Thursday, February 14, 2019
It's Just a Day
This posts falls into the category of "I had a thought, I wrote, and then I forgot to publish it." I thought I had though. A friend on Facebook (and in real life, we just haven't seen each other since high school, probably) expressed a sentiment recently similar to what I had said here, and I knew I had a post about it so I went to find it and do a repeat performance. Only I found it in the Draft folder and not the Posted folder. In rereading it, I realized it didn't need much to be finished. I originally wrote it several years ago so a few of the references are dated, but still valid.
Hope you enjoy it.
Valentine's Day is but once a year, right?
Depends. Yes, according to the Julian Calendar. No, according to me.
I started to write this post last year when I heard many of my Facebook friends, and some others that I could actually see and touch, lamenting how terrible it was that their husband/boyfriend/significant other hadn't done anything for them for Valentine's Day. No flowers, no candy, no cards. Nothing.
Whenever these conversations start I hesitate to jump in.
I can count on one hand, pretty much, the number of gifts Billy has gone out and purchased for a specific event.
My engagement ring was a Christmas present, that was 1988. Christy, my first baby, was my first Christmas present that year we were married (1989). Christmas 1991 saw a few presents because we had both used all our accrued vacation time to move to Kansas City and couldn't go to Arkansas for the holiday. I remember he bought me a set of purple glass Corning cookware. I can't recall one birthday or anniversary gift - ever. 1989 or 1990 was probably the last time I got anything for Valentine's Day either. I do remember getting flowers and a teddy bear one year when I worked at Ernst in Little Rock, but not sure if was the engaged year or the married year.
Yet, I want for nothing.
Yesterday, a package came for Billy, that he ordered, and in it were 6 bottles of bubble bath for me, just because he knows I like to take bubble baths.
Newest iPhone, also coming to me. All I said was that a friend had one and I thought they were interesting. He went to AT&T and picked one out and is having it shipped.
Anything I show him in a magazine - cool purple running shoes, new exercise clothes, fun gadgets - his first words are always "get you some!" and if I don't, he will. He has come back from Arkansas many a time with a bag of goodies for me.
He just knows me, and what I like.
Who's up every morning, asking what time we're leaving to walk? Yep. Have a race to run, he's right there. Up early, tending to the animals so I can gather my stuff and then waiting at the finish line with a big grin across his face. (Almost a big as the one across my face). The only one he's not sure he can attend is when I do a half Ironman distance triathlon, but only because it will take me all day to do it. We're still working on that one.
So, if someone asks what I got for this occasion or that reason, I don't have the answer they are looking for.
Nothing, because I didn't need it.
Nothing, because I already have it all.
You see, I married a giver, just not a "gift-giver".
And that is how I believe it should be.
It means so much more to me to know that he listens, and cares, and does whatever he can to make my life easier. His schedule is more flexible so he goes to the grocery store for us; he does laundry and housework. After those morning walks he comes back and fixes my breakfast and coffee to go while I am getting dressed for work. Lunch is on the table every day, waiting for me. And dinner is always in the works when I get home.
These gifts are way sweeter than an box of chocolates and last much longer than a bouquet of roses. Daily reminders of how he feels about me, unsolicited, and free from the pressure of getting the perfect gift for that one day that the World that says you are supposed to have one.
See, in our house February 14 is just another day on the calendar - same as February 13 and February 15. Or May 18, August 5, December 25, October 19, and on and on.
Thursday, December 6, 2018
Life Without Epilepsy
For almost exactly nine years, we lived with epilepsy. For just over the last year, we have lived without it.
At first, you go through all the standard stages of grief – denial (Riley cannot really be gone), anger (why did he have to live with epilepsy in the first place, why couldn’t he just be like all the other dogs?), bargaining (bring him back and I’ll do anything; bring him back without epilepsy and I’ll really do anything you want), depression (what will we do without that face) and acceptance (I can’t believe he’s gone, but I know he is).
But then, a different kind of reality sets in, and a type of guilt you’ve not dealt with before.
For almost 283,824,000 seconds our lives revolved around Riley. Literally, and figuratively. Trips to the grocery store were planned around his medicine schedule. Nights out or trips alone were only scheduled when one of our competent sitters was available. One night, we went to a concert and Riley slept in the car the whole time. We bought webcams to watch him. We did nothing – not work, not play, not anything without considering Riley and his needs.
And then Riley was gone. Just like that. In literally an instant. One final breath. Just one of those 283,824,000 seconds.
It takes a day, or two. Maybe a few. And you realize one day that the medicine alarm didn’t go off, and you didn’t even realize it. Years of having multiple alarms go off multiple times a day and now, none. You are walking around Walmart and look at your watch and momentarily panic, and then realize it doesn’t matter. Riley’s 2pm pills aren’t necessary. You see a advertisement for a local festival and really want to go but it will probably last after 10:30 pm. And, again, you realize it doesn’t matter. You’re free to go, if you want,
So you go. You keep shopping at Walmart. You book that client meeting for 2 pm. You register for that triathlon out of town. You run a little further in the morning before work.
You go to bed at 9:30 at night and sleep straight through until 6:30 in the morning.
And you feel guilty.
This isnt’ right! I can’t do this! Riley needs me!
But he doesn’t anymore.
He is over the Rainbow Bridge, where no epilepsy monster can touch him. No seizures, no ataxia from his meds, no blindness. No issues whatsoever.
Like learning to live with epilepsy, you learn to live without it. It should be easy since you grew up, went to college, got married and started working all without it. But learning to live without epilepsy takes almost as much as learning to live with it.
It is a shift, again.
Adding epilepsy to your daily routine makes you feel like you’ve “done something”. You have altered your life for a precious creature’s greater good. Eliminating that element from your day makes you just like everyone else – working for a living, taking care of your family, and so on.
And that is not bad by any stretch of the imagination, it is just a new normal. You are back to the person you were before epilepsy entered your life. A wife, husband, mother, father, sibling, employee, employer, neighbor. You are just you.
And you realize one day that it is okay. “You” is not such a bad person to be.
But you still feel guilty.
Some days more than others.
They say that to know love you have to have had loss. I don’t know if I agree with that or not. I think to know love you only have to look the eyes of dog. One who’s former family has failed him. One that has been sick all night and is curled up in a ball next to you. One who hasn’t had a good meal in a while and can’t stop wagging his tail as you give him food.
One who has slept all night in the first time for a long time, safe under your care.
We are not the first family to go through this, won’t be the last. But I want to put it out there that it is okay. That first morning you sleep all night because you didn’t have to listen for every sound from your warrior, its okay. That first day you come home from work and realize for the first time you worked all day, its okay. The first time you just plan something you really want to do, and then do it, its okay.
Our warriors never leave us, not really. They are still in everything we do, but just not the deciding factor in everything we do.
We can live and love, and learn to do so guilt free.
Saturday, October 6, 2018
Life cycles
You are born, you live, you die.
You are a child. You become a parent. Your parents become childlike.
Your parents loved, nurtured, and protected you in your youth. You love, nurture, and protect your parents in their age.
Your children grow to become parents.
And it continues.
Life, cycles.
Monday, September 10, 2018
The Three Rs
Republican, Racist, Redneck.
I was called all three last week, all because of one very small Twitter post. Fox & Friends posted the new Nike Just Do It campaign ad, and asked for thoughts. As you may know, it featured Colin Kaepernick with the slogan “Believe in Something. Even if it Means Sacrificing Everything”.
In 140 characters, or less, I managed to set off a string of likes, retweets, and really nasty responses. All I said was “So glad I switched to New Balance, I would have hated to have to burn all my running shoes. Bad call @Nike!”
One of my detractors came in with a long bit ending with the line “stick with prez bonespurs - a true american - DRAFT DODGER!” Atypically for me, I engaged this person and asked where, anywhere, in my comments did I mention the President, or support for the President, or anything that would link me to the President. Here, some folks jumped in and quickly devolved whole discussion into a political mess with conversations of the military service of the last four or five presidents. Really not relevant. Another one, staying with the Republican theme here, just flat out offended me by saying he doubted that me or most people even knew about Colin Kaepernick before the President made it a political football. I just responded to him with the link to my blogpost (https://deanne-randomthoughts.blogspot.com/2016/09/when-should-equals-must-but-can-does.html) that was originally published in September 2016 where I discussed this topic. One month after the initial incident.
Then some others jumped on the bandwagon and that was when the racists comments started. Again, I asked where in my comments I had ever mentioned Mr. Kaepernick’s race. I was told I brought race into it when I was offended that Colin Kaepernick kneeled during the anthem but not when Tim Tebow did it, therefore I was a racist. What did Tim Tebow have to with this? How does this person labeling me a racist know what I did or did not do with this alleged kneeling by Tim Tebow (who, by the way, kneels in prayer all the time on the sidelines of a game and any picture from the internet can be pulled to “support” this theory that he kneeled in disrespect.). I asked them why it was not possible for me to disagree with Mr. Kaepernick’s message itself, and not the messenger? Which is what I was doing. Silence. And today there was another one that called me a “simp” and told me that if Colin Kaepernick was protesting something like animal abuse, I would be standing right there beside him. So I thanked him for making my point for me, because he was right. If Mr. Kaepernick was protesting animal abuse I would be right beside him protesting as well because that was a message I could agree with, so surely this tweeter could see my point – protesting the message and not the messenger himself. (But I still would never do it by kneeling during the National Anthem, ever.)
Although the tweeter meant it as a slam.
And the third one was this:
Maybe I am misinterpreting it, but I think “redneck” was the message behind the photos.
And several more questioned the sanity of burning your perfectly good, purchased with good money shoes, just for effect.
So, how about a reminder of what started this brouhaha to start with. The following is quoted from an interview posted on CNN’s website:
"I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color," Kaepernick, then 28, told NFL.com's Steve Wyche, the man who broke the story.
"To me, this is bigger than football, and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way.
"There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."
I have nothing but the utmost respect for law enforcement. And that is why I have a problem with his statement. And with him wearing pig socks (cartoon pigs wearing police caps). His comments were aimed at a profession, not a person. Are there bad police officers, sure. There are also bad CPAs, teachers, doctors, clergy, football players, investment bankers, you name a profession and you can find one. (And, before the haters jump in and tell me “death” is not a result of one of these other professions being bad I respectfully disagree – errors in health can result death, financial ruin has caused people to take their own lives, and so forth.)
His comments came at a time when there were several conflicts with young black men and police officers. There was rioting in Missouri and in Maryland when the police officers were found to not be guilty of murder but instead justified in their actions. It became open season on police officers, black and white. And folks like Mr. Kaepernick weren’t doing anything to help matters. Again, he had the right to disagree, to protest, to make his voice heard but there is a time and a place and a manner to do so. He chose none of the right ones.
He became a polarizing figure.
Now, back to the ad.
Believe in something. Even if means sacrificing everything.
As one of my Facebook friends (thank you, Jean Gay) pointed out, perhaps former Arizona Cardinal Pat Tillman would have been a better choice – giving up a football career to join the military after September 11, 2001, and ultimately dying in Afghanistan. How about that as a face of believing in something to sacrifice everything?
What, exactly, did Mr. Kaepernick sacrifice? He was already riding the pine in the NFL. I know I hadn’t heard of him before all this so he wasn’t a huge shining star in the sport.
I know that Nike executives didn’t lose any sleep over the fact that I won’t buy any more shoes or workout wear from them. MAC Cosmetics didn’t shutter their door when I emailed them I would no longer buy their products after they chose Miley Cyrus as one of their faces. They responded they were sorry but there was no way they could have found a representative that would make everyone happy. Now, for me, giving up MAC cosmetics was a much big problem, but I did it. I haven’t thrown out what I had, no, but I’ve not bought anything since then either.
I know I’ve asked before but why do these conversations always seem to be reduced to name calling? I made no references to anyone, and I never responded by calling anyone anything – not a liberal or a Democrat or noted the color of anyone’s skin. No one knows how I voted in the last election. No one knows how I feel about the President because I’ve never said it. Why can I not disagree with someone who happens to be a different gender/race/political affiliation without it making me one, or more in this case, of the Three Rs?
Why can’t we just say our peace and then agree to disagree?
I was called all three last week, all because of one very small Twitter post. Fox & Friends posted the new Nike Just Do It campaign ad, and asked for thoughts. As you may know, it featured Colin Kaepernick with the slogan “Believe in Something. Even if it Means Sacrificing Everything”.
