A Red Letter Day for Little Miss Lou

March 1 is tomorrow - the day I’ve been waiting for all year long! 

This is the day that I will officially be on Medicare.  For the past year I have been uninsured, walking on eggshells, hoping that I wouldn’t get sick or injured.  And now, the day is almost here, and I can feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.

I didn’t think I would look forward to becoming 65 so much.  But under the circumstances, it looks like a pretty good number to be.  I guess I could say that I am retirement age, but realistically, my days of leisure are still a few years away.  Most of my visions of retirement evaporated into the mist last year, being replaced by one of continuing to work, earning a living, and preparing for that day when I will sit down in my easy chair, pick up my book or knitting needles, and watch the world go by from my window while I sip a cup of herb tea.  YUCK!  Is that my vision – REALLY??

Instead, as of tomorrow I’ll be insured (somewhat), still working, not yet drawing Social Security, and gazing at the world with fresh eyes, not from a window, but from a broader perspective.  My budget is tight, my jeans are loose, my head is clear, and my future is fuzzy.  I don’t know what this day will bring my way, much less the next year.  I am traveling a new road, taking in the sights, picking up souvenirs, and finding people (and animals) to travel with and stories to share along the way.

Now all I have to do is make it through today without tripping, falling, running into something, or otherwise causing injury to myself. I’ve done it for a year- I think I can manage it for one more day!

March 1 - HERE I COME!!

You Are My Sunshine

Last week my friend Kasey, who runs a dog rescue not-for-profit, asked me if I would be interested in fostering a dog she had rescued from Gwinnett County for a few days.  She told me that Peaches was a sweet little dog, and needed a good home. Kasey had pulled her from the shelter the day before she was to be euthanized. She had spent a few days at another foster home which hadn’t worked out.  Of course I said yes.

On Wednesday, Peaches arrived at our kennel after being spayed.  We placed her into one or our suites to rest overnight.  I would take her home with me on Thursday.

Off and on during the day on Thursday, I stopped by to say hello to Peaches so that she could get to know me.  When it came time to go home, she eagerly jumped into the backseat of my car, and settled down as if she had done it hundreds of times before.  When we got to my house, she followed me inside, investigated, and found the kennel I had set up in my bedroom. 

I knew from the get-go that I couldn’t call her Peaches.  It just didn’t seem to suit her.  On Friday morning when I opened her kennel to let her out, I said, “Good morning, Sunshine.”  I knew then that was her name.  The song, “You Are My Sunshine” started going round and round in my mind as I remembered my childhood, listening to my dad sing it every morning while he dressed for work.  Sunshine, she is.

By Saturday, I knew I was a foster failure and that Sunshine would be staying with me.  We have some adjusting to do to get to know each other, but she has wiggled and wagged her way into my heart!

She knows she is home, and I do, too.

Life As I Once Knew It

One year ago today, my life took a turn.  Actually it wasn’t really a turn, but more like an earthquake, or even a tornado.  My life changed drastically, and life as I had known it ceased to exist.

One year ago today I was placed in handcuffs and escorted to the Walton County jail where I spent a humiliating and humbling night, and came out a different person from the one I was the day before.

For the next few months I wandered through a dark tunnel, not knowing what my future would be, or if I would ever exit the tunnel intact.  During these months, the blinders were removed from my eyes, my trust and faith in the person I loved was destroyed, and I was stripped down to my core.  When I was able to sleep, my dreams were nightmares, most carrying an entrapment theme. I would wake up terrified and disoriented.  I didn’t know who I was or how I had landed in this dark, dark place.   I spent many hours writing in a personal journal, berating myself for my weakness, and generally wishing I could just fall into a hole somewhere and disappear.  I was on a journey I didn’t want to be on, and I saw no way to exit off of this particular highway.

As the months passed, small gifts came my way, enabling me to grab hold to the sides of the tunnel and begin walking toward the pinpoint of light I thought I could see in the distance.  I got a wonderful job, which took me out of my house every day and enabled me to concentrate on something other than myself. Friends and family began praying for me, encouraging me to get out of my situation, and cheering me on to take a step I was afraid to take.

In a moment of crisis in June, I knew I had to take the leap and leave the environment I was living in and escape to a new and yet-unknown future.  Again, with the support of friends and family, I stepped off the ledge, amazed to find a bridge beneath my feet leading me to a new life. 

