Golden Years

I can't hope for life to get back to normal. In fact normal for my husband and me is boring. No sounds outside those from the TV and an occasional conversation. There is a lot to be said, about the Golden years that are not so golden in many ways. It is difficult to explain what normal is, for us anyway. We both come and go doing our own thing. Really my husband works about 3 days a week while I do my own thing. That doesn't sound just right, but I'll leave it at that.

The little boys nearly knocked their mother down when they saw her. I'm not so sure she didn't cry for them, when she found they were crying for her. Powerful thing - this mother child attachment.

Judy mentioned the mess the health care in the US is in. My husband will have Prostate Surgery this Friday the 17th, and I would be worried sick if we had no insurance. We do have a supplement along with SS. I'm concerned however, that many things are charged to Insurance that isn't true, but I'm not sure how to check behind the Doctor or Hospital. I have not received an itemized statement as it is taken care of between the Accounting department and Insurance Companies. I realize I could get one by request, but who thinks of it. Additionally how does one know what they used during surgery? or behind the scenes at the nurse station?

I do dread to think of what could happen in light of the national attention our health care dilemma is receiving. I can only pray the solution that "they" come to won't break the national bank.

I'm passing on a web site I was enlightened to this week-end. It is a lot of reading, but the speaker I heard is a lady I've known for 25+ years. Bess has a masters degree in biology, is a registered nurse, as well as other credentials. Knowing her, I realized she had no personal agenda for sharing her information. So I pass onto you the website for your review and judgment. http://www.watercure.com/


My daughter who is a massage therapist, agrees whole heartily the need for water is greater than we have been taught. She also talked about other issues that were of particular interest to me. I will order the CD so I can get all the information, as I was not writing anything down.

In the meantime, I have a small part in the Musical Oliver for our Conway Dinner Theatre. I've been so excited, it has been difficult to contain myself. I start rehearsals tomorrow evening. I'll have to blog about the experience, and my ease or difficulty in taking on a British Accent for my 3 line part of "Old Sally".

Until later, you have a good week.

Grammyof13

Cries of a baby!

I feel sure I have quite a few folk that will agree with me when I declare, "There is NOTHING worse than the sound of a little one crying for its mother." Be it 4 legged animals, or two legged ones the overwhelming grief of the cry rips my heart out.

I said that to say this, my other daughter's little fellows came home with me this past week-end. We had planned this for at least a year - and to talk about it - and plan for it was fun and sounded like a great idea. However when it came down to actually doing it - it was a little more difficult. As it turned out, they talked themselves into getting in the car and waving good-bye to Mom and on the road to ARK. We did fine until we had gone too far to turn around and go back when the tears started.

Bed time seems to be worse and for the past two nights the tunes of little boys cries for their Mommy rise and fall with the closing of day; and may as well came from the lost kitten in the night who can't locate its mom, or a calf who has been separated from his mother. The urgency is the same. "I need my Mommy to hold me".

I've decided that needs to be my next book, as I have had so much experience this summer. I may need your input in getting my characters named - but I can already see the ending. The little one is reunited with its mom and everything turn out well.

Which is what I plan for Thursday or Friday. Until then, we are going swimming today and who knows the darkness may bring another round of mournful cries from my two legged animals. Ahem! my two little boys.

Grammyof13

Celebrate with me the Freedom we share.

My Country, 'Tis of Thee", also known as "America", is an American patriotic song, whose lyrics were written by Samuel Francis Smith. The melody is that of the British national anthem, God Save the King or Queen, although Smith encountered it by way of a German adaptation. The song served as a de facto national anthem of the United States before the adoption of "The Star-Spangled Banner" as the official anthem.[2]


My country,' tis of thee,
sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing;
land where my fathers died,
land of the pilgrims' pride,
from every mountainside let freedom ring!

My native country, thee,
land of the noble free, thy name I love;
I love thy rocks and rills,
thy woods and templed hills;
my heart with rapture thrills, like that above.

Let music swell the breeze,
and ring from all the trees sweet freedom's song;
let mortal tongues awake;
let all that breathe partake;
let rocks their silence break, the sound prolong.

Our fathers' God, to thee,
author of liberty, to thee we sing;
long may our land be bright
with freedom's holy light;
protect us by thy might, great God, our King.

Grammyof13

More Than Fragments!

