Keep on Smiling

 Several weeks ago, I decided to change paint stores after a several minute conversation with a sales clerk who insisted that I neither knew at which store I had bought paint nor who picked said paint up. So, I headed to a paint store down the street where I was helped and assured that any paint colors unique to the other store could perfectly be matched at this one. It was suggested that I open an account when I came back for the stain in a month or so. 

Today was the day I returned. I told the clerk what I wanted and he asked if I wanted oil based or water based. Thinking that he, working at a paint store, would be more knowledgeable, I asked which he recommended. His response was, “well, that’s up to you, ma’am.” So, I chose oil. Then I showed him a paint chip of what I hoped was the color that matches my back door. I don’t know the exact color because according to the other paint store, I never bought it there...which I did, but whatever. 

The lovely gentleman barely glanced at the chip, said, no problem,” and lickety split I was headed out with my paint. Something was nagging me, so I decided to check on the yellow paint to see if it matched my door paint closely enough. Not only was it not a match, but only in some odd color universe would it even be considered yellow. So, I put a spot of it next to my paint chip, dried it with the hairdryer and headed back to the store. 

Same lovely young man helped me. I showed him the paint chip with the color he mixed beside it. I said (very nicely-still smiling), “this is what I ordered. This is what I got,” to which he replied, “ that’s a pretty bright yellow and yellow fades really badly so I thought this would be better.”  So, now he decides to make a decision for me. I assured him (still smiling although on my Fitbit my heart rate was 112) that for me it was not better and I would really like a quart of the yellow. He told me to just go back to the original paint store if I wanted that color. 

Holy Week

     In my childhood church, we did not celebrate Holy Week.  We did not recognize the impact of what we call Palm Sunday, and Jesus' entry into Jerusalem.  We celebrated Easter by wearing new clothes and having an "egg hunt," but never an Easter egg hunt.  We were taught that we celebrate Jesus' resurrection every Sunday. These lessons were taught in a sincere, heartfelt way, and in an effort to neither add to nor take away from what the Bible says.  After all, we do not know the exact date of Jesus' birth (thus Christmas was only celebrated in a secular way), death or resurrection.  In many ways, these teachings came from fear...fear that Jesus' death and resurrection were not quite sufficient to save us, and so we needed to jump through the right hoops and do all the right things and believe all the right things and maybe then, just maybe, we had hope for an eternity in heaven, which, sadly was some place among the clouds where we were disembodied spirits lazing away the time.  

    Many people and events and, what I believe to be, whisperings of The Spirit, have caused me to believe that something else altogether seems more appropriate.  Of course,  those of us who claim to be followers of Jesus are blessed to remember Him daily. It is our gratitude for our salvation that causes us to want to live lives of love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  But, there is something marvelous in the celebration of this Holy Week.  It is celebrated around the world, and what a pity if we lose that bond between believers of every nationality ~ protestant and catholic.  

    "The next day the great crowd that had come for the festival heard that Jesus was on his way to Jerusalem.  They took palm branches and went out to meet him, shouting,

            'Hosanna!

            Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!

            Blessed is the king of Israel!'

    Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, as it is written:

            "Do not be afraid, Daughter Zion; see, your king is coming seated on a donkey's colt."

    At first his disciples did not understand all this.  Only after Jesus was glorified did they realize that these things had been written about him and that these things had been done to him." John 12:12-16

    Oh, and God bless those disciples, who spent 3 years, day in and day out with Jesus and who still did not understand.  They are a comfort.  

    On this Palm Sunday, may we contemplate how we will honor this week in our own lives.  May we all feel the loving attention of a gracious God.  

Strongest Man

 In a text, he was referred to as the "strongest man I ever knew."  Some of us knew him before he got sick.  He was strong, for sure, and nimble and fast.  He loved to play basketball, and he did it well.  He danced with his wife.  

At a young age, he was diagnosed with ALS.  It is a terrible disease that takes away parts of a person, bit by bit, a little at a time.  The average time a person can live with ALS is 2-5 years.  Wayne lived well over twenty with it.  He is the strongest man some have ever known.  

He was determined and self-disciplined and some might say stubborn.  He did not feel sorry for himself, he reached out to touch the lives of those he knew when they were struggling.  Few of us have had struggles like he.  Many of us fail to get past our own navels when we struggle.  Not so, Wayne.

When his wife died of meningitis caused by a tainted spinal injection, he lost his main caregiver.  She was the physical strength, he was the emotional strength.  Most anyone would have been angry or bitter, for it seems the tainting of that medicine was due to neglect and possibly greed.  But he was neither angry nor bitter and would ask, "why should I be? I am a blessed man."

He buried his firstborn, after years of struggles with that child, struggles that would have crushed a weaker man.  But he was not crushed because he was a strong, strong man.  

Some believed he would not make it to the dedication of the inner-city daycare that bears his name.  Not only did he see the dedication, he witnessed the 20th anniversary.  He cared for people.  Many of us do.  But, he cared for people when anyone would have understood his throwing in the towel and giving up, for there was only the inevitable end to look forward to.  He looked forward to so much more than the ravages of his disease.  He gave so much more than a man in his position would have been expected to give.  He was a strong man who was an inspiration to all who knew him.

His struggles ended Thursday night.  He will be deeply missed by all who loved him, especially his only surviving son.  He truly fought the good fight.  We grieve, not as those without hope.  Many have expressed the comfort they feel imagining he is in some church league basketball game to be followed by a time of dancing with his Diana.  

Still We Are Family

Covid has kept us from gathering, from seeing those we miss and love, still, we are the Otter Creek family.  Covid has not kept us from being in touch, from sending notes and emails, from praying, because we are the Otter Creek family.   

All over, there are people grieving.  We anticipated the outcome.  The actuality hit us as hard as we expected.  We have prayed and prayed and prayed.  They were not selfish prayers.  They were prayers for four daughters, a husband, parents.  Our prayers were not answered in the way we wanted.  In fact, our prayers feel unheard.  We choose to have faith that God was listening and Jesus was intervening, even as we have myriad emotions from sadness to anger to gratitude for having known her.  Our Otter Creek family has lost the physical presence of this very bright light, but her influence will continue to shine on us as family. We grieve as a family grieves.

After a long battle, our sister Katherine left this earthly realm to gather with the saints who are living in the presence of Jesus.  She fought courageously.  She fought with a faith that was awe inspiring.  She lived in gratitude for every moment.  She loved her family well, her girls, her husband, her parents, her Otter Creek family.  She knew where she was going.

As the Otter Creek family, we have people to care for; her precious daughters, her dear husband, her parents will need us in the days to come.  We will be there.  It is what family does.  We will try to be Jesus to this sweet family as they go through the hard work of figuring out what life looks like from this point forward, and they will move forward for they would not honor Katherine if they did not.  It will be a difficult struggle, but with God's help, they will make it through.  

   

Maybe, I'm Starting to Get it...a Little Bit

 On FB this morning, I posted a quote from Frederick Buechner. Frederick Buechner's writings are wonderful.  Part of the quote said, "all moments are key moments."  A key moment struck me this morning and hopefully I gained a little more understanding.

When the term "white privilege" was first being batted about, I took offense.  I thought it meant that whites have everything handed to them, and I know how hard we, especially Mr. L, have worked, and there have been some extremely lean times.  So, I felt resentment at being told I was privileged because of my color.

Listening to those who understood the meaning of the term better and whose counsel I highly respect, my thoughts began to change.  Change is hard for me because I was raised in a religious environment that I felt taught me that change was being wishy washy, or trying to fit in with the times, and that if I had doubts about anything pertaining to God and Christ, then I did not recognize the Father's voice.  Frederick Buechner also says that "without doubt, there can be no faith."  Having adult children with minds and opinions of their own, has helped me in learning to see things differently and that a changed mind is not a sign of weakness.  Gradually, I've come to understand a bit better, what the term "white privilege" really means.

This morning as I was walking in my neighborhood, a police car passed me.  We have one black family that lives in my neighborhood and the husband runs every morning. We had just greeted and passed each other when the policeman drove by. My first thought was not, "oh, dear, am I in trouble," it was, "oh, no, I hope that black gentleman is not going to be bothered."  That is white privilege.  When a second police car passed me, I was reminded how privileged I am to live in a neighborhood where police cars are a rarity, not the norm, and that, in general when I see a police car I think of a helper not of a danger.

That moment was just one more stepping stone in my walk to understand better that which I cannot personally experience.

