A Classy "Old Broad"

She was a friend.  She was a mentor.  She was a gift.  As her sister, Nancy, said at the hospital, "it is hard to think of Bernie in the past tense."  That it is.  For so long, she has been woven in the fabric of our lives, but just because she has finished this leg of her eternal journey does not mean her presence will unravel.  She will continue to weave memories in our minds ~ her beautiful smile, that mischievous gleam in her eye, a delicious meal graciously served, an unexpected "bawdy" remark. 

My first remembrance of Bernie was an invitation to lunch after church.  Marshall was a babe in arms.  Unbeknownst to me, Ken had accepted the invitation with the caveat that we could come, but Kentucky was playing basketball, and he would need to watch the game on TV.  We sat down at Bud and Bernie's beautifully set table, enjoyed a lunch of stuffed peppers (I had never had such a thing - extraordinarily elegant to me), and before dessert Ken was up from the table watching the little TV in the sitting area between the kitchen and dining room.  I was mortified.  Bernie was, from that moment, enchanted by Ken.  She had found a kindred non-BSer, and she loved him from that point.  Oh, and dessert was the most wonderful meringue tart with ice cream and fresh berries,  Wow, could she ever cook. 

She loved to tell the story of when Marshall, "just a little fellow" came to her house selling popcorn or candy or some such thing for Cub Scouts.  It was a Saturday morning, and when she invited him in, he looked around, slack-jawed, and asked, "do you live like this all the time?"  He meant, is your house always this clean and straight?  It was a concept with which he was most unfamiliar.  What I love about her reaction to that interchange was in some way, in her unique Bernie way, it made her love us more, not judge our slovenliness. 

When our first dog was hit by a car and died, Marshall was inconsolable.  Buddy had just had to have a beloved pet put down.  We asked if Marshall could come and visit with them, and maybe Bud could help him through his grief.  Bud and Bernie welcomed him, not as a child with childish pain, but as a peer.  There is no way to know the number of people whose lives they, as a couple and as individuals, touched with grace and beauty. 

I have so many memories of time spent with Mz. Bernie.  Perhaps, the best one was our adventure into the world of tattoos.  It was the result of a Ladies' Luncheon at church.  We were seated at tables with those with whom we had some oddity in common.  Bernie was at a table where everyone had a tattoo.  The problem was only two of them actually had tattoos, and the rest had been given fake ones.  Well, there was nothing fake about Mz. Bernie.  After the lunch, I was helping her put some items in the ThriftSmart bin when she lamented her displeasure in having a fake tattoo, and that she thought she would like to get a real one.  I told her that I had always wanted a tattoo.  She said, "what's stopping us?"  I replied, "nothing!"  So, a plan was begun. I am not sure that this was the intended outcome of the church ladies' lunch, but then again, it is Otter Creek.

I was in charge of finding the proper tattoo parlor, suitable for two good C of C "girls." We picked the Christian tattoo parlor in Downtown Nashville...right in the middle of Fan Fair. We excitedly arrived, giggling, a bit nervous, pondering what masterpieces we would have forever stamped on ourselves, and where exactly we would put them.   The one thing we did know was that if we were going to do this thing, we would not be embarrassed, and we would not put it in some unseen place.  She chose her ankle.  I chose my foot.  She chose a nail cross.  I chose a Celtic cross.  Sheri came and giggled with us and offered moral support, being a tattooed girl herself, she knew the ropes. People from all over the place were there, getting their Nashville Fan Fair tattoos.  The children of the owners were selling bottles of water to raise money for a mission trip.  People were asking us where we were from and had we ever been to Fan Fair before.  We explained.  They were fascinated by the 80 year old, Nashville native getting a tattoo.  She was a major attraction, and just possibly the thing some of those tourist would remember most about their trip to Nashville that year. 

When we were driving home, Mz. Bernie said,"well, when I die, and I'm laid out on that table, they're going to know I was a lively old broad."  And, that she was. 