In 140 characters, or less, I managed to set off a string of likes, retweets, and really nasty responses. All I said was “So glad I switched to New Balance, I would have hated to have to burn all my running shoes. Bad call @Nike!”
One of my detractors came in with a long bit ending with the line “stick with prez bonespurs - a true american - DRAFT DODGER!” Atypically for me, I engaged this person and asked where, anywhere, in my comments did I mention the President, or support for the President, or anything that would link me to the President. Here, some folks jumped in and quickly devolved whole discussion into a political mess with conversations of the military service of the last four or five presidents. Really not relevant. Another one, staying with the Republican theme here, just flat out offended me by saying he doubted that me or most people even knew about Colin Kaepernick before the President made it a political football. I just responded to him with the link to my blogpost (https://deanne-randomthoughts.blogspot.com/2016/09/when-should-equals-must-but-can-does.html) that was originally published in September 2016 where I discussed this topic. One month after the initial incident.
Then some others jumped on the bandwagon and that was when the racists comments started. Again, I asked where in my comments I had ever mentioned Mr. Kaepernick’s race. I was told I brought race into it when I was offended that Colin Kaepernick kneeled during the anthem but not when Tim Tebow did it, therefore I was a racist. What did Tim Tebow have to with this? How does this person labeling me a racist know what I did or did not do with this alleged kneeling by Tim Tebow (who, by the way, kneels in prayer all the time on the sidelines of a game and any picture from the internet can be pulled to “support” this theory that he kneeled in disrespect.). I asked them why it was not possible for me to disagree with Mr. Kaepernick’s message itself, and not the messenger? Which is what I was doing. Silence. And today there was another one that called me a “simp” and told me that if Colin Kaepernick was protesting something like animal abuse, I would be standing right there beside him. So I thanked him for making my point for me, because he was right. If Mr. Kaepernick was protesting animal abuse I would be right beside him protesting as well because that was a message I could agree with, so surely this tweeter could see my point – protesting the message and not the messenger himself. (But I still would never do it by kneeling during the National Anthem, ever.)
Although the tweeter meant it as a slam.
And the third one was this:
Maybe I am misinterpreting it, but I think “redneck” was the message behind the photos.
And several more questioned the sanity of burning your perfectly good, purchased with good money shoes, just for effect.
So, how about a reminder of what started this brouhaha to start with. The following is quoted from an interview posted on CNN’s website:
"I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color," Kaepernick, then 28, told NFL.com's Steve Wyche, the man who broke the story.
"To me, this is bigger than football, and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way.
"There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."
I have nothing but the utmost respect for law enforcement. And that is why I have a problem with his statement. And with him wearing pig socks (cartoon pigs wearing police caps). His comments were aimed at a profession, not a person. Are there bad police officers, sure. There are also bad CPAs, teachers, doctors, clergy, football players, investment bankers, you name a profession and you can find one. (And, before the haters jump in and tell me “death” is not a result of one of these other professions being bad I respectfully disagree – errors in health can result death, financial ruin has caused people to take their own lives, and so forth.)
His comments came at a time when there were several conflicts with young black men and police officers. There was rioting in Missouri and in Maryland when the police officers were found to not be guilty of murder but instead justified in their actions. It became open season on police officers, black and white. And folks like Mr. Kaepernick weren’t doing anything to help matters. Again, he had the right to disagree, to protest, to make his voice heard but there is a time and a place and a manner to do so. He chose none of the right ones.
He became a polarizing figure.
Now, back to the ad.
Believe in something. Even if means sacrificing everything.
As one of my Facebook friends (thank you, Jean Gay) pointed out, perhaps former Arizona Cardinal Pat Tillman would have been a better choice – giving up a football career to join the military after September 11, 2001, and ultimately dying in Afghanistan. How about that as a face of believing in something to sacrifice everything?
What, exactly, did Mr. Kaepernick sacrifice? He was already riding the pine in the NFL. I know I hadn’t heard of him before all this so he wasn’t a huge shining star in the sport.
I know that Nike executives didn’t lose any sleep over the fact that I won’t buy any more shoes or workout wear from them. MAC Cosmetics didn’t shutter their door when I emailed them I would no longer buy their products after they chose Miley Cyrus as one of their faces. They responded they were sorry but there was no way they could have found a representative that would make everyone happy. Now, for me, giving up MAC cosmetics was a much big problem, but I did it. I haven’t thrown out what I had, no, but I’ve not bought anything since then either.
I know I’ve asked before but why do these conversations always seem to be reduced to name calling? I made no references to anyone, and I never responded by calling anyone anything – not a liberal or a Democrat or noted the color of anyone’s skin. No one knows how I voted in the last election. No one knows how I feel about the President because I’ve never said it. Why can I not disagree with someone who happens to be a different gender/race/political affiliation without it making me one, or more in this case, of the Three Rs?
Why can’t we just say our peace and then agree to disagree?
Friday, August 3, 2018
Who Was Weak?
Last week I was stuck in an airport. Apparently I have a face that says “talk to me!”as I was approached by a woman as I was looking for a plug for my charger so I could start looking for hotel rooms and alternate flights.
I have a cart full with five suitcases. I have been at the airport since 3:35AM. I had maybe five hours of sleep and I have only had one large Dunkin Donuts coffee. I am tired and frustrated.
All I wanted at that moment was to be left alone. All she wanted was to talk.
It didn’t take long to surmise she was homeless, but had found a safe place to stay. She said she was from Egypt, but lived in the US now. She was at the airport, waiting for her brother. One brother had been killed by two youth on the West Bank of New Orleans, but this brother was due in any day. She waited, day after day, for him to arrive.
I couldn’t tell her that she was waiting in the ticketing area; arrivals would be downstairs.
She went on to tell me about all her education and degrees, including sports medicine, anatomy, and biology, and all the places in the world she had studied. I think she listed off two or three Masters Degrees.
Eventually, she got around to asking about my family, and if Billy and I had children.
I cannot tell you how many times in 29 years I have been asked if we have children. True, it is a normal, logical, question to ask someone. Especially someone you are just trying to get to know. (Although it is not a question that I usually ask someone because I know how the other side might feel.) And that would be fine, if the questions stopped there.
I answer her question, politely, “no”, and then try to move the subject on to me leaving. I really have to go.
While I have no place to go and all day to get there, I am ready to move on. And she has completely ignored all the signs I have given that I am ready for the conversation to be over and I am just trying to not be rude at this point.
But she doesn’t stop. She keeps asking about why we don't have children. Most people don’t. They take "no" as the answer and go in another direction. I have related in these blogs one time that a woman kept asking me about having children, in front of my nephews. My sweet Clay, only three or four years old at the time, piped up that I didn’t need children because I had them (Hayden, Clay and Brett). And my heart was so happy at that moment. Enough said (from the mouths of babes).
Unfortunately, Clay was not here on this day to ride in and save the day. It was up to me. And I am just too freaking nice. I briefly answered her questions, one word answers wherever possible, all the while pulling my plugs and packing up my phone and making sure all my stuff was in order. But this lady couldn’t see all that and take the hint. She just keeps on.
Finally she asked a question that I had never heard before, of course, no one had ever pushed me this far before, either. Her question was “who was weak?”
Who was weak?
Wow.
In other words, whose fault was it?
Like we'd done something wrong.
To her credit, the lady finally apologized for pushing me, I'm guessing it was the look on my face that finally turned on her lightbulb. She said it was her background in anatomy that was raising her curiosity, and so on, but that question still got me to a brink I had never reached previously.
Still unable to just walk away and leave her standing, for whatever reason, perhaps for no other reason than I was just so caught off guard that someone would ask that question, in that way especially, I answered her that I was.
I thought it would be the fast answer, and I know my own history with “weaknesses” in this system. As I told her, it has never really worked right.
Truth be told, it could be both of us, either of us, or neither of us. We never needed to know so we never found out.
And we will never know for sure.
I am a believer in the Divine Plan. Not all of us are destined to be parents. Our “talents” lie elsewhere. Aunts. Uncles. Animal rescuers. Community volunteers. Foster parents. Caregivers.
We have the love for caring, it is just in other areas.
If we had been meant to be parents, we would have been parents. I believe that.
Just because we never had two-legged children, only four-legged, doesn’t mean that I never thought about it; never wished I had had a baby of my own to hold as I would pass back a friend or family’s newborn child; never talked about baby names (there would never be a Billy, Jr., Jr. I was told. And that is a family joke, we know he would have been a III had we gone that route); never wondered what it would be like.
I wasn't devoid of that feeling of wanting one.
I just hid it better, I guess.
And, I guess, because I am a believer in the Divine Plan I was content with living Life que sera sera - what will be, will be.
I didn't obsess over having a child. I didn't ache to have one. In the want vs. need discussion, it was a "want" not a "need". I know for many women that ache is very physical and very real. For me it was more of "nice if it happens".
I know some people see this situation, and some have even said, you put your career first. I don't think that's fair, either. I've never had burning desires to be the corporate CEO/CFO or managing partner of an international firm. But I do have a pretty darn good work ethic and I have always done what my employers asked of me - travel, long hours, weekends. Some of that, I am certain, contributed to the lack of children in our home. These people I worked for were paying me good money to do a job, and I did it, without questioning or complaining (much). I felt like I owed them my best. The choice to have a career was made before I had a husband and I have always known that Billy respects my work and the way I work and just accepted that part of my personality. It has never been an issue.
I hope, though, that I can be viewed as a person who made the very best of the circumstances in which she found herself. That I can be a role model for other young women for whom motherhood is not a part of their personal puzzle. To show that it is okay to not be a mom, that we still have much to contribute. We aren't less than, we are equal to. And we don't have to be the devil in high heels to be successful in our chosen fields.
We can still love, nurture, care for another creature or human being, just differently. Wake up on the floor holding your dog that has been seizing all night, or, better yet, wake up to find your husband on the floor holding your dog that has been seizing all night so you could sleep because you had work, and tell me that that act is not "maternal".
I know those of you reading this would never ask questions the way this woman did (side note, she had no children because she had never been married - couldn't find a good man), and I do, deep down, feel like she had some medical curiosity that was fueling this, but sometimes it is just the simple question "do you have children?" that actually starts the ball rolling for the person you are asking. The anxiety starts up (what else will they want to know), the worry (does this change the way this person will look at me going forward?), the self-doubt (is there something wrong with me? should I feel differently?). And once that spiral starts, sometimes it takes a while to pull ourselves up and get back on the path with our heads up and chins out, facing the day again.
For the most part, we can handle it. Just make sure we are fully rested, fully caffeinated, and not overly grouchy before you ask.
Timing is everything.
I have a cart full with five suitcases. I have been at the airport since 3:35AM. I had maybe five hours of sleep and I have only had one large Dunkin Donuts coffee. I am tired and frustrated.
All I wanted at that moment was to be left alone. All she wanted was to talk.
It didn’t take long to surmise she was homeless, but had found a safe place to stay. She said she was from Egypt, but lived in the US now. She was at the airport, waiting for her brother. One brother had been killed by two youth on the West Bank of New Orleans, but this brother was due in any day. She waited, day after day, for him to arrive.
I couldn’t tell her that she was waiting in the ticketing area; arrivals would be downstairs.
She went on to tell me about all her education and degrees, including sports medicine, anatomy, and biology, and all the places in the world she had studied. I think she listed off two or three Masters Degrees.
Eventually, she got around to asking about my family, and if Billy and I had children.
I cannot tell you how many times in 29 years I have been asked if we have children. True, it is a normal, logical, question to ask someone. Especially someone you are just trying to get to know. (Although it is not a question that I usually ask someone because I know how the other side might feel.) And that would be fine, if the questions stopped there.
I answer her question, politely, “no”, and then try to move the subject on to me leaving. I really have to go.
While I have no place to go and all day to get there, I am ready to move on. And she has completely ignored all the signs I have given that I am ready for the conversation to be over and I am just trying to not be rude at this point.
But she doesn’t stop. She keeps asking about why we don't have children. Most people don’t. They take "no" as the answer and go in another direction. I have related in these blogs one time that a woman kept asking me about having children, in front of my nephews. My sweet Clay, only three or four years old at the time, piped up that I didn’t need children because I had them (Hayden, Clay and Brett). And my heart was so happy at that moment. Enough said (from the mouths of babes).
Unfortunately, Clay was not here on this day to ride in and save the day. It was up to me. And I am just too freaking nice. I briefly answered her questions, one word answers wherever possible, all the while pulling my plugs and packing up my phone and making sure all my stuff was in order. But this lady couldn’t see all that and take the hint. She just keeps on.
