her questions, and share information with Addie. The little girls were equally fascinated with Addie because she had on purple eye glasses and they wanted to know all about them, so I answered their questions. They did the twin thing of finishing each other’s sentences, and talking over each other in their excitement to learn something new.

Addie got her purple ice cream. I don’t know the flavor, it doesn’t matter as long as it is purple or pink. The little girls wanted the same thing. As the girls enjoyed staring at each other, I chatted for a few minutes with their mother about the usual issues of motherhood times two at once. It was a nice interlude.

The point behind this ramble is that it wasn’t until later that it occurred to me that Addie and I had a nice chat with a mother and her children who were people of a different color than we were. And not once did it occur to us that the differences might matter to anyone. We were just people talking about our lives. Addie is amazed at the thought of twins, the twins were amazed at the fact that Addie needs glasses to see better. That was all that mattered to them.

The mother and I simply exchanged mother notes with each other for a few minutes. I complimented her on how well behaved her girls were, she complimented me on how sweet Addie was. I told her I admired her ability to parent two three year old babies at once, and she said it was hard, but worth it. She admired the fact that we wanted to take our grandchild out for ice cream and how much we clearly loved her. I told her that we sometimes got worn out, but it was worth every minute of it. We were just women being women in a singular moment in time. It was comfortable, pleasant, and completely tranquil.

Addie and I have light skin, the mother and her girls have lovely coffee color skin. It didn’t matter. We were humans being humans, nothing more, nothing less. Had I been a hater, or had she been a hater, we would have both missed out on a nice moment in time. And you know, if people would just stop trying to divide themselves from other people through false agendas like race and status, we could all have pleasant interludes where we learn something about each other, have a laugh, and move on with our day more educated and accepting. It is a sad thing that so many want to used differences as a reason to be angry and divisive. Very sad, indeed.

Ten Minutes to Eternity


I love my husband. More than I did when I fell in, first lust, then love, with him forty-eight years ago. We were so young, headstrong, and sure of ourselves. We didn’t think about how getting married a year after we met would impact our lives, our families, or our future. We wanted to be together. And back then, even in the midst of the hippie free love era, we didn’t want to give in to the urges we had, we wanted to be a permanent couple. We wanted to belong to each other. So we ran away to elope on a hot June day. But no one would marry a nineteen year old boy and a sixteen year old girl. I ended up living with his parents while he lived in an apartment until my parents sent the papers for us to legally marry.

It was a warm, sunny, Sunday afternoon in August of 1971 when we married at a small church in Mill Valley, California. The reverend wasn’t happy about marrying two young people, but we made it clear if he didn’t we would find someone who would. Between Sunday services, we met at the church along with his parents, brothers, a friend of mine, and the reverend. In a span of about ten minutes, we were joined together as husband and wife. It was peaceful, and the only music was provided by the nesting sparrows outside the refectory.

After a few required signatures, photos, and a handshake from the reverend, we all went back to his parent’s house. They were, naturally, not in a party mood, so the Mr. and I changed into our jeans and boots, jumped on the Harley and headed down Miller Avenue to the local Jack in the Box burger joint for a meal. We rode over the Camino into Corte Madera and back along the back roads to Mill Valley. Later, we drove into San Francisco to the Hyatt for our wedding night. And that is all I have to say about that, other than we were both very happy, very in love, and very compatible. It was a beautiful day.

The next day we loaded up the Harley with our camping gear and headed to the Sierra Nevada Mountains to do some panning for gold for our honeymoon. It was a blissful few days, filled with laughter and the joy of knowing we were meant to be together forever. Eventually, we had to go back to the real world and face life as new adults. School, work, scrambling for money, paying bills, all that went with that set us apart from our friends our age. At the same time, we still had fun just being a young couple in love.

Years rolled by, children came, struggles came and went, we lost our oldest son, and we gained our first grandchild followed by more. Like all couples, we had our years of falling out of love and getting lost in the minutia of life, but we always found our way back to each other. And here we are, forty-eight years later, still married, still in love, and we still have that spark that brought us together all those years ago.

I love my husband. More than I ever thought I would. I don’t know where the years went so fast, but I know we lived every last one of them together. God willing, we will have untold years ahead. Who knew a ten minute ceremony would lead to eternity?

