Ladies Lunch

Last week, Candy invited me to join some neighborhood ladies for lunch. They planned to bring sack lunches and meet in the lot next to mine called the Commons Area. The Commons Area has a large red warning sign. “This is Private Property. No Trespassing.” The area has a 12-seater picnic table, two large trees, and a two-foot plastic wolf to keep the geese away. There is a small man-made lake stocked with fish and a nice water fountain. “No Fishing Allowed” is posted near the lake. The association allows three fishing days each summer. We fish as a community.

As I head to the Commons Area, it looks like Candy overbooked the 12-seater. I can hear 88-year-old Lou talking and see bodies shifting. Lou is the neighborhood rebel. She does not stop at the shiny new stop signs monitored by invisible police, she will not replace her mailbox by 2015, and she’s painting her front door a prohibited hunter green.

“Come on, Debi,” Lou yells. “You’re late. Sit by me.”

A fiery gold-streaked red head catches my eye, “Who are you?” she asks.

“I just said who she is,” Lou responds before I get a chance to answer. “Her name is Debi.”

Candy shoots me and Lou an exasperated look, then continues, “… so, in one appointment I find out I have skin cancer, might not be able to get another eye surgery, and my thyroid is funny.”

“Do you still have double vision,” Maryann wants to know.

“Yes, my vision needed to get better for surgery, but it’s worse. I might have double vision forever.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Evelyn says patting Candy on the shoulder as she hops up to show everyone an ugly woven rug. “Does anyone have extra sacks? I’ m making these mats for the homeless.”

Displaying the rug, she explains, “I use sacks. This strip is Kroger, here’s Meijer, and Wal-Mart, and Target, Macy’s and Penny’s. The orange strip is made from newspaper bags. I need lots of sacks.”

Candy asks, “How do you get the mats to the homeless?”

“You could drive downtown and throw them on sidewalks,” mumbles Lou.

“I think we should start a book club,” Candy says.

“How can you read with double vision?” Maryann wonders.

“I don’t have double vision when I read or drive.”

Sally loves the book club idea. “We could have it the 4th week of each month.”

“We have to read a book in a month? I can’t read that fast,” says Lou.

“Book club needs to be once a month, otherwise it will get confusing,” Sally explains. “We have Bunko night, euchre club, and bible study. That leaves the fourth week open. We’ll have book club the fourth week then we can see each other every week.”

Lou argues reading a book a month is ridiculous. She’s got to get her front door painted. Peggy, the new neighbor with the questionable reputation, wants to know if Lou is going to use Dean, the neighborhood maintenance man, to paint the door. Maybe the rumors about Peggy are true.

Being placed in the middle of the table, I hear everything.

MaryAnn and some of the ladies are worried about Tom’s car accident. They don’t know yet if Tom was drinking. If so, he deserves jail, but his poor wife is sick. It’s a shame.

Tom who? I’m wondering.

Sally’s rushing into the Commons Area with a big bag of sacks.

“What did I miss? Who was in an accident?”

“Where did you go?” Lou asks ignoring Sally’s question.

“I went to get some sacks for Evelyn. I also got dessert and some paper to get everyone’s email address for book club.”

“I’m not doing book club,” Lou responds.

“What accident?” Sally asks again.

“Who cares? It’s a soap opera,” Lou says. “Judy told me Chris is trying to send all the gophers into her yard. Chris bought a fake gopher snake. I could just as easily end up with those gophers. I live on the other side of Chris.”

Lou is irritated with the gophers, the soap opera, and the book club.

“Book club begins the fourth Wednesday in September.” Sally announces ignoring Lou and passing the paper for email addresses.

“That’s seven weeks away.” Lou calculates. “What are we reading?”

Lou and double-vision Candy are the first to sign up for book club. Maryann promises to email everyone if Tom was over the legal limit, although driving drunk is probably no worse than driving with double-vision. Sally and Evelyn are organizing sacks by color, and Lou and I are trying to figure out which way the gophers will travel.

