Winter Solstice

Candle light

Twinkle lights

Fire light

Street lights

Moon light

All bring hope, promise,

And direction in the dark.

Without the darkness,
During the day,
Those lights are dimmed--
Seldom seen
Rarely followed.

I’m not afraid of the dark
With those dots of light

Always coaxing me on.
I celebrate the dark and light,
Walking hand in hand.

He is the light that keeps me

Moving forward on our darkest day,

In the dark days of life.
Walking . . .his hand in my hand,
Urging me on.

Trees

Last night at Writer's Life, a group at our church, John shared a story about a special tree in his yard which had me thinking about some of my trees---especially the redbud and dogwood trees.  I have spent good money buying redbud and dogwood trees even though they are native to Missouri.  I have been lured by the the red leaves and pink blossoms of the cultivated trees, but those trees died.

I, now have a yard full of dogwoods and redbuds which I never planted---they are "God-planted" trees with the help of squirrels and birds.  One of the dogwoods, in my front is only about 36" from where I planted one of my store-bought trees.  Another dogwood is right outside our sunroom and is  framed by Dave's window.  It forms a beautiful screen between us and our neighbor.  My last dogwood, I call "bonsai"---it is way too close to our house (under the eaves) and drive-way, but I love seeing it there, so I keep cutting it back.

We have always had a redbud on our backyard berm---our current one was so overshadowed by the older one that it has a permanent lean.  And then, I have another very close to the house which the birds love to sit in near the bird feeders, but it is too weak to bear the weight of a squirrel.

The rest of the dogwoods and redbuds are in a wooded area at the back of our lot growing naturally under the canopy of the larger locust, sweet gum and oak trees.  It's interesting that the trees I love are all "wild" trees growing where God planted them---with the help of squirrels and birds.  They aren't where I thought they should be but where they grow naturally---near the house and under the larger trees.  Some trees just need the company  and protection of others---that's where they gain strength to let their beauty shine.  We can't all be strong oak trees or perpetually active pine trees; some of us need help and protection.  If it's all part of God's plan for trees, then maybe it is part of God's plan for us too.  Those of us who are strong and independent, need to recognize that others may need our shelter and protection in  order to grow and flourish.

I believe

I believe

in angels who watch over me,

in the holy spirit which guides me,

in the DNA of my ancestors influencing who I am,

in inspiration which comes unannounced.

I BELIEVE

I believe 

in education and health care for all,

in freedom to live with whom and where I want to live,

in discussion not angry words with name-calling and threats,

in families focusing on what they have in common not what keeps them apart,

I BELIEVE in PEACE.

I believe

in clean air, water and soil as God intended,

in saving threatened species which God has created,

in supporting other energy sources other than fossil fuels,

in recycling, composting, re-purposing.

I BELIEVE in the EARTH.

I believe 

in respecting other religious groups,

in welcoming immigrants and refugees,

in being open and willing to learn from those who are different,

in seeing the good in people even if I have to search for it.

I BELIEVE in PEACE on EARTH.

Photo by Perry Grone on Unsplash

I believe. .. .

Galatians 5:1 It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery.

Our pastor challenged us to write an "I believe" statement.  I had a hard time because the Frankie Laine song kept going through my head.  Click here  So, I had to think of way to get there through a "back door".  I recalled the Schwends always quoting Bitsy, "Everything's going to be all right" and I thought, "What phrases do I use all of the time?"  That might help me find my core beliefs.

There are two phrases I find myself repeating. One is, “Go while the gettin’ is good.” Thank goodness, Dave and I have always made quality travel experiences a priority since at this time, our health prevents us from traveling much.  Someone was surprised that I had already achieved 100 things on my “bucket list” but we travelled, skied, hiked, biked when we were young and healthy.  We might not have always lived in the largest house or driven the fanciest cars, but we chose to experience life to its fullest while we could. We loved to travel and hope to again some day.

My other frequently used phrase  is “ Life is too short for uncomfortable shoes.”  This probably began when I was in 8th grade.  I was always short, but suddenly I felt . . . .well, immature compared to my classmates.  So I went out and bought a pair of high heel shoes.  Yes, they were uncomfortable, but they made me look more mature.. . . or so I thought until I saw a reflection in a store window of myself walking.  I looked like a little girl clomping around in her mother’s high heels.  Then, I did the math.  I was 5’ tall and 3” heels made me 5’3” which was not exactly statuesque.  That was the last time I ever wore high heels.