It has been a horrible year.  I would never wish what I have been through on anyone, and I often find myself shaking my head realizing that all of this really happened to me.   I wasn’t the person I thought I was, and I let myself be drawn into something that I never in my wildest dreams would have ever conceived of on my own or even thought about as something I’d like to be a part of.  I was weak, naïve, trusting, and ignorant- none of which were good excuses for the predicament where I found myself.

It has also been a wonderful year.  I have been surprised by grace, encouraged by the love of friends, both old and new, propped up by my family, and strengthened by a faith that has grown by leaps and bounds as I have made discoveries of grace gifts placed on my life path at critical places, designed to help me and lead me forward.  My life today is rich and full, and I am thankful.

My nightmare isn’t over yet – it could drag on for several months to several years.  But I have embraced my new normal, put down roots into solid ground, and have chosen not to pay attention to the bad dreams.  I am living each day with a thankful spirit, and am determined to make my life one of paying it forward as a way of thanking all those who unselfishly poured out their love and support for me during this year.

Tomorrow begins another year for me.  I am a different person, I hope a better person, and a person closely attuned to God’s voice in my life.   I have wandered through the tunnel, and have found the sunshine once again.

Happy New Year to me!

The Jungle Fun Room - Unleashed

Saturday found me in Danville, Virginia, at George Washington High School, where Brian’s play, “The Jungle Fun Room”, was being performed by the high school’s drama department.  Brian warned me ahead of time that it was going to be “different” from other performances I had already seen, but I didn’t anticipate the rare treat I was in for!

We arrived early at the school for the 3:00 matinee, but there were already a few of the cast members there, anxiously waiting for time for the show to begin.  Enthusiastic and cordial, they greeted me with the warmth of an established friend – a few handshakes, and quite a few hugs.    They had been with Brian all week long while he conducted workshops with them and watched their rehearsals.  It was obvious that they were as in awe of my son, the playwright, as I was!

I found an auditorium seat to claim as mine, and watched from my place as the cast scurried back and forth, getting ready for the performance.  It took me back to my senior year in high school, when I was in the ensemble of “Oklahoma!”   I enjoyed the energy, electricity, and enthusiasm I was witnessing, as well as remembering the excitement I felt as a teen-ager about being in a stage production. 

Brian sat down beside me to watch the play, visibly on pins and needles and nervous, not knowing quite what to expect.  Together, we listened to the opening music and held our breaths as the stage lights came up, illuminating the stage and set.  The play began.

What a treat – a unique and rare treat!  Those kids interpreted Brian’s play in a way I never could have imagined.  They became their characters on stage, improvising when necessary over forgotten or missed lines, and helping each other out during tense moments, at times carrying their fellow actors through the performance.  They added things from their own imaginations as they became the characters they were bringing to life, skipping parts that either didn’t suit them, or those that they forgot.  It was not “The Jungle Fun Room” that I had seen in New York or Lexington, and it certainly didn’t strictly follow the script I had read and re-read as Brian’s proofreader while he wrote it.   But it was great!  The audience loved it, and the young actors had one hell of a good time on stage!

Afterward, at the cast party, I watched and listened as the kids reveled in performance after-glow.  A couple of them talked to me and shared dreams of their future with me.  A few adopted me as “Grandma”, and all were sad that it was over and time to say goodbye to Brian.

There are no written words to adequately describe the experience of this day.  “Unique” doesn’t begin to encompass what I saw, heard, and felt.  What is important to me as I record this day in my collection is that I shared it with my son, and that we now share a day in our lives that only the two of us can ever understand, appreciate, and re-live in our storytelling.  If we were able to recreate our adventure word-for-word and frame-by-frame, few would believe us!

The students of the George Washington High School “Jungle Fun Room” will live in my heart and memory as long as I live!

Little Blue, the Parakeet

On Monday morning, our groomer arrived at the kennel as she does every day, with a smile, sometimes an egg biscuit, and always an enthusiasm for life that is contagious.  However, on this day, she was somewhat subdued. I didn’t understand why until she put her case down and pulled something out from underneath her sweatshirt.

She handed me a tiny blue bundle, and asked me to keep it warm for her.  Tucked inside of a fleecy slipper sock was a beautiful little blue parakeet.  Pennie told me that it was her mother’s bird, and that it had been fine earlier in the morning, but she found it laying in the floor of its cage as she prepared to get ready for work.   Pennie’s mom is bedridden and lives with Pennie and her family.  The little bird, Blue, was her mom’s companion in her bedroom where she spends her days and nights.