I pass on book club. Bunko is enough.

Daughters and Their Babies

My Granddogs…

I babysit my granddogs same as my grandchildren. This summer I’m on my fourth week dog sitting. I’d never admit to having a favorite grandchild, but I’ll name my favorite granddog. Competing are Fat Bulldog, One-Eyed Poodle, Fat Blonde Pug, and Skinny Graying Black Pug.

Fat Bulldog easily takes First Place on my likeability list. He is the easiest to dog sit. He never wakes me up, barely moves, eats in the morning, never begs for more, never barks and sleeps most of the day. He’s afraid of sacks, never explores and minds his own business. He follows me enough to let me know he loves me but leaves me alone. I never trip over him.

Fat blonde pug is #2 on the list. He could have tied for first place, but he has more energy than Bulldog. I love lazy immobile dogs. Fat Pug is sweet, never barks, and squishes into a cage with his nasty black pug sister at bedtime. He’s obedient and grateful for attention. He looks a little bit sad most of the time. He has an auto-immune disorder, which left him unable to walk for a few months. He’s his mother’s favorite for good reason. His competition is his sister, Black Pug.

Bulldog’s sister, One-Eyed Poodle comes in #3. She can escape through my backyard fence, so she only visits. Poodle is a confident four pounder that likes to dress up and get her hair dyed pink. She thinks she is a Bulldog Boss. It’s her fault she has one eye. Poor Fat Bulldog didn’t mean for his toenail to catch on her eye when he batted her away from his face. That little sassy is like a flea. We all swat fleas. Poodle was not traumatized with the loss of her eye, which happened at my granddaughter’s slumber party. She’s still beautiful and her brother is still ugly.

Hands down skinny graying Black Pug is the nastiest granddog. She takes 4th or last place. She stinks, growls, and dominates other dogs. She squeaky-barks at five-second intervals most of the day. If someone looks away, she snatches their food. I’ve seen her many times sitting in a chair at the dining room table waiting on dinner. She is hyper and scratches to go in and out about every 15-30 minutes. She jumps on furniture, beds, people, and other dogs. She’s trying to starve her brother, Fat Pug. She guards his bowl and growls if he tries to grab a bite. Fat Pug goes for days without food because he’s afraid of his ugly sister. Even if Black Pug is locked away, Fat Pug is still afraid to eat because she’ll get him later if she discovers his bowl is empty.

I’m keeping fat Bulldog while One-eyed poodle stays with her pug cousins for two weeks. It’s been reported that Black Pug does not let poodle cousin eat. Fat Pug and Poodle were put in separate protective rooms with doors shut so they could eat. Black Pug circled outside the rooms like a shark. She is nowhere on my likeability list. Thank goodness she’s the oldest.

This Baby Boomers Real Life

The Bunko Neighborhood Committees

I had a man over tonight for about an hour. He parked in my driveway, walked through my house to the back porch, and drank a cup of coffee. That’s it. We kept our voices down. I walked him back through my house, and outside to his car. We stood in the driveway talking, while three women, who appeared within minutes, stood two doors down chatting.

“I think those ladies are watching us,” says my friend.

“Really?” I act surprised. “I can’t tell who it is.”

The women do not move from their spot. My friend leaves. I go inside and lock the door.

Before I get to the kitchen someone’s banging on the door.

“Did he forget something?”

I open the door to see MaryAnn and her dachshund, Lilly.

“Hi, Maryann. What’s going on?” I know full well what’s going on.

“I don’t want you to think I was spying,” she says as she works her way inside with Lilly and settles into a chair.

“Who was that man?” she asks.

“He’s a friend. How did you see him?”

“You didn’t see me? I came outside and accidently saw you with him. So, I ran back inside to get Lilly so it wouldn’t look like I was spying. I took Lilly for a walk and then two new neighbors came out to ask me about Peggy.”