Mz. Bernie was in our house often.  She was included in all invitations to the Inner City Catfish dinner, Southern Living Home events, Tupperware parties, Home art sale parties, etc.....I could always count on her presence and her rave reviews on the food, no matter how mediocre it might have been.  She called me (and everybody else she knew) Honey, and would often refer to Ken and me as "you kids."  She once said that if I invited her to my house and was serving "cow patties," she would come.  On occasion, she would give me the greatest compliment of them all ~ "you remind me of Nan."  Nan, her beloved, talented, gifted, beautiful daughter.  There was no higher praise coming from Mz. Bernie. I feel compelled to add that her thinking I was like Nan is a testimony to the rose-colored glasses through which she viewed me rather than any true similarities. I haven't in my entire body a modicum of talent that Nan has in her pinky finger.No one was any prouder than Mz. Bernie when Ken was given a judgeship. The last time I was with her, she commented on how beautiful Mary-Pullias was and is.  She loved well.  She felt deeply.  She grieved with those she loved, she rejoiced with them as well.  She was a little, feisty, sometimes bawdy, funny, talented, gracious, wise woman with a servant's heart.  I loved her.  I will miss her, like so many others.  I do not really know what happens when this leg of our journey ends, but I will rest in the hope that she and Buddy are having a most spectacular reunion.

She left this realm yesterday, quietly and peacefully, with her family "singing her out."  Just how she would have orchestrated it ~ perhaps, she and her Father did just that. 

For today, I wish you
blessings

Measuring

As my son-in-law would say, measuring is not my "spiritual" gift.  Obviously, as seen in the picture, I have the tools...well, I have the tools that can be seen, but when the gift of measuring was being handed out, I was in the how-to-jerry-rig line.  This can be somewhat frustrating, to say the least.

This summer I buy curtains for the boys' room.  This is the beginning of the oh-so-slow revamping of the room.  Two of the windows are, by my measurements, about 1000"x2000."  Suffice it to say they are really big.  One is in the bedroom and the other is right smack dab in the bathroom; the bathroom Mr. L uses.  (As an aside, want to have a glorious marriage?  I highly recommend separate bathrooms if at all possible.)  There is also a smaller window in the bedroom that if the neighbors look down the hill they are afforded a view right into the room.  Why they would be interested in that is beyond me, but there is no accounting for others' tastes.  So, it seems necessary to cover these windows at certain times. 

Over the 26 years we have lived in this house, these windows have had various different coverings, my favorite being Roman shades my friend, Linda Milliken, made. She knows how to measure.   I get my curtains home, and it seems that my windows are not actually 2000" long, so I have to hem the curtains.  This seems much easier than somehow adjusting the windows.  I get out my trusty measuring tools, carefully measure  the fabric, cut off the excess, hand-stitch them, and voila!  What?!?  No pair of curtains are the same length...I mean, pretty much not even close. 

When one has a life motto of "good enough is good enough" and also received an extra dose of  jerry-rigging,  pulling the curtains back with the tabs, adjusting a little here and a little there proves to be satisfactory.  I mean nobody is going to notice...unless they can see.  (The other day I saw a sign on a business.  It said, "we serve the deaf, hard of hearing, and hearing communities."  Seems that about covers everybody.  But, I digress.)  So, the curtains are up and when Mr. L needs the windows covered, I have shown him how to undo one side, pull it over to the other, and use a paper clip to hold it there.  Jerry-rigging at its best. 

This arrangement works well, until we discover that we are going to have overnight guests.  It is debated as to whether to put them in the master bedroom or not, but that room has a definite breach of privacy with a screen door on it as well as the adjoining bathroom. Also, only about 1/3 of each window is covered.  This is my attempt at a little beach cottage in landlocked Nashville.

It turns out that the boys' room is also our guest room, but, frankly, it is a bit embarrassing to have to ask guests to use a paper clip to hold the curtains shut.  We decide to buy wooden blinds for the windows, as we both despise dealing with roller shades.  Five trips to Home Depot later, I return  home with three roller shades for the windows. 