Finally she asked a question that I had never heard before, of course, no one had ever pushed me this far before, either. Her question was “who was weak?”
Who was weak?
Wow.
In other words, whose fault was it?
Like we'd done something wrong.
To her credit, the lady finally apologized for pushing me, I'm guessing it was the look on my face that finally turned on her lightbulb. She said it was her background in anatomy that was raising her curiosity, and so on, but that question still got me to a brink I had never reached previously.
Still unable to just walk away and leave her standing, for whatever reason, perhaps for no other reason than I was just so caught off guard that someone would ask that question, in that way especially, I answered her that I was.
I thought it would be the fast answer, and I know my own history with “weaknesses” in this system. As I told her, it has never really worked right.
Truth be told, it could be both of us, either of us, or neither of us. We never needed to know so we never found out.
And we will never know for sure.
I am a believer in the Divine Plan. Not all of us are destined to be parents. Our “talents” lie elsewhere. Aunts. Uncles. Animal rescuers. Community volunteers. Foster parents. Caregivers.
We have the love for caring, it is just in other areas.
If we had been meant to be parents, we would have been parents. I believe that.
Just because we never had two-legged children, only four-legged, doesn’t mean that I never thought about it; never wished I had had a baby of my own to hold as I would pass back a friend or family’s newborn child; never talked about baby names (there would never be a Billy, Jr., Jr. I was told. And that is a family joke, we know he would have been a III had we gone that route); never wondered what it would be like.
I wasn't devoid of that feeling of wanting one.
I just hid it better, I guess.
And, I guess, because I am a believer in the Divine Plan I was content with living Life que sera sera - what will be, will be.
I didn't obsess over having a child. I didn't ache to have one. In the want vs. need discussion, it was a "want" not a "need". I know for many women that ache is very physical and very real. For me it was more of "nice if it happens".
I know some people see this situation, and some have even said, you put your career first. I don't think that's fair, either. I've never had burning desires to be the corporate CEO/CFO or managing partner of an international firm. But I do have a pretty darn good work ethic and I have always done what my employers asked of me - travel, long hours, weekends. Some of that, I am certain, contributed to the lack of children in our home. These people I worked for were paying me good money to do a job, and I did it, without questioning or complaining (much). I felt like I owed them my best. The choice to have a career was made before I had a husband and I have always known that Billy respects my work and the way I work and just accepted that part of my personality. It has never been an issue.
I hope, though, that I can be viewed as a person who made the very best of the circumstances in which she found herself. That I can be a role model for other young women for whom motherhood is not a part of their personal puzzle. To show that it is okay to not be a mom, that we still have much to contribute. We aren't less than, we are equal to. And we don't have to be the devil in high heels to be successful in our chosen fields.
We can still love, nurture, care for another creature or human being, just differently. Wake up on the floor holding your dog that has been seizing all night, or, better yet, wake up to find your husband on the floor holding your dog that has been seizing all night so you could sleep because you had work, and tell me that that act is not "maternal".
I know those of you reading this would never ask questions the way this woman did (side note, she had no children because she had never been married - couldn't find a good man), and I do, deep down, feel like she had some medical curiosity that was fueling this, but sometimes it is just the simple question "do you have children?" that actually starts the ball rolling for the person you are asking. The anxiety starts up (what else will they want to know), the worry (does this change the way this person will look at me going forward?), the self-doubt (is there something wrong with me? should I feel differently?). And once that spiral starts, sometimes it takes a while to pull ourselves up and get back on the path with our heads up and chins out, facing the day again.
For the most part, we can handle it. Just make sure we are fully rested, fully caffeinated, and not overly grouchy before you ask.
Timing is everything.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
Tidal Waves
We were watching an episode of “The Closer” the other day. No, it’s not my favorite show and I think Kyra Sedgwick’s Georgia accent is more than a little thick, but it’s an easy watch and not too tough to follow. (Side note, this show totally went downhill when it became “Major Crimes” after Kyra left – totally unwatchable.). In this particular episode, a young man, befriended by Deputy Chief Brenda Lee Johnson’s niece (who is staying with Brenda and husband FBI agent Fritz Howard for a few weeks) dies of gunshot wounds. Wrong place, wrong time.
The niece in the show reminds me so much of my own niece, not only in appearance but in actions. Brett would totally be the young lady sitting next to a new friend, trying to make him feel better. The victim is drugged up on morphine for his injuries and everyone is waiting for his mother to arrive from Honolulu, even though the doctor has said he will never survive the three hours it will take for her to fly in. Ultimately, the victim is conscious for just minutes and mistakes Chief Johnson for his mom and, rather than correct him, she tells him she loves him and he was no trouble to raise and all the things he needs to hear to pass peacefully.
And I have huge tears rolling down my face. I haven’t had enough sleep or coffee, or both, and the tears are starting.
Deputy Chief Johnson steps out of the room after the young man dies and Lieutenant Provenza is standing there, waiting. He is a member of her team. As he tells someone he calls, it is 4:14 am, and he is there, dressed - in slacks, a sweater vest and a sports coat. And as Deputy Chief Johnson is trying to control her emotions he offers her his clean, white handkerchief. Just in case she needs it.
And I lose it.
Billy looks at me, somewhat quizzically, and says “you know it is only a TV show, right?” (Side note 2 – I have come a long way in this. My mom and sister used to cry at Kleenex commercials or “Little House on the Prairie” and I would have zero emotion. Now, I feel.)
Yes, I do.
But what Billy doesn’t know is that my daddy always had a clean, white, handkerchief. He was always dressed if he was out of the house, even if it was the middle of the night or early in the morning. He was always there, if you needed him to be.
At that moment, Lieutenant Provenza was my daddy and I was hit with a tidal wave of emotions.
You’d think, after so many years, that you have everything compartmentalized and smothered deep and something as simple as a plain, white, handkerchief would not reduce you to a blubbering mess.
But it does.
And you can’t stop it.
All you can do is let it wash over you and then carry itself back out into the ocean of memories that you keep at a distance.
Billy has learned that this happens, sometimes. I can be standing in the kitchen, crying, because the grill bought back a memory or the thought of using BBQ sauce reminded me of his homemade sauce or any number of things that can hit when I least expect it.
But, like surviving in the ocean itself, you can’t fight the wave. Your best bet is to let it wash over you, and then swim counter to it. Not against it, that will never work. But across it. Let it hit you, but not take you under.
Working to survive it, but not to fight it.
Because in the end, the survival is what makes us what we are. And my daddy is very proud of who I am. Losing him changed me, in so many ways. But they would be good, positive, changes.
So I swim. Against the wave. Fighting the crest. Not allowing myself to go under. But welcoming the sweet tears on my face that remind me that I loved, I lost, I feel, I survived, I thrive.
I don’t drown.
Tuesday, June 5, 2018
The “Freedom” of Speech
This country was founded on, among other freedoms, the freedom of speech. The ability to say you didn’t like the ruler (aka King George) and not have to worry about losing your head, literally. Or to disagree with the local law enforcement without the fear of being arrested.
In other words, to speak your mind without fear of reprisal.
Except, in today’s electronic, totally connected, world, do you really have this freedom?
The news is full of stories of celebrities, and regular folks, who say something “controversial”, only to discover that they lose their jobs/shows/position.
My family believes in voting. We voted every single time there was an election. Billy has always been interested in politics. Election night was right up there with Bowl Day for him. When we married, we were on different ends of the political spectrum, which made things very interesting, to say the least. When we moved to Natchez, a much smaller community than we had ever lived in, our political freedoms were tested on a new level.
Never, ever, had we been “sign” people. Even growing up, we almost never put signs in our yard (probably because they would mess up Daddy’s grass), that I can remember. Our political views were strong, but they were contained within 908 E 57th Place. Billy and I never put up signs. Probably a waste of space since we would cancel each other out. But when we moved to Natchez I was told, muddily but still clearly, that because of my firm’s position in the community, publicly supporting one candidate over another in local elections was discouraged. We audited or worked with many local governments – municipalities, counties, school districts, special districts – and if we supported the winning candidate then our continued work would be looked upon like a “favor” and impair our independence; to support the losing candidate would almost certainly cost us the work.
A lose-lose, if you will.
One local election, this caused some problems in our household. Billy wanted to support a particular candidate, and had even told him (without my knowledge) that he could put a sign in our yard. I came home from work that day with a different opinion. It caused a quite a rift when I told Billy I didn’t want to do that. It might have gone over better had I not given him the “why” – because my boss said not to.
As there were three candidates in the race, I couldn’t even acquiesce with a sign for the opposition and pretend that no one would know whom I supported.
So, did I have Freedom of Speech? Sure. That is guaranteed by the Constitution. Would it have been smart to exercise that right, probably not. Could I have been fired from my job for doing so, no.
Which circles me around to this question – in today’s world of Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, and so on, where is the line between work and personal?
I posed this question, in a way, during the NFL protests. Many people believed the football players had a right to take a knee during the anthem in protest and it was fine. It was their freedom of speech to express themselves this way. Others took the stand that they were not protesting on their personal time but during work and that was not fine. Work is work, personal life is personal life.
Employers do have a right to set behavior standards, same as they do dress codes or other policy and procedures or even morality clauses in contracts. You accept the work on those terms and know it going in. We recently had a situation where we had to remind our staff that their work email address is simply for that – work related communications. To use it to share inappropriate jokes or political opinions or make personal comments to someone is not allowed. Some even go so far as to say to do so is a “theft of company resources”. When you send an email with our domain on it, it infers we, as as firm, are supporting whatever you have said.
But we are all connected, all the time, every day. When I open my iPad and go to the email icon all 5 email accounts I have are right there is one place. It would be easy to inadvertently use the work email instead of a personal one. It is up to me to pay attention to what I’m doing. If I post something on Facebook, even though it is my personal page, I am cognizant of the fact that everyone in Natchez knows where I work and that I am a business owner in the community and I try to stay middle of the road, publicaly. Just like growing up, my views on everything do not need to be broadcast to the entire world. They can stay contained in the four walls of our home.
I raise these questions in light of the cancellation of Roseanne Barr’s rebooted show, “Roseanne”. Top of the ratings, doing well with the audiences. Then she uses her personal Twitter account and puts out an inappropriate tweet (no one can really dispute that point) and her show is cancelled. She was fired from her job (along with her castmates) for something she did in her personal life.
Is that right?
She wasn’t using corporate resources. It didn’t happen on the set. It was, technically, no different then if I tweeted out something from my house on my personal computer. So, if I had sent that tweet should I be fired? Most people would just say it was a stupid thing to do, and my partner would be very upset with me, but I don’t think he would, or even could, terminate our agreement over it.
But we would both fear that the local community would find out and it could cost us business that way, which could ultimately lead to a change in my work status. And that is how I think it should be.
If enough people were outraged by Roseanne’s comments then they would stop watching the show and ABC would have cancelled it anyway and the end result probably would have been the same, but the process would have been different.
Other shows, even shows on ABC, have had their stars make controversial comments and they were neither fired nor their shows cancelled. And in one case, the offending comments were made on air, during the show. Work life, not personal.
Is that right?
No football players were fired for kneeling, no teams were moved to other cities, no one was even disciplined, really, for expressing their views. But someone else loses a job, and costs others their jobs on the show, just for making one stupid comment.
We live in a world with a lot of multiple standards.
And the lines are blurred in this digital age. Are we ever “off” work? Do we have a separate personal life at all? Does what we do in one aspect of our lives always affect the other aspects?
I don’t know.
I know one solution is to “unplug”. I have several very good friends that don’t post, tweet, like, love, favorite, or anything else. Their digital footprint is minimal.
But I would miss so many of the people that I have caught up with over the years. I am in touch with distant family and it makes me feel the right kind of “connected”.
In some ways, Life was easier when I was growing up, before the digital age. But that is the topic of the next blog post.
I think what I find the most troubling in all of this is the lack of clarity or consistency in what is wrong or right. Offend Christians, nothing happens. Offend Muslims or another religion or even an Atheist, you’re vilified. Offend working class Americans, nothing happens. Offend illegal immigrants, you’re a racist and an elitist.
How is that right?
We all have the same Freedom of Speech. We all have the right to exercise it or not. But we do not all bear the same repercussions when we do say something that someone else doesn’t like.
So, is speech really free? Does it not sometimes come at a price?