I wore hush puppies, Dr. Scholl’s, Birkenstocks, Clarks and Merrills——insisting that there was more to life than fashionable and uncomfortable shoes.  I also took that credo to other aspects of my life.  I drive a VW Beetle which makes me smile and fits me just right. My kitchen island is shorter than counter tops so I can work comfortably. I seldom wear skirts or dresses which bind me at the waist.  I don’t watch television which makes me squirm with its language or violence.  I shut off all political diatribes on facebook by “hiding” them or blocking the original poster.  

But, lately I’ve noticed that I’ve started avoiding people and groups which make me uncomfortable, also. It probably began when I had to limit my social contact due to being immune suppressed. Also, I’ve had blood pressure issues for years.   I see a doctor regularly, but. . . .when I’m with pessimistic people, toxic people, or angry people, my blood pressure rises. Whether it’s their politics, their slant on Christianity,  or their values, I just haven’t be able to make room in my life for people who are binding and make me squirm.  If I have to limit my social contact, then I want it to be with healthy people in every aspect. So, I’ve expanded my “Life is too short for uncomfortable shoes” to “Life is too short to surround myself with people who make me uncomfortable.”  

Which bring me to my “I believe “statement. . . . I believe in freedom from things, people, places that bind me.  I believe in freedom to choose where I live, how I live, with whom I live. My DNA says that I descend from a slave in America, and now I wonder if my need for freedom and travel comes from something imbedded in my DNA. But, maybe by “choosing my social contacts” I am in truth restricting myself to just people who are like myself.  Maybe I need to break out of my “comfort zone” in order to be truly free of chains. Maybe, as my daughter suggested, those whom I see as negative or shallow, need encouragement to break their chains also.

Psalm 107:13-16 - Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He brought them out of darkness, the utter darkness, and broke away their chains. Let them give thanks to the Lord for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind, for he breaks down gates of bronze and cuts through bars of iron.

A New Orleans Angel

We were arriving in New Orleans in the rain after a Caribbean cruise . I always feel anxious disembarking from the cruise.  It's not so much leaving a pampered life style behind as it is being in long lines of grumpy people who are worried about their flights home, finding their luggage, getting someone to help them get the luggage to the curb or they just need another cup of coffee.  I have more anxiety than most because I feel like it is all up to me---getting the luggage and managing my husband Dave in a wheel chair, navigating the whole process.

I had left Dave in a wheel chair on the curb with our  small travel umbrella and our luggage, as I scampered over the railroad tracks to get our van on the cruise parking lot in a light rain.  I had a pretty good idea where our car was, having spotted our silver mini-van from the cruise ship and taken a photo—wow, was I wrong.  I wandered up and down the aisles searching for our van getting wetter.  My anxiety was building as I thought of Dave just sitting there in the rain with our luggage AND I had at least a 30 minute drive from the parking lot to where he was since the street was one-way in a giant loop with lots of traffic and stop lights.  

I started praying, “Please, God, help me find our van” as I continued searching up and down the endless aisles.  After a few minutes an elderly man in a golf cart approached and asked, "Do you need help."  I started crying, “I can’t find our van my husband is in a wheel chair on the curb getting wet and it’s going to take me at least 30 minutes to get him because I can’t wheel him over the railroad tracks.”  “Ma’am, let’s first find your van and then we’ll get your husband.”  

We found the van which wasn’t even close to the area I was searching in.  Then, he said, “Let’s go get your husband.”  He took us over the tracks, loaded the luggage, Dave, and the wheelchair into the cart and took us back to the van.  He put the suitcases and wheel chair in the van while I helped Dave get in. I could feel that weight of anxiety slowly slipping away.

Before he left, I tipped my rescuer $20 and said, “Thank you for  rescuing me—you are like an angel answering my prayers.” He looked at me with tears and said with a catch in his voice, “That means more to me than the tip.  Thank you.”  I often tell people, “my guardian angel is an elderly man in New Orlean riding on a golf cart." I try to remember that moment anytime I feel weighted down with anxieties and worries.  If God could send that man to rescue us in New Orleans, he will be there for this crisis too.

