Life and Momma's Advice

To quote my dear and wonderful pastor, OMG. He's a wonderful pastor, concerned and in touch with the world, and I sent him an email this week, and got a text in reply. And yeah, OMG was appropriate. It's been one of those kick ya in the gut kinda weeks. I can't give details (don't ya love when people post in a public forum and then say they can't give you details - oh, well).
Sometimes you just get spun around backwards and it ain't the disco or the liquor. And just when I thought it couldn't be more overwhelming, I found out that I should never underestimate the universe. But here's the deal - I also can't underestimate God, and family, and friends and the ability to have perspective. Because as hard as the last couple of days have been, I have faith, I have prayer, I have my Beloved and he and I have always been strong together. And together we have our children. I am so blessed to be able to call my Momma, and listen to her voice and advice, some of which involved Jack Daniels. I'm not sure how everyone else handles major stress, but here's what I have to say:
I love you, Hubby!
I love you, my darling boys.
I love you, Momma and Daddy.
I love my dear brothers.
And I love my friends, who received my calls and texts and immediately gave back the love and soothing that I hope they know I will always try to give them.

Oh, and Jack is helping too - I always listen to my Momma.

One True Love

The song “HardCandy” by the Counting Crows was playing on my iPod Friday as I was taking my lunch time walk. It stopped me cold in my tracks all because of the lines, “When you sleep you find your mother in the night, but she stays just out of sight. So there isn’t any sweetness in the dreaming.”  I was suddenly overcome by ridiculous snotty hic-ups from crying and trying to catch my breath. My Mama died over thirteen years ago, and there are moments where missing her washes over me like a rogue wave, splattering me down on rough sand, leaving me breathless and worse for wear.

The catch of loss hits, unexpected. The sun literally glints off of my son’s hair, and I suck in a breath knowing my Mother can’t share that beauty with me. My daughter walks across a stage without fear, and I wonder if my Mama knows. I wonder if she knows that every good thing I do comes from her. Every random act of kindness I have done is because she did, with little thought or effort, while my sisters, brother and I watched.

I feel her in the company of my sisters, and I revel in the gift of those moments. I miss her. I don’t live in the past, or rush towards the time to be with her. I long for that one true love. I know what I feel for my children, she felt for me, and if I am very fortunate my children will pass that gift on to their families.

I finish listening to the song. I walk on, changing tunes. I continue, slightly red-eyed and hic-upping, blessed for what I had, and hoping what I give measures up.

Blessings in the Debris

Ever had one of those days? I know, you know what I mean - the one where every time you turn around something breaks or something goes wrong? Since last Thursday I've had "one of those days" every single day. I've had internet connectivity issues which have resulted in numerous calls between me and the friendly automated system which suggests that most connection problems can be resolved by looking at their ONLINE help (with me often replying back to it in a most sarcastic manner), the dryer died in the midst of two loads of clothes, the parents had some messed up medical bills (calling a doctors billing office is almost as much fun as calling your internet service provider though at least they are usually in the United States as they imply you are stupid), every day has been a new adventure accompanied by the rolling eyes of teenagers. It's been fun.

And yet, how incredibly lucky I am - I still have both my parents and Momma could outrun me. I spent Saturday with several friends, and got my picture taken with a hot Pirate. The internet is a blessing when it comes to handling things for my parents, and I will have it all resolved before much longer (I only have two remaining issues, and those items belong to the teens. And I may need to leave them unconnected for a while longer since they aren't acting like I'm dumber than dirt as long as they know I'm their only hope. Just call me Obi Wan.) A friend pointed me in the direction of a reliable repairman and he's already come out to work on my dryer, and really aren't those and the microwave such wonderful inventions?