Helen

She was a teller of bawdy jokes...and she always laughed at them which made us laugh even harder.  She was a singer of songs.  She had the best dimples when she smiled, which was often.  She was full of mischief and fun.  Tales say that she surely knew how to roll a house back in the day.  She never married.  She had no children...oh, wait...she had children everywhere who loved her and whom she loved.  They did not have to be related to her and their color made not one bit of difference.  She was the champion of the underdog.  She had a wealth of friends from the famous to the not-so. She was always ready and eager to help.  When you look in a dictionary for the definition of "she'd give you the shirt off her back," you would find Helen's picture, for she would give you anything she had that you needed.  She loved God and Jesus and I don't mean in the way of those who talk a good talk but never walk the good walk.  She left this leg of her eternal journey today to step into the next...I believe into the arms of Jesus.  She will be missed. 

I have heard people say that "only so many have died in Tennessee of Covid-19, and that's not very many."  When it is someone you know and love who spent days in the hospital on a ventilator surrounded by gifted and caring medical folks, but not their own folks, every one is one too many.

I have no doubt that Helen is entertaining the heavenly hosts with some "cleaned up" jokes and beautiful songs.  She is well and whole and happy and knows the answers to all life's mysteries.  She will be remembered at lunches and Christmas parties and any other time that members of the 1970 graduating class of Isaac Litton High School gather.  Go rest high, Helen.  You are dearly loved.

An Eye for an Eye?

This has been weighing on me.  Like the rest of the thinking world, I am appalled at the murder of George Floyd.  I did not watch the video as I was so sickened by the picture of what I perceive as an arrogant man, with his hands in his pockets no less, slowly snuffing out the life of another human as he is being begged for mercy.  If we aren't appalled by this and by his fellow officers who stood by and watched, then we are something less than human.

But, here's what scares me.  I scare me.  The vision in my head of someone doing the exact same thing to the police officer that he did to Mr. Floyd scares me.  Where is Jesus in my response?  Do not misunderstand, I know that policeman and his cohorts need to be held accountable and punished.  But, here I am, self-proclaimed Jesus lover, relishing in the thought of another person "getting his."  That scares me.  That is a testimony to the state of my heart, and it is apparent that I need a lot more Jesus.

The looting and burning that is taking place in Minneapolis is so far from what Dr. King exhibited and taught.  I think of those dignified and determined black students who led the sit-ins in Nashville and I am overwhelmed with their courage. As one author said, "they dressed for church and often ended up in jail." I think of Reverend James Lawson who urged those students to respond to attacks in a "creatively loving fashion."  He said it was not enough to act like they loved their enemy, they had to, in their hearts, truly love their enemy.  It took awhile, but it worked, and much for which they were working was accomplished.  But, somehow we have lost our way in this country.  We are headed in the wrong direction.

So, yes, the looting and burning are dumb and counterproductive, but when people get fed up with what is happening, they do dumb things, and often bring down a world of hurt on themselves and those around them.  We have all done it.  Maybe we haven't burned and looted a Target store, but we've thrown or kicked something, or slammed a door or cursed or thrown mean and hurtful barbs or driven too fast or any number of dumb things that are ultimately counterproductive. When we've had enough, we don't think straight.  There is science behind the term "losing your mind."

In Nashville,  Zephaniah Alexander Looby was a black man who was expected to be deferential but who stood up for human rights in all arenas.  He provided legal counsel for those who tried to end segregation in the city, especially those college students who led the sit-ins.  When a group of racist whites bombed his home with him and his wife, Grafta, barely escaping, that bit of violence had unintended results.  People of all colors were outraged. After that bombing the mayor of Nashville, Ben West, who previously swore that Nashville would never be integrated, admitted that segregation was morally wrong.  Police killing, as this officer murdered George Floyd, is evil. I need to be, and am outraged by it but, my challenge is to find it within myself to love him...not his evil deed but him.

So what is to be done?  The first thing I need to do is look into my own heart and root out all the dark and vengeful thoughts I harbor there.  And, then, I need to ask myself, a paraphrased version of John Lewis's query to those who said he and he fellow students were not ready for the sit-ins: if not me, then who?  If not now, then when?  God have mercy on the souls of those who committed this murder by action or inaction, but, their souls are nor more in the need of God's grace than is mine.  I pray peace and an ever-awareness of God's presence for the Floyd family, and the families of all those who have not been given proper treatment and due process because of the color of their skin.

Catharsis

Wowza.  It has been a stressful few weeks pretty much for everybody I know.  It started for my family with my unexpected stay in the hospital, followed by my mom being hospitalized, followed by devastating and deadly tornadoes, and now the Coronavirus, which for me, is causing mass cancelations of tours.  Add to that schools closed, wacky politics, and the run on toilet paper and disinfecting wipes at the grocery and it can feel like a lot.

We have one family member who is swimming in anxiety over the virus, another who is a bit more cavalier.  They stress each other.  Those who are in healthcare have to feel pressure on right diagnoses, who to suggest go home and self-quarantine or who to send to the hospital.  It is a lot.

I heard someone from the CDC talk about how devastating the Coronavirus will most likely be in Africa because of the lack of medical care and the vulnerability of the population.  That makes me think of my friends at Exile International and Made in the Streets and those who work with Living Water.  It is distressing and it is a lot.

Today, I read a piece that makes the most sense to me concerning our responsibility and the Coronavirus.  If you are young and unconcerned about getting sick because in your demographic few are dying, then good for you.  But, there is a whole big valuable demographic for whom you are also responsible...your parents and grandparents.  So, take care, and possibly keep yourself from large crowds in an effort to protect others.  That is really not asking a lot.

The other piece that hit me is that if we will be cautious and keep ourselves away from large groups and just follow the precautions of washing hands and cleaning hard surfaces well, we will at least slow down the spread of the virus which will enhance our hospitals' ability to treat the most ill patients.  Slowing the virus down will possibly keep from overwhelming hospitals and prevent healthcare workers from having to decide which patient will get the last available ventilator and which will be left to die.  I cannot even imagine the agony of having to make such decisions.  That is a lot.

So, yes, it is a stressful time.  Bless, I have one child whose sewerage backed up in their house and they are having to deal with poop and toilet paper floating around in their basement.  That is a lot in the best of times.

Not being one who subscribes to the "let go and let God," mantra, I believe God expects us to care for each other and look beyond our own navels.  I, in no way believe that God caused this virus.  My teaching minister Sunday made a statement that went something like this..."the power of God was not shown in the storm (tornadoes in Nashville last week), but it was in the faces of those who came to serve the victims of the storm."  I believe we have the opportunity to show the love of God by trying to overcome our fear (not our caution), do what we can to protect ourselves and others, and serve where we are called.  That is a lot.

We have never been promised that this life would be easy and without stress.  If it is, we are not living it rightly.  But I offer you the following passage from Isaiah 41:10:

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.  I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

It is a lot.

Well, That was a Strange Interruption...a self-indulgent post

Mainly, I write this so I'll remember.  I am hoping the day will come when I can forget it. It is long and tedious.  If you're seeing this, I've tried to give you fair warning. 

Three glorious weeks in Sanibel.  The weather was beautiful, the company stellar, the rest welcomed.  On the last full day, just Mr. L and me, I began to have pain in my jaw, that I thought was TMJ.  Periodically, over the past several years, I will have TMJ pain that is readily taken care of by 2 Advil and not lying on the sofa in my den with my head resting on the arm.  This day, however, 2 Advil did not phase the pain.  It increased during the afternoon and interfered with restful sleep that night.

Saturday morning found me in extreme pain and an inability to open my mouth very wide.  Still, I am thinking this is just a bad flare-up of TMJ.  Our flight home was scheduled at 5:15 pm so we had the whole day to kill.  Killing time for the Switzers is one of the hardest things in the world.  We are more "let's get this show on the road" kind of folks, but it was a glorious day on the island and we found ways to spend that time.  The problem was, I was in an enormous amount of pain.  I had oatmeal for breakfast because I was unable to chew anything and could barely get the spoon in my mouth.  I had a smoothie for lunch.  During the course of the day, I took multiple Advil, Aleves, and drank 3 ounces of Jack Daniels Whiskey just trying to get away from the pain.  Nothing worked.

We arrived at the airport 3 hours before our flight.  Anyone who flies knows that's a ridiculous amount of waiting, but it was just the best we could do.  About thirty minutes before our scheduled boarding time, the announcement came across that our flight had been delayed.  I sincerely thought I was going to lie down in the floor and wail in disappointment.  Turns out, a flight earlier in the day headed for Providence, RI had been delayed, so the airline decided to put those people on our plane and then send us later.  Maybe that made sense, except for the fact that those destined for Providence were told to return to the gate at 6:30 for their flight, and their flight took off at 5:15.  So, a plane with 19 travelers (Mr. L counted them as they boarded) took off to RI while another 20-30 were told they had missed the plane because they came to the gate at the time they were told.  Security had to be called to handle those irate folks.  Pretty much, everyone in that gate was unhappy.