A Battered Ship

A ship battered 

By the winds, the waves.

The sails tattered,

The leaking holes plugged,

Limping into the harbor.

Slow!

The captain steers the ship from the rocks,

Finds the port: a path to peace.

And repairs, restores, revives.

Will a new sail make it sea-worthy

When it still may be leaking?

Fresh paint may just mask the damage.

The ship wants to sail again, but the waves, the wind:

Prays that it can again be seaworthy,

Strong enough to withstand new storms.

Or should it just safely wait in the harbor

Until the time to be scrapped—

Recycled into a new life.

Go! 

Head for another adventure!

Quietly rotting is not an option.

Check for leaks along the way——

Be mindful of the storms,

But sailing!

A Selfish-Caregiver

A friend of mine recently told me she admires my ability to be a “selfish caregiver”  or one who practices “self care”.  She asked for me to write it up thinking it might help others.  My main goal was and always has been for my husband to maintain as much of his independence as possible while remaining safe.  This also gives me a certain amount of freedom.

Dave has been handicapped with a traumatic brain injury for 18 years.  Early on, we decided not to move from our 2 story house thinking we could make it work.  When he first came home from the hospital, we converted the dining room into a “bedroom” with a hospital bed.  Later that year, we converted our first floor half bath into a full bath and added grab bars in that bathroom and our shower upstairs.  We also put handrails in the front, back and garage exits. Giving him independence, gives me freedom.

Between then and now, we purchased a transport chair (always in the back seat of our van) and a large wheel chair which normally is in the back of the van.  Also, I’ve purchased aluminum walkers and roller walkers from thrift stores.  We have one walker on each floor and one in the garage so his hands are always free to go up and down steps.

Until recently, he does the dishes, puts the dishes away,  pays the bills and does most of the driving when we take trips.  He folds laundry and when feeling well, he does the laundry.  With a rolling chair in the kitchen, he can also put his dishes on the island when we are done eating.  A basket in the middle of the table holds medicine, salt, pepper, sugar and napkins.  A pitcher of water is always in front of him to pour himself a drink.

Recently, he was diagnosed with cancer.   After chemo #4, he could barely move. Getting him from the 2nd floor to the first was a bit challenging—he has not been on the 2nd floor since then.  At first he slept in the recliner, but eventually my daughter, son-in-law and I created a bedroom in the old dining room again.  There’s a small shelf that holds his clothes, a floor lamp which he can reach and a kitchen chair which holds a tub of toiletry items:  tooth brush, tooth paste, cup, deodorant, medicine, mouth wash and a bowl. This room had one swinging door to the kitchen but was open to the entry way where we have set up a screen. 

He became so weak that I had to push him in a wheel chair while managing the walker for him to go to the bathroom.  My shoulders and back ached—I was frazzled.  We bought a light-weight motorized wheel chair which has worked out great.  With me assisting him into the chair, he can go to the kitchen, bedroom  or bathroom while I take the walker when it is needed or continue fixing dinner.

To make our first floor more accessible, we have added a new tub chair.  Although we put in a full bath on the first floor, it has a tub which has worked out great over the years with young grandchildren.  But, we needed a tub chair for Dave.  With a little research, I found a tub chair which slid and swiveled.  His skin is so thin from the swelling, I was afraid a traditional chair would cause skin tears.  But with this sliding and swiveling, and having a hand-held shower, he can shower himself with minimum difficulty.

Last year, we put in a Nest doorbell so we could see when someone was at the door and could tell when packages were being delivered.  We now have nurses and therapists coming at all times.  To give me a little more flexibility, If I’ve stepped out to go to the store, I’m teaching Dave how to use the Nest to tell them to come in through the speaker on the Nest. 

Friends have often asked us if they can bring a meal over or help out in some way.  Last week, I took a friend up on the offer and asked him and his wife to bring lunch for all of us to share.  That way, they helped, and we had a chance to catch up with them. I had forgotten, Dave hadn’t socialized much with friends since November.