Now, honestly, I'm not always the best at counting my blessings the way I should. I love a good whine just as much as the next woman. But I read the book, "Unbroken" recently and it reminded me of the incredible sacrifices so many make for so many of us. I took our older son today to register for high school. I'm still not sure how that happened so fast, but it's here and he will be giving Air Force Jr. ROTC a try. Yep, I'm a little proud of that even if he decides it's not for him. It's more important to me that he not dismiss others and that he understand respect, duty, and honor. In the midst of all the debris from a too blessed life, I was at my parents for a couple of days. Daddy's slide downwards continues as was evidenced by his question to me, "What time is kickoff?" If I'm in town than we must be going to an ECU football game ready to cheer. He focuses on his time in Korea during the Korean War probably because it was a defining time for him where he showed the character to stand and do. I wrote Duty, Honor, Country because each day I hope and pray that I am teaching my teens through their rolling eyes and disdain to have respect, courage, and do their duty. And aren't we all so very blessed that we can?

24 Years and Who's Counting?

By Sheilah 

My husband thought it was 23, but I know different. The friend who said Happy 23rd wedding anniversary got misinformation, from Dave. So I replied to my well-wisher, That’s a long time between men. And I meant it.

It’s actually been 26 years since we started dating. I was a pup of 19 and he a man of the world at 26, with a long road ahead of us. And we’ve been confused for years—was it July 6 or 7 that we got married? A niece’s birthday is on the 7th, so we think it was the 6th, of course we were married before she was born, so who really knows barring looking for the certificate. I saw that niece come into this world, which scared me from childbirth for 15 years. From which I can only conclude that it’s best to not see what’s coming, in so many ways.

It was a Justice of the Peace wedding in Hot Springs, Arkansas, because the courthouse was closed that July Fourth weekend in Eureka Springs. That holiday we drove from Austin, Texas, to his ten year high school reunion in Rogers, Arkansas. We lived in Austin a mere 9 months before returning to Raleigh.

Married at 21 and I wasn’t even pregnant—isn’t that kind of unheard of? The first years were hard, but somehow we stayed, put each other through school, split up once for a few months. We followed our travel bliss dreams, made homes, built a dream home, gave it up for the surprise conception of a better dream, one we hadn’t even thought of. A child was born.

How silly we’d been to forget to start a family when we were young. I’m so grateful that God interceded on that one. Our lives would never be the same, and that’s a good thing. I believe we’d be old fuddie duddies like our childless neighbors by now, chasing damn kids out of their woods and being generally grumpy curmudgeons, old before their time.

There are many gifts from having a long-term partner--life is easier when you have backup--but the greatest is a growing love demonstrated by a crazy 8-year-old boy who looks like a mini Dave. He is the love of our life, begat by love, and a miraculous proof that there is a God. Having children when you’re supposedly too old for it is humbling—seeing you both change into the easy clothes of parents, becoming so full of love you’d like to burst, rocks your world as it’s meant to. I wouldn’t change a thing. My husband is still hot at 52, still the best man I know, smarter than I ever thought, and I respect him for the old school things he knows like fixing cars and building houses, even for his Midwestern sense of humor. He is a fricking fabulous father to our son. He was just what I needed, and still what I want.

So happy 24th, 23rd, 26th, or however you count ‘em in old dog years.

Love Never Fails

By Sheilah Zimpel

I can't talk about my own Mom who just passed right now, but here's an old bit I'd written about Nana.

“I just had to smoke a cigarette and wear a hat,” the song says. It happened that way for me. When I was still a kid with delusions of grandeur, I wanted to be Katherine Hepburn or Lauren Bacall. I admired their style, grace, and especially their witty banter with the guys. Much later I realized my grandmother, Nana Buckley, was more my style. She was a farmer, not a stay-at-home mother, a businesswoman. She had her own business desk, which impressed me a lot more than a trunk full of old wedding dresses did. I didn’t want to play dress up--I wanted to write checks. She had a big notebook-sized checkbook with “Buckley Farms, Inc.” embossed in bold letters on the front. She had “help,” not cleaning women or yard boys, but farmhands. In her desk drawer was a pack of True 100s. I never saw her smoke, and I probably smoked more of them than she did. She drank Manhattans, another thing I never saw, when she played bridge with the girls. She was a devout Catholic.

