Walking Around Our Small Town

Today, my Honeybear and I went walking around our small town--the town where I grew up—and for some reason, it occurred to me to pull out my iPhone and snap some pictures.

I have lived here my whole life, but it has changed a bit from when I was a child. My Daddy lived here his whole life, and from the pictures I’ve seen taken when he was a child, the change is even more dramatic. I guess I just wanted to document for the children the town of their childhoods. If we ever move (we are discussing it), I know I will appreciate these memories.

This burger joint has been here for as long as I can remember. It sits at the major intersection of the two highways that run through our town, and travelers passing through are well-acquainted with its mom-and-pop-style burgers.

Continuing up the square, the courthouse is a block away.
Across from the courthouse is the dojo where I began studying martial arts in 2002. I help teach here now, and two of my children study here.

There have been many different businesses occupying these buildings in the last thirty years.

We wound up stopping in a small coffee house, which has been here for…I dunno…ten years now?
I love the décor and the atmosphere of this place.

Even more, I love sharing coffee here with this man.

Around the block from the coffee house is our city hall.
And on our way back home, a street from our quiet neighborhood, where we’ve taken many walks and bicycle rides through the years.

Visiting With My Daddy This Christmas

My Daddy was well-known for his homemade fudge. I can remember as a child watching with excitement as he stood over the stove and stirred the pot, how he would ask us kids to butter the plate that he would be pouring the finished product on, how we would wait with our spoons to scrape the pot. The fudge was most heavenly while it was still warm. And best of all was my Daddy’s giddiness while he was making the fudge. He was like a big ol’ kid himself.
I can only remember one time when Daddy’s fudge did not turn out perfect. He wondered what would happen if he used chocolate syrup instead of cocoa powder. The result was a delightful taffy-like, gooey, chewy concoction. My brother and I loved it. But he never made it that way again.

After I was living on my own, my Daddy came to visit me in my newly-bought house. I had recently gotten myself a new Dutch oven, and I asked Daddy about how to season it. I lamented to him the fact that I had never learned how to make pot roast in the Dutch oven the way Mammy (Daddy’s grandmother) made it. That reminded me that I had never learned to make fudge the way my Daddy made it. All those times of seeing him make it as a kid, I never paid attention to *how* it was done.
”Oh, it’s easy,” Daddy assured me. He started telling me the ingredients, and I grabbed a piece of paper and asked him to write it down. This is what he wrote:

Thankfully, I was able to ask him some questions!

I only attempted to make it once while he was still on this earth. It didn’t turn out right; the fudge never did “set”. He told me once it’s done “You really just have to beat the mess out of it.” He also told me that if it’s raining it sometimes won’t get firm enough. Geez, it was just too much trouble, and I put it aside and forgot about it. I’d just get Daddy to make it for me.

Well, Daddy hasn’t been here to make it for me for five Christmases now. I’ve attempted it a few times, but it has never turned out quite right. Until this year. This year, I made several batches, making notes along the way about how long it should cook, how it should look and feel at what point, and how long it should be beaten at the end. I swear, if it weren’t My Daddy’s specialty, I would have given up. But this year, I finally got something that was close to what he made. Tasting it brought back all those wonderful childhood memories. And of course, I was stretching my brain trying to recall every time I saw him making the fudge, trying to remember what he did, trying to remember what he said about it. I guess the nostalgia is worth it.

All Souls' Day

May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

The children are praying a decade of the rosary at the grave of their beloved Papaw. When I suggested that we pray, I did not suggest that they kneel--the ground was still damp from recent rains. But it was so touching to see them all kneel without prompting and pray so devoutly that I wanted to capture the moment.

I wish I would have had a real camera. The iPhone didn't do justice to this beautiful moonrise.



~Bloggin' from my iPhone. Pardon the typos.~

I Don't Wanna Go Through the Motions

Have you heard this song by Matthew West yet? If not, look for the iPod on my sidebar, and click the play button! It came on the radio while I was on my way out of town this afternoon, and it put into words some of the feelings that have been rolling around in my head the past few days.