“Who’s Peggy?”

“She’s another new one that moved in. She’s already got herself a position on the board. We’re getting lots of new neighbors.”

“How’d she get on the board?”

“I don’t’ know? She’s on the board. I met her at the gazebo lunch. She’s real loud and friendly.”

I can tell there’s more to come. Maryann leans forward and lowers her voice.

“One of the new ladies told me that Peggy dated her ex-husband. They wanted to know if I thought Peggy was nice. I didn’t’ want to say too much so I only told them Peggy put up a fence because she has friends over. I didn’t tell them that Peggy parties and drinks. I know about alcohol. I’m not a prude. But, I think Peggy is going to have loud parties and drink a lot. We could tell by the way she talked at the gazebo.”

“Maryann, you know everything.”

“Debi, this stuff just falls in my lap. I feel terrible. I don’t like to talk about people.”

“Maryann, that’s all you do. Without you I’d be so out of the loop.”

It’s true. We both laugh and so does Lilly.

“Oh, Sharon is out of town, but her dog’s home.”

“Sharon, next door to you? I don’t know Sharon that well.”

“Sharon is nice. She brings me food, and she’s really made her back yard look beautiful. She has lots of men help her. There’s a man at her house right now and she’s not even home. She’s in Louisville. Sharon rotates men. Different trucks, cars, men. She better be careful or they might run into each other.”

“Well, tell her if she wants to rotate one over here, I can give him some tree work.”

“Oh, I don’t think you want one of Sharon’s men,” Maryann says as she and Lilly head toward the door, then stop.

“One more thing.” she adds. “If I wanted to eves drop on you and that man, I could have.”

“No doubt,” I respond.

“I could hear you, but I couldn’t hear him. He’s kind of a quiet man.”

“I’ll tell him to speak up if he ever comes back. Oh, and if I ever get married, you’ll be my maid-of honor.”

“Married?”

I’ve lived in my Bunko neighborhood seven years. There are lots of committees and clubs. The ladies are busy. I’m only involved in Bunko, but there is a Euchre club, a Bible Study Group, a Social Committee, a Check-for-Signs-of-Life Committee, a Compliance Committee, Crime Watch, and a Man-Watch Committee. Maryann chairs Man-Watch.

This Baby Boomers Real Life

Bunko at Lou’s

May 2013 Lou hosted Bunko. She met me at the front door when I arrived and grabbed me by both shoulders.

“I didn’t think you’d be back.”

“Why”

“Don’t know. Just figured we’d not see you again. Go on in and have a seat.”

Everyone gets settled at their game table. Lou has two tables in her kitchen and one in her living room. Sue rings the bell and we begin Round One.

Lou yells, “Stop.”

She has decided we all need to be in one room. The people in the living room, which includes me, are told to move to the kitchen. We always obey our matriarch. We carry our drinks, snacks, dice, table and chairs and set up in the kitchen. My back is against the refrigerator door.

Sue rings the bell again. Round One. Twelve women are playing at three tables in Lou’s small kitchen. Only three women can actually get up so they become the waitresses, grabbing drinks and snacks for the other nine. Excited players are screaming, “One, two, three”, “Bunko,” and “21”. A big fuzzy di is throw through the air to a player if she rolls a 1-2-3. She can hang onto it until someone else rolls 1-2-3. Whoever has the fuzzy di at the end of the night wins a $1 prize. Competition is fierce.

One lady hides the di in her bra, “My bra brings me luck, I put all kinds of things in there.”

A man walks into the kitchen. Lou frowns.

“Wow, looks like Vegas in here.” He’s staring around the room and hones in on me. Crap. Who is this male hunter with a pirate ship tattooed on one forearm and large feather on the other?

“You ladies having a good time?” his eyes have not left me. I’m closest to his age.

Lou looks like she wants to smack him.

“Dean, leave.”