I know the easy answer is let’s just all try to get along and quit with all the snapping and sniping and ugliness. If no one ever made these inappropriate “jokes” or comments (that they all apologize for after the fact) or took a knee or burned a flag or any of these behaviors then we would not be having this conversation.
It doesn’t mean you aren’t free to say it or do it, but maybe you can think of a better way to get your point across.
Think before you speak, post, tweet, snap, like, or hit send on that email.
I also know we don’t live in a kumbaya world and that will never happen.
But a girl can dream, can’t she?
Another freedom that really isn’t free.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
The Labelmaker
This was my Daddy's.
I can remember him meticulously typing out the labels with one of those old labelmakers. It was a device with a flat disc on the top with all the letters and some characters. You had to line up the letters, squeeze the trigger mechanism, and the tape would stamp your letter and then advance to the next spot. You had to be careful with it because if you misaligned a letter and made a mistake, you had to start over. You didn't want to hit the "s" instead of "r" at the end of screwdriver, that's for sure.
I don't think it is any accident that miscellaneous was abbreviated "misc", in other words. Why take a chance?
Today's labelmakers are all electronic and if you make a mistake you simply hit the backspace button, correct it, and move on. No wasted tape, time or effort. Technology has made labeling things quite easy. No white-out necessary.
The purpose, of course, of a labelmaker is to help you organize; to group and categorize and quickly identify certain like objects; to be able to name and later spot what you are looking for easily and efficiently. I have metal bins that I bought from Martha Stewart that say Cake Decorating and Cookie Decorating and inside are gel food colorings, colored sugars, pastry bags, nonpareils, all sorts of things you need to make cookies and cakes "pretty". At work we label files, office supplies, phone extensions, and the like. All so we can easily grab what we need to get a job done.
Naturally, the first think you need to do is to identify what you are trying to label. What am I working with? How do I need to group it? What belongs together and what can be "miscellaneous"? How do I see common themes in things to be able to label them? Daddy had to think about what he had, and what he wanted, and organize the two.
What I find today, in our society, though, are different types of labelmakers. We, the people, have become those who label.
During the last presidential campaign those that didn't back Hillary Clinton were labeled "deplorables" and those that followed Donald Trump were "sexist" and "misogynists".
The people in North Carolina and others that oppose the removal of historic statues are labeled "racists".
I've even heard the folks in Las Vegas that were killed by a gun-wielding madman labeled as "rednecks" simply because they liked country music.
Oppose gender-neutral bathrooms or same sex marriages? You are "homophobic".
Seems as if we can no longer have an honest discussion with differing opinions before the labelmakers come out.
Why is that? Why can I not just say I don't want my beautiful 19 year old niece having to walk into a restroom that a man older than her father can also walk into, and use, just because he feels like a female? Why does that make me a bad person? How is it that I can say history should be preserved for all to see - the triumphs and the failures alike (remember, the South lost that war so maybe the statues should be seen as a reminder of what happens if you go against the Union; or the Native Americans lost those battles but died for a cause they believed in, and so on) and suddenly be viewed as if I had grown an extra head.
Those that forget (or erase) their history are doomed to repeat it.
Here's the other part that makes me so sad about this. In the 1860s a war was fought to remove a label - slave. In the 1960s people took a stand so that anyone could sit anywhere on a bus or in a theatre or wherever they wanted and remove a label - colored. In the 1920s and again in the 1970s women stood together to remove their gender as a label and earned the right to vote, to equal pay, for gender neutrality in the workforce.
And here we go, adding new labels.
Judging by the media and social media you would think that everyone that voted for Donald Trump on a Tuesday in November woke the following day a "racist". Did some racists wake up on that Wednesday? Sure, the ones that went to bed that way the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that one.
And not all of them voted for Donald Trump.
I know people of differing genders, sexual preferences, races, and religions. I know both Democrats and Republicans. I see people every day in various economic statuses. I know those that love opera or classic rock. I know lovers of Jackson Pollack, Andy Warhol, Rembrandt, Da Vinci and paint by numbers.
You know what I call them? All of them?
Friend.
Not "deviant" or "pervert" or "snob" or use a racial slur or "redneck" or "racist", or anything else.
Just friend.
They are my family, neighbors, coworkers, clients, mentors, and inspirations.
They are simply my friends.
Even though I fall into several categories above, I don't feel like any of those labels are befitting, although redneck may be kind of close... I hope that if there is ever the need to label me it will be something like loving, loyal, faithful, funny, Christian, helpful, trusted.
And friend.
I can remember him meticulously typing out the labels with one of those old labelmakers. It was a device with a flat disc on the top with all the letters and some characters. You had to line up the letters, squeeze the trigger mechanism, and the tape would stamp your letter and then advance to the next spot. You had to be careful with it because if you misaligned a letter and made a mistake, you had to start over. You didn't want to hit the "s" instead of "r" at the end of screwdriver, that's for sure.
I don't think it is any accident that miscellaneous was abbreviated "misc", in other words. Why take a chance?
Today's labelmakers are all electronic and if you make a mistake you simply hit the backspace button, correct it, and move on. No wasted tape, time or effort. Technology has made labeling things quite easy. No white-out necessary.
The purpose, of course, of a labelmaker is to help you organize; to group and categorize and quickly identify certain like objects; to be able to name and later spot what you are looking for easily and efficiently. I have metal bins that I bought from Martha Stewart that say Cake Decorating and Cookie Decorating and inside are gel food colorings, colored sugars, pastry bags, nonpareils, all sorts of things you need to make cookies and cakes "pretty". At work we label files, office supplies, phone extensions, and the like. All so we can easily grab what we need to get a job done.
Naturally, the first think you need to do is to identify what you are trying to label. What am I working with? How do I need to group it? What belongs together and what can be "miscellaneous"? How do I see common themes in things to be able to label them? Daddy had to think about what he had, and what he wanted, and organize the two.
What I find today, in our society, though, are different types of labelmakers. We, the people, have become those who label.
During the last presidential campaign those that didn't back Hillary Clinton were labeled "deplorables" and those that followed Donald Trump were "sexist" and "misogynists".
The people in North Carolina and others that oppose the removal of historic statues are labeled "racists".
I've even heard the folks in Las Vegas that were killed by a gun-wielding madman labeled as "rednecks" simply because they liked country music.
Oppose gender-neutral bathrooms or same sex marriages? You are "homophobic".
Seems as if we can no longer have an honest discussion with differing opinions before the labelmakers come out.
Why is that? Why can I not just say I don't want my beautiful 19 year old niece having to walk into a restroom that a man older than her father can also walk into, and use, just because he feels like a female? Why does that make me a bad person? How is it that I can say history should be preserved for all to see - the triumphs and the failures alike (remember, the South lost that war so maybe the statues should be seen as a reminder of what happens if you go against the Union; or the Native Americans lost those battles but died for a cause they believed in, and so on) and suddenly be viewed as if I had grown an extra head.
Those that forget (or erase) their history are doomed to repeat it.
Here's the other part that makes me so sad about this. In the 1860s a war was fought to remove a label - slave. In the 1960s people took a stand so that anyone could sit anywhere on a bus or in a theatre or wherever they wanted and remove a label - colored. In the 1920s and again in the 1970s women stood together to remove their gender as a label and earned the right to vote, to equal pay, for gender neutrality in the workforce.
And here we go, adding new labels.
Judging by the media and social media you would think that everyone that voted for Donald Trump on a Tuesday in November woke the following day a "racist". Did some racists wake up on that Wednesday? Sure, the ones that went to bed that way the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that one.
And not all of them voted for Donald Trump.
I know people of differing genders, sexual preferences, races, and religions. I know both Democrats and Republicans. I see people every day in various economic statuses. I know those that love opera or classic rock. I know lovers of Jackson Pollack, Andy Warhol, Rembrandt, Da Vinci and paint by numbers.
You know what I call them? All of them?
Friend.
Not "deviant" or "pervert" or "snob" or use a racial slur or "redneck" or "racist", or anything else.
Just friend.
They are my family, neighbors, coworkers, clients, mentors, and inspirations.
They are simply my friends.
Even though I fall into several categories above, I don't feel like any of those labels are befitting, although redneck may be kind of close... I hope that if there is ever the need to label me it will be something like loving, loyal, faithful, funny, Christian, helpful, trusted.
And friend.
Sunday, October 8, 2017
The Squeaky Wheels
We all know the adage of the squeaky wheel getting the grease. The more noise something makes the faster we grab that can of WD-40 and give it a squirt. And everyone is happy again.
In our house, wheels are pups and squeaking equates to demands and needs.
Riley is, by far, the "squeakiest". His epilepsy demands schedules and planning. Our lives revolve around his meds times. We are constantly on alert for warning signs, weather changes, UPS delivery schedules during the holidays as his meds are shipped to us, anything new in canine epilepsy research, and just anything, in general, that might look "off" about him because even the most benign health issue could contribute to a seizure.
And, in reality, Riley is the quietest one in the bunch. He makes a low noise in his throat when he needs a hug but otherwise you'll not hear a peep from him until meal time. And even then it is not a traditional sounding bark but more of an "ra roo".
Frankie is probably next. She is a Queen Bee and the very definition of a diva. At least in canine terms. She can work the smallest of ills and turn it into major drama. We should have known, though. That January day in 2004 when Billy was driving through Lake Providence and realized that "thing" in the road was in fact alive and dragging herself, her sweet broken 9 week old self, out of the road by her two front feet, refusing to just lay in there and accept death as her fate, she was starting the rest of her life as a pampered princess. I used pantyhose to hold up her back half when she needed to go out as her pelvis was fractured. But she healed. One time we took her on a walk and I thought she had leaves stuck on her paws and tried to pull them off. In fact she had slipped her pads (I didn't even know that could be done!) and her feet were killing her. Billy carried her up and down the stairs for weeks as she recouped in the center of our king-sized bed. She milked it, for sure. Earlier this year she decided to stop eating. The vet said she was showing early signs of kidney disease but with some diet changes we might be able to reverse it. Tough to make diet changes when she wouldn't eat. What she didn't know was our desire get her to eat was way stronger than her decision to not to and that I wouldn't stop at anything, including hand feeding one bite at a time, until she started eating again.
Today, she is once again leading the choir at meal time. Demanding, loudly, that her bowl be placed on the couch next to her so she can effortlessly dine.
Micky is the youngest, and the biggest, and the most rambunctious. He is demanding just in his sheer size and puppy-like goofiness. He wants his walk, and will stare at the leash on the wall until you hook him up. Even if it isn't his day to walk, he will act like it is and make you miserable until he gets your attention. Sometimes even longer.
Gabby and Doozer are always around, usually touching us in some form or fashion. Spencer "squeaks" for real, incessantly, just because he can. He will yip his high pitched bark until you give him your undivided attention.
Sadie lives under the bed, and is most happy there. She will only bark and carry on if one of the other pups walks too close or starts to eye her rawhide. She will intentionally not chew hers until everyone else is finished and she can flaunt it.
Not a big squeaker at all.
Her twin brother, Scooter, is even quieter. He will hide behind chairs and in corners to try and not be seen. His hair grows like wildfire and the most activity you will see from him is if you try to groom it. Over the last 9 years I have managed to finally get him to stand almost still while I clip his back but when you get to his legs and feet - Katy bar the door, not happening. He has Sasquatch feet (think hairy boots from the 70s) because I can't bear the embarrassment of taking him to the groomer. I know he will have to be completely sedated to even get him on the table.
Then, there was Patches and Maggie. No squeak whatsoever.
Maggie was contented to lay on the back of the couch and stare out the front picture window. Or outside on the patio in the sun. Or at the foot of the bed while she was still able to jump up there. She was a quiet beauty that asked for little.
Patches was her "buddy". Once we got to eight dogs I started mentally pairing everyone up, male and female, to help keep track of them all. It just made it easier to keep up if I could check them by twos. Patches was a great protector, intimidating in his size. He would bark when it was required but rarely any other time. He was just always "there". Close at hand but never underfoot.
We lost Patches in August 2016 and Maggie just last week. Patches got sick one Sunday afternoon and was gone by Monday lunch. His liver had failed. Maggie had been declining over the last week or so, but we had an appointment and got her down to the vet. I knew what was wrong with her. I had even told the vet in my email to her (our vet works part time two days at one clinic and one day at a second clinic and is two hours away, each way, so I try to maximize our time in her office.) what tests I thought we needed to run. I thought we had plenty of time.