Andrea's memorial service was yesterday, and I don't believe I've been to a more joyful memorial service. There was a slideshow with pictures of her in all her loveliness, set to the Beatles and Johnny Cash. Our friend Siobhan gave the touching and fitting eulogy, and how she managed to keep her composure is beyond me. But she did. A close friend of the family, Chris, sang "Sissy's Song" by Alan Jackson. The place was packed with family, friends, and students of hers. Her family opened up the microphone to those who wished to share their thoughts and memories, and we heard testimony after testimony of lives changed by her upbeat spirit, generosity, and unconditional love. Sunshine surprised me by getting up to speak about how much her Aunt Andrea meant to her. Andrea's 12-year-old daughter spoke of knowing that her mama is in a better place and feeling no more pain. Most touching of all was her sister Dina's recounting of Andrea's last days, in which Andrea was given a glimpse of the incredible beauty that lay before her.

Siobhan mentioned in her eulogy that Andrea would not want to be painted as a "saint", and it's true that she was human just like the rest of us. She felt and expressed pain, anxiety, weariness, even anger at times. It was what she chose to do with these feelings, how she chose to carry herself, how she chose to wear a smile, how she chose to focus on others rather than herself that made the difference. As I heard people sharing stories of her kindness and generosity, I nodded in agreement. I was remembering back to when I was in the hospital delivering Caveman, how she took time between radiation treatments to come see me. Not only that, but she insisted on picking Mojo up to spend the night with her because she just knew that a three-year-old girl would have plenty of fun things to do at her house. When she brought her back to me the next day, she fought against crazy traffic to bring us donuts from the newly-opened Krispy Kreme before going on to her radiation treatment. And she insisted that all this was no trouble at all. That is just a small example of how she thought of others.

I suspect that I am not the only person who is now thinking of what changes I need to make in my life. I'll bet I'm not the only one who wonders, "How will people remember me? Am I making a difference in anyone's life? Am I a light?"
Andrea has inspired me in many ways through the years, and she continues to inspire me. I've long quipped the motto "Peole before things"...but I think I lose sight of that sometimes in my struggle to keep the floors swept, the clothes folded, the toys put away. Really, what difference is any of that going to make in the long run? Because of Andrea, I will think twice when I think I don't have time to play. I will think twice when I think I don't have the time to visit with friends. I will work on sharing more of myself with others and worrying less about what people may think about me. I will make a point of telling people how much they mean to me, whether they reciprocate those feelings or not.

Here are the lyrics to Matthew West's "The Motions":

This might hurt, it's not safe
But I know that I've gotta make a change
I don't care if I break,
At least I'll be feeling something
'Cause just okay is not enough
Help me fight through the nothingness of life

I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day
without Your all consuming passion inside of me
I don't wanna spend my whole life asking,
"What if I had given everything,
instead of going through the motions?"

No regrets, not this time
I'm gonna let my heart defeat my mind
Let Your love make me whole
I think I'm finally feeling something
'Cause just okay is not enough
Help me fight through the nothingness of this life

'Cause I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day
without Your all consuming passion inside of me
I don't wanna spend my whole life asking,
"What if I had given everything,
instead of going through the motions?"

take me all the way (take me all the way)
take me all the way ('cause I don't wanna go through the motions)
take me all the way (I know I'm finally feeling something real)
take me all the way

I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day
without Your all consuming passion inside of me
I don't wanna spend my whole life asking,
"What if I had given everything,
instead of going through the motions?"

I don't wanna go through the motions
I don't wanna go one more day
without Your all consuming passion inside of me
I don't wanna spend my whole life asking,
"What if I had given everything,
instead of going through the motions?"

take me all the way (take me all the way)
take me all the way (I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go)
take me all the way (through the motions)
take me all the way

Remembering my beautiful friend

Andrea was called to her eternal home on Mother's Day, May 10 2009, after a six year battle with breast cancer. She was a loving daughter, sister, wife, mother to three beautiful girls, the favorite teacher of most of her 7th grade English students, and friend to so many. She was such a powerful presence that her absence will leave a void in the lives of those who know and love her.
I've known Andrea since third grade, and we became good friends in 9th grade. Through the years, she's been a huge part of my life. She was a bridesmaid in mine and Bobby's wedding, and the three of us rented a house together for awhile. She insisted that I take a pregnancy test and held my hand while I waited for the result when I found out I was pregnant with Sunshine. I was a bridesmaid in hers and Laith's wedding. She read the scriptures in mine and Bear's wedding, and she made our wedding cake. She's hosted baby showers for me, been at the hospital when some of my children were born, been at our baptisms and First Communions, birthdays, and other special events. Our children have grown big together.