June 30, 2005 is etched in my mind as a day that from all intents and purposes was designed to set me free from a three year sickness of Asthma, Atria Fibrillation, congestive heart failure and allergies that plagued me.

It seems my second chance in life started about six weeks after that day. However, I've learned from those who waited patiently in the room designed for families, that five hours later they were still waiting. In fact 8 hours later they were still waiting, when on the 9th hour after I had gone into surgery they were told it was over. Periodically they were given updated reports on how I was fairing, but the waiting continued with everyone afraid to leave the area. I think of the love that kept the family there, rising early in the morning to be with me before I went in to surgery is very special.

I was not afraid, only anxious for it to be over so I could start mending. I wanted to get my breath without a struggle, the pounding feeling in my chest from the rapid irregular heartbeat to be gone. I wanted the itching to stop so I could have relief from the discomfort.

By July 2, my husband and I were alone at the hospital. I was dismissed on the 4th but waited until the 5th of July to start the long trip home from St. Louis to Conway. I could find no place to rest in the car, so needless to say I was exhausted and weary when we did reach home several hours later.

The Doctors had warned that it may take several weeks for the heart to settle down. I didn't want to hear that and wanted to prove him wrong. However I went home again to the Oxygen machine, the updraft machine, the continual coughing, and oh yes the itching I referred to as "internal" for it could not be satisfied by my scratching. The same as before, the swelling in my body made it difficult for me to get out of a sitting position without much excruciating pain. My skin broke open from swelling and began weeping. The skin had stretched as far as it could.

My sleeping position was in a lazy boy lounge chair with my upper body slightly laid back. My appetite was poor, but the fluid kept building even with lasix trying to flush me out.

My husband, my dear caregiver, was showing wear on his body. He tried not to show it, but he was losing weight from his secret worry. He knew from the first of 2003, that I would not make it unless someone did something to make me well again. Growing increasingly worse over the next two years, I too was weary of life. I began understanding how my mother and others must have felt when they gave up on life and wanted the end to come.

I tried to will myself to die many times, but was unsuccessful in my efforts. I was showing signs of renal failure to add to all the other things going wrong. Once on the way to the emergency room, the ambulance rushing through traffic, I went into Tachycardia, my heart rate could not be registered. It was upwards of 200 and climbing, it was then I relaxed my body and mind and gave in to death for some relief. I could not breath fast enough to keep up with my running heart.

2 Cardiologist, pulmonary specialist, primary care physicians, Thyroid Doctors, 2 Allergists, 3 Dermatologists, 2 surgeons and countless others scratched their head, consulted the computer, and basically watch me deteriorate without anyone agreeing on the best of care.

When after my cardiologist tried an ablation and found he could not do the job, he recommended a surgeon in Ohio that was experienced in Pulmonary Vein Isolation Ablation, where the pulmonary vein would be cauterized to relieve it of the electrical impulses. "However it is next to impossible to get an appointment as it takes several hours for one surgery, so no more than one surgery is scheduled daily. We might be looking at six months out."

I was about to lose hope until I realized I still knew how to pray. So I gathered round me those who believed as I did, that God could get it scheduled sooner than man, if not in Ohio than somewhere else.

June 30, 2005 was set (which was 5 months sooner than the Doctor had predicted.) And the choice was made to go to St. Louis, MO, the surgeon contacted and the surgery date set.

However 5 weeks after the surgery, on August 2nd to be exact (a date I will also remember always) I had tried laying down in the bed, only to get up around midnight and start my ritual of walking the house trying to find rest for my exhausted body, weary mind and rapid heart. My oxygen machine had a long tube that allowed me the freedom to walk the length of my house. By now I could tell no difference from before June 30. I was still very ill.

Eventually I lay down in my old familiar chair longing for rest. When all around me I felt a slight breeze as though someone passed me, then there was a presence, I could not see only sensed. I never questioned. I wasn't afraid. I accepted it as the angel of death. Death to me was not something to be feared, only welcomed.

My husband had heard my restlessness earlier and suggested that we call an ambulance who was always on stand by. I said no, as I had gone the day before and had my heart shocked back into rhythm only for it go get back to an irregular racing rhythm a few hours later.