Dean ignores her. I’m rolling dice and Dean’s bent over almost breathing in my ear. All the ladies are smiling, except Lou.

“Doing good.” he whispers. “You’d be a good luck charm in Vegas.”

I turn toward Dean and my drink is knocked over onto my lap.

Lou isn’t happy. “Dean, I said go away. Sorry Debi.”

Lou’s partners get her back into the game. I’m on my own.

Dean grabs a towel and tries to clean me up. I push his hands away from my legs toward the floor. After he smears coke all over the floor, he makes me a drink.

“What is this?” I ask him as he pushes the glass toward me.

“Whoa, are you picky?”

I take the drink.

Lou is getting up, “Dean, you leave this room right now.”

“Later, ladies.”

Lou admits Dean is her son. He’s living with her for a while. Clearly, she’s not happy about it. What 80-yr-old mother would be happy still needing to discipline a son?

Bunko must go on. We finish so we can determine the prize winners.

As we leave Lou’s, Dean follows us out to the driveway. “Which way do you live?” he asks me.

“Way down the street,” I reply motioning with my hand as if I live in another galaxy.

Everyone on the driveway knows I live a few doors down, but none say a word. I see a few raised eyebrows and a few smiles.

As we head down the driveway, MaryAnn whispers, “I’ll walk around the block with you. The last thing you need is Lou for a mother-in-law.”

This Baby Boomers Real Life, Work at the Archdiocese

Day Off Work

I planned a productive day! Just because I don’t know how to do something doesn’t mean I can’t do it! After surviving an hour with a devil trainer at the gym, I’ve got the confidence of a tiger. I head straight to Sears to get a spark plug and filter to fix my lemon lawnmower. I feel lucky! I get home; get settled with tools, supplies and the mower. I can’t get the old spark plug off. My 78-yr-old neighbor sees me in the garage. She comes over to coach me. She has her dachshund, which looks just like her, on a leash. She quickly ties him to a chair, bends over to pull the plug off, and then tells me it’s stuck.

Forget the Mower!

I go to Lowes to buy a seal for the rocking toilet in the master bath. I’ve bartered with my son-in-law, Chris. I’ll watch his pugs; he’ll change the seal. The Lowes guy doesn’t know which seal I need so I buy two. I also buy a big manual hedge trimmer because my electric hedge trimmer almost electrocuted me last year when I got the cord caught in the blade. New plan: Trim bushes; tiger confidence intact.

Driving home from Lowes I get a text from a co-worker. There’s a problem at work, which delays me 60 minutes. It’s nearly 3:00 and nothing is fixed. All I’ve done is spend money and get caught by a co-worker.

Jan calls. “What are you doing?”

I tell her and she tells me I should throw the lawnmower into the pond.

My tiger confidence is gone. I decide I’ll go out on the patio eat lunch, read, and relax. The sun is shining. I strip out of my “public clothes” and put on my “private clothes”, which include shorts that are too short and a tube top so I can get a tan. Things are looking up.

I settle down with my lunch and book. I look out toward the pond and see a tree split in two lying all over the ground and on my fence.

Within minutes two big mountain men pop up from behind the foliage.

Want us to take care of that there for ya?

“I just noticed this tree 10 minutes ago,” I tell them. “I don’t know when it happened.”

Happened last night. My old lady woke me up this mornin’ and told me to go look for tree work. There was a power outage and big winds. I can get this all hauled outta here for …uh…. $300.

“I don’t have $300 right now. Give me your card and I’ll call you.”

What I don’t add is, Get out of here. I’m wearing a tube top. I want to eat my lunch and I don’t give a flying rat’s ass about this toppled tree right now.

Instead I say, “Hey, can you fix a lawnmower?”

No Ma’am, I’m not a lawn service.

“Okay, well my daughter told me to run it into the pond.”

Oh…you can’t do that or they’ll sue you for spillin’ oil in the pond.