You see, I knew Maggie was diabetic. She had shown all the warning signs two years ago. And two years ago I had her and Frankie tested. Both were negative. The warning signs never abated, but they also didn't get any worse until that last week. I never sought a second opinion because I had the answer I wanted. She was fine! Earlier this summer I saw a black spot on her stomach. I texted a picture of it to the vet to see what she thought. She recommended neosporin and for me to watch it and report back. Billy and I had already had two dogs with Cushing's Disease, and Stormy's started with sores on her stomach. I got caught up in caring for all my "squeakers" and didn't do as asked. What I should have done was texted it to the vet and said "we'll see you Tuesday about this". But I didn't. When we got Maggie to the vet that day to confirm what I felt about her diabetes, her glucose was so high that it could not even be read, and she was Cushionoid. It was almost too late. We left her in the emergency clinic, still believing she would be fine, but she didn't survive the first night. Patches never even got that. We blamed his slowing down and not getting around so good as nothing more than old age. In fact, he was shutting down. Kicker of it is, we brought Riley out of liver failure in 2010. Livers can regenerate, depending on what is causing the problem, and so we know how to treat it. We just didn't see it.
Neither of them ever squeaked a bit. They were just their same, quiet, selves.
In saving the many I feel I failed the few.
I don't say that so you will tell me I'm a good mom and we tried and did all we could and all that. I know that in both cases we gave them life. Period. Not just a better life, but life itself. Patches was a four month old puppy at a shelter in Little Rock, owner surrendered or just unclaimed is irrelevant, and the shelter ran out of room or deemed him unadoptable or something and took him to the vet for his "final visit". Thankfully that vet saw a precious puppy, big and goofy, mixed Australian border collie and who knows what else, that was healthy and happy and just needed a chance and he couldn't "do the deed". My in-laws were in that vet's office, heard the story, and my sister-in-law, without hesitation, said "my brother will take him".
And he did.
The biggest four month old puppy I had ever seen came leaping out of his work van when he returned from Arkansas that trip. One month later my in-laws spotted Maggie loose on a country road, solid black and dark was falling. They took her home so she wouldn't get hit out there on that road. Knowing them as I do I'm sure they looked for her owner. When none was found, after a little shifting between houses, she ended up in Natchez with us. With her, Frankie and Patches we now had the Three Amigos.
I remember walking downstairs one day to find Maggie had our then almost 16 year old Christy by the scruff of the neck and was using her like a dust mop. Christy's eye were huge! She had never had anything like that happen! But Maggie was a gentle giant and did no harm. She was just a sweet baby trying to play.
Patches got 12 years, and Maggie 13. Not bad for bigger dogs that don't seem to have the longevity of smaller ones. I tell myself that even if we had caught on to their ailments earlier it might not have made a significant difference in their lifespan. Maybe a little longer, but they were already at the upper end.
We wonder what we would have done differently if we had known. We have made informed decisions to not do things. We didn't put Riley under anesthetic to check on a mass one doctor found. The risk was not worth the reward. At 12 years old he has already lived longer than most epileptics, and any kind of treatment for cancer was going to be a challenge with his schedule. So we chose not to know and hope for the best. That was over a year and a half ago and he is still going strong. With Frankie, some of her kidney values looked odd and more testing was recommended. Again, at the age of 14 was the risk of the anesthetic worth it? We wouldn't be doing any surgery or anything on her if they found something. So we opted to work with the diet changes and, again, hope for the best.
Ever since we brought Micky in as number 9 at the time, Billy has joked that we are an eight dog family. Sure enough a few months later Patches' passing made us an eight dog family again. Then Spencer joined us earlier this year to make nine, and we lost Maggie a few months later to go back to eight.
I think we'll stay this way for a while. Eight is enough. I remember thinking in 2001 when Stormy died that we had set ourselves up for heartbreak another three times already with Christy, Molly and Midnight. I sit here today looking at eight more, knowing that my heart will resemble Swiss cheese before it's all over.
We love our babies. All of them. This bunch will benefit from our lessons learned. No more waiting to see what happens. No more being embarrassed about what we haven't been able to do. No more "old age". We are not perfect, but we are good pet parents. We love the years we had with them, even while wishing for more. We are forever grateful and blessed for those two sweet babies that no one wanted and gave us so much.
Now, why do I tell you all of this? Again, not so you will praise us for our good works and reassure us that we did all we could and we didn't fail them. I tell you this so you will look at your own life and see what might need a little grease, even it if doesn't squeak yet. There is no law that says you have to wait until metal meets metal to do something.
Is it your health? Do you work so hard that you are continually grabbing fast food and not exercising enough? Do you wait until the squeak (a stroke, a heart attack) before you make a change? How about your relationships? Are you spending time working to provide for your family but your family isn't there anymore? What squeak are you waiting for there (drug abuse, alcohol abuse, teen pregnancy) before you head off some bad behaviors? Maybe a coworker? Are you doing everything in your power to be a part of the team at work and help things run smoothly or do you wait until the squeak (a missed promotion, termination) to figure out what you how you should be spending those eight hours a day.
Think about it. We all have our own toolbox of duct tape and WD-40 to "fix" the things in our lives, but we have to be looking, be aware, be in touch and in tune.
Think about it.
In our house, wheels are pups and squeaking equates to demands and needs.
Riley is, by far, the "squeakiest". His epilepsy demands schedules and planning. Our lives revolve around his meds times. We are constantly on alert for warning signs, weather changes, UPS delivery schedules during the holidays as his meds are shipped to us, anything new in canine epilepsy research, and just anything, in general, that might look "off" about him because even the most benign health issue could contribute to a seizure.
And, in reality, Riley is the quietest one in the bunch. He makes a low noise in his throat when he needs a hug but otherwise you'll not hear a peep from him until meal time. And even then it is not a traditional sounding bark but more of an "ra roo".
Frankie is probably next. She is a Queen Bee and the very definition of a diva. At least in canine terms. She can work the smallest of ills and turn it into major drama. We should have known, though. That January day in 2004 when Billy was driving through Lake Providence and realized that "thing" in the road was in fact alive and dragging herself, her sweet broken 9 week old self, out of the road by her two front feet, refusing to just lay in there and accept death as her fate, she was starting the rest of her life as a pampered princess. I used pantyhose to hold up her back half when she needed to go out as her pelvis was fractured. But she healed. One time we took her on a walk and I thought she had leaves stuck on her paws and tried to pull them off. In fact she had slipped her pads (I didn't even know that could be done!) and her feet were killing her. Billy carried her up and down the stairs for weeks as she recouped in the center of our king-sized bed. She milked it, for sure. Earlier this year she decided to stop eating. The vet said she was showing early signs of kidney disease but with some diet changes we might be able to reverse it. Tough to make diet changes when she wouldn't eat. What she didn't know was our desire get her to eat was way stronger than her decision to not to and that I wouldn't stop at anything, including hand feeding one bite at a time, until she started eating again.
Today, she is once again leading the choir at meal time. Demanding, loudly, that her bowl be placed on the couch next to her so she can effortlessly dine.
Micky is the youngest, and the biggest, and the most rambunctious. He is demanding just in his sheer size and puppy-like goofiness. He wants his walk, and will stare at the leash on the wall until you hook him up. Even if it isn't his day to walk, he will act like it is and make you miserable until he gets your attention. Sometimes even longer.
Gabby and Doozer are always around, usually touching us in some form or fashion. Spencer "squeaks" for real, incessantly, just because he can. He will yip his high pitched bark until you give him your undivided attention.
Sadie lives under the bed, and is most happy there. She will only bark and carry on if one of the other pups walks too close or starts to eye her rawhide. She will intentionally not chew hers until everyone else is finished and she can flaunt it.
Not a big squeaker at all.
Her twin brother, Scooter, is even quieter. He will hide behind chairs and in corners to try and not be seen. His hair grows like wildfire and the most activity you will see from him is if you try to groom it. Over the last 9 years I have managed to finally get him to stand almost still while I clip his back but when you get to his legs and feet - Katy bar the door, not happening. He has Sasquatch feet (think hairy boots from the 70s) because I can't bear the embarrassment of taking him to the groomer. I know he will have to be completely sedated to even get him on the table.
Then, there was Patches and Maggie. No squeak whatsoever.
Maggie was contented to lay on the back of the couch and stare out the front picture window. Or outside on the patio in the sun. Or at the foot of the bed while she was still able to jump up there. She was a quiet beauty that asked for little.
Patches was her "buddy". Once we got to eight dogs I started mentally pairing everyone up, male and female, to help keep track of them all. It just made it easier to keep up if I could check them by twos. Patches was a great protector, intimidating in his size. He would bark when it was required but rarely any other time. He was just always "there". Close at hand but never underfoot.
We lost Patches in August 2016 and Maggie just last week. Patches got sick one Sunday afternoon and was gone by Monday lunch. His liver had failed. Maggie had been declining over the last week or so, but we had an appointment and got her down to the vet. I knew what was wrong with her. I had even told the vet in my email to her (our vet works part time two days at one clinic and one day at a second clinic and is two hours away, each way, so I try to maximize our time in her office.) what tests I thought we needed to run. I thought we had plenty of time.
You see, I knew Maggie was diabetic. She had shown all the warning signs two years ago. And two years ago I had her and Frankie tested. Both were negative. The warning signs never abated, but they also didn't get any worse until that last week. I never sought a second opinion because I had the answer I wanted. She was fine! Earlier this summer I saw a black spot on her stomach. I texted a picture of it to the vet to see what she thought. She recommended neosporin and for me to watch it and report back. Billy and I had already had two dogs with Cushing's Disease, and Stormy's started with sores on her stomach. I got caught up in caring for all my "squeakers" and didn't do as asked. What I should have done was texted it to the vet and said "we'll see you Tuesday about this". But I didn't. When we got Maggie to the vet that day to confirm what I felt about her diabetes, her glucose was so high that it could not even be read, and she was Cushionoid. It was almost too late. We left her in the emergency clinic, still believing she would be fine, but she didn't survive the first night. Patches never even got that. We blamed his slowing down and not getting around so good as nothing more than old age. In fact, he was shutting down. Kicker of it is, we brought Riley out of liver failure in 2010. Livers can regenerate, depending on what is causing the problem, and so we know how to treat it. We just didn't see it.
Neither of them ever squeaked a bit. They were just their same, quiet, selves.
In saving the many I feel I failed the few.
I don't say that so you will tell me I'm a good mom and we tried and did all we could and all that. I know that in both cases we gave them life. Period. Not just a better life, but life itself. Patches was a four month old puppy at a shelter in Little Rock, owner surrendered or just unclaimed is irrelevant, and the shelter ran out of room or deemed him unadoptable or something and took him to the vet for his "final visit". Thankfully that vet saw a precious puppy, big and goofy, mixed Australian border collie and who knows what else, that was healthy and happy and just needed a chance and he couldn't "do the deed". My in-laws were in that vet's office, heard the story, and my sister-in-law, without hesitation, said "my brother will take him".
And he did.
The biggest four month old puppy I had ever seen came leaping out of his work van when he returned from Arkansas that trip. One month later my in-laws spotted Maggie loose on a country road, solid black and dark was falling. They took her home so she wouldn't get hit out there on that road. Knowing them as I do I'm sure they looked for her owner. When none was found, after a little shifting between houses, she ended up in Natchez with us. With her, Frankie and Patches we now had the Three Amigos.
I remember walking downstairs one day to find Maggie had our then almost 16 year old Christy by the scruff of the neck and was using her like a dust mop. Christy's eye were huge! She had never had anything like that happen! But Maggie was a gentle giant and did no harm. She was just a sweet baby trying to play.
Patches got 12 years, and Maggie 13. Not bad for bigger dogs that don't seem to have the longevity of smaller ones. I tell myself that even if we had caught on to their ailments earlier it might not have made a significant difference in their lifespan. Maybe a little longer, but they were already at the upper end.
We wonder what we would have done differently if we had known. We have made informed decisions to not do things. We didn't put Riley under anesthetic to check on a mass one doctor found. The risk was not worth the reward. At 12 years old he has already lived longer than most epileptics, and any kind of treatment for cancer was going to be a challenge with his schedule. So we chose not to know and hope for the best. That was over a year and a half ago and he is still going strong. With Frankie, some of her kidney values looked odd and more testing was recommended. Again, at the age of 14 was the risk of the anesthetic worth it? We wouldn't be doing any surgery or anything on her if they found something. So we opted to work with the diet changes and, again, hope for the best.