 I continue to take exercise classes to keep my body strong and healthy.  I know that if I get hurt or sick at this time, we are in trouble.  It’s important for the caregiver to stay strong.  If that means getting out and taking a walk, then I do it.  I carry my phone, don’t go far if he needs me.  On wintery days, I use my Wii Fit to exercise.

In addition to maintaining a strong body, I need a strong mind.  Social media helps me stay connected with friends and family around the world.  Writing helps me sort out my feelings, organize my thoughts and is very therapeutic for me.  Church work has always been important to me and I continue working on the church blog, selling items on Ebay for the church and using social media to stay in touch with church friends.

Blue Apron—eating healthy—has been a priority for several years.  By having 3 dinners a week delivered, I only need to go to the grocery store for breakfast items, snacks and a few dinners. 

When Dave started feeling better, friends came in to sit with him while I went to the doctor or dentist or got a hair cut.   Often the caregivers neglect their own health.  But like they tell us on the airplanes—first put the oxygen on yourself before helping a child or a person needing assistance.  If I don’t maintain my health, then how can I care for my husband?

Although we have had lawn care and a cleaning person for many years, I’ve needed other kinds of help——getting my husband safely in and out of the house for doctor’s appointments and chemo.  Friends and neighbors have stepped in.  Since his chemo lasts 5 hours, I arranged for one person to come over when we left and I’d text another person to meet us when we got home.

Ways people have helped us:

• lending us ramps and equipment
• bringing flowers to cheer us up
• bringing us dessert when we missed small group
• helping me get Dave in and out of the house safely
• following me to the doctor’s office to help me get him out of the  van and into a wheel chair
• sending cards
• prayers
• calling on the phone to chat or to see if we need something
• bringing and sharing lunch
• bringing dinner
• sitting with Dave while I go to appointments
• re-arranging our house to get a bed on the first floor
• picking up a few items for us at the grocery store

Super Grandma

Hair crinkling in my ears,

Clothes rustling when I move,

Floor squeaks with every step.

Heightened reality from drugs? 

Refrigerator door creaking open,

Microwave barking that it’s ready,

Furniture squeaking when I sit and

My computer clickety-clacking while I type.

Poltergeists?

No. . .hearing aids. . . . 

Able to understand a cell phone call 

without putting it on speaker.

Able to understand Libby telling me about her friend

without having to read her lips.

Able to understand British mysteries

without having closed captions.

New super powers!

See if you need super powers, too!
Click here if video doesn't appear. 

How We Met: Narrative

 I was about 14 or 15, and I remember meeting my friend Tom’s older brothers Dave and Harry  at church.  I was with my friend Hilda who was infatuated with Dave.  They went to high school together and she undoubtedly knew that he was Senior Class President, but all I saw was a very good looking young man who looked right through us as if we were beneath him.  The oldest brother, Harry, made eye contact and didn’t seem as unapproachable.

Going to the same church, our paths crossed many times.  I even picked Tom up at his home several times to go to MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship).  But, Dave only remembers my car—a Studebaker that my dad had bought from a neighbor who had totaled it. In retrospect, it was a car that would grab a car-lover’s attention and Dave (like a couple of grandsons) is a car-lover.  

It was about a 1956 Studebaker President that my dad made drivable by wiring  the hood down.  Back in the 1960’s, a trip to the gas station, meant the attendant also opened the hood to check your water and oil.  I was always a little embarrassed but also a little amused when the attendant would try to open it, realize it was held down with a wire and had to try to unwind the wire to get to the engine.  (as another aside, the wire on the hood snapped while I was driving it from my grandparent’s house with the hood folding  over the windshield, making driving hazardous—so I had to move on to another used car, but back to the story. . . .)

Dave went away to college; I went away to college.  Our paths didn’t cross again until we had graduated,  were working and living in the same apartment complex, Whisper Lake.  My sister’s husband was in Viet Nam, so she and I decided to rent an apartment together at Whisper Lake. We lived across the hall from my high school and college friends Margie and Kathy.   I was teaching at McCluer High School with Mary,  Mary along with Arlene were also living at Whisper Lake. Arlene and Mary started having parties inviting many of the single people living there. 