It’s getting cloudy. I leave the mountain men, go inside, dump my lunch and look at the clock. Is it too late to go to work?

This Baby Boomers Real Life

Neighborhood Bunko Club

I’m the young pup in this neighborhood. I don’t play Bunko, but I’m going to tonight. My best neighbor friend wants to join the monthly Bunko club, but she’s afraid. I understand. This place is full of gossip…so many secrets with spies on duty 24/7. If I accidently leave my garage door up, I can be assured at least 2-3 neighbors will tour my house looking for my dead body, checking out closets, reading mail or whatever they do when they can run around unsupervised in my home. Hot gossip issues include messed up families (what kind of a mother was she?), old man boyfriends (she might be a slut), and serious curb appeal competitions (I had that fountain first).

Bunko night I look outside at our designated time to walk to the host’s house. In my driveway are seven women ranging in age 70 to 88. I join them and they tell me we are waiting on the new neighbor who wants my job. When she moved in she called to see if I could get her an application, asked me what I did, then told me she’d like my job. Before hanging up she told me she’d been in my house, but bought her house because she liked it better. She appears. She’s my age. She looks normal, but once she begins chatting it’s phone call deja vu.

We walk past about six homes and arrive. Inside there are several 50-60 yr. olds. Where do these women live? I want to meet them, but immediately 85-yr-old Lou says, “Debi, get over here. I want you to sit by me because you’re fun.” Who argues with a loud senior? I sit down. There are about 15 women standing around. There is a beautiful spread of food and drink; enough to serve fifty. The host begins moving women to different tables. Lou says to me, “Don’t move.” Then she tells her other favorites to “sit down”. I love a bossy old lady.

By 7:30 we are all settled and ready to begin Bonko. Lou is keeping score, but she has it so screwed up… she says we’ll guess our scores. Okay. We finish our game. Even guessing we all lose. It’s 9 p.m. and everyone is tired. They split up the goodies and head home.

I’m thinking – “I hope when I grow up, I’m just like Lou. Kind of bossy and a little crazy.”

Oh…the younger ladies live on the other side of the neighborhood. They did not laugh nearly as much as me and the old ladies. Hmmm…maybe I’m blooming where I’m planted.

My Life - How I think and how I live...

ANGER…

Anger is typically not one of my outward emotions.. sometimes I don’t even recognize my anger. I mostly avoid displaying anger. That doesn’t make me any less angry than the one who rages, sabotages, or blames. I have learned to look closely at myself. If I increase food and decrease exercise; chances are something has me upset. Anger is stressful and dangerous if not identified and resolved. Whether righteous or unfounded, anger causes stress.

The following wise words help me understand anger.

Aristotle (384-322 BC) – Greek Philosopher – Anyone can become angry. That is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose and in the right way – that is not easy.

Leo Buscaglia – Don’t hold to anger, hurt or pain. They steal your energy and keep you from love.

HW Longfellow – If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm any hostility.

Marcus Aurelius – How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it. Consider how much more you often suffer from your anger and grief, than from those very things for which you are angry and grieved.

Chinese Proverb – If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow.

We can handle anger biblically by communicating to solve the problem. There are four basic rules of communication shared in Ephesians 4:15, 25-32:

1) Be honest and speak (Ephesians 4:15, 25). People cannot read our minds. We must speak the truth in love.

2) Stay current (Ephesians 4:26-27). We must not allow what is bothering us to build up until we lose control. It is important to deal with what is bothering us before it reaches critical mass.

3) Attack the problem, not the person (Ephesians 4:29, 31). Along this line, we must remember the importance of keeping the volume of our voices low (Proverbs 15:1).

4) Act, don’t react (Ephesians 4:31-32). Because of our fallen nature, our first impulse is often a sinful one (v. 31). The time spent in “counting to ten” should be used to reflect upon the godly way to respond (v. 32) and to remind ourselves how the energy anger provides should be used to solve problems and not create bigger ones.