 

I took the tiny bundle, and stroked Blue’s little head, talking gently to him, while Pennie prepared some kind of concoction to feed him through a syringe.  She also took one of our large feeding bowls and placed some bird seed in it.  When she attempted to feed Blue through the syringe, there was no response from the little bird, and it dribbled down its chest and onto the sock.

Pennie and I decided to take Blue out of the sock and place him in the dish with the food.  We made a small nest out of the sock, and placed Blue in it.  He moved a little and flapped his little wings a time or two, and then was still.  I touched him to feel that he was still warm and breathing, said a quick prayer to the angel of little birds, and we gently placed him on a corner of Pennie’s grooming table. 

The next hour was busy for me, as I checked in dogs for grooming and for boarding.  As soon as it quieted down in the office, I slipped into the grooming room to check on Blue.  When I touched him, I knew he was gone.  Pennie was bathing a dog, and asked me about Blue.  I told her that he had died, and she came over to touch him, to confirm what I had told her.   As I looked at this tiny, fragile creature, I thought about Pennie’s mom, and how this little guy had brought her joy and happiness as she enjoyed his company.  I wondered if Pennie would get another bird to replace Blue.

I also pondered on the fragility of all life.  Like little Blue, we are all here on earth for a moment, we touch the hearts and lives of others, we flap our wings hoping to fly, and we chirp our songs of thankfulness to our creator.  A tear meandered its way down my cheek as I touched Blue one more time and said good-bye.  Pennie told me that she would take him home and bury him in her yard when she finished her day at the kennel. 

I can still feel the small bundle that Pennie placed in my hand on Monday morning, asking me to keep it warm.  I can still hear my words of encouragement to the tiniest of God’s creatures, as I whispered to Blue and stroked his little head. 

I believe that Blue is somewhere out in God’s Heaven joyfully flying and singing a happy song. 

The Palm Pavilion- Clearwater Beach, Florida

Recently on Facebook there have been some postings about memories of growing up in the Clearwater, Florida, area.  Although I did not grow up down there, but moved there when I was 16, I was familiar with the area all my life, since my dad was born in Palm Harbor, and he and my mom both graduated from Tarpon Springs High School. We used to go down to Clearwater every year to visit our relatives, and a trip to the Palm Pavillion was always on our list of things to do. The following is a childhood memory that I wrote about in my first book.

The Palm Pavilion

The brilliant April sun shone on the bleached white sand.  A rainbow array of blankets, quilts, and towels decorated the wide beach, adding color to the stark brightness of the hot spring day.   Rustling softly through the palm trees separating beach from parking lot, a gentle breeze lazily floated past.  Seagulls soared and dived in joy, screaming in high-pitched voices to one another, white flecks against the aquamarine sky.  Mama and Daddy sat relaxed on our patchwork quilt, while Molly and I decided how we would spend our day at the beach.

I stood enthralled at the blending of sky, sea, and sand.  Wiggling my barefoot toes in the powdery sand and feeling the sun’s warm touch on my winter-white shoulders, a tingle of excitement made chill bumps pop up on my arms, despite the heat of the day.  I stood rooted in the sand surveying the panorama before me, amazed at the beauty and wonder of my surroundings.  Where should I begin my day?

Standing nearby as a giant oasis between sunny beach and steamy asphalt, the Palm Pavilion silently beckoned me toward its cool sanctuary.  Its weathered red-and-green-striped roof spread across the low-slung rambling building like a giant faded beach umbrella.  A wide wrap-around porch lined with a row of wooden Adirondack chairs offered shady rest for sun-baked beachcombers.

I scuffled through the deep sand toward the pavilion.  Two creaky steps up, and I was standing on the cool, shady porch.  The splintery floor was made of wide, rough planks spaced unevenly side by side, allowing sand from my feet to filter through to the ground beneath.  A row of bronzed leather skinned grandparents lounged in the deck chairs discussing the latest gossip, reminding one of chirping birds perched along a telephone wire. 

Flung open were two wide doors, revealing a dimly lit cavernous interior.  I stepped through the doorway, temporarily blinded until my eyes adjusted to the absence of light.  Above, two ancient ceiling fans rotated wearily, stirring the humid air.  Whiffs of buttery popcorn, spicy hotdogs, and greasy fries drifted enticingly in the breeze.