So I lay there thinking of my life and what story may be told of me. I wanted it to be a life not wasted, but one lived with purpose. I don't know how long I lay there thinking, when I got up to find a different resting place. I chose the couch. I reached for my Bible, but realized I was too tired to process anything I'd read. Do not ask me how, or why, but I reached for the remote control and shortly the room lighted up with the most beautiful music. The scenes shown on the screen were, water falls of the most magnificent beauty; there were golden fields of grain ready for harvest; a field of roses, shown up close, the roses were perfect in size and shape, the mountains, regardless of what country they stood were superb in all their splendor. There were no man made houses or structures, only pictures showing God's handiwork.

The music played, and with each picture there was a Psalm placed in the corner of the screen. I began reading each psalm, wanting desperately for my weakened voice to hum along with the music. Soon, with each scripture and each song I read, something begin happening in me; a well of tears and praise started from the depths of my soul.

I didn't ask for anything, I only praised the maker of the wind, the Creator of the fields and mountains. It was not long until the storm that had been raging in my body for three years was slowly being replaced by refreshing peace and calm in my spirit, mind and body.

For two hours I drank in the scripture. For two hours I praised the Lord of Lords. For two hours I could have lost track of time, except for knowing what time I lay back down in my chair it was 4am. I slept soundly until eight o'clock when my husband came in and offered me a cup of coffee.

"I was visited by the angel of death last night," I told him.
"Do you want to go to the hospital?" he asked in loving tones. I knew I was still weak, and was not sure what they could do, but I submitted and the ambulance was summoned. My son Greg met the ambulance at the end of the road into my neighborhood and rode with me. Being a paramedic, he took things into his own hand and helped me talk with the Doctor about my window of time during the day when I felt almost human, but it did not last long. The ER Doctor instructed me to stop part of the diuretic and sent me home with few other instructions. They could not use the electrical defibrillator again for a couple more days.

However, I could not start home before I told my son about my "visit" the night before. (still thinking my visitor was the angel of death) "I was visited by the angel of death last night," I said barely above a whisper. He didn't flinch but asked, "Were you afraid?".

"Oh No," I answered. "I welcome death. I can't go on living like this."

Thanks for reading this far. Now I will finish. It was from that night on, (August 2, 2005) that I began mending. After a few days, the Oxygen gave me a morning headache. So I stopped using it. I finally got my lungs cleared of the mucous and quit coughing, no longer needing the updraft machine. My heart settled down and started beating in normal sinus rhythm.

I continued with the itching until this year. Medications were going against me all during the tumultuous years and I learned the hard way, that I developed an allergy to Aspirin as a derivative or an ingredient. In addition, I am highly allergic to sulfa in either form. With the new information, I am careful to ask the right questions before I take a new medicine.

What I've learned? Often we seek our healing and not the Healer. I was doing just that. Often we have the concept that God may do miracles for others but His supply runs too low for me. Then I am made to remember the fragments of left over fish and bread, and realize that what He has left in his reservoir of blessing and miracles is more than fragments for me. Its the Whole and Real thing! Amen

Grammyof13, still well and Thankful.

Gardens!

Can we talk about the weather? As usual I made a stop on the deck this morning, to watch the pesky squirrels and listen to the sounds of the morning. I could have stayed for awhile longer or until the sun covered me. The humidity is low and I am not sure what the actual temperature was, but it was soooo comfortable. Good weather for reading and drinking coffee.

We needed a break from the past few days of 95+ degree weather. It is difficult to breathe when it is that hot. We had to go out Saturday, and getting in and out of the car occasionally, was awful. I can understand those with Asthma struggling to breath in hot weather. God bless them.

Below is some pictures of my sister's flower garden. I've decided she must go out every morning and sing to her flowers. I can just see her, coffee in hand, and slowly strolling through the gigantic garden of well chosen flowers. I hope you enjoy.

There is no doubt at the hours of labor she has invested over the past few years. These pictures, needless to say, do not show her whole garden, with its Lilly ponds next to the house, the thinking benches setting periodically throughout, the yard art so expertly placed, and each flower chosen well to make a bouquet of colorful yet fragrant arrangements that only God with the help of my sister could do.

I guess I said that right. I think the gift of gardening or green thumb as its called must have been passed on to the others - and skipped over me. I'm not complaining, just truthing. My drawback is that I have very little sun, and the flowers that thrive in the shade are usually those with no bloom. Anyway, I love what I have done, but not enough to go walking in the garden in the cool of day, and "sing" to them. (Sorry sis, just had to say that).