Work at the Archdiocese

St. Francis of Assisi

THE SECULAR ORDER OF ST. FRANCIS

Since without good reason, I rarely turn down a request for help, I have been assigned to promote a series on little known vocations within the Catholic Church to single people in the archdiocese. This week we had the second of six monthly meetings. We heard from a Consecrated Virgin, or Bride of Christ, and a gentleman in the Secular Order of St. Francis. I was grateful that through no effort of my own I had the opportunity to hear this man speak and educate us on the convictions of St. Francis, since our new pope chose the name Francis.

Pope Francis I, although a Jesuit, has modeled his life much like St. Francis of Assisi.

The Secular Order of St. Francis – Based on the Work of St. Francis of Assissi

Poverty – Work the fields – (similar to Mother Theresa)
Social Justice – St. Francis had an abhorrence toward lepards and experienced a real conversion while helping them.
Simplicity – Anything owned can easily be lost without a care. Attached to nothing.
Preaching – St. Francis was very charismatic – he laughed and sang, and danced and spoke freely of his love of God without judgment of others.
Creation of God – God is the source of everything. St. Francis loved everything and everyone and every animal. He was the first to bring all live animals into the church for a live Navitity.
Community – We need a sense of community as followers of Christ. The community of men who were with St. Francis carried on the secular order after his death.
Recognition of the Catholic Church – St. Francis through deep faith protected the church. Many people have a problem with the pope or the magisterium, and think “I am not Catholic”. Many go in search to later realize what they are searching for is what they have been the whole time.

After the meeting, Bob and I spoke about the Secular Order of St. Francis. I asked him about the main focus of his order. He reminded me that St. Francis said “God is the source of everything”. He told me the biggest part of his life is prayer. Formal prayer is great because it helps to keep us centered, but our prayer must go deeper.

Prayer is communion with God. Prayer is part of you. I asked how to pray. “What if we want something?” Bob said to think of it as talking to your mother. Possibly you have cancer and you beg your mother to take it away. She may say, “I cannot do that, but I will be with you. I will make it easier for you and I will help you.” That is what it is like when we talk to our Heavenly Father. He may not do what you ask, but he will help you with what you must endure. God’s will is already determined, but ask for clarity, strength or help and it will be given.

ABOUT ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI

St. Francis had almost a child-like love of all creation. He did not judge anyone for what they did because he did not know them. Only God knew them. St. Francis was never a priest because he did not feel worthy.

St. Francis did not believe we were saved by faith; instead faith was the starting point on the journey to salvation.

James 2:14-26
14 What does it profit, my brethren, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can faith save him? 15 If a brother or sister is naked and destitute of daily food, 16 and one of you says to them, “Depart in peace, be warmed and filled,” but you do not give them the things which are needed for the body, what does it profit? 17 Thus also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.to salvation.

St. Francis was born in Italy in 1182 to an upper-middle class family. He was a leader in town enjoying fine clothing, good food and drink, singing and dancing. He was expected to become a cloth merchant like his father.

Francis joined the forces from Assisi. When he was twenty, he was taken prisoner. A year later, sobered by jail and sickness, he underwent several religious experiences. In one of these, while he was praying he heard a voice from the crucifix telling him, “Francis, go repair my house, which is falling in ruins.” Francis went quickly back to the city, sold his horse and some cloth from his father’s shop and gave the money to the priests.

Francis’s father, furious that his son wasted his money on churches and beggars, took him before the bishop to bring him to his senses. When the hearing began, Francis took off all of his clothes, gave them to his father (the astonished bishop quickly covered Francis with a cloak), and said that he was now recognizing only his Father in heaven. He lived his life from this time on without money.