Dave was also living at Whisper Lake apartments and knew Mary and Arlene from high school .  Our paths crossed again at Whisper Lake parties.   I knew who he was, but he never remembered having met before even when, Mary and Dave doubled with me and a date!   In addition to the Whisper Lake group, I belonged to the University Club—a social club of college graduates who partied together at various locations around St. Louis.  Several of us were going to University Club one Friday night.  I had  asked Mary if she wanted to go, but she said she thought she and Dave were going to do something.

I was shocked later that evening to see Dave at the University Club with a friend—I was very angry that he was standing Mary up. His arrogance was more than I could tolerate.  It was one thing to never recognize me, but quite another to have so little regard for Mary.  His friend Elliott must have noticed me looking in their direction because before I knew it, Dave was asking me to dance.  

Stunned, I agreed to dance with him.  I could tell by the conversation he was trying to have with me that he did not remember ever meeting me before: not when we were teenagers, not when we went to the same apartment parties, not when we doubled together.  After the dance was over, he escorted me back to my table and I angrily confronted him with his having stood Mary up that night.  His eyes looked at me, possibly in recognition but more likely stunned that I knew him. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Mary you saw me.”  I responded with, “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” He never forgot me after that night.

That Whisper Lake group evolved into a wonderful group of friends who travelled together, went to the theater and concerts together, partied on the houseboat belonging to Arlene’s parents, skied, camped and went on canoe trips together.  Gradually i warmed up to Dave, realizing he wasn’t being “stuck up”, but was just an introvert who didn’t recall people’s faces or names as well as I do.

I was late arriving at one of our canoe trips in September.  They had already been out canoeing and one group was drying off by the fire on that crisp evening. Apparently Dave’s canoe with several of the females had tipped over getting them all wet.  For some reason, the ladies all seemed to be shunning him—my heart cracked open seeing him so forlorn.  So, the next day, when all of the others refused to get in a canoe with him, I volunteered.  That canoe float was the beginning. . . . 

How We Met: Poem

Giddy 14 year old 

Meeting  friend’s older brother—Dave,

Easter Sunday at church—

     Looks right over my head

     So handsome, so stuck-up

Invisible

Silly 16 year old

Picking up Dave’s brother for youth group

In my Studebaker rattletrap.

     Never looks up from his chair

     So handsome, so beyond me

Invisible

 “Mature” 22 year old

Living in Whisper Lake Apartments

Dave, Senior Class President, 17

Introduced at a party there.

    Sipping his scotch, no recognition

    So handsome, so arrogant

Invisible

Disinterested 22.5 year old

Double dating with my friend Mary . . .and Dave

      Four of us:  movies and drinks 

      So handsome, so indifferent

Invisible

Confident 23 year old

Asked Mary to join me at a party

She “has a date”—Dave.

He walks into the party without her,

       Sees me glaring at him,

       Asks me to dance.

       So handsome, so clueless

Invisible

When the music stops. . . .

 Eyes flashing, voice trembling in anger,

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Mary?”

Me, Goofball,14

His friend is amused, I am not.

     Shifting from foot to foot,

     He looks at me. His eyes widen in disbelief

     “Don’t tell her you saw me here”.

     “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t”.

He sees me.

Our children ask,

      “How did you and Dad meet?”

“At church”

Thanks to Bill Tucker for "Invisible" when I told the story.

Summer Solstice

Soft summer breezes 

Greet me as I find my seat.

The shadows and filtered light flirt.

The orange day lily shines in a spotlight

Before the light shifts and spots a cardinal

Hiding behind a curtain of leaves.

Squirrels leap across the stage 

To the flute-like trills of birds.

A chorus of trees gently swish their skirts in unison

As another squirrel darts in and out  like

A ballerina weaving among the branches.

Closing my eyes I hear a symphony of sounds:

The slow drum rolls of trash cans rattling to the curb,

The bass rumble of a truck in the distance.

Mosquito-playing  violins

Remind me that summer has arrived.

I sit back and enjoy the summer solstice:

A gentle overture

Before the blaring heat of summer.

Fading

Fading…

Fading…

Like jeans becoming softer, paler, less rigid with age.

Fading…

Like the sky at sunset  with that brief burst of color before darkness.

Fading…

Like the peppermint taste lingering after the candy is gone.