Again? Really? This Is Getting SO Predictable.


Yet another idiotic meme was posted on social media today. One that, once again, compared President Trump to Adolf Hitler. A blatant attempt to sway weak minded, perpetually offended, left leaning, uneducated people that the legally elected President of the United States is evil. She attempted to defend her stance by repeating the usual nonsense about his personality and his behavior, and that he was obviously mentally ill. I responded with this.

T (the person who eagerly posted the meme), stop a minute. So he (President Trump) doesn’t meet your standards for polite language, and he is rough edged, What makes him fake if that is true? It seems to me that people who say what they mean and mean what they say are often viewed as harsh or outspoken and use less of the polite passive aggressive verbiage than those who are just spewing rhetoric.

What makes you think he is crazy and needs evaluation? The propaganda you read and the hate that you spread without proof, from non medical anti Trump advocates, or do you have a medical degree that would give you the right to attest to that statement?

If you read something other than propaganda from the hate Trump crowd, you would know that he DID have a mental evaluation when he had his last physical. Guess what, it showed that he was perfectly normal and he has no mental issues at all. That tells me it is the folks who hate him who really have the mental issues. They are so filled with ire they can’t be bothered to actually think for themselves, read something beyond propaganda, and take a step back to see just how much he HAS done since he has been in office.

In fact, he has managed, despite Congress doing their best to stop him with their stalling, to accomplish almost all he promised to the REST of us. Those who want someone who isn’t a professional lying politician to make American great again. Heaven knows the Obummer managed to make the world laugh at us long and loud.

All of the nonsense you have spewed thus far, my friend, is pure propaganda repeated over and over and over by the leftist media and hard line haters. Truth doesn’t matter to any of them, only getting that cow Killary in office matters. It doesn’t matter that she is a criminal and hates all of us deplorable underlings.

Look, T, you simply need to take a minute to stop hating and see all the good that has happened for most of America since he took office. Starting with more folks working than ever before and more freedom returning to our lives. Stop hating, learn for yourself. Don’t be a cog in the hate machine. Be an independent individual. It takes courage, but you are smart enough and talented enough to do it.

Typically, all I got in response from T and her cadre of perpetually angry and offended, hate filled, so called friends, was personal insults, unexciting verbosity, and repetitive vomiting of the standard “we hate Trump” hits. It makes my eyes cross with boredom, kind of like listening to the same five notes of a screeching diva aria.

I can’t believe people are so afraid to think outside of the prison of the liberal progressive thought box and socially acceptable actions. It is as if they have a list of what is and is not the right thing to say and do when they hear the word Trump. Someone says that the job market is booming thanks to his tax cuts, and the leftist run to their menu and pick a response for column A for feeling offended, column B for knowing they are superior to all the facts, and C what names to call anyone who says, “Good! More jobs for the under employed, minorities, and legal immigrants.”

It all starts to blend together in an unending “wawawawa” like the teachers in the Peanuts cartoons. I see more and more Constitutionally Conservatives rolling their eyes and refusing to engage in such petty nonsense. The odd thing is, when Conservatives stop talking, responding, or arguing with such people, the leftist actually think they won the debate or changed someone’s mind to come over to the dark side. Those folks actually do not understand civil discourse, irony, or common facts. They don’t care what the facts say, they hoist themselves on their emotion filled self righteousness and expect the world to bow down to them.

Well, we see what that brought to us when our then president bowed to the will of every single anti American leader in the world. Now we have even more people trying to use our country and its people for their gain. Sundering our generosity as a nation and as a people, we have become the laughing stock of the world, expected to apologize for our strength, our ability, and our business acumen. I would say that they still want to be in our schools, but with the way the leftists have taken over all the liberal arts universities, that is no longer so, as we drop further behind in educational prowess every year.

So, to T, and to the few progressives I bother to speak to any longer: Just because I refuse to engage in this unending, whining, round robin argument it does not mean you won the battle. If anything it means I no longer feel you have a grip on reality and nothing I say will bring you back from the abyss of ignorance and hate that permeates your lives. I love you, I care about you, but I am no longer going to let you be the negative in my world. I will go around, ignore, climb over, stand above, adapt and overcome your incessant complaining and hatred toward a hard working American. A man whom you hate because he is successful and makes the lot of you look idiotic in your constant propaganda laden, unthinking lemming-like devotion to lies, distortions, and venomous tautology concerning his presidency. In short, no one is listening and we are all moving on.