Francis believed “God is the source of everything”. He founded the religious order known as the Franciscans. The force of his personality held the group together. He insisted that the poverty he felt was so important: the order could not possess money; all its houses must be simply furnished; and each Franciscan could have only a tunic and cord (Francis himself wore an old sack tied at the waist). Francis went to Rome in 1223 to present the new rule to Pope Honorius III, who approved it wholeheartedly.

While he was praying on Mt. Alvernia in 1224, Francis had a vision of a figure that looked like an angel, and when the vision disappeared he felt the wounds of the crucified Christ in his hands, side, and feet. He was careful not to show them, but several close friends reported after his death that Francis had suffered in his body as Christ had suffered on the cross. His last two years were lived in almost constant pain and near-blindness. He died in 1226. Two years later he was made a saint.

Daughters and Their Babies

Christmas 2012 – Prep to Finish

The night before Christmas and I’m in the kitchen making deviled eggs. Beautiful, until most of them slide off the tray onto my dry-clean only kitchen Christmas rug. It’s okay. I have good gifts.

Christmas Morning. I make everyone’s favorite dish. We may not have eggs, but we have the crowd-pleaser. As I remove the mac and cheese from the over, the foil pan buckles. My traditional dish has turned to slop all over the oven door, in the hinges, in the oven and on the floor. I’m O for 2.

I’m a very good mother, but I’m a mess in the kitchen. About all I can do is wash dishes. When the oven cools I clean up the pile of macaroni, but the gooey cheese is a challenge. I hit the “auto-clean” button on the stove. I’ve never baked enough to need an auto-clean, but there is a first for everything.

Christmas is going to be great. Yesterday, my daughter, Jill, told me she was bringing food for Christmas. I reminded her I was making everything. She told me it was backup food, and then reminisced about the Christmas Eve when my prepared dinner was so difficult to swallow we all agree to brave the cold night to go in search of food.

While the oven is cleaning, I’m in the master bath doing my hair/makeup. The smoke detector goes off. My alarms are 20 ft. from the floor. I leave the bedroom and my whole house is in a thick fog. Smoke is pouring out of the oven. I open all the doors and windows and turn on all the ceiling fans. For the next 10 minutes I run through the house flapping my arms hoping the circulation I’m adding by fanning placemats will satisfy the alarms. It works.

Why is the oven door locked? The timer says I have four more hours of auto-clean with smoke shooting out of the top-back of the oven. I hit the OFF button. I can live with a dirty oven because I’m never using it again. I’ve got to leave the kitchen; the day is becoming “R” rated.

I return to my bedroom, where I’m staying until something happens… like I can breathe or I’m rescued.

A few hours later the kids arrive. They come in and they begin debating why my house is so cold and stinky. Jill says she needs eye drops to tolerate the air. Jason stares at my oven, which looks burnt on the outside. He says I can fix it with engine paint. Jill adds her backup food to my lone soup dish. We begin our celebration.

It’s time to open gifts. I get wet trash bags from under the sink. Hmm… must have spilled Windex or something. First gift is opened, my granddaughter, Dee loves it.

I say, “That’s not for you, give it to Jan.”

Dee opens her second gift. “Oops, that’s not yours either.”

I didn’t use name tags because this year I was grouping gifts to put them in bags, but I messed up my system. I tell the kids to open gifts and I’ll tell them who gets what. It worked great except 4-year-old Henry kept asking for more gifts. I think, he’s exhausted and can’t remember what he’s opened.

“No, Henry. No more gifts. You’re finished.”

Gifts are everywhere and the pile system is no better than when we started. Gifts will end up with the wrong people in the wrong houses…all except one, a real squirrel from the hills of Montana. The squirrel is going home with Jason. I’ve yet to buy Jason a gift he likes. This year I went with a theme; a squirrel welcome mat for the front door, a gift certificate to Outdoor Hunting and a squirrel. He would like it or hate it, but the feeling would be intense and he’d remember it. He is now the proud owner of a tiny red-mountain squirrel.