She fed us generous helpings of red meat from a chest freezer on the back porch, from a cow that had been slaughtered and packaged by hand around the dinner table. Homemade donuts dipped in the sugar bowl, rolls, cookies, rhubarb, and berries. Milk from the barn that left a ring around the glass. Born in 1905, she did not disintegrate into old age. She had too much to do. Her husband died young, and she had six children to raise and a dairy farm to run. She outlived her husband, five brothers, sister, and two sons. Two of her boys went to Cornell (veterinarian and engineer), and one to Vietnam; the girls became what they could then: a teacher, a nurse (my Mom), and a dental hygienist. Nana sold a cow to send Mom to nursing school.

At her death at 87, many years ago, my Mom said Nana raised her eyes to heaven and smiled. That’s the way true ladies die in the movies, so it was fitting she did so too. When I read Corinthians 1:13 at her funeral mass in 1992, I think I finally realized what about Nana was bigger than life—I’d thought it was her faith, wisdom, altruism—but without all those things she wouldn’t have been the powerful presence she was. It was her love. I had misplaced my affections on movie icons who were eloquent, sassy, and confident, but Corinthians said everything ceases without love. I vowed to put away childish things.

Some of those tall tales our parents told us are true. They did everything with nothing, but love.

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”

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Eat Southern, Pray Often, Love Unconditionally - Lessons of a Grandma

Grandma Playing her Harmonica

My very first essay for 4gaby was about my grandmother ("Ironing for Eternity"). Today would have been my grandmother's 101st birthday. She passed away in June of 2008 at 98 years old. An extraordinarily long life lived in an ordinary way. She did not have much education outside of the Bible which she could quote and use against you quite quickly (though never in the mean way that so many do today). She never held a job of great importance, she worked in a textile mill. Grandma kept a spotless house and she cooked wonderful basic Southern meals. Grandma truly believed no good food was ever made that did not use grease, fatback or lard (personally I think she's right). She sewed, and crocheted beautiful items which her daughter (my Momma) despised because they were handmade and Momma wanted store bought stuff which would show they had money...but they didn't have money so she had to wear what her Momma (Grandma) made for her. Grandma dipped snuff, and played her harmonica, and she truly took life as it came to her. She lost her daddy when she was very young, her husband in his sixties, she lost one of her three children to cancer, and she had very little of material value. But she had an indomitable spirit and an ability to love unconditionally. Her lessons are ones that have stayed with me. I keep a clean house, I love to work with my hands, and we attend church regularly. Every holiday meal comes complete with grease, and I don't expect perfection in love. I do these things because I gain peace through doing them...just as she always said I would. I try to take life as it comes to me...but I don't dip snuff (though I do wonder what medicinal properties that stuff has. I mean really, she lived to 98 and had all her faculties right to the end.) I'm too tone deaf to have ever taken up the harmonica, and I think she was very relieved when I married a man who could sing on key.

There is a wonderful book called "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert. I truly enjoyed this book - her reflections, and her sense of humor all expressed while she worked on making sense of her life. But isn't it interesting that so many of us spend so much time trying to figure out life while the women who have come before us just knew how to live it without stressing over it.


It's nice of the world to think they should pause for a day to recognize Mothers. But the reality is that we pause our entire lives to recognize the world. As Mary wrote in her essay, "The Second Sunday of May and Always", we spend our time loving, nurturing, teaching, and sharing and it's not even just our own children that we do that with...it can be the child down the street, the friend our own age, the elderly stranger that we stop to help. We learn from other women how to be a mother. We mourn their loss, and celebrate their lives, and we pause for one day a year. But perhaps we should each pause each day and recognize the goodness in ourselves. Women are the soul and the heart of the universe. We should celebrate ourselves. Don't we all have women who have shown us the way?

Happy Birthday...

Today is my baby’s 13^th birthday. I now have two teenagers in the house and the countdown towards the empty nest is officially on.  Once upon a time, I had babies. They were cuddly, and smelled so sweet (at least they did right after their baths) and they never wanted to sit still. No longer do I have little boys cuddling up to me, or giggling as they chase the doggie or throwing something up so high in the house that my short self is forced to grab the stepladder and try to get it down, all the while preaching the mantra, “You know you are not supposed to throw in the house”. The fun trips to parks and playgrounds are long over and the thrill of watching the doughnuts being made at Krispy Kreme has been replaced by the request to hit the drive through and can they have some gulp, coffee?