Finally, we get to board and head home.  All I could think about was taking a warm bath, putting warm compresses on my aching face, and sleeping in my own bed.  After that warm bath, I noticed a small pocket of swelling in my jaw.  I thought to myself that I must have an abscessed tooth and I would have to call the dentist first thing Monday.  At midnight, I woke up and realized that the swelling had increased significantly and at 2:00 am it had increased even more.  I woke Mr. L, showed him the swelling, he called our daughter, an NP, who said, "take her to the emergency room." I think we both thought that was extreme, but we asked her advice and we trust her, so we followed her suggestion.  Both of us were thinking that the hospital would give me an antibiotic shot and tell me to call my dentist on Monday.  We were wrong.

When the ER doctor said that she felt they should keep me in the hospital, Mr. L asked, "what do you think that means?"  I said, "I guess they are going to admit me?"  He said, "maybe they are just going to watch you here in the ER." So, I thought, I bet he's right, I feel better.  Not much later, the doctor said, "well, we're going to put you in ICU, does that sound reasonable?"  Mr. L and I looked at each other incredulously, but my face continued to swell, and the ICU seemed more reasonable that going home.

Three nights in the ICU, not much sleep, Codes Blue, at least one death.  I had a compromised airway, could not swallow anything, so no food and no liquids for 40 hours or so.  The nurses were wonderful and attentive.  The last day in the ICU we learned that I had a bacterial infection that had moved to my bloodstream. I was on massive IV antibiotics.  I did not really understand what that meant until my nurse mentioned the word "septic."  That, I understood, but how could someone not feel badly and be septic?  It's funny how the little things become so important.  I was so ready to move to a regular room where I could get a shower.  On day 4 I was moved.  The shower had to wait until the next day, but at least I was a step closer.

More days in the hospital waiting for the bacteria to be identified.  It was Parvimonus micra, apparently very rare.  I learned later that this was the first time St. Thomas Hospital had ever seen it.  More days waiting for them to figure out what antibiotic would be most effective against it.  One morning I woke up with a swollen knee.  This caused a bit of alarm among the doctors with the concern that it might be the bacteria in my knee.  So, I had my knee drained by a radiologist who, apparently, was unaware that a person was attached to the knee.  That was NO fun!  The fluid was questionable for the bacterial because white blood cells were there indicating they were fighting something.  The fluid did not grow the bacteria, thank Goodness.

The usual back and forth, up and down that come with medical diagnoses.  My family was more aware of the danger of the situation than I was.  It is hard to watch the people you love stressed and fearful, and feel like you're causing it, even though you know it was nothing you did.  It truly is easier to be the patient, in spite of the pain and needles and knee drainings than it is to watch someone you love go through all that.  Finally, I was dismissed on oral antibiotics, the best thing I could hope for, and I was ecstatic to go home.  There truly is no place like home.

People were so nice...nurses, caregivers, doctors, those who brought me my meals, and let me say, the food in St. Thomas is not bad at all, in fact it is pretty yummy.  I left the hospital still with jaw pain, unable to open my mouth very far, so, of course that had to be addressed.  The oral surgeon I was told to see worked wonders in that regard, and I can now eat and chew again.  I have a couple more doctors to see in an effort to try to figure out what in the world this whole thing was about and where it started in my body.  I doubt we will ever figure out where I actually picked up the bacteria.  I find myself a bit paranoid at every twinge, but, hopefully, as I get further from the hospital experience, that will improve as well.  I am grateful beyond my ability to express for all the cards and prayers and flowers and texts and calls, just the love that was shown me.

What I knew intellectually but what was brought back to mind is, life can be interrupted in various ways.  I hope I'm done with this, I truly do, but unexpected interruptions are going to occur.  I just hope I have the good sense to stop and mark the event, take the lessons it offers, and come away a better, more compassionate and empathetic person.

A Little Mother-Son Mischief

Today was the last full day that my children and grandchildren will be with us on Sanibel Island. It has been a wonderful time with bonus days with both MP and Marshall. On the rare years that they leave before us, we all feel a bit sad. It is so hard to leave the beach on the last day. Marshall and I were the last to come in and we were both in tears.

For several days there was a giant inflatable duck wedged between a trash can and the fence around the condo pool. This morning, a gentleman who works at the condo said that he was going to put the duck in the trash and asked if we would like to play with it. Well, certainly no one in their right mind would turn down a giant, smiley duck. The grandchildren had great fun jumping on, riding, and fighting over the duck. He was a huge hit.

Later in the day, we congregated at the beach and someone suggested that the duck might be fun in the gulf. The boys joyfully went together to retrieve him from the pool deck. There was a mighty wind blowing and a means for hanging on to the duck was needed. Earlier in the week, Violet had discovered a vine about twenty feet long. She had used it to rig a trap in her effort to capture a seagull. Chasing them with a small fish net proved futile so a well-planned trap made up of a hole dug in the sand covered by a small plastic wagon attached to the vine was devised. Bread was used to lure the birds to the trap, but she was unsuccessful in catching a seagull, thank goodness. I’m fairly certain that we all would have freaked out had she been successful.

When the giant inflatable duck was brought to the beach on this most windy day, Violet’s vine was put to good use again. The boys thought riding the waves on the duck would be fun so Simeon attached the vine to the duck and then tried to stake it in the sand. This arrangement was set up to keep Max safe while in the water. The stake came loose, the waves flipped the duck, Max fell off and it was decided that riding the duck in the surf was not much fun. Violet then used the vine as a string to fly the duck as a kite, and actually at one point the wind caught it and it did, for a brief moment, behave very much like a kite. The duck provided much entertainment, but one by one everybody decided to call it a day and headed back to their respective condos.

MP and Violet were packing up when it became necessary to make a decision about the duck’s future.  He was tethered to MP’s chair by Violet’s vine because, as has been said, the wind was tremendous. MP asked what should be done with the duck, and I replied, “let’s just let the duck go.” Marshall was shocked, minimally, truth be told, that his mother would make such a suggestion. The duck being let loose to fly as he may seemed a much better end than a condo employee throwing him in the trash. Besides, think of the spectacle of a giant, yellow duck flying end over end over the sand. It was going to be great...and it was! I mean that duck was free, flying down the beach, big ol’ smile on his face, passing folks as he joyfully flew over the sand, when way down the beach, just as the duck was happily about to hit the water there came a man running out of the sea oats across the beach to rescue the duck. Marshall and I watched (MP had already left unwilling to witness the folly of our poor decision to let the duck go) with trepidation and curiosity. What would the man do with the captured duck?

From our vantage point it seemed as though the man and the woman with whom he had been walking a dog were trying to figure out what do now that the man had captured the duck. During the consultation the woman sort of threw her hands in the air as if to say, “I don’t know.”  The man struggled with the giant duck trying to somehow weigh him down so he would stay put. It has been mentioned that the wind was tremendous. There was nothing nearby to aid the man in holding the duck down. To our horror, it appeared that the man had come to a decision and it looked as though he intended to carry the duck down the beach inquiring of each person along the way if the duck belonged to them. It was only a matter of time before he got to us. Marshall and I had to make a decision. When asked, do we say, “it’s not our duck,” which technically was true but very much felt like a lie. I even, not proudly, thought about saying that we had also seen the duck flying down the beach, but again, not exactly honest. So, we did the only thing we knew to do, we somewhat rapidly got up, picked up our stuff and walked off the beach before the Good Samaritan could get to us to inquire about any knowledge we might have concerning the duck. We were crying...with laughter.

I really hope that duck found a good home and I hope that man did not walk all the way to the end of the island trying to find the rightful owner. One thing I do know, that duck brought, and his story will continue to bring great joy to this mother and her son. It ranks right up there with the day we set gunpowder off in every room of our house. Now, that was amazing!

For Whom Shall We Pray?

If you live in Nashville, you certainly heard about the terrible tragedy of the stabbing deaths of Clayton Beathard and Paul Trapeni III.  It was a heart-breaking tragedy that just did not need to be.  Prayers have been offered on behalf of each of these families by many they know and by those of us who have not and probably will not ever meet them.  Scenes of the joy in anticipation of their being home for Christmas break and their presence at family gatherings turned to the deep sadness of unopened gifts that will never be used, worn, nor eaten.  Holiday gatherings turned into funeral services. Lives ended before they really got started.  Dreams that will never be realized. It is too much to comprehend. And, so we pray comfort on them.

There is a third boy, for yes, 21 and 22 year olds are still boys, who will forever bear visible and invisible scars from that devastation.  He will close his eyes in an effort to sleep but find himself reliving the chaos and pain of that night, the loss of two friends.  It is all a nightmare. And, so we pray peace and rest for him.

Their families find peace in their faith.  They believe and trust that their sons are in their true home with their true Father.  It is the only way such grief can be borne, the only way they can put one foot in front of the other.  And, so we pray a constant awareness of God's presence and attention.