Small Goals


Little moments, small goals, simple reminders, things that make love a reality flitted through my mind while I was getting our Addie ready for bed. How fast things change in a child’s life. A year ago, bed time was a chore, complete with tears, tantrums, and frustration over the simple act of getting her to brush her teeth. Tonight, she got herself ready for bed, brushed her own teeth, put her toys away, and found her Zebra Bear to snuggle with all on her own. Instead of tantrums, we spent half an hour talking about her week, things that she asked about, and her big plans for tomorrow. Then she rolled over and went to sleep in about two minutes. Once I had a simple goal of getting her teeth brushed, getting her into pajamas, and into bed without a tantrum, and asleep within an hour or two. A year later, its a done deal. She no longer even needs a reminder.

I feel a bit, superfluous. But, proud of her too. She did it! She made that small goal happen. And now our bedtime ritual has morphed into little moments together where she does all the talking, and I no longer have to sit on my frustration and hold back angry words. It is simply a small moment in time at the end of the day filled with love. She is the third generation I have raised to this point of independence. One would think it would get easier to see them grow up, but it doesn’t. I want to keep her my angle baby for just a little longer. However, God, in his wisdom, made moms and grandmothers, so we could raise children to be strong, confident adults. Part of that process is letting go, entrusting them to God, and trusting them to be the people they are meant to be. It is so hard, but it is so worth it. Sweet dreams, Angel Baby, see you in the morning.

The Spider


This afternoon, I went out on the front porch to retrieve a box the postman delivered. As I bent down to pick it up, I saw a spider. Not an bitsy spider, nope, a big spider. About three inches from leg to leg. I did the spider dance, and nearly shut the door on my foot in my haste to Get. Away. From. The. Spider. After nearly hyperventilating myself into hysteria, I peeked out the door. It hadn’t move at all. Not even with my shrieking and door slamming.

Not trusting anything with eight legs and a billion eyes, I carefully stared at the damned thing for a full minute – or ten. It still didn’t move. I wasn’t going to touch it. Maybe it was dead, maybe it was trying to trick me into getting close enough to jump on me. Not going to touch it, not going on the porch, not going, nope, nope, nope.

When the Mr. got home, I asked him to come look at the still unmoving creature. “Oh, he said, That’s a fake spider.” So calm, so unruffled. I wanted to strangle him. “Who the HELL put that on MY PORCH?! The decibel count went up with each word. He shrugged, “I guess either Addie or I left it on the porch last weekend.” For about five seconds I was speechless. Then the words hit the fan, so to speak. I was profane, I was loud, I was nearly stomping in fury! He did the man thing, and went out to the porch, took the spider, and put it in the rubbish bin. The he quietly found something to do upstairs in his office while I calmed down.

I was a good wife, I didn’t burn his dinner as a way of saying I was sorry for losing it. I know he was upstairs laughing at me. I know he snickered and chortled. I know it. He does that when I get all girlie on him. But, people, it was a SPIDER! A big, black, ugly, creepy spider, right next to the package. I could have TOUCHED it! Ew! Ick! Shudder. I think I am traumatized. And he thought it was no big deal. Men! Geesh! Whoever made plastic rubberized creepy crawlies as TOYS needs to be tossed into a pit of nasty living things for eternal punishment.

What A Day


Woke up this morning to see the Mr. off to work. Then my life turned to a squirrel rodeo. Boocat brought in a young squirrel he caught. He dropped it at my feet, and it was still alive. I took it away from him. Boocat got yelled at, while Cadeau, the dog, was trying to get close enough to smell of the critter. As usual, Jammer just ignored all of us and ate his breakfast like a good kitty. While Boocat was distracted, he ate Boo’s breakfast as well. This led to a later hissing match.

I checked the squirrel over and once it recovered from its shock, I let it go behind the back fence. He was up and gone in seconds. Bet he won’t come back to our yard. It is now 7:36 A.M, and I am ready for a nap.

Haven’t had this much excitement since yesterday when a small toad found its way into the house and all three animals decided it looked like a good snack. I was able to rescue it too, and it now lives in the front flower beds. I need a vacation, soon.