As my eyesight got used to the change in light, I spotted a wide counter along a far wall sporting rows of straw hats in lopsided stacks.  I cautiously approached them, careful not to bump into anyone laden with popcorn boxes or overflowing fizzing sodas.  I carefully picked up a floppy hat, placing it lightly on my head.  The world became a checkerboard as I peered through the loosely woven brim toward the open doors.  Giggling, I carefully returned the hat to its place on the stack.

On another counter near the beach hats sat dozens of brightly colored buckets and shovels, all child-sized for collecting ocean treasures and constructing elaborate sand castles.  Spotting a shiny royal blue one, I picked it up, rubbing my fingers over its polished belly.  It had a pearly white handle twisted into a tight braid.  Inside rested a canary yellow shovel.  It was beautiful, and it was exactly what I needed!  I pulled two crumpled dollar bills that Daddy had given me from my pocket, and headed for the cash register with my purchase.

The pail and shovel mine, I glanced around quickly to see if there were any more discoveries to be made.  Satisfied that further adventures could wait until lunchtime when I would try a famous Palm Pavilion chili dog, I skipped across the cool, gritty floor toward the brightness of the morning.  Waiting for me outside was a magnificent sandcastle yet to be created, and a bucketful of seashells washing up on the shore, to be discovered by one little girl.

2013- Off and Running

So, we are now almost a week into the new year.  I’m still not sure what to think about it or to be very excited about it.  But I am doing my best to be optimistic and hopeful.

The new year began for me with a case of laryngitis.  I’ve always heard that what you do on the New Year is what you’ll do all year long.  If this is true, then it will be a very quiet year for me!  I didn’t do much talking.  However, a phone call from a childhood friend was a surprise and a treat for the day, and if I have a year of reuniting with old friends, then that will be something pretty neat.   I also spent the day watching old movies, sipping on Irish cream, and taking cat naps.  A year of this wouldn’t be bad, either! 

On New Year’s night, I encountered one of my inner demons, as I awakened after a bad dream thinking about all of the uncertainties facing me this year.   I fought going into the dark tunnel of fear and terror with all my might, and with the help of a couple of good friends who are my sounding boards and listening ears, and a long walk in the mid-day sunshine, I was able to get off of the pity potty and shake off the depression before it could get its grip on me.   This morning I am baking bread, which is also helping me look forward with positive thoughts instead of negative ones.

On Thursday, I had a surprising experience that could have turned out badly, but it didn’t.  As I’ve told the story, it has brought on gales of laughter as I have related it to my co-workers.  I’ll share this with you, my reader.

I am chauffeuring a rather energetic and exuberant Golden Retriever to the kennel for day care every day for the next week or so while his owner recovers from quadruple bi-pass surgery.  Bailey is a strong, happy dog with very little discipline or manners.  While I am pretty strong and know how to handle most dogs, Bailey probably weighs almost as much as I do, and it can be a work-out to manage him.  What I didn’t know was how Bailey felt about cats.

On Thursday morning, when we arrived at the kennel, I got a good hold on Bailey’s leash before letting him get out of the car to enter the kennel.  It was early, and we were the first ones there.    All was going well.  We made it to the door, where I put him into a rare sit, and put my key into the door to open it.  What I didn’t realize was that Edmond, the kennel cat, was on the other side of the door, waiting for the door to open to go outside.  As I opened the door, Edmond darted out the only way he could, between Bailey’s front paws.  Bailey took chase, catching me off-balance and off-guard.  I went sprawling into the cedar shavings alongside the breezeway walkway.  Thankfully, the weight of my prone body slowed Bailey down, resulting in a short sleigh ride, minus the sleigh, leaving skid marks in the shavings.  Edmond escaped around the corner, and Bailey gave up chase.   I checked myself out, realizing that I wasn’t mortally injured, while Bailey looked at me with a “why did you stop me?” look in his eyes.  Brushing myself off, I escorted him into the kennel and into his run, promising him a come to Jesus talk later in the day.  I discovered that I was mostly uninjured, but had split the skin on my knee, underneath my jeans.  A band-aid did the trick, and I was ready for the day.  Since then, I have scoped out the territory before transporting Bailey through the kennel.  I’m a fast learner.  It only takes one time for me to learn that Bailey and Edmond should not be in the same proximity with each other! 

The highlights of my first week of 2013:  a little bit of the blues, a scary adventure that ended up being funny, and three loaves of cracked wheat bread baking in my oven.  Maybe it will be a pretty good year, after all!