Michael Mosley is the boy who has been arrested for wielding the knife.  He spent his Christmas alone in a house in Cheatham County.  Whether drugs or alcohol or childhood abuse or whatever was the driving force that brought him to that place and those deeds may not matter.  There are consequences.  Perhaps, all involved might have been spared this tragedy if this boy had been held more accountable four years ago after he was involved in a similar incident, one that did not result in a death.  Perhaps, it would have made no difference at all.  I have self-proclaimed Jesus loving friends who were gleeful when this boy was arrested and made statements like, "I hope they burn his a$$" and "he's going to get his in prison."  Is this what we pray?  Perhaps, he and we would benefit more if we pray redemption, not retribution on this boy who has ruined his own life, taken the life of two, and wrecked countless others who love him and loved them.  Perhaps, by praying for him and his family as well as the Beathards and Trapenis, we grow a bit closer to the nature of that Jesus we so righteously proclaim.

Mr. Earl Barnes of Savannah, Georgia

Last week, I had the opportunity to spend five days in Savannah.  Mr. L was in a conference, so I spent the better part of every day just roaming, reading historical markers, and taking pictures.

Snapping pictures of the iconic fountain in Forsythe Park, a gentleman shouted to me asking if I wanted him to take a picture of me in front of the fountain.  I am not proud that my first thought was that I did not because I wasn't sure that I wanted to hand my camera over to him.  I hate that I allow the darkness of this world make me suspicious of people I don't know.  I also don't much like having my picture made, so there was that.

I did walk over to him, however, to thank him for the offer.  He asked if I wanted a poem he wrote.  I said I would love one, but I didn't have any money on me to pay for it.  He said that was okay, he was happy to share the poem.  He asked why everyone thinks everything is about money.  I replied that I figured he needed to eat and that cost money.  He said that was true, but he had had a cup of coffee that morning and he would get a check for $900 from his social security next week, so he was doing just fine.

He said he was a homeless veteran.  I shook his hand and thanked him for his service.  He then began to share his beautiful thoughts about how we are all family.  He said we all belong to the family of God and we just need to look after each other.  I told him I agreed with him, kicking myself for not having cash on me to share with him, but I was not going to insult him again by mentioning money.  I told him a favorite quote of mine, "only look in your neighbor's yard to be sure he has enough."  He really liked that and said he would remember it.

He handed me the copy of his poem, written on tattered paper, in a mainly illegible hand.  He had drawn hearts, emphasized by a yellow highlighter.  Toward the bottom is a cross with a sun, I think.  I asked him his name.  He said he was Earl Barnes.  I shook his hand again and told him how nice it was to meet him.

I walked away, reading his poem.  There were only parts of it that I could decipher..."Aunt Mary's Table of love," "children return from school," "Joining God's Family, we serve all." As I walked away, it dawned on me that I had actually stuck some money in my phone case.  I hurried back, finding Earl's coat had been left on a bench and he and a friend walking away.  I shouted to him, asking if that was his coat.  He said, "Lawd, that's the third time this week I've left my coat behind; I've got so much in my hands."  I handed him a little money, told him to buy himself some lunch if he wanted to use it for that.  He danced a little jig and asked, "can I hug you," to which I replied, "I'd be honored to get a hug from you, Earl."

In our conversation, I learned that Earl and I are the same age.  I pondered how much easier my life has been than his, but how much more appreciative Earl is for the blessings God has rained on him.  There are so many people in so many places from whom I need to learn.

"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2

Certainly, Earl was not entertaining an angel, but I must wonder, was I?

Week 4

Day 1

As always, I explain these camp blogs are written so the boys and I can remember.  I know they are tedious.

How has this summer gone by so quickly?  It's Thursday afternoon as I write this and the boys left about an hour early today.  I needed the time, but I feel a little sick inside that our second year of Mellie's Summer Camp of Excellence is over.  Time...hard to comprehend.

Tuesday was a busy, busy day.  It was our second annual cook-for-the-parents night.  The first thing we did was make our crème brulee so that it would have time to cook and cool. While it was cooking, they made chocolate bowls.  I bought all the right supplies for that including silicone cups.  They were supposed to make popping the chocolate cups out so very simple.  Turns out, not so much. Several of our cups collapsed, so while they watched a movie, I made them again in paper cups and they worked much, much better.  Afterward, we went to the grocery and bought flowers and a few other items we needed.  I wised up this year (live and learn) and bought most of the groceries the day before. We did go to the Amish market so they could pick out tomatoes.  They did a stellar job; the tomatoes were delicious.

When we got home, we had lunch and then they arranged the flowers, set the table, chopped tomatoes, helped cook the meat and helped make baked meringues.  By this time, I was so exhausted with their help that I turned a movie on for them and finished up the other details of dinner.

At each place was a laminated (how did I live happily before now without a laminator?)menu card/world's largest bookmark, a small pencil and a sheet to mark what each person wanted on their taco.  We had beef, chicken, tomatoes, lettuce, sweet peppers, jalapeno peppers, cheese, sour cream,  ranch dressing and black beans.  For appetizers, we had guacamole, salsa, chips and virgin margaritas.  I still can't believe I failed to get a picture of one of the margaritas.  First of all, they were delicious and they were quite festive with a fancy straw, umbrella, lime slice, and the cup rimmed with turbinado sugar.  Yummy! Everybody seemed to enjoy them.

Finally, the boys called everyone to the table.  Chaos ensued as they took the order sheets and I tried to fix the tacos, but finally everyone was served and the boys led this blessing:  "Full of joy and thankfulness, we say 'Thank you, Lord' from the bottom of our hearts.  We look at the food prepared by loving hands, we look into the faces of those that love us and those who we love in return and we look to You, our Lord and Savior. All good gifts around us are sent from heaven above, and we will never forget who is our true provider.  We thank you as you bless this food and bless this time together.  Amen"  Having a prayer written out for them helped them feel more confident in leading it.  I think Fizzy might have shed a tear or two.

After dinner, the boys cleared the table and dessert was served.  There were options....crème brulee, chocolate cups with caramel cookie crunch gelato, and baked meringues.  They most loved serving the crème brulee because they got to torch the top.  I loved that Marshall told Max he wanted "extra crunch" on his, knowing the more Max could torch the better.  I was really impressed with the expertise they showed in torching, and they only needed a little help blowing out flaming sugar.  Dinner was declared a success.  Mellie collapsed...like, almost literally.

Day 2

Oh, glorious day.  My nephew, Cole is house/dog sitting where there is a pool.  I invited us to come spend the day.  Cole is very gracious, so he would say I didn't exactly invite us, but I sort of did.  We arrived at the pool around 10:15.  I jokingly told Fizzy when he called to be sure I had put sunscreen on the boys (whatever) that Cole didn't know it, but I was planning on staying until 3:00.  Cole laughed, assured me he was just hanging at the pool all day and I could stay as long as I wanted.  I think we left around 4:15.  It was a great day!!

Nunny came and hung out.  Do'Do' came and helped Max practice diving off the board.  He did not perfect it, but he got better and better with each try, but the main thing was, he never gave up.  Simeon loved going off the board, although diving was not on his agenda.  So, day 2 was peaceful, with a few little bumps in the road, but all-in-all it was a most relaxing and pleasant day.  We came home, boys showered,  I scrambled eggs, fried sausage and made toast. Simmy stayed to eat and Violet joined us too. I could enjoy another day just like that one.

Day 3

I think we all sort of started this day with a bit of dread.  I know for sure that Max and I did. Simmy sort of takes life in stride, but Max marks moments, and he has all the feels about them.  It was the last day of camp.  Have I mentioned that I'm sad about that? Now, all my grandparent friends whose grandchildren live out of town, you can smack me when you see me for being such a big baby.  I can only imagine how hard it is for y'all when you leave their homes or they yours after a visit.  God bless you all.

We got off to a late start this morning because Mellie had a visitation to attend.  As soon as Max arrived, we went to get Sim.  Our first stop was the state museum.  It is amazing.  We only saw part of it, and I'm learning that Max is not as big a fan of formal museums as Simmy.  While we were there watching a movie on Tennessee in the Civil War, a group of mentally challenged adults came and sat with us.  I don't know where those who "supervise" were, but one of them, a rather large man, standing and rocking back and forth was inappropriately touching himself and then revealing his bare belly.  It was very disconcerting.  Simmy was engrossed in the movie and Max was looking at a display right by where we were sitting, so I don't think either of them noticed, but I was a bit dismayed by the whole thing.  When the movie ended, we hastily left that area and perused a bit more of the museum then, of course, headed to the gift shop.  I had already told them that, because it was our last day of this summer, I would buy them each a $10 or less souvenir at the museum.  After much hemming and hawing, they ended up with a game of marbles, a game of tiddly winks, and a stuffed fox for Violet.  Both seemed very happy with their purchases.