Ever since we brought Micky in as number 9 at the time, Billy has joked that we are an eight dog family. Sure enough a few months later Patches' passing made us an eight dog family again. Then Spencer joined us earlier this year to make nine, and we lost Maggie a few months later to go back to eight.
I think we'll stay this way for a while. Eight is enough. I remember thinking in 2001 when Stormy died that we had set ourselves up for heartbreak another three times already with Christy, Molly and Midnight. I sit here today looking at eight more, knowing that my heart will resemble Swiss cheese before it's all over.
We love our babies. All of them. This bunch will benefit from our lessons learned. No more waiting to see what happens. No more being embarrassed about what we haven't been able to do. No more "old age". We are not perfect, but we are good pet parents. We love the years we had with them, even while wishing for more. We are forever grateful and blessed for those two sweet babies that no one wanted and gave us so much.
Now, why do I tell you all of this? Again, not so you will praise us for our good works and reassure us that we did all we could and we didn't fail them. I tell you this so you will look at your own life and see what might need a little grease, even it if doesn't squeak yet. There is no law that says you have to wait until metal meets metal to do something.
Is it your health? Do you work so hard that you are continually grabbing fast food and not exercising enough? Do you wait until the squeak (a stroke, a heart attack) before you make a change? How about your relationships? Are you spending time working to provide for your family but your family isn't there anymore? What squeak are you waiting for there (drug abuse, alcohol abuse, teen pregnancy) before you head off some bad behaviors? Maybe a coworker? Are you doing everything in your power to be a part of the team at work and help things run smoothly or do you wait until the squeak (a missed promotion, termination) to figure out what you how you should be spending those eight hours a day.
Think about it. We all have our own toolbox of duct tape and WD-40 to "fix" the things in our lives, but we have to be looking, be aware, be in touch and in tune.
Think about it.
Monday, September 4, 2017
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another
It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy he's my brother
He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
Songwriters: Bob Russell / Bobby Scott
He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother lyrics © Music Sales Corporation
Growing up in the 1970s, I loved the Osmond Brothers. Not just Donny, all the brothers. I couldn’t articulate what I liked about their music - the harmonies, the content, the instruments – but I knew I liked it.
One of my favorite songs from this album is “He Ain’t Heavy”. I know they weren’t the first to sing it, but they were the ones singing when I first heard it. I loved that it was five brothers singing about carrying their brother when he’s down.
Of course, the message is on a much broader scale.
Life is not now as it was in the seventies. For better or worse.
Times were turbulent. Drugs were prevalent. The United States was at war. Protests were erupting all over in opposition to the government.
Hold on, maybe things aren’t that different today.
But I do think there was a simplicity to our society then that doesn’t exist today.
There were still the lingering societal mores from the fifties where neighbors looked after neighbors. Churches took care of their parishioners in times of crisis and need. People considered government assistance to be a last resort, not a career choice. You accepted an hand up when you needed it, but not a handout.
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
I don’t even know all my neighbors. I’m amazed when I find out someone I know actually lives near me. People stay inside, lock their doors. They keep their problems under wraps. We don’t share because we don’t want others to know our life is less than perfect. In other words – normal.
No one goes through life without a bump, or two, in the road.
If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another
I watch the news now and my heart is sad. And angry. People don’t care about one another. It is every man for himself.
When I first started this post it was during the terrible, senseless, violence in Charlottesville, Virginia. The trouble there lasted for several days. A young woman was tragically murdered by a protester with his car. Military personnel died in a helicopter accident during those clashes. Days later a police officer was ambushed and killed in her patrol vehicle. All the words written above were from my heart during that time.
Sometimes I write, and wait. Sometimes I want to polish the piece. Sometimes I write in a stream of consciousness and stop when the stream dries up and then finish it later. My blog list is littered with drafts of just that nature, waiting for the lightning bolt to hit with the words to pull it together. The above was one such piece.
On August 25, 2017, Hurricane Harvey came ashore over Rockport, Texas as a category 4 storm, leaving destruction in its wake. The path shifted ever so slightly and moved northeast, stalling over Houston. Feet of rain dumped on Houston in less than 24 hours. Flooding was everywhere. Thousand of people were trying to evacuate. Harvey turned and headed back into the Gulf of Mexico, trying to gather a new head of steam, and made landfall again around Port Arthur and Beaumont, Texas. Right on the border with Louisiana.
The national media outlets descended on the area and of course, the footage of the disaster area left from Hurricane Harvey is actually more heartwarming than watching the protesters fighting each other over an ideal. The scenes of the Cajun Navy rescuing the stranded brought tears. Seeing miles of pickup trucks with fishing boats on trailers, drivers awaiting instruction of where to start looking made your heart smile. This was how people are supposed to help fellow human beings.
The road is long
With many a winding turn
That leads us to who knows where
Who knows where
But I'm strong
Strong enough to carry him
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
So on we go
His welfare is of my concern
No burden is he to bear
We'll get there
For I know
He would not encumber me
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
If I'm laden at all
I'm laden with sadness
That everyone's heart
Isn't filled with the gladness
Of love for one another
It's a long, long road
From which there is no return
While we're on the way to there
Why not share
And the load
Doesn't weigh me down at all
He ain't heavy he's my brother
He's my brother
He ain't heavy, he's my brother
Two national events in eleven days. Two different responses. Two different results.
God Bless Texas, and everyone from anywhere who has lifted their Texan brother on their shoulders and carried him down that long, winding road - to drier ground, to shelter, to food, to comfort.
When we work together, no one is too heavy to help.
Friday, August 11, 2017
They Timed Out
If you have ever played Words With Friends you have probably seen the phrase "they timed out". It happens when an opponent takes too long on their move. And the timer is usually about 14 days. Since I am not a "nudger" (another Words With Friends action for when your opponent is taking too long, in your opinion), I see it quite a bit with my random opponents. Sometimes they like to start a game thinking we will finish in the same night. When I can't, they move on.
So, I play a variety of folks - random opponents, Facebook friends, old friends, and family. Basically, anyone that wants to. I like the challenge and I believe that I am keeping my brain healthy. And it helps me feel connected people that I don't see on a regular basis. A daily "touch", if you will.
One such opponent that I have played regularly for years, we will call her KB, is a cousin. Growing up, I would see her in the summers when I visited my grandparents. In an odd quirk of fate, that happens a good bit on my mom's side of the family, the age differences are oddities. This cousin and I are fourth cousins - her father and my grandfather were first cousins - and I am about three months older than she. My grandmother would take me to her house when I would visit and we would hang out. I think I will be forever scarred by the time she let me drive their golf cart and I got too close to a tree and the cart brushed a branch with a bird's nest in it. I didn't know it until we got ready to stop and I reached down to shift the gear handle and saw these little birds, mouths wide open, staring at me. It was a horrible feeling. I can still see it in my mind's eye to this day. But she took care of it.
Like me, she studied accounting in college, I at Hendrix and she at the University of Arkansas, and I think was also offered a position with Ernst & Whinney when I was in 1988, but she opted to stay at the University and get a law degree. As happens sometimes, we lost contact over the years as we got older and started our families. I knew she had married someone that I was also distantly related to, and had three children - including twins. I also knew she went to work for a law firm in Little Rock.
We had had similar paths, but they were not parallel. Occasionally I would get updates on where she was and what she was doing. I moved out of the area and was doing my own thing, too. It happens.
As also happens sometimes, Facebook connects people.
I can't tell you exactly when we became Facebook friends, but I know we were before Naunie passed away in 2012 and that it was great to get to see her in person at the visitation. We got to talk for a few minutes as if we had just seen each other the week before. We have also been playing Words With Friends together for many years.
She has beat me 86 games to 7, so far.
Recently, KB suffered a stroke. Blessedly, she is still with us. She was leaving court one day, probably like so many days before, and her assistant noticed she didn't look "right". An ambulance was called. I, like many others, posted prayers on her Facebook page and watched for word that she would be okay.
Currently, she is in rehab. Making progress every day.
Even though I knew it was coming, it still felt like a gut punch on the day that Words With Friends told me I had won the game we had in progress. Right under the words You Won! it says They Timed Out.
They Timed Out.
It hits you that the "time out" could have been a permanent situation.
Sometimes Life just slaps you in the face and makes you ask all the hard questions - am I where I want to be, am I the person I should be, am I doing all I can for all that I can? Or am I trying to be what the world wants me to be?
Am I even close to being the person I should be?
I know I feel blessed that KB's stroke was only a wake up call, and not just for her (and I shouldn't assume it was a wake up call for her. We have not discussed it, and she may be perfectly happy with the life she has lived to this point. She may have nothing that she would do differently.) Being older than she, if only by a few months, has made me wonder if it could happen to me? Am I doing anything to prevent it?
Can I prevent it?
What else might be waiting for me of which I am unaware?
How about you?
Not trying to be morbid, or telling people to run in tomorrow to their bosses and quit their high stress jobs. No, just trying to raise awareness. Just trying to provoke some thoughts. We all need that little elbow in the ribs on occasion as we tend to get complacent, caught up, and lose focus on our bigger picture.
There are some things that are inevitable and for which we cannot do anything to alter the conclusion. Some things just are what they are. But we can live a life that says if I "timed out" tomorrow I would be okay with it - I have lived a good life, done what I wanted to do, given back where I could, tried to make a lasting impact with my family and/or others in my circuit. I can be move on confident in the knowledge that I would have no regrets, leaving nothing undone.
I will remind you of one of my favorite sayings - live life not like it your last day, but the last day of a loved one.
Makes you think, doesn't it?
KB still has work to do, but she is making progress. She has moved up to using a cane and may get to go home next week. God is good!
And we give Him many thanks. The least of which is for the reminder.
So, I play a variety of folks - random opponents, Facebook friends, old friends, and family. Basically, anyone that wants to. I like the challenge and I believe that I am keeping my brain healthy. And it helps me feel connected people that I don't see on a regular basis. A daily "touch", if you will.
One such opponent that I have played regularly for years, we will call her KB, is a cousin. Growing up, I would see her in the summers when I visited my grandparents. In an odd quirk of fate, that happens a good bit on my mom's side of the family, the age differences are oddities. This cousin and I are fourth cousins - her father and my grandfather were first cousins - and I am about three months older than she. My grandmother would take me to her house when I would visit and we would hang out. I think I will be forever scarred by the time she let me drive their golf cart and I got too close to a tree and the cart brushed a branch with a bird's nest in it. I didn't know it until we got ready to stop and I reached down to shift the gear handle and saw these little birds, mouths wide open, staring at me. It was a horrible feeling. I can still see it in my mind's eye to this day. But she took care of it.
Like me, she studied accounting in college, I at Hendrix and she at the University of Arkansas, and I think was also offered a position with Ernst & Whinney when I was in 1988, but she opted to stay at the University and get a law degree. As happens sometimes, we lost contact over the years as we got older and started our families. I knew she had married someone that I was also distantly related to, and had three children - including twins. I also knew she went to work for a law firm in Little Rock.
We had had similar paths, but they were not parallel. Occasionally I would get updates on where she was and what she was doing. I moved out of the area and was doing my own thing, too. It happens.
As also happens sometimes, Facebook connects people.
I can't tell you exactly when we became Facebook friends, but I know we were before Naunie passed away in 2012 and that it was great to get to see her in person at the visitation. We got to talk for a few minutes as if we had just seen each other the week before. We have also been playing Words With Friends together for many years.
She has beat me 86 games to 7, so far.
Recently, KB suffered a stroke. Blessedly, she is still with us. She was leaving court one day, probably like so many days before, and her assistant noticed she didn't look "right". An ambulance was called. I, like many others, posted prayers on her Facebook page and watched for word that she would be okay.
Currently, she is in rehab. Making progress every day.
Even though I knew it was coming, it still felt like a gut punch on the day that Words With Friends told me I had won the game we had in progress. Right under the words You Won! it says They Timed Out.
They Timed Out.
It hits you that the "time out" could have been a permanent situation.
Sometimes Life just slaps you in the face and makes you ask all the hard questions - am I where I want to be, am I the person I should be, am I doing all I can for all that I can? Or am I trying to be what the world wants me to be?
Am I even close to being the person I should be?
I know I feel blessed that KB's stroke was only a wake up call, and not just for her (and I shouldn't assume it was a wake up call for her. We have not discussed it, and she may be perfectly happy with the life she has lived to this point. She may have nothing that she would do differently.) Being older than she, if only by a few months, has made me wonder if it could happen to me? Am I doing anything to prevent it?
Can I prevent it?
What else might be waiting for me of which I am unaware?