I decide to hang them myself.  (Tip number two - if you want a glorious marriage, never, I mean never hang roller shades together).  I can not find my power drill, so I hammer a nail into the window casing to make a pilot hole.  This works wonderfully, I assure you.  I use my little short Phillips head screw driver to get the brackets up on the first big window, and voila!  The shade is about 1/8 inch too short.  I think I might cry, seriously.  (Now, please know that I realize this is definitely a first world problem, and hardly worthy of tears, but I was so frustrated). 

What to do, what to do?  It seems that a shim is in order.  What to use, what to use?  Oh, I have a bunch of popsicle sticks that I am using to make beds for the centerpieces on Simeon's pajama birthday party (MP thought I was using popsicle sticks to make actual twin beds for the boys, as I have been on the lookout for them - even I cannot jerry rig real beds out of popsicle sticks).  I figure popsicle sticks will make perfect shims, and I am right.  But, screwing and unscrewing those tiny little screws by hand and hammering pilot holes is creating issues with my aging hands, but one shade is up, and I am quite proud. 

I call my daughter and ask if I can use their power drill, and they graciously send me a drill and a power screw driver that has an amazing amount of torque.  Next day, I tackle  the last two shades.  This should be so very simple, now that I have the proper tools, and my neatly trimmed popsicle stick shims.  I decide  to work on the smaller window first as it is at the most difficult angle.  I screw in the brackets.  What, what is this on the end of the power screwdriver - the head of one of the screws.  Nothing to be done.  The screw is firmly set in the window casing with no way to get it out.  Now my little bracket on that side is swinging back and forth.  That can't be good.  But, good enough is good enough, so I hang the shade.  It stays put.  However,  it will not come down, which seriously defeats the purpose.  I work on it and work on it, until I spring it, and now it won't go up. 

In my efforts to teach the boys proper "swear" words (it is my opinion everybody needs a few) we say things like "man oh manoshevitz," "goodnight nurse," "are you kidding me?," "that's no good," and "for Pete's sake."  Quite the repertoire.  I use  them all up on that sprung, halfway attached bracket shade. 

Not to be discouraged, however, I decide to tackle the big window in the bathroom.  This is the crucial one.  I very calmly and patiently stand on the chair (don't tell Mr. L, please), drill my pilot holes, cut my shims, line up the drilled holes on the shims, window casing and brackets, use the power screwdriver to drive the screws in and ARE YOU KIDDING ME...the head of one of those screws is maliciously attached to the screwdriver.  I am having to dip deeper into my bag of swear words and come up with a few more suitable to the situation, which I will not share here.  Use your imagination.  But, the shade is up.  All three shades up.  Two of which work.  Two out of three - not so bad. 

This saga is not complete, however.  The next day after Mr. L. leaves for work, I raise the big shade in the bedroom, flip off the one on the small window for not cooperating, raise the one in the bathroom which promptly falls off and hits me in the head.  More "suitable" words.  The problem, it seems is the only-one-side-attached bracket.  Aaaaaaaaargh!!!   I have to stop and think, but I figure Super Glue could be my friend.  This is bold for me because several years ago in my efforts of jerry-rigging knobs on a kitchen drawer, I super glued the knob to my fingers and had to drive to the hardware store with it stuck there to buy a solvent to get it off.  THAT is not embarrassing, and it instills an extreme fear of Super Glue.  But, dadgum, I am going to get that shade to stay.  I Super Glue the bracket to the shim, and am happy to report it is now working - as if you could possibly care after this ridiculously long diatribe. 

I am not quite finished, however.  The thing I am most proud of in this little life drama, is the shade pulls I made out of fan pulls and shade handles.  I actually drilled by hand with a cup hook and a jack-o-lantern cutting tool, perfect little holes in which the chain fits perfectly.  Yep, I am most proud. 

For today, this Valentine's Legislated Love day, I wish you successful home improvement projects, a glorious marriage, and I wish you

blessings