The museum was followed by our second annual lunch at the Hermitage Hotel.  Service was much faster today than last year.  Other than a napkin picked up off the floor a gazillion times, and one chin removed from a plate more times than that, they did very well.  We had quite the lovely lunch together.  It had been requested earlier that we get dessert at Cheesecake Factory following lunch because The Hermitage Hotel's desserts are not  to our liking.  So, we drove to Cheesecake Factory where the wait time was quite long, so we ordered one piece of cheesecake for Simmy to go with the promise of Mango Sorbet for Max when we got home.  We had a near disaster when Mellie came to an abrupt halt in the driveway and the cheesecake went flying.  Fortunately, only the whipped cream was damaged, well, and since we were in Fizzy's car, his umbrella has quite a bit of whipped cream on it, but it'll wash off next time he uses it.

A rousing game of Tiddly Winks and Max's dad picked him up early.  Max never wants to go, but I teasingly told him it was all his fault because he's so fun to be with and his dad really wanted to spend time with him.  That is exactly why Marshall picked him up.  Sim and I played a few games of marbles before his dad collected him.

I failed in the picture-taking this week.  We didn't write in journals.  We didn't do our exploding artwork.  But, Lord willing, we will have other days for other activities.  While I learned as a mom that having children is like having your heart walking around outside your body, until I experienced it, I never quite understood what grandchildren can do to you.  I know life will get in a routine when school starts.  Right now, however, I'll just dwell in this bittersweet moment.

Week 3 ~ Service Week

It occurred to me that, perhaps, we all needed to do a little something for someone else, thus Service Week was born.  It proved to be a good week at Mellie Camp.  Again, I write these blogs to document camp for the boys, of course, my sharing it on FB belies my protests of understanding if you don't read it.  Such a conundrum, or is it hypocrisy?

Day 1

Today, we decided to make lunches for those who are experiencing homelessness, but our first service project was to make the bed, then write cards for Fizzy.  Fizzy is definitely a wonderful model of servant leadership in this family and deserves to be honored.  One note said, "Fizzy I love you," and the other said, "we made your beb.  I love you."  Is there anything more precious than handwritten messages from one's grandchildren?  Our next act of service was to replace the flapper in Fizzy's toilet.  I explained about turning the water off at the wall, what a flapper does, how the chain needs to be the right length and presto, no more running toilet.  Later in the day, when one sweet little granddaughter felt the need to use most of a roll of toilet paper to take care of her needs, it was Mellie to the rescue again with my handy plunger.

Then, we went to the store to buy supplies for our lunches.  It was decided that we would make 6 and each boy could deliver 3.  I was very concerned about fixing sandwiches made with meat and cheese and mayonnaise, so we did what I don't really like to do when I am fixing meals for those in need, and that is make peanut butter sandwiches. I figured the humbleness of PB&J would be better received than a sandwich which provided ptomaine poisoning.  Nobody wants that.

Each boy got to pick the kind of chips, dessert, and drink that would go in the lunch and we also got fresh cherries and grapes.  One of my sweet boys has great difficulty in making decisions and so we stood in the refrigerated section of the store for as long as I could stand as he pondered which kind of lemonade he wanted...for himself.  Finally, I told him I was counting to 30 (I know, right?  Why not 5?) and if he had not made a decision, I would make it for him.  At 29 he decided, I returned the one not chosen to the refrigerator and he immediately began to moan that he had made the wrong choice.  "Tough luck" was the most loving response I could come up with at that moment.

Finally, back home  to put the lunches together.  One little guy was struggling a bit pulling himself back together, but he did and enthusiastically packed his 3 lunches.  I had each boy write a note to put in each lunch.  I don't know what they ended up writing, but one boy on the first one wrote, "bless you, Bob," and I made him redo it.  He was incensed that I was not planning on driving around until we found a man named Bob who needed a lunch.

Finding the first few folks was not terribly difficult, even in the heart of Green Hills.  We delivered 5 of the meals, were growing weary of being in the car and so came home where one boy and I split the lunch we did not deliver.  It was a pretty good PB&J with orange marmalade on it.  I hope those who received a lunch thought so too.

We came home, ate lunch, did some art projects, one of which did not go well with one boy climbing under the table declaring himself a failure at art.  I assured him it was a process, but he's more the type that wants to be at step 15 without working through steps 1-14.  I understand that.  30 minutes of quiet time, where I may or may not have set the timer for 40 minutes instead.  I didn't realize that 7 year olds had such a refined sense of timing and I did get a bit tickled when Simmy was convinced that something was wrong with the timer.  I, perhaps, was not as forthcoming as I should have been about my duplicity, but I was reading a good book and I was tired!

Both boys and Violet ended up staying for supper, which, let me just say, was so awful that Fizzy suggested that I not even make an effort for Wednesday night.  I eagerly took him up on that offer.  I can do nothing for dinner quite easily.  By the time everyone left, I was ready to hit the sofa with my good book.  It was a good day.

Day 2

For the second year in a row, we restocked the pews at church.  We talked a lot about how sometimes children don't realize how they can contribute to their church family, but that, in fact, they have much to offer. We stocked pews last year, and this year went a bit more smoothly.  We stopped at Fresh Market to get snacks to fortify us after stocking the balcony.  Once again, we went through which drink to buy.  I am happy to report that a decision was made in a timely fashion with no buyer's remorse following.  The snack was a bit trickier, so I gave him 2 options, he chose one and seemed quite happy with the decision.  Progress!!

We arrived at church and visited a moment with "Miss" Nancy then hustled to the sanctuary to put out pens, cards, and to clean out the book racks.  Let me just say, that balcony-sitters, are a good deal messier than those who sit downstairs.  Balcony finished, or so I thought, and downstairs to have the snacks and hit the sanctuary.  Max got himself a system which worked quite nicely.  Simeon was putting the cards in the card racks and decided that he would shout each time he saw where a pen was needed.  Nevermind that Max was on the other side of the room placing pens and would eventually get to it.  If Simmy yelled "here!" once he yelled it 500 times.  As we were finishing up, Max looked upstairs and said, "Melly, we only did one of the decks upstairs."  What foolishness was this?  Oh, shoot, he was right.  So, back upstairs we went.  The entire time boys wanted to know if they could drop pens off the balcony downstairs.  I capitulated, because I, myself, wondered how far they could throw pens.  I let them each throw one pen off the balcony as far as they could.  Both boys were convinced that theirs made it to the stage.  I have my doubts, but I was getting weary.  Do you see a theme here.  They asked if they could play tag in the sanctuary, I said, "yes, if you stay off the stage."  About 5 minutes into the game, one ran up on the stage and did not come down immediately, so I declared it time to leave.

We went home to have lunch where our conversation took some turns.  First of all, Max wanted to know how church family has ever helped him.  I said that his church family prayed for him when he had his eye surgery and he was prayed for constantly when he was born.  We talked about how he had to stay in the hospital because of complications.  He wanted to know if Simmy had taken so long to be born and I said, '"no, Simmy came in a big hurry."  Max expressed how Simmy burst how of his mama's belly and I just smiled.  Let him think what he will, but Simeon asked THE question..."how do babies get out?"  I'm not sure I've ever been so eager to play the grandmother card and replied, "that's something it's best for your parents to share with you."  Yes, score one for grandparent deflection.  Then, Max wanted to know what I think happens when someone dies.  I told him that I was not sure exactly, but that I do believe we go into the presence of God, while I might not know exactly what that would be like.  Simmy then relayed a story that Fizzy had told about someone who recently spoke at a conference about his near-death experience.  It was a beautiful depiction of the peace I anticipate when the time comes for my departure.  So, all in all, it was quite the deep lunch conversation.

Afterwards, we had a true 30 minute quiet/reading time, followed by making yarn dolls and charm necklaces.

Day 3

Today was flower-delivery day.  We did this last year.  It is more an act of kindness service to celebrate the boys turning 7.  I try to do this each year, though I have fallen short a couple years.  We had already bought vases at $Tree, so we were off to Trader Joe's to buy flowers.  I gave them the limit of what they could spend and both boys picked out lovely bouquets.  Because my house was being cleaned, I did not want to go home to fix the vases, so we arranged the flowers in the back of the car.  Each vase had a note tied on it that said, "My name is (Simeon, Max).  I turned 7 in the spring.  I am doing acts of kindness to celebrate that birthday.  I hope these flowers bless your day."  Our first stop was the Daily's in Green Hills.  One of the ladies we gave flowers to had received flowers from Max last year.  She was so moved and told him that she had saved one of the roses.  Isn't that so sweet?  She had pressed and saved the rose.  I explained to the boys that not everyone has a husband or child or grandchild to bring them flowers, and they may not have the extra money to go buy them for themselves.  Most people like flowers.