Fading…

Like the scent of cinnamon rolls as I scurry by the bakery.

Fading. . . 

Like a fire’s blazing fury becoming the soft warm glow of embers.

Fading…

Like the words in a book swimming across a page without my glasses.

Fading…

Like the sound of laughter; when the words aren’t clear but the joy is still heard.

              .

Fading…

Like technicolor memories of loved ones turning into fuzzy, black and white snapshots.

Fading…

Like the dance steps in Zumba becoming the slow rhythmic steps of a “Senior” class.

Fading…

Like a movie changing scenes from a dance party to the ocean in moonlight.

Fading…

Like a plane taking off with passengers ready for adventure.

Fading into a new adventure: soft, sweet, warm, joyful, but a slower rhythm.

Jaclyn Morgan

Travel to Germany in 1960's

My father, Legion Post members
and I

Although I’d travelled by train, car and bus many times, I had never been on an airplane until I was 20 years old.  Having been selected to be an exchange “student” in Memmingen, Germany, an airplane was about the only way to get there.

Since I’d never flown before, I dressed like I’d seen women dress in the ads.  Although it was August, I wore a light-weight blue flowered cotton suit, stockings, heels, white gloves with a hat that reminded me of a stewardesses hat--high crown with a small brim. I was having most of my clothes shipped in a trunk so was able to travel with just one suitcase and my carry-on.

My parents often struggled financially for me to go to college, much less for me to live in Germany for a year.  Fortunately my father’s American Legion Post, came up with a scholarship to pay for my travel, and I became their “Ambassador”.  Once settled in Memmingen, I was to be paid a small salary by the Bavarian government for teaching English in the local high schools.  Previous “exchange students” had already graduated from college, so they were eligible for Fulbright Scholarships to travel to Munich for study in addition to their duties in Memmingen.  Since I hadn’t graduated yet, I was to stay in Memmingen and had expanded teaching roles.

This exchange had been set up by the publisher of the Memmingen newspaper.  He had been to Cape Girardeau on a trip and arranged with the college there to create this exchange program.  One student from SEMO would go to Germany and one university student from Memmingen would go to Cape.  I’d been acquainted with several of the students at SEMO and one of them helped with my arrangements once I got there——Uli had several friends who would welcome me.  I would stay at the Mädchen Wohnheim, a boarding house for young women and girls on Rheineckstrasse.

But, I needed to find the least expensive way for me to get to Memmingen, Germany (my future home for a year).  Flying to New York City was fairly easy—TWA to Idlewild Airport.  But from there, I needed to get to LaGuardia for my flight overseas on Icelandic Airlines! A New York taxi got me to the right terminal.  All I really recall was sitting at a counter waiting for my flight and having a cup of coffee—relieved that I’d made it to the right terminal.  

Shortly after we were airborne on Icelandic, we were served dinner followed by my first legal alcoholic beverage—a liqueur  that burned all the way down. By myself, on an airplane, drinking something I didn’t like—not quite a celebration.   Icelandic Airlines at that time was a prop plane so we had to land in Reykjavik to refuel.  My excitement at landing in my first foreign country, was replaced by fear that we were going to crash land——Iceland has very few trees and it was hard to judge how high we were.  I closed my eyes and began praying.  After a few minutes, we landed safely.  I looked around and saw there were no trees, accounting for my mis-judgement.  I disembarked from the plane went into the airport for short time before again getting on the plane to fly to Luxembourg.

We arrived in Luxembourg in darkness. I had lost one whole day already.  There was no train connecting Luxembourg with Munich, so we had to take a bus to the train station in Germany.  Because so many of us were in our teens and early twenties, it was a riotous ride with lots of laughter and jokes and many of us trying out our limited German on each other.  One female in the back of the bus yelled up to the bus driver, “Ich bin heiss” meaning to say the temperature in the back of the bus was too hot.  The bus driver taking advantage of her limited German, pulled the bus over and started to the back of the bus with a lecherous grin on his face.  What she had communicated had more of a sexual connotation.  She should have said “Mir ist heiss.”  But that was a lesson that we all learned from!