The day is done. We’ve opened great gifts, we’ve ate an abundance of sugar, good soup and great food, we’ve played with toys. It’s clean up time.

Jill says, “Mom there’s floating water in the cabinet under the sink.”

She empties the cabinet. She and Jason are under the sink with a flashlight and wrench. Wet boxes and gross old bottles are all over the floor. The counters are covered with leftovers and dirty dishes. The sink can’t be used or fixed. I need a plumber. Everyone is tired, especially the babies.

I say to Jill, “Just let it go. I can clean all of this up later.”

She replies, “No, Mom, you’re old. And that’s scary.”

All of my children are looking at me like it’s hopeless. I know they wonder how I drive, eat, breathe, work and survive when they are not with me. They clean up the kitchen, haul away all the trash and bid me farewell with best wishes and thanks, while looking a little frightened.

I go upstairs to turn out the lights and see Henry’s Christmas presents. Poor Henry, he kept asking if he had anymore gifts because he was worried I might like his sister better. I’ll need to visit Henry soon and explain how my system failed him.

Christmas Night, I can’t cook or run water in the kitchen, but what matters is I have beautiful children and I know how to build memories they won’t forget. Someday they’re going to miss me, but most of all someday they’re going to understand me.

Tears

Before and After

Matthew Richard VanVelse

People in my life are hurting. It’s the kind of hurt that changes people. The sudden death of a 31-year-old, pending death of a 32-year-old, a 60-year-old living with ALS, and a 16-year-old lost in a car accident.

Two are family members, one a friend’s son’s fiancée, and the other a co-worker’s daughter. Three young lives finished and one woman’s horrible demise.

There is nothing I can say or do to make more than a minute’s difference. It won’t be okay. Time will not heal all wounds. There is a top ten list of things not to say and I know them. The best I can do for them is to accept their feelings of hopelessness. They do not need me to fix, explain, rationalize, or try to cheer them. It is what it is.

Earlier in the year my dear friend’s son found his beautiful fiancée dead. He thought she was asleep. He shouted to her from another room. He went to her and tapped her shoulder. She wasn’t breathing. He called 911. He moved her to the floor and did CPR begging her to wake up. She was dead. Young healthy women do not die on couches. There will always be a before and after Melanie died.

My nephew is dying of cancer. All treatments exhausted. His mother is in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer. She needs a blood transfusion. Grief is making her sick. Her son’s death is right around the corner. He is afraid to die. He is worried about his mother. You can’t die when your mother is in the hospital and you know it’s because you’re dying.

My cousin has ALS. She smiles. Her tears are saved for her husband. She tells her story on a website called Caring Bridge. After she invites you, you can read her updates. When she was diagnoised I reseached ALS. There had to be an experimental drug or new treatment. Wrong. There is a quick steady loss of all body function, but the brain remains in tact so she can be fully aware of her demise. With ALS you plan ahead. The trachea was put in place before she needed it. No question about needing it. The day will come; and it did. ..in the past 12 months she has lost the ability to walk, talk, and eat.

My co-worker’s daughter’s funeral was yesterday. She was sixteen. She played softball. She played the flute. She was the middle child of three. She had plans to meet some friends at the mall. Instead, she died in a car accident. Sudden loss. There were hundreds crowding the church, all in shock. Her parents will never feel whole again.

I am numb; filled with sadness for these families. Their losses are so devastating that there will forever be a before and after.

Follow-up: My 33-year-old nephew, Matt VanVelse, died on January 14, 2013. My 60-year-old cousin with ALS died in February 2013 and another cousin, Jeff Hawkins died in April 2013, when his fiancée back up over him with her car. My sister-in-law, Kathy VanVelse contracted ARDS in March and was in a drug induced comma for weeks and then remained unresponsive for months with a 10% chance of survival. She is recovering. It’s mid-August and she had her first outing this week. She’s very weak, in a wheelchair, but a living breathing miracle. Praise God…praying for her complete healing.