Next we went to  the Purple Cow.  The cashier there was just basically overwhelmed and offered two or three times to pay Simeon for the flowers.  Each time, he told her that he did not want money, he just wanted her to enjoy the flowers.  Next we went to the Brentwood CVS because soon this will be the home clinic for Simmy's mom as a nurse practitioner.  We decided that we would give flowers to the NP working today.  Max, first of all gave flowers to the cashier in the front.  She was stunned.  He's a little shyer and I had to explain what was going on.  She just had a big smile on her face.  Then we went back to the Minute Clinic to see if the nurse on duty had a patient where we found a waiting patient vomiting in the trashcan outside the examining room.  I immediately hustled the boys away from there.  We found another cashier and gave her flowers as well.  Flowers to someone taking orders at Chick-fil-a where we might have revived ourselves with frosted lemonades and then to the Urgent Care clinic where we gave out last two arrangements away.

We came home, filled water balloons...lots of water balloons and the boys proceeded to throw many of them up on the roof.  Why?  I don't know.  But they had fun, got soaking wet, came in, put on pajamas, made things with melty beads.  We ordered pizza, had lunch, made more melty bead things and started watching a movie.  Parents came early to get them and now Fizzy and Mellie are going out to dinner...because, you know, Tuesday night's dinner.

It was a good week.  I hope they learned a little of the importance of serving others and gained some pleasure in seeing the joy in people's faces as they surprised them with an unexpected kindness.

We Prayed...Every Day we Prayed

We prayed for a different diagnosis.  We prayed for successful treatment.  We prayed for relief from pain and side effects of  treatments.  We prayed prayers of praise when treatments seem to be working.  We prayed laments when good results did not last.  We prayed for admittance to clinical trials.  We prayed...every day we prayed, sometimes multiple times a day.  We prayed for a miracle.  When it seemed obvious that healing, at least in this realm, was not to be, we prayed for a peaceful passing not marred by fear of any kind.  Perhaps, death is the miracle for those who have suffered so valiantly. Perhaps, it is the miracle for us all.  The last grand adventure. We don't know. We just know we prayed.

She fought with grace and determination, exuding joy beyond the comprehension of most of us.  She fought for her family for her friends for herself.  She fought hard.  She loved life.  She was a bright light, and we are better for having walked in that light. Even as her body deteriorated, her spirit glowed.  The world is better for her having lived in it.  What more can we ask?

Now we pray...every day we pray for her husband, her children, her grandchildren and others who walked closely by her through her life's journey. They are grieving.  They are in pain.  Her grandchildren are young.  They may not remember her, but we are confident that they will know and love her from the pictures and stories they will be told throughout their lives.

There are those who would say our prayers are foolish, but she would not have.  She solicited our prayers on her behalf, and we honor her by praying for those she loved.

So, we pray. We do not pray in the past tense. Still we pray, regardless of our disappointment in the answers.  Every day we pray.  We pray in joy and in pain, in plenty and in want.  We beg and plead, we cry out in praise that cannot be contained. We pray...and we weep...and we remember.

Mellie Camp Week 2

Let me preface this post with an apology to anyone who happens upon it.  There's a lot of pretty boring detail here, but I write these mainly for the boys.

Well, day one dawned with one little buddy having a very rough morning at home.  Funny, how that can set the tone for a day.  When he joined us, his eyes were red and I could tell that tears had been shed.  I'll give him this, he rallied pretty well, but off and on, it did affect his morning.  My other sweet empath found his feelings being somewhat tender, and so, pretty much for the first two hours, one or the other was either crying or angry.  It was great.

After a stop at Krispy Kreme for a hot glazed donut we headed to town. We started our day in the Civil Rights Room of the main library.  They sat at the lunch counter they have there to represent the lunch counter sit-ins.  I think, possibly, the main thing they were impressed with was that I actually was alive when the civil rights movement was at its peak.  It seems like eons ago to them, but I tried to stress that, indeed, it was not.  We watched part of a movie concerning the end of segregation in the schools here in Nashville.  As one boy became restless, it was the perfect opportunity to remind him that his best friend in first grade would not have been allowed in his school when I was his age.  That hit home a little.

We walked up to the Viet Nam Memorial Park and they ran out some energy, I thought, before we went in the military branch of the state museum.  Max wanted to know where the rest of the tree was, and, yes, he was intentionally being funny.  It sort of cracked me up. As we walked in, the person at the desk in an authoritative voice said, "do NOT let them touch the artifacts!"  I assured her that they knew how to behave.  I did not point out to her that the only artifacts that could even remotely be touched were bombs and a bell.  I hardly think two seven-year-old boys could have harmed them, but then I did think of my dad always saying that my brother, Mike, "could tear up an anvil."  So, perhaps...

An hour ride on the hop-on-hop-off trolley (no way I was letting them off) was filled with "I'm bored I'm cold, how much longer and various other complaints.  I pretty much ignored it, except for the occasions when I assured one or the other that I did not care if he was bored for that was a choice he was making.  Finally, they perked up when they heard that candy would be handed out at the end of the tour and extra pieces if trivia questions could be answered.  We answered one, for I felt it unfair to answer the questions on a trolley full of tourists with my having done some sort of tour of Nashville now for about 38 years.  Not to mention, that I certainly did not have all the answers any way.

Lunch was at Subway at one boy's request and to the other one's dismay.  When all arguments failed, he wailed, "my parents would not want me to eat at Subway," to which I replied, "how do you think they would feel about Krispy Kreme?"  All complaints stopped, but, truthfully, I was the only one who actually ate my lunch.

Nunny's book signing was our next stop at the Hermitage Hotel where two boys acted a bit like maniacs.  By that point, it was all a little much for them.  After greeting several of the people there in the midst of trying to keep the boys in line, we left.  As we walked, supposedly to the car to come home, one boy said, "we didn't earn our treat at The Arcade did we."  I asked what behavior he thought might make that a fact.  I will give it to him, he named several things that indicated that he had not conducted himself as his best self.  I asked my other sweet boy, and he seemed a bit puzzled by what the problem was, but after some prompting, he was able to articulate where the breakdown may have been.  I told them they get one grace day each year at camp and this was the day.  It was really amazing.  The switch came.  Behavior improved immensely.  Thank yous all around for the treats from The Peanut Shop. It made me think how much better we would all act if we truly appreciated the grace shown us. So, we went back to the Hermitage Hotel where they were perfect gentlemen and earned time on the playground in the library.  I was very impressed.  I was also extremely exhausted.

Day Two was to be an easy-going day.  We went to a movie.  The dollar movie.  It was PACKED!! The movie was a dollar, but the special treat they provide was quite a bit more.  This after I let both my buddies know that we were not ordering "off the menu."  It was either the kid pack or nothing.  Of course they decided on the kid pack.  We found seats way in the back where I sat next to a charming young boy who pretty much had his feet all over me during the entire movie.  Well, not the entire movie because about an hour into it, he wailed to his nanny that he was incapable of sitting through a "movie this long."  His two-year old sister was screaming for her mom, so the nanny very quietly and kindly left with them.

I still find it hard that I went to a movie that starred a snail who won the Indy 500.  Seriously, that is about as ludicrous a plot as I can imagine, and yet, I still found myself pulling for Turbo and applauding when he beat Guy Gangen (sp?) right at the finish line.  Both boys enjoyed the movie a lot, but Max did declare it "ridiculous."  Simmy enjoys movies thoroughly and laughs out loud at the funny parts, which are usually a little bit "off color,"like some snail with a speech impediment saying "Holy cwap."  Why is that funny to little kids?  The whole place laughed.  I don't know.

The rest of the day consisted of lunch and making crème brulee (YUMMY!) and baked meringues, playing outside, having a fight followed by a Native American Peace Council where Mellie tried out some of her mediation skills.  It was moderately successful and they played very well together for quite a few minutes after that.  Pop-up cards made for their dads for Father's Day and the day pretty much ended.  There was a Hallmark movie with my name on it for the evening.  Fizzy was at a gala (spouses did not have to go ~ hallelujah), and so Mellie is resting up for day 3.  What adventures await.


Day Three was probably the most beautiful weather day that we will have all summer~mid 70s, breezy, just what I will request for my weather in heaven, if requests are taken.  We had been looking forward to going to Cheekwood to see the new Storybook house exhibit.  I really wondered if it might be too juvenile for the boys, but, actually, they are the perfect age for it.  It was so much fun.  The Dr. Seuss house was the first one we visited and they could walk on the roof, go up a climbing wall or a rope ladder, come down a slide, ring bells etc.  Of course, it was time for snacks, so we ate fresh cherries and had a cherry-pit spitting contest.  I know, classy.