I had met Mary Lou by this time.  With her pixie hair cut, infectious smile and tiny stature we were naturally drawn to each other.  She was from California, spoke no German, but planned on living in Heidelberg for a year.  We exchanged addresses and phone numbers when she needed to get off the train in Heidelberg.  We visited several times during our “year abroad” and she is one of many I regret losing touch with in those days before social media and cell phones.

I travelled to Munich arriving in the morning of day 3 of my adventure.  I stumbled off the train and looked for a hotel where I could catch up on some sleep.  Although I’d studied German for 5 years, I was only fluent in two expressions I’d learned in high school and a few songs.  So, my “useful German” consisted of “I don’t know what it means that I’m so sad”  (from The Loreliei)  “A girl without freckles is like the sky without stars” (my favorite proverb)  and the most useful one “Can you tell me where I can wash may hands?”

Tootsie Roll Can

Our youngest grandchild showed me some pennies he had in his pocket.  “Are those your pennies?”  He shook his head  no, “I found them.”

“Ah”, I said,” that’s  God’s money!  If the money isn’t yours and you don’t know who it belongs to, we have a special place for that money—the Tootsie Roll Can I keep in the laundry room. That money goes to charity or church because we don’t know whose money it is."  He dutifully put the money in the Tootsie Roll Bank.

What I never told anyone was the back story to “God’s money”.  My mother was a beautician and had lots of coins from tips.  Of course I was taught that taking money out of her wallet was stealing, but what about money she’d just thrown in the bottom of her purse?  I had found a loop-hole!  If I wanted to go to the corner market to buy some candy, I’d just go to Mom’s purse, root around until I found some loose change, or I’d go to  her room to see if some change had fallen out of her purse.  With coins in my hand, off I’d go.

After awhile, my mother caught on and asked me where I was getting the money. 

 “I found it.”  

“Did you find it in my wallet?”  

“No, that would be stealing”

“Where did you find it?”

“On the floor”

“Is that your money”

“No”

“Well, if you found that money, it’s not yours. And if you don’t know who it belongs to, then it is God’s money and you can put it in the offering at Sunday School.”

When I saw my own children following in the footsteps of their loop-hole-finding-mother, I grabbed a bank—a Tootsie Roll can—and declared that we would put “found” money in that.  So, if they left a dollar in their pants when I did laundry, it would go in that can which sits in my laundry room.  

I continue this tradition today.  If I find money on a sidewalk or in a parking lot, it’s God’s money.  If I find it in the washing machine, it’s God’s money.  If I find money in the bottom of my purse or in the car, it’s God’s money.  I am happy to pass that tradition on to my grandchildren.

Breathe in, Breathe out

My tooth is being pulled today.

So many lost teeth.

Breathe in.

6 years old

A brief tug from my grandpa.

A popsicle and

A quarter from the tooth fairy:

Reward replaced anxiety.

Breathe out.

14 years old

Four teeth pulled for braces:

Sitting in a reclining chair at a dental school.

Dental student sweated, grumbled, tugged.

Panic in his eyes.

Did he know what he was doing?

Breathe in.

20 years old

Four impacted wisdom teeth:

Chipped and chiseled and broken,

Pulled out piece by piece.

Sitting in a  dental chair with tubes in my mouth.

Family dentist sweated, needed a break.

I went home but. .. 

Still bleeding 3 days later.

Gums packed and re-packed.

Breathe out.

73 years old.

A tooth worn out and broken.

Memories of past extractions

Heighten anxieties,

Emotions tumbling out.

Tooth is worn out. . .I’m worn out.

Age and anxiety, chipping away at me piece by piece:

Tonsils, gall bladder, ovaries, appendix.

Soon a ninth tooth.

Breathe out.

Sitting in a dental chair,

Blood pressure is too high.

The oral surgeon comes in with a smile

Dismissing my concerns with 

“That was 50 years ago!”

“How about some laughing gas?”

I can use a smile, a laugh, a buzz.

“Take deep breaths.  

Breathe in. 

Breathe out.”

Reward replaces anxiety.

Whittling Words

Writing poetry

is not just rhyming

not just couplets

not just alliteration.

Writing poetry

is choosing 

words wisely, whittling  away

at thoughts,

until a form appears,

an image takes shape---

Smoothing down the edges,

Sanding down the unnecessary,

Searching for the true.