How about you?
Not trying to be morbid, or telling people to run in tomorrow to their bosses and quit their high stress jobs. No, just trying to raise awareness. Just trying to provoke some thoughts. We all need that little elbow in the ribs on occasion as we tend to get complacent, caught up, and lose focus on our bigger picture.
There are some things that are inevitable and for which we cannot do anything to alter the conclusion. Some things just are what they are. But we can live a life that says if I "timed out" tomorrow I would be okay with it - I have lived a good life, done what I wanted to do, given back where I could, tried to make a lasting impact with my family and/or others in my circuit. I can be move on confident in the knowledge that I would have no regrets, leaving nothing undone.
I will remind you of one of my favorite sayings - live life not like it your last day, but the last day of a loved one.
Makes you think, doesn't it?
KB still has work to do, but she is making progress. She has moved up to using a cane and may get to go home next week. God is good!
And we give Him many thanks. The least of which is for the reminder.
Sunday, February 5, 2017
The Locked Door
I saw this analogy the other day and really liked it. This is just my effort to expand on it, some.
At night, we lock our doors. At our house there are two locks on the front exterior door, two locks on the interior back door, and three on the back exterior door.
Some would say we are well protected.
The question I saw that prompted this post asked this - why do we lock our doors? Because we hate the world outside? Or because we love the ones inside?
We lock ourselves in at night to protect - protect our very beings, protect our loved ones, protect the things that make our house our home.
But why do we have to lock the doors at all? Talk to anyone a generation, or two, older than you and they are quick to point out they grew up without ever locking a door - day or night. We have to lock our doors because somewhere in time people started to do bad things.
Things like stealing, rape, murder.
So we lock ourselves in and hope that helps keep us safe.
If someone unexpectedly rings your doorbell during the day what do you do? Do you throw it wide open and welcome whomever is there into your home? Or do you look through the peephole, or out the window to see who it is? Do you call through the door "who is it?" Most of us will do something to try and identify the person if we were not expecting a visitor.
What if you call through the door and the person responds "UPS man. I have a package.
Signature required." You don't necessarily remember ordering anything. Maybe someone sent you a gift? At that point do you open the door? Or do you look and see if he is wearing a brown uniform and there is a big brown truck parked in front of your house.
What if he says "UPS man. I have a package. Signature required." but when you look outside you see a FedEx truck. Or a beat up cargo van and the person is not dressed as you expected. You can tell him to just leave the package, sure. Slide the signature slip in the mailslot or just refuse the package. But in my little scenario here let's take it one step further. You call the local UPS dispatch and ask if they have a driver in your neighborhood. And if so, is he dressed like a pizza delivery man?
My point is you will go to, sometimes, great lengths before just opening your door to a stranger.
If the UPS dispatch confirms your worst fears, then you call the police. But what if they refuse to answer your question? What if they simply won't give you the information you need? How can you make an informed decision about whether or not to open the door to this stranger.
You know where I'm headed with this.
Lately, much has been said about the Trump Travel Ban. Not all of it accurate. Some of it sensationalized - depending on which major news outlet you watch. Celebrities cry out for justice for an unfair stance for innocent people. Protests ensued across this nation. Oh the inhumanity!
I read most of the original Executive Order this morning. I read it on the White House's website, not someone else's interpretation of it.
Excepts below:
We used to have more freedom to come and go, Much like our grandparents slept with unlocked doors, travel around the world was much much simpler before September 11, 2001.
Then people came in and did bad things. Nineteen people to be exact.
They took advantage of our open policies.
And it continued - the Boston Marathon; an Orlando night club; San Bernardino. Terrorists acts committed by those that have different beliefs that those Americans hold true - freedoms that we enjoy. Please notice that in that section of Purpose no specific persons, religions, nationalities, or any other identifiers were listed. Just anyone wishing to commit acts related to bigotry or hatred. How is that a bad thing?
To watch the news you would think that a giant dome descended over our country on the day of the signing of this Order with no one getting in our out. Not true.
I'm not going to debate on the President's actions as a matter of principle. He saw a need and he took action, as was within the right of his office. I have no problem in the world with that. There will always be those that say "He should have done this. He could handled it that way. He didn't do it the way I would have done it. Why did he say this?"
Can't we all say that every day about someone and something? No one will ever make everyone happy. It just won't happen.
My point is that the United States of America is our home, just like our house in Natchez is mine and Billy's home. A subset of the greater whole. And just like we protect our structure in that subset it is imperative that we all do all we can to protect our greater home.
Whether or not you voted for President Trump; whether or not you've changed your mind one way or the other about him; whether or not you like him at all or anything about him, he is the President and one of his duties is to protect this country. I think he did that with this order.
I wish people could put aside their differences. I've always said we are a nation during things like the Olympics - us against the world. Why can we not assume a similar stance when it comes to our own protection and say, collectively, tell us what we need to know to come in, or you can just stay outside?
Leave your package on the porch. I can stay in where it's safe.
At night, we lock our doors. At our house there are two locks on the front exterior door, two locks on the interior back door, and three on the back exterior door.
Some would say we are well protected.
The question I saw that prompted this post asked this - why do we lock our doors? Because we hate the world outside? Or because we love the ones inside?
We lock ourselves in at night to protect - protect our very beings, protect our loved ones, protect the things that make our house our home.
But why do we have to lock the doors at all? Talk to anyone a generation, or two, older than you and they are quick to point out they grew up without ever locking a door - day or night. We have to lock our doors because somewhere in time people started to do bad things.
Things like stealing, rape, murder.
So we lock ourselves in and hope that helps keep us safe.
If someone unexpectedly rings your doorbell during the day what do you do? Do you throw it wide open and welcome whomever is there into your home? Or do you look through the peephole, or out the window to see who it is? Do you call through the door "who is it?" Most of us will do something to try and identify the person if we were not expecting a visitor.
What if you call through the door and the person responds "UPS man. I have a package.
Signature required." You don't necessarily remember ordering anything. Maybe someone sent you a gift? At that point do you open the door? Or do you look and see if he is wearing a brown uniform and there is a big brown truck parked in front of your house.
What if he says "UPS man. I have a package. Signature required." but when you look outside you see a FedEx truck. Or a beat up cargo van and the person is not dressed as you expected. You can tell him to just leave the package, sure. Slide the signature slip in the mailslot or just refuse the package. But in my little scenario here let's take it one step further. You call the local UPS dispatch and ask if they have a driver in your neighborhood. And if so, is he dressed like a pizza delivery man?
My point is you will go to, sometimes, great lengths before just opening your door to a stranger.
If the UPS dispatch confirms your worst fears, then you call the police. But what if they refuse to answer your question? What if they simply won't give you the information you need? How can you make an informed decision about whether or not to open the door to this stranger.
You know where I'm headed with this.
Lately, much has been said about the Trump Travel Ban. Not all of it accurate. Some of it sensationalized - depending on which major news outlet you watch. Celebrities cry out for justice for an unfair stance for innocent people. Protests ensued across this nation. Oh the inhumanity!
I read most of the original Executive Order this morning. I read it on the White House's website, not someone else's interpretation of it.
Excepts below:
Section 1. Purpose. The visa-issuance process plays a crucial role in detecting individuals with terrorist ties and stopping them from entering the United States. Perhaps in no instance was that more apparent than the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, when State Department policy prevented consular officers from properly scrutinizing the visa applications of several of the 19 foreign nationals who went on to murder nearly 3,000 Americans. And while the visa-issuance process was reviewed and amended after the September 11 attacks to better detect would-be terrorists from receiving visas, these measures did not stop attacks by foreign nationals who were admitted to the United States.
Numerous foreign-born individuals have been convicted or implicated in terrorism-related crimes since September 11, 2001, including foreign nationals who entered the United States after receiving visitor, student, or employment visas, or who entered through the United States refugee resettlement program. Deteriorating conditions in certain countries due to war, strife, disaster, and civil unrest increase the likelihood that terrorists will use any means possible to enter the United States. The United States must be vigilant during the visa-issuance process to ensure that those approved for admission do not intend to harm Americans and that they have no ties to terrorism.
In order to protect Americans, the United States must ensure that those admitted to this country do not bear hostile attitudes toward it and its founding principles. The United States cannot, and should not, admit those who do not support the Constitution, or those who would place violent ideologies over American law. In addition, the United States should not admit those who engage in acts of bigotry or hatred (including “honor” killings, other forms of violence against women, or the persecution of those who practice religions different from their own) or those who would oppress Americans of any race, gender, or sexual orientation.
In essence, our President put a lock on the front door to the United States of America. We used to have more freedom to come and go, Much like our grandparents slept with unlocked doors, travel around the world was much much simpler before September 11, 2001.
Then people came in and did bad things. Nineteen people to be exact.
They took advantage of our open policies.
And it continued - the Boston Marathon; an Orlando night club; San Bernardino. Terrorists acts committed by those that have different beliefs that those Americans hold true - freedoms that we enjoy. Please notice that in that section of Purpose no specific persons, religions, nationalities, or any other identifiers were listed. Just anyone wishing to commit acts related to bigotry or hatred. How is that a bad thing?
(a) The Secretary of Homeland Security, in consultation with the Secretary of State and the Director of National Intelligence, shall immediately conduct a review to determine the information needed from any country to adjudicate any visa, admission, or other benefit under the INA (adjudications) in order to determine that the individual seeking the benefit is who the individual claims to be and is not a security or public-safety threat.
Much like looking out the window or through the peephole or calling UPS dispatch in my example, our country is charged with gathering information on those that wish to come in so that we can ensure our own safety. Because without adequate information no reasonable conclusion can be reached.
I hereby proclaim that the immigrant and nonimmigrant entry into the United States of aliens from countries referred to in section 217(a)(12) of the INA, 8 U.S.C. 1187(a)(12), would be detrimental to the interests of the United States, and I hereby suspend entry into the United States, as immigrants and nonimmigrants, of such persons for 90 days from the date of this order (excluding those foreign nationals traveling on diplomatic visas, North Atlantic Treaty Organization visas, C-2 visas for travel to the United Nations, and G-1, G-2, G-3, and G-4 visas).
Our President asked for three months. Three months only. Seven countries are listed in the document. Only seven. And those seven are like the UPS dispatcher that wouldn't answer the simplest of questions in my scenario. If they can't tell us what we need to know, then their people don't get to come in. Otherwise, that would be like opening the front door to a complete stranger and then wondering why they are carrying off your big screen television with a knife held to your throat.To watch the news you would think that a giant dome descended over our country on the day of the signing of this Order with no one getting in our out. Not true.
I'm not going to debate on the President's actions as a matter of principle. He saw a need and he took action, as was within the right of his office. I have no problem in the world with that. There will always be those that say "He should have done this. He could handled it that way. He didn't do it the way I would have done it. Why did he say this?"
Can't we all say that every day about someone and something? No one will ever make everyone happy. It just won't happen.
My point is that the United States of America is our home, just like our house in Natchez is mine and Billy's home. A subset of the greater whole. And just like we protect our structure in that subset it is imperative that we all do all we can to protect our greater home.
Whether or not you voted for President Trump; whether or not you've changed your mind one way or the other about him; whether or not you like him at all or anything about him, he is the President and one of his duties is to protect this country. I think he did that with this order.
I wish people could put aside their differences. I've always said we are a nation during things like the Olympics - us against the world. Why can we not assume a similar stance when it comes to our own protection and say, collectively, tell us what we need to know to come in, or you can just stay outside?
Leave your package on the porch. I can stay in where it's safe.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Celebrate YOU!
I borrowed the following, with permission, from my friend, Shelly Dunaway. She is often the source of wisdom and inspiration to me, and others. Shelly and I were acquaintances in high school, even did a play together, I think, but really connected through Facebook in the last several years, and even managed to see each other in person in Baton Rouge in January this year at a run.
She saw this one day, and what follows was her Facebook post on it.