Secondly we went to the Charlotte's Web barn, and for some reason this was their least favorite by far.  We did not stay there long.  Too bad, because it actually had a bench for the old grandparents to sit on, at least that's what the granddad who was sitting there said to me, so I took advantage of it for  all of  the 3 minutes we stayed there.  Then off to the Peter Rabbit house, which I thought would be their least favorite and turned out to be the favorite.  They hauled stuff from here to there, climbed in and out and around hollowed tree stumps, see-sawed on a log see-saw, ran and romped and had a grand old time.  We ate lunch there under the trees at a long log table with tree stump seats.  We ate organic Cheetos (seriously), watermelon and Lunchables.  It was truly one of the most pleasant meals I have had in quite some time.

After lunch, we found the Where the Wild Things Are house  It was amazing.  Totally amazing...and SCARY!!  But, the boys loved it, and we stayed there for a long time. In our effort to find the fifth house, we wandered around and ended up at the creek where the boys removed their shoes and socks and waded until Max stubbed one toe and cut the top of the other.  After some medical attention (soaking it in the cold creek) we headed off to find the last house.  Yay, for smart phones because I Googled it and learned that it was by the trains.

The day began to break down here and the boys got into a argument that was working its way into a fist fight so we had a little peace council, which did not go as well as I had hoped because my Living Water bracelet, which was the stand-in for our peace stick, got broken.  Bummer.  We did not come to a satisfactory conclusion to the upset, really, so we headed home. But, we had been there for 4 1/2 hours, and that seemed sufficient.

At home, peace mainly reigned while they made cards for Fizzy for Father's Day, we learned Violet has strep, and watched one show after eating a bit of crème brulee and baked meringues.  It was time for me to drive Max home.  Simmy rode and all in all it was a most pleasant day with just a few bumps along the way.

I cannot believer it, but Mellie's Summer Camp of Excellence of 2019 is halfway over.  I am having to adjust plans because some of what they have always loved doing, like decorating t-shirts, they find not fun.  Other plans I will probably change because I am not sure that 2 seven-year-old boys can be trusted to do what I ask in potentially dangerous situations, like touring Cumberland Caverns.  I'm still having an internal debate, but I shall not be asking for input from my campers.  In that circumstance, this is a dictatorship.  So, another week that kept me on my toes, challenged by negotiating skills and patience, and found me getting bunches of hugs.  What more could a girl ask?

Mellie's Summer Camp of Excellence ~ Year 2

Last year, I posted after each day.  Why did I do that?  I'm not sure. I guess to remember what we did and how our days went.  This year, I am planning on just posting each week.

Year 2, Week 1, Day 1 got off to a rough start.  One of my little buddies had a hard morning, and try as he might, he just had a hard time rallying.  Add that to Mellie having a sore knee that is swollen to about twice its size and you have the recipe for a hard day.

This week is Aviation Week.  We read a book on Orville and Wilbur Wright, went to the airport viewing pad and watched planes land and take off.  Another family came up and they were VERY friendly.  So friendly, in fact, I am fairly certain they even overwhelmed the only extrovert in our group.  We snacked on blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and blackberries, fighting over who ate the last what.  We came home, made construction paper helicopters which were amazing, really, especially when dropping them while standing on the top rung of the ladder.  The craft project we did was a huge success, even better than I'd hoped.  Mostly, the boys just played in a blanket (sheet) fort in the den.  Even with the heat and a couple of us out of sorts, it was declared a good day.

Year 2, Week 1, Day 2  Today, we got off to a better start.  Yay!!  Violet and her mom were here for a while this morning and the boys and Violet got into a water-gun fight.  I think the little girl was being somewhat bullied by the older boys because she really had the best water blaster.  When she left, I took the boys to $Tree, gave them 2 dollars each, so they too could own powerful water blasters.  We left there with one boy with a wood and peg basketball game and a cash register drawer of "funny money," and the other one with a spinner toy and a pop gun that the foam ball is attached to and won't shoot anywhere.  I don't know.

We came home and made a flying machine out of paper straws and strips of cardstock that were amazing.  Simmy's flew up on the roof.  We also made planes with a plastic straw, cardboard wings, and a plug of play dough.  They flew successfully....once.  Then we made rockets with film canisters, water, and Alka-Seltzer.  Oh.my.word.  Pure awesomeness.  Possibly, safety goggles would have been a good idea, but fortunately, no one was injured.

A brief show, lunch, and then off we went to the doctor for Mellie to get an injection in her knee.  Rather than threaten, I promised a trip to Bobby's Dairy-Dip if they behaved well, plus they each took a book to read.  Simmy faced the wall, while Max thought he might look on.  I think the doctor was blocking his view.  I'm pretty sure the doctor thought both boys a bit backward as I'm fairly certain neither of them actually looked up and spoke to him.  We shall try to do better next time, for there will be a next time as I have to get shots 5 weeks in a row.  They had a bit of problem deciding what to order.  Sim had me read him the flavors of milkshakes.  Apparently, I spoke a little too rapidly and so he ordered a heath m&m chai chocolate shake.  What?!?  We corrected it to a straight Heath shake.  Max had a raspberry one.  I had a dipped cone in honor of Dr. Johnson, who highly recommended it.  Yep, that's me not eating sugar.  Good grief.

Home for a hot, rousing game of kickball in the driveway.  Lots of yelling and rule changes and I'm-sick-of-you-changing-the-rules, but whatever.  Shirts off.  You'd think that was the most risqué thing of all time.  That coupled with my solar system rug that Sim said I needed to get rid of because it has the worst potty word ever...Uranus.  Boys.  They are a breed unto themselves.  I figure a 7 year old boy named that heavenly body, formerly known as a planet.

Year 2, Week 1, Day 3

Today was a big day.  Several weeks ago, I asked a friend who is a pilot, if he had a flight simulator by any chance.  I explained my plans for Aviation Week at camp and he took the ball and ran with it.  So, Mr. Jim and his friend, Mr. John, who flew his plane to Nashville for the express purpose of showing his plane to the boys, met us at the John C. Tune airport.  I had heard of it, but had never been there.  We arrived and, of course, Wrong-Way Mellie was parked in the Sysco parking lot instead of at the airport.  That is when the boys got a little bit rowdy.  One of them informed me that he did not even want to be there and visions of the fiasco at the governor's mansion last year danced across my mind.  It was at that point that I said, "don't you even start that stuff."  So, he moved on to the "fact" that he was staaaaaaarving and why did I not bring snacks.  I responded with a "meet me in the back of the car!"  Never underestimate the power of a forced prayer in the back of a car.  We asked the Lord God Almighty to help us have good manners, to treat Mr. John and Mr. Jim with respect, to make sure our main concern is that the other person has what they need, and for Mellie not to be grumpy because her knee was hurting, and that we all conduct ourselves as we know Jesus would.  Thank you Lord for answered prayers.  Mr. Jim's talk before we walked out to the plane did not hurt either.  He was kind but direct...it was perfect.

So, we met Mr. John who showed the boys every single thing about that plane.  He explained optimum conditions for take-off and landing, they listened in the headphones to other pilots talking, they learned about why numbers are on planes and why different lights are different colors and, I mean, he showed and shared everything with them.  They asked questions, and they were so cute because each time they had a question they would raise their hands.  So sweet.  Max worried that he had asked too many questions, but I assured him that was impossible. When we were finished and driving back, we talked about how nice that was of Mr. John.  I told them that I think Mr. John loves flying and loves sharing it with others.  Find something you love and share it.  I think that was a good lesson they learned.  Another one that Mr. John shared with them, that I'm not sure I agree with, is "planes are like women, they require a lot of money to keep them happy."  Ha!  We saw a $90,000,000 plane.  Let that sink in.  That was not Mr. John's plane.  In fact the boys wondered how much his plane cost, but on some level they thought that might be an impertinent question.  They did rock, paper, scissors to see who had to ask.  $150,00 was the answer.

We left the airport, had probably the most unhealthy snack possible, went to the drugstore to get Mellie some pain meds the doctor called in, came home and wrote thank you notes to Mr. Jim and Mr. John. The boys watched a movie while Mellie laid on the living room sofa moaning and feeling sorry for herself.  The dads graciously picked the boys up at 2:00 instead of 4:00 and Mellie collapsed for the rest of the day.

Aviation Week turned out to be a good week.  As always, there were ups and downs.  We can choose to focus on the downs, or we can embrace the ups and make those our more precious memories.  No Mellie Camp next week.  They are off to different camps, but come June 11 we will have week 2 of the 2019 camp.  We have big plans for two of those days and, I figure we will be ready to just kick back and have a lazy day on the third day.  We'll see.

As always, it is with much gratitude that I get to spend time with these boys.  Hopefully, they are learning something and making good memories.  Even as rotten as I felt, they made the day a great one.