Although she had undergone several rounds of chemotherapy and radiation, a lot of us were convinced that she was invincible. She never let it slow her down. She still was teaching class and visiting with friends a couple weeks ago. It was a little over a week ago that we discovered that it was time to say our goodbyes.

This past Wednesday night, she had a bad night and was in a lot of pain. The hospice nurse had said that if she continued to decline as rapidly as she had so far, then she would have about 2-3 days left. I was distressed, unable to sleep, and I wound up driving to a nearby Perpetual Adoration chapel in the middle of the night. I prayed in front of the Blessed Sacrament--Mother Teresa's emergency novena and all 20 decades of the rosary.
While I was there praying and crying out to God for a miracle, a question came to me. What if Andrea had just won a trip to some beautiful, exotic location, free from all care? Would I be so distressed, begging for her to stay HERE? No, I would send her off with great joy, excited for the opportunity that she's been given, maybe even a little envious of her good fortune. I realized that the journey she was about to embark upon is greater than anything earth could offer her. I would have been happy to see God work a miracle for the sake of her young daughters, or in the hope that some of her unbelieving loved ones would be converted. But at that time, I came to be at peace with sending her off on her journey.

Siobhan, Donnita, Sandy, and I visited her on Thursday. She had always said that she wished she could get Sandy, Siobhan, and me all together at the same time, but it never had worked out. I was afraid that after the night she had, it was going to be too late for her to enjoy all of us being there together. But I was wrong! She wanted to put on the new pajamas that her grandma brought her, get in the wheelchair, and sit at the table with us. She was able to eat a couple bites, drink a little, and take her medicines. Although she seemed confused at times, she knew who we all were, and she seemed very happy to see us. She would turn and look at each of us at different times, smile her beautiful smile, and reach out to hold a hand or give a hug. Once she went back to bed, she slept very deeply for the rest of the afternoon. She actually seemed more happy and at peace than I've seen her in a long time.

There are times when I don't think we've had enough time to adjust to the fact that she really is leaving us, but at the same time, I'm glad she didn't have a long, drawn-out period of suffering. And I'm thankful for the time we had with her. I'm thankful that I had the opportunity to pray a rosary with her during her last week here. I thought she was asleep when I sat down beside her to whisper the prayers, but then she reached to hold my hand. I could see her lips moving in prayer along with me at times, see her trying to keep track of the prayers on her fingers at times, and occasionally she would open her eyes and smile at me. What a blessing that memory is to me! (If you are wondering...no, she wasn't Catholic, but she loved the rosary just the same.) I'm thankful that her friends were able to give her a good send-off and let her know how much she was loved. I'm thankful that her last moments were surrounded by loving family. I'm thankful that her family had time to prepare for her leaving. I'm thankful that she is reunited with her youngest sister, whom she missed so much. I'm even a little envious that she actually got to see our Blessed Mother on Mother's Day.
I will miss visiting with her at the girls' ballgames, spending lazy afternoons at the pool, those increasingly rare occasions when I could catch her on the phone to chat. I will cherish all the wonderful memories I have of her. The night we went running barefoot through a freshly plowed field enjoying the feel of the dirt on our feet. The time we both drove 30 miles in the middle of the night to meet each other halfway at a gas station so we could visit in person. Sitting on the front porch swing sharing a bottle of White Zinfandel at 3:00pm (the whole bottle!), listening to the Doors, waving at the passing cars. Floating lazily in the lake, singing terribly. Long phone conversations about motherhood, God's grace in our lives, lessons we'd learned.

I will always love Andrea and miss her while I am here on earth, but I am so thankful for the hope of being reunited with her someday.