Woah!!! What a thought provoking question! And so many directions to go with this one... the first thing that jumps out at me is the word "things"! And the silent, yet true, implication that we would love an object before loving ourself. (I'll spare you my soapbox here!!!). But the deeper message here for me, is that we generally don't even consider the importance of self love... For myself, personally, loving yourself has always had the negative connotation of being selfish, arrogant or conceited... and I was raised to believe that you should try really hard not to be any of those things! 😉 And so I lived a lot of years not ever considering the real importance and actual need for self love. Now... self loathing... I'm a pro at that one... dare I say most of us are!! We're not skinny enough... pretty enough... smart enough... fast enough... good enough... we could make a mile long list of the things we are NOT in the blink of an eye! But ask us to write down one thing that we ARE.... and the internal struggle to identify our true worth begins. And why?!?! Yep... that's the million dollar question, right there! And how sad is it that we struggle to find things about ourselves to love! Because it is through the love for ourselves that we are able to love others more completely. God loved us first... and He loved us enough to create us in His Devine image... so THAT'S gotta be worth something, right! 😊 So we should definitely put ourselves on the tip top of that LOVE LIST!! And make the effort every single day to identify at least one thing about ourselves worth loving!!! Yep... Ima start myself a 💗 list and put ME at the top! 😉
I think her thoughts really need no expansion, but I'm going to add my two cents in anyway. Just because. It's what I do.
I picked January 1st to post this for a reason.
Today is the first day of a new year. A brand new start. And just like Shelly is going to put herself on the top of the list of "things" she loves, so should we all. Especially since in the next few weeks we will be bombarded from all directions of all the things "wrong" with us.
Every January the New Year's resolutions get trotted out, and most start with lose weight/exercise more. Magazine covers will blast us with pictures of celebrities and real people that "dropped half her size! You can too! See how!" and Jillian Michaels will be hawking the latest version of the Nordic Xwhatevernumber incline trainer where "all you have to do is walk, even on the beaches of Fiji". as she flips through the related videos looking for the perfect one. We will be made to feel that there is something wrong with us if we aren't a size -2, or look like we did in high school when this year's reunion rolls around.
So we will hear for about a month or so how much about ourselves we need to fix, and where to buy the products to help us do so.
Now, do not misunderstand. I am all about a healthy lifestyle. Healthy habits will resolve a lot of these problems we perceive that we have - happy hormones get released, blood pressure stays lower, digestion is improved, and pre-diabetes can be managed without medications. But why do we have to have it thrown at us as a correction to a problem? Why can't we look at ourselves and say "I am a great person. I want to live a long time being a great person. Is my current lifestyle allowing me to do that?"
If we can love ourselves first and focus on fostering that, I truly believe the other will follow. If you are a great letter writer, resolve to sit down once a week and write to a friend, or an elderly relative, or even to your future grandchildren things you want them to know about you. If you are an avid reader, volunteer for a literacy program to help others share that same love of the written word. Or read to children at the library in the summers, or to those in a long-term care facility for whom reading is no longer possible. Sharing your joy with others can go a long way toward lowering that stress, which lowers your blood pressure and improves your mood. Some say less stress means less cortisol which will help trim your waistline. See, all that benefit without buying one expensive treadmill. And you've still invested time in being a "better" you, and spending that time doing something you love instead of something that you might dread.
Focus on what you do right instead of what others tell us is wrong.
I also liked Shelly's comments about growing up to not be braggy or conceited. I think those ideas are still prevalent with a lot of us. I was training for a triathlon this summer and one neighbor would see my running partner and I out getting our miles in on the weekends and she commented one day, usually because it was high noon when we were doing it, and I was so proud to tell her that I had gotten up early and tackled that day and already gotten my swim training in and I got enjoy the day when we got home from the run. I was told not to brag (not by the neighbor, by my partner). I'm not sure how I said that it came out like I was bragging, but in reflection, I wasn't doing that, merely sharing with her. I was very pleased with myself! And it does take a lot of training and dedication to even attempt something like a long distance triathlon. If seeing me do it helps someone else get to work on one of their goals, whatever they are, then so be it. I think a lot of perceived bragging has to do with the delivery.
I am a 50 year old asthmatic. If I can tackle something like that then I think anyone should be encouraged to try that which they may not think possible. Many people would never have thought something like that was on my radar. (I still haven't finished the big one yet, but I've done many shorter distances, and I can do the distance for each individual leg of the tri, just can't put it all together yet. And I may not ever be able to, but I can keep trying.)
So, where are YOU on your list of things you love? If not at the top, then let me pose a New Year's resolution for you - add yourself and work that list. For the record, I don't do resolutions. I set goals. Goals are something that you are always working towards. Resolutions seems to be things that get tossed aside the first time they are broken. I cannot disappoint myself that way. If I don't meet my goal one year, it just rolls on to the next year's list and I keep trying. I am by no stretch of the imagination perfect, but I'm not all bad, either.
Self-love. Loving ourselves because He first loved us. Loving ourselves because we are worthy of being loved, even if only by ourselves.
But I don't think that really happens. If we love ourselves. and do for ourselves what we would do for anyone else we loved, then more love follows. We have to lead by example. We may hear that we can't be loved if we don't love ourselves. That isn't true either. We are just less likely to accept love from others if we have not first allowed ourselves to believe ourselves worthy.
I look for great things in 2017. There were so many things wrong with 2016 (THAT's another blog post) that I look forward to closing the door on it tonight and hoping and praying for a better new year. And, of course, doing my part to try and make those things happen. There are still some things within our control in our lives.
I wish the same for each of you. Peace, love, joy, happiness, fulfillment. All good stuff. Think long and hard about what you want for 2017 and the things that bring you peace, love, joy, and happiness. I hope you find yourself on that list. Preferably at the top, but as long as you are on it, I'm good with it.
Celebrate YOU! You are the only one like you in the world.
Happy New Year!
Thursday, November 24, 2016
Why Me?
In the immortal words of Kris Kristofferson:
"Why me Lord
What have I ever done
To deserve even one
Of the blessings I've known
Why me Lord
What did I ever do
That was worth love from you
And the kindness you've shown"
One of the sweetest sounding words in the English language, in my opinion, is "benign". Probably the only sweeter word is "remission".
Twice in ten months I was blessed to hear the word benign. Twice in ten months I had medical procedures, one more extensive than the other, but both ended in the word I wanted to hear. You want to stand on the rooftop and shout out as loudly as you possibly can "I DON'T HAVE CANCER!"
But you don't.
"Why me, Lord?"
Because, as wonderful as you feel in that instant, you have friends that aren't. I had friends this summer that started their treatments for breast cancer, some that finished their treatments, some that continued their battle, and some that got the all clear after fighting the good fight.
And the guilt creeps in a little. Why was I so lucky? How did I dodge a bullet? Not once but twice. What makes me different? Why do I get to be so happy when others aren't?
"What have I ever done....?"
Is the Lord giving me a pass on this one because He has something else in store for me, a bigger challenge? Or is it His way of saying "you've had enough in this life my child" as a reward for dealing with things I've dealt with?
I simply don't know.
"To deserve even one"
We think the same thing about Riley. In 2008 we had no idea that dogs could even have epilepsy, much less how prevalent it is. Through the magic of social media we have met and formed relationships with so many families around the world that wake up every day, as we do, and say a prayer that it ends seizure free. And then we pray again at bedtime that the night will be quiet.
We follow each other online, touching base daily, smiling at pictures of our pups acting like
"normal" pups. We share our experiences with those just starting down this path. We all hold our collective breath when one gets visited by "the monster".
And we cry deep in our hearts when one crosses the Rainbow Bridge. Because no matter how old they were, it wasn't old enough. We hug our own epi warrior just a little tighter and you wonder, why me? Why us?
Riley had severe cluster seizures every two weeks for over two years. He's been through liver failure. He continues to face health issues every day, including congestive heart failure and cancer.
At the age of 12-ish, our little Timex "takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'", at least that is how it feels.
Some of our online friends have lost their warriors at only four or five years old. Too young. Why is our Riley so lucky? While we know that nothing is forever, he just keeps defying the odds. In fact, one of his latest health concerns is simply a factor of living long enough to get it.
"Of the blessings I've known"
I intentionally had this piece post on Thanksgiving. A day of thanks for all our blessings. A day, often overlooked, or at least shortchanged, for remembering all the gifts we have received in our lives.
Our families, our marriage, friends, work, our health, our community, food on our tables.
The love of our Lord.
A free country with all the riches we could possibly desire if we only go after them.
Too often, we let the day-to-day take it's toll. Money concerns. Aging parents. Health issues. Un, or under, employment. It's important to step back and say thank you. I may have "this", but I don't have to deal with "that".
We all have a cross to bear but sometimes we forget to say thank you for our cross and that our cross is not the one that someone else has to bear. And to remember to say to thank you to the One, and all the others, that help us carry that cross. That help us get our burdens to where they need to be so we can turn them over to the One that bears them all, for all of us if we only ask and give it up.
"That was worth love from you"
So, thank you. To my friends, family, coworkers, neighbors past and present for making my life richer. To the farmers that raised the food we will eat today; and to the workers that processed it, packaged it, and sold it. To law enforcement, first responders, and our military for keeping us safe. To the educators who helped shape my minds; the medical world for keeping me healthy; and everyone who has helped me become the person I am. To the best husband a girl could ever ask for, or even dream about.
And to all of you, wherever and whoever you are. You read these posts. You support my dreams. You rock! And for you, I am thankful. "And the kindness you've shown"
"Why me Lord
What have I ever done
To deserve even one
Of the blessings I've known
Why me Lord
What did I ever do
That was worth love from you
And the kindness you've shown"
One of the sweetest sounding words in the English language, in my opinion, is "benign". Probably the only sweeter word is "remission".
Twice in ten months I was blessed to hear the word benign. Twice in ten months I had medical procedures, one more extensive than the other, but both ended in the word I wanted to hear. You want to stand on the rooftop and shout out as loudly as you possibly can "I DON'T HAVE CANCER!"
But you don't.
"Why me, Lord?"
Because, as wonderful as you feel in that instant, you have friends that aren't. I had friends this summer that started their treatments for breast cancer, some that finished their treatments, some that continued their battle, and some that got the all clear after fighting the good fight.
And the guilt creeps in a little. Why was I so lucky? How did I dodge a bullet? Not once but twice. What makes me different? Why do I get to be so happy when others aren't?
"What have I ever done....?"
Is the Lord giving me a pass on this one because He has something else in store for me, a bigger challenge? Or is it His way of saying "you've had enough in this life my child" as a reward for dealing with things I've dealt with?
I simply don't know.
"To deserve even one"
We think the same thing about Riley. In 2008 we had no idea that dogs could even have epilepsy, much less how prevalent it is. Through the magic of social media we have met and formed relationships with so many families around the world that wake up every day, as we do, and say a prayer that it ends seizure free. And then we pray again at bedtime that the night will be quiet.
We follow each other online, touching base daily, smiling at pictures of our pups acting like
"normal" pups. We share our experiences with those just starting down this path. We all hold our collective breath when one gets visited by "the monster".
And we cry deep in our hearts when one crosses the Rainbow Bridge. Because no matter how old they were, it wasn't old enough. We hug our own epi warrior just a little tighter and you wonder, why me? Why us?
Riley had severe cluster seizures every two weeks for over two years. He's been through liver failure. He continues to face health issues every day, including congestive heart failure and cancer.
At the age of 12-ish, our little Timex "takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'", at least that is how it feels.
Some of our online friends have lost their warriors at only four or five years old. Too young. Why is our Riley so lucky? While we know that nothing is forever, he just keeps defying the odds. In fact, one of his latest health concerns is simply a factor of living long enough to get it.
"Of the blessings I've known"
I intentionally had this piece post on Thanksgiving. A day of thanks for all our blessings. A day, often overlooked, or at least shortchanged, for remembering all the gifts we have received in our lives.
Our families, our marriage, friends, work, our health, our community, food on our tables.
The love of our Lord.
A free country with all the riches we could possibly desire if we only go after them.
Too often, we let the day-to-day take it's toll. Money concerns. Aging parents. Health issues. Un, or under, employment. It's important to step back and say thank you. I may have "this", but I don't have to deal with "that".
We all have a cross to bear but sometimes we forget to say thank you for our cross and that our cross is not the one that someone else has to bear. And to remember to say to thank you to the One, and all the others, that help us carry that cross. That help us get our burdens to where they need to be so we can turn them over to the One that bears them all, for all of us if we only ask and give it up.
"That was worth love from you"
So, thank you. To my friends, family, coworkers, neighbors past and present for making my life richer. To the farmers that raised the food we will eat today; and to the workers that processed it, packaged it, and sold it. To law enforcement, first responders, and our military for keeping us safe. To the educators who helped shape my minds; the medical world for keeping me healthy; and everyone who has helped me become the person I am. To the best husband a girl could ever ask for, or even dream about.
And to all of you, wherever and whoever you are. You read these posts. You support my dreams. You rock! And for you, I am thankful. "And the kindness you've shown"
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