Writing poetry

is not rhyming 

not couplets

Not alliter. . . hmm. . . .maybe 

alliteration is all right after all.

Wii Life

Being immune suppressed is particularly challenging in the winter which is flu and cold season.  Working out is one of the challenges since going to a gym is out of the question as is walking on icy sidewalks.  For several years, I’ve gone to my “WII Fit “for work outs never realizing it also was a psychological outlet for being socially isolated.  

At Thanksgiving, one of my grandsons told me, “Grandma, I think your Wii is dying”.  Thinking it was the disk, I ordered a new one.  

After a hectic December, I went downstairs to play Wii in January and even with the new disk, I got nothing.  One daughter said, “Why don’t you get an Xbox?”  Another daughter, in the middle of a move, said, “We just got rid of ours.” My third daughter still had one and said she would bring it the next time she visited.  With everything else going on in my life, I needed the Wii NOW, so I ordered one on-line.

I hooked it all up and got ready. . . .it was clearly not MY Wii.  I had to create a new Mii (the digital me) with gray hair not red, it didn’t welcome me to my 3578th day using it, I had to go through each activity as if I’d never done it before.  But none of that mattered compared to losing my tribe.

When I had first gotten the Wii, years ago when it was the new gaming system on the block, everyone in the family created their own Mii, and we had contests to see who was better at being a penguin sliding on ice catching fish and who was a juggling champion.  I no longer had those Miis and I no longer had the records to try to beat.

I was miserable doing steps without Jason by my side or running and not seeing Taryn bop by with her pony tails or without Leah behind me in Kung Fu.  I hadn’t realized that having these digital loved ones had helped with my winter isolation.  It was the “straw” that broke my back.  

When the girls and their families came for their February visits, I had one request, “Come down and play Wii with me.  I need to have some familiar faces—I’m tried of working out with all of these weirdos and strangers.”  Although weighing in was sometimes painful for them, each daughter went down and created her new Mii.  The grandchildren created theirs and we all started playing Wii Fit, Wii Party, Wii Sports.  

We had a great time challenging each other.  The grandchildren saw that Grandma was quite the golfer (on Wii) and we laughed  at the silliness of some of the challenges.  Rachel was #1 as always in the marching band baton exercise until Roman came a few weeks later and had a perfect score. We played and laughed and exercised for hours.  My cup was re-filled.

Now, I can go downstairs, fire up the Wii and bicycle past all of those wonderful faces (and a few grandson-made-Miis like Michael Jackson, Darth Vader and Winnie the Pooh) remembering the fun we had this very difficult winter.  I can run past cheering family members urging me on.  And I am happy.

My Tribe, putting the WE in Wii

Disney Wonder Part 6

Although we had been on Disney Wonder twice before, changes had been made since we were last on it 3 years ago.  The first change was in the Atrium area where the ceiling lighting had been made into beautiful poinsettias.  We had travelled at Christmas before but I'm pretty sure that was new.  The whole Atrium area was very festive with the Gingerbread House also moved there.

The other change I noticed immediately was our room.  I'd looked on several ship maps and it appeared to be standard size which I was very concerned about:  how were we going to manage in such a small handicapped room?  After some digging, I discovered they had taken out a stair case to expand this room---notice the column---everything to the right was expansion.  The balcony was still quite small---more like a standard room.  The bathroom (1) was quite a nice size and Dave liked the shower (many Disney state rooms have 2 "bathrooms":  one with a tub and one with a toilet but I think both have sinks)

There were a few noticeable changes in the dining rooms as well.  Sam and Silas were introduced to "Shirley Temples" AKA Charlie Temples and Cherry Temples.  I know those cost extra before as did any carbonated drinks in the dining rooms, but they had several each night at no charge. We already mentioned Tianna's Place with a New Orleans theme, but Animator's Palate also had a design change---it now included the animated drawings that we made.  We had done that on Disney Fantasy with Roman so I was really excited that it was on Wonder now.  Basically, you draw on a template and it is "magically" animated on a screen.  The next morning, we had breakfast at 6:45 and were off the ship, in our van and on our way home by 9:30 AM.  Another wonderful cruise, Disney (other than getting sick)