Privilege or Abuse?

I do not watch the news.  I don't trust the media.  They are biased and agenda-driven, in my opinion.  I get my news from my biased, agenda-driven FB friends' posts.  But, one would have to live under a rock to not have heard about the college-admission-for-pay scandal.  The media is rife with indignation over rich privilege.  Google tells me that one of the most vocally incensed reporters will make $500,000 this year at her job.  There are those who might consider that rich privilege, but then all things are relative.  So, I've been asking myself, is it privilege or is it child abuse?

Most parents would tell you that they would do anything for their child, and they mean it when they say it.  I've heard people say (I may have said it myself), "I would stand in front of a moving train for my child."  That's pretty easy to say, because very few of us are going to be called upon to do that.  It sounds lofty and honorable, but, really, it is a pretty empty statement.

It seems the harder question is not would we stand in front of a moving train for our children, but rather would we stand by and watch our children take the hard knocks that will build character in them.  I believe having to watch our children stumble and hurt and pay for bad choices is the hardest and most loving action of being a parent, because there will come a time when we cannot "fix it."  If they have not suffered disappointment and consequences in the small but significant matters of growing up life, how will they ever deal with all that adulthood throws at them?

I find myself in the midst of my disgust over this whole scandal an undercurrent of great sorrow ~ sorrow for parents who have to look at the ineptitude of their children for which they are in some degree responsible and the angst they must (I hope) feel in cheating the system in order to cheat their child of accomplishing their own goals.  I have great sorrow for the children, those who knew their parents were cheating for them and those who did not.  I cannot imagine the embarrassment that they (I hope) feel over knowing their parents do not think them able.  I feel sorrow for those who work at the colleges who were so drawn to money that they would jeopardize their families, their jobs, and their self-respect.  I am working on my sorrow for the guy who orchestrated this whole thing, but even he, in some sense, suffers from the overwhelming sense of entitlement so many people have.  Make no mistake, this sense of entitlement is not unique to rich privilege either.  I must admit that the "I'm entitled" mentality raises my ire faster than most anything because it is the author of rudeness to waitstaff, and sales clerks, and teachers and anyone else we encounter on a day to day basis.  

So, yes, this whole situation is a tragedy for all involved, a tragedy that without a sense of entitlement would never have happened.  There is nothing quite like being able to know you earned your way recognizing always those who helped you get there, for I am a firm believer there are very few (zero) "self-made" folks.  I urge all of us rather than reveling in all our self-righteousness the downfall of the privileged rich, that we look at our own temptations.  It's pretty easy to say we would not pay $500,000 (a year's salary for said reporter) to cheat to get our child in a college they did not earn.  Few of us have that much money lying around to throw at such an endeavor.  Let us think, however, all the ways we "prepare the path for our children rather than preparing our children for the path," as my friend Pat Ward would say.  And for the love of all things right and holy, please let this attitude of "I am entitled to it because I want it" mentality end with this generation of children.  Please!!!

It's That Time Again

Recently, while having lunch with one of my fellow photo challenge cohorts, it was suggested that we needed a new one.  So, for February, 2019, here's the challenge.

Be sure and let us know if you wish, or wish not to be tagged in posts.  As our memories and tech talent allow, we will try to comply.

Since most of us are of "a certain age," I have chosen song titles from the top 100 hits of the 1960s.

I am posting this early, to give us all time to think about it.

So, happy snapping.

February:

1. Brown Eyed Girl
2. Twist and Shout
3. Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch
4. Proud Mary
5. Ain't Too Proud to Beg
6. Mustang Sally
7. Ring of Fire
8. How Sweet it is to be Loved by You
9. I Can't Get no Satisfaction
10. Save the Last Dance for Me
11. Crazy
12. When I'm Sixty-Four
13. Here Comes the Sun
14. I Want to Hold Your Hand
15. With a Little Help From my Friends
16. I'm a Believer
17. Chapel of Love
18. These Arms of Mine
19. I Heard it Through the Grapevine
20. Georgia on My mind
21. Ob-La-Da Ob-La-Di
22. Eight Days a Week
23. This Magic Moment
24. Chain of Fools
25. Stop! In the Name of Love
26. Down on the Corner
27. Build me up Buttercup
28. What a Wonderful World

So, what do you say....as challenging as the idioms or not?  Looking forward to your pictures.

Souvenirs of the Season

I have been collecting souvenirs; small collectibles to store away as reminders of this season.  It has, so far, been a particularly fruitful time for these little acquisitions.  Most everywhere I have looked, I have found some little token to treasure. So, I share a few with you, with the wish that you, too, have a cache of souvenirs that bring you joy.

Dinner around my table with a group of people I greatly admire and love.  This group always reminds me that in spite of the darkness we see on the news and the idiocy displayed by various people in various walks of life, the world truly is getting better.  It is a trajectory of goodness on planet earth, and if we will just take our vocation of working alongside God with a Jesus attitude, we can make our way closer to Eden.  I give you a few statistics shared at my table during a lively, yet holy evening:

*in 1988 there were 23 ongoing wars in the world.  In 2018 there are 12.
*in 1988 37% of the world lived in extreme poverty.  In 2018 that number is down to about 10%, still too many, but progress is happening
*in 1988 there were 60,000 nuclear weapons in existence worldwide.  Today there are around 10,000

No doubt, there is work to do, but things are improving.  A precious souvenir to add to my collection.

A 3 hour lunch with friends.  Four women, all of whom were in the same wedding some 46 years ago and we perused the photos of ourselves from that wedding.  We were young then.  We are not now. Four women who have lived lives that have included great joy, bone-crushing sorrow, highs and lows, happiness and sadness.  Four women who sat in that booth in that restaurant and laughed and made connections and laughed even louder until a gentlemen came and said, "I don't know what you ladies have, but the world needs more of it."  Another lively and holy time.

A full day with my friend, doing nothing of much importance, just being together.  That day also included great laughter and deep talks about the things that matter to us.  A friend who can be trusted with one's deepest feelings is truly a holy gift.

A day with my mother and sister placing flowers on graves, followed by lunch.  There was great warmth and laughter in the day.  Mom felt much better about the graves being "dressed" for winter and not lying there barren, unattended.  Doree and I were so taken with the beautiful job we did, we talked about birthing a new business...Hubzer Grave Fluffers!  Tacky?  Maybe.  I love old cemeteries, but I am not one who feels the presence of the deceased in the graveyard.  But, that day, spent with my mother and my sister, contemplating how my grandmother would feel about the beautiful flowers on her grave and how my dad would be fussing at us for spending the money and for being out in the cold arranging flowers with a wire cutter that wouldn't cut tissue paper, made for a holy time.

An evening spent with women I love dearly.  We try to get together every month.  Our life circumstances are varied, but the one thing we do have in common is that we love our church family and we long to serve it well.  It was a sweet, holy time in the home of our gracious hostess.

Days with our sweet Violet dressed in her Christmas clothes, wearing Santa hats all day as if that is the most natural thing in the world for a girl to do.  Lunch at The Hermitage Hotel, an evening looking at Christmas lights, crafts and cookie making and cuddling while watching Disney Christmas movies (the same one like 8 times).  These days are going quickly and each precious moment is a holy moment for me, even in my fatigue.

The boys' enthusiasm for all things Christmas and watching them at time display such generous spirits, truly in the spirit of Christmas. There are days that I wish I could just freeze a moment and live there forever, but I cannot, so I'm going about collecting my souvenirs as reminders.

I sat at a table with people I did not know.  I had a bit of dread for the evening.  Mr. L's office party.  It was a most delightful evening.  Delicious food, amazingly generous people; people who live their lives to serve their family and their communities.  I chatted with people awaiting their first grandchild, people whose foster children have been returned to a bad situation with their father and these people do not let go and continue to be involved with the children and with the dad, people who work with CASA to help at risk children.  These things are not their paid jobs, but they are their vocation in life.  It turned out to be a God-blessed evening.

Two different nights we gathered with people we have known for years to enjoy delicious food and warm atmospheres and the love of friends.  I sat and looked around the homes where we were, homes that I have been going to for over forty years, and I felt a holiness of community.

The most holy of my souvenirs was a candlelight evening at church for Lessons and Carols.  The music was beautiful, the words preserved from long ago, the voices raised in praise and prayer.  A quiet and holy time.

There have been countless other souvenirs collected.  Opportunities to serve or participate in community or just sit at home in my cluttered den filled with Christmas joy watching yet another Hallmark movie, listening to Mr. L's quiet snores  Mornings spent with my dear daughter, an entire day with my precious son.  As my dearly thought-of minister is always reminding us ~ it is all gift.  Holy souvenirs, tucked away as reminders of the gift of the season and of each day I am allowed to walk this earth.

Wishing you a joyful Christmas and a peaceful new year.