Remembering My Dad

My Dad wasn't perfect. In fact, he drove me positively crazy at times. He had diabetes, high blood pressure, and bi-polar disorder. Sometimes he took his medications religiously, ate a proper diet, and tried to take care of himself. And sometimes he decided that he didn't need to do any of that. I was always nagging him about his health, which I think secretly pleased him. No one else in our family had attended college, and he was so proud that his daughter was a registered nurse. He also enjoyed the attention he got when I was nagging him.

My Dad was like a big ol' kid in a lot of ways. He liked to have fun. He was a trusting, loving person. There was no such thing as a stranger to him; within minutes of meeting anyone, they would have an invitation to drop by his house anytime (and they would). He was generous and liked to help people. He was a big talker, both in person and on the phone.
He was a simple, genuine person. What you saw was what you got. He didn't hide it when he was happy, he didn't hide it when he was discouraged. He didn't put on airs. He was just Mike, Daddy, Papaw.

I've never seen a person who enjoyed his grandchildren as much as my Dad. He loved playing with them, and they loved his silliness. Some of the best memories I have of him is watching him play with his grandchildren. I'm blessed to have videos of him playing with them that I can watch when I am especially missing him. I can still see so clearly him bounding down his porch steps, arms wide open, and the delight on his face when we would pull into his drive and unload the kids. Caveman would run across his yard yelling "Paaaapaaaaaaaw!" and dive into his arms.

Next to his grandchildren, one of the things that brought him joy was music. He loved to sing, especially at church, and he always wanted to learn to play piano and guitar. He would go through periods where he would practice in earnest, but he never stuck with it. Instead, he contented himself to listen to his daughter and son play. It pleased him to no end that I taught myself to play piano and my brother taught himself guitar.

He loved motorcycles. I'll never forget when he first bought a motorcycle. He had talked about it for years, but I never thought he'd do it. I thought it was SO cool! I immediately got him to teach me to ride, and he was as proud of that as he was anything else I had done. He prompted me to buy a motorcycle of my own. The pride on his face was obvious as he introduced me to the old bikers that he hung around with, especially when I was the only woman in the group riding solo.

He loved trains, especially old steam engines. He was delighted that his son-in-law and grandson shared his fascination with trains, and they took many excursions to see old steam engines that were passing through.

He loved cold weather. He loved woodstoves, especially the old cast-iron kind. Wintertime at his house always smelled of freshly chopped wood and a wood fire in the stove. He didn't want anything to do with central heat. He always nagged me to turn mine off and use my fireplaces, and he would drop everything to come build me a fire. For some reason, I can never keep mine burning. I've had him show me dozens of times how to get a fire going, but I just don't have "the touch." Thankfully, Bear does.

Not a day goes by that I don't think of him and wish that he had been given a little longer to stay here with us. My phone is too quiet. I can still hear his voice saying…"I was just checkin' on ya." I don't have a place to drop the kids off for a few hours when they have me pulling my hair out. There's no one to come help me move a heavy piece of furniture or figure out "what's making that noise" while Bear is working long hours. I miss him terribly in the fall; the cold weather brought out the little kid in him. He and Sunshine have birthdays a day apart, and we always celebrated their birthdays together. He looked forward to meeting his newest granddaughter, Gem, and he would have enjoyed her sharing a birthday with them (the three of their birthdays are within three days of each other.) Although I didn't get to see him fussing over her, I am certain he is tickled that she inherited his chin dimple. He's probably pointed it out to everyone in heaven by now. Numerous times.
He loved Thanksgiving and would ask "Are you going to make me a pumpkin pie?" Of course I would. I would always scold him "Now Daddy, you really don't need a second piece." He would get a sheepish look on his face and ignore my fussing.

My sorrow is selfish; he wants for nothing now that he is HOME. Everyone who knew him knew that he loved the Lord. He did his best to serve Him. I am confident that I know where he is today. I am confident that he loves us just as he always has, and that he knows how much we love and miss him. He is praying for us just as he always has, he is cheering us on as we finish our race, and he will be waiting for us at the finish line. I look forward to the day when I will see him again.

Here's a picture of Gem alongside a picture of her Papaw as a baby...
See the chin dimple? It was one of the first things I noticed when I first saw her. Neither my brother or I inherited it, and she is the first of my children to inherit it. Nobody in Greg's family has one, either.