Now I have sons who are tall enough that I ask them, “Can you reach that for me?” instead of getting the stepladder and there are these huge shoes thrown around. In fact the fairy tale I keep thinking of is “Jack and the Beanstalk”. They are the beanstalks and perhaps a little Jack might help me with all these transitions. I learned to drive at 14 and I look at my older son and think, “No way! You’re still my baby.” They are perfectly content to sit still, if an Xbox is involved. They grab pizza, laugh and share jokes with me, and want to discuss world events and tragedies with a seriousness that startles me at times. We share music and I catch them rolling their eyes at me, luckily not as often as I did at my own parents, and I remember so well the arrogance of youth. I want to caution them, hold them tight, and yet I want to let them go and watch them glory in their independence.

At various times of their lives, I’ve heard “oh, that’s my favorite age” from other moms. I can honestly say that every age has been my favorite. I find the changes, the thrills, the agonies constantly make me feel more alive, and the love for my children is this ever expanding entity I never completely comprehended. And one day, I hope to take their children to Krispy Kreme to watch the doughnuts being made, and I think I’ll let my grandchildren throw things in my house, just for the joy of it.

How do you handle your children growing up? Is it fun? Bittersweet? Exciting or exhausting? Maybe it's all of the above?

For the Love

I had planned that my blog would be all about the happiness and love of pets to go along with my essay, "Elvis Lives, and He Faithfully Uses His Litter Box", but then life intruded as it so often does. If you read Sheilah’s latest essay, “Conversations With Mom”, then between the tears, you’ve glimpsed the sadness of watching someone you love so very much slip away, and it probably stirred memories of your own losses. Sheilah and I are at different stages of a shared loss. My daddy is still early while her mom is in the late stages. Last weekend, I was blessed to have my parents actually make it all the way here from their home. Momma really wanted to see where we live, and she had never been able to come. She knew leaving him for any stretch of time wouldn’t work either so my older brother was patient enough to bring them, stopping for Daddy as needed. And just as in Sheilah’s essay, he also wondered why they were here, and kept repeating that it was “time to be going”. Time starts to lose all relevance when you remember so little of it.

As in Mary’s essay, “Virtual Reality”, I’ve reconnected with so many dear friends and part of that reconnection has been grieving their losses along with them, and those friends have helped me in celebrations and in grief. Some of our losses have been recent, some less recent, but no less painful, and I am always reminded of the resilience of humanity and the importance of love, and kindness. There is a reason that Dawn wrote, “Grown-up High School Wannabes”. It’s hard to be interested in pettiness and gossip when life consists too much of true reality.  

When tragedy strikes, as we’ve all watched occur in Japan, there is often the image or story of some beloved family pet being rescued or sadly the tales of how many have perished, and that can sometimes get more media coverage than the tales of people. Pets are a reminder of how constant love can be, and they somehow know how to sit with us in silence while we grieve. Pets are an innocence that life sometimes seems to no longer possess for us. When my hubby reminds me that after our current crop of two pass away, he doesn’t want another one (usually only mentioned when we want to get away for a weekend, and first I need to make arrangements – note the “I” - he’s not making the arrangements, nor is it hard to find someone), I just nod my head and walk away. Because I also know that he adores both of them. So we’ll have another pet, because the world always needs more love…even in grief.

Love Hurts

By Dawn Tolson

Love at times really does hurt. We all experience it in one kind or another. Instantly our minds assume that the most hurt or betrayal comes from your partner in life, but think about it who else has hurt you. High school bullies that terrorize you just at that point in life when your very person is being defined, best friends who desert you, or even family that cut you to the bone.

In my January essay, “I am Strong, Invincible,” I was very honest about a particular hurt that happened to me recently. It was difficult to write, but I did and since then it is as if I am a bird released.

Do you feel you can share your stories with us?

Maybe just writing it down can be the therapy you need to move on!