It is natural, when we visit Tenn to see what else she has done to her garden. Also the garden of another sister who lives close by. Again, I could be envious of both their gardens, but try not to, so as when I make a visit I can enjoy the fruit of their labor with them. Setting on Martha's patio, ones eye is naturally drawn to the hillside where she has made a once rough area come alive with her choice of flowers and decor, and steps leading into the woods. I have no pictures to share, but may insist that she share some with me so I can share and do some bragging! Nothing wrong with that now is there?Martha has surrounded her home with a walkway lined with hostas and blooming plants. Then on the front side across the driveway, nestled in the dense shade of the trees, there is a gazebo, picnic table, and every semblance of a park. Wait a minute, I'm not through. Flowing along side the park is a rock creek, that begs for feet to go wading, or a child to go fishing. Beyond that is the county road that connects Long Branch, and Lewis Branch to Tennessee Ridge. That is the best I can do to show you the picture I see.

Nina, on the other hand keeps me abreast of her green kingdom, and these are the pictures she sent. I love the one with the morning sun filtering through the trees to shine on her home. Just proves my theory of the beauty of Tennessee. There is nothing like it anywhere on earth - well except for Arkansas the Natural state,

filled with untouched Mountains, Valleys, and rolling hills.

A

As I get into my week, I may come back to share again. Until then count your blessings - name them one by one, and it may surprise you what the Lord has done.Grammyof13

Comfortable In My Own Skin

Surely, many of you watched with an overwhelming feeling of "WOW" when, Britain gave us Susan Boyle, supposedly their second best talent who lost out only to a dance group. My emotions were pushing for expression in the form of water from my eyes, as I listened to this "plain Jane" single lady stand there when the sneers were televised from audience and judges.

She packed a wallop of a voice inside the simple exterior she showed to the world. In the beginning when she was introducing herself, forgetting words that would answer Simon's questions, no one could have known that one of the most mellow, angelic and beautiful voices ever to hit the London stage would come from her. It appeared, This church volunteer could not show them "Hollywood" know it alls, (my words) anything for they could spot talent just by looking at someone and she didn't have it.

Not so. The story is already told, but lately I have been thinking of Susan Boyle. I have even gone back to listen to her again and again and marvel at the combination of everyday woman and her flawless voice. A woman who - for all intents and purposes - is comfortable in her own skin. Had she not been, I surmise she may have gone to the beauty shop to have her eye brows thinned and trimmed, her hair cut and styled, and make up applied.

I wonder this - had she accepted herself as she was - flaws and all - and had no second thoughts the world would want anything more of her? She had confidence in what she had to offer, there was no need to change anything else as far as she was concerned.

Which brings me to my point. A question for me alone to answer. "Am I confident in my own skin?" At times I think not. Other times maybe, and still other times a flat no.

What makes the difference? My self esteem has often drug bottom, and the need for assurance and praise has been great. In fact there have been times, I needed someone else to make me feel worthwhile.

However, people fail us. And if they fail us often enough, there has to be a reservoir to draw from.

It happened to me many years ago, when I (with the help of the Lord of course) decided that I was not made of inferior material. I was not junk to be tossed around by well meaning people or thoughtless people for sure.

There was years of garbage that had been dumped in on my my esteem, and the garbage I had to dig through to actually see myself took a few weeks of digging. I hadn't known how bad I actually was, until the light at the end of the tunnel of garbage shown through even a little. I like what I saw of the real me, which gave me the courage to keep going.

It is a bigger story for sure, but none that needs to be re-told at this point. Here is why.

Last week I went to Senior discount day for a hair-do (hi light) and manicure. One of my daughters had gifted me with birthday money, so I opted to go to the Beauty school instead of my regular stylist. All my friends go there and have had wonderful success.

I somehow open my mouth, and insert foot without realizing the consequences before hand. My haircut was great, my nails were pretty. So what went wrong? My hair is the truest yellow I've ever seen. Can't even call it golden rod, it is yellow. My regular stylist has made it the same color also with the statement, "Well we don't want gray do we, that is why we color it?" I couldn't argue with her, and all in all it is very pretty when it settles down.

My senior student at the school did the same thing, only she brought too much through the cap to be "bleached" "colored" or whatever. So now I really do have yellow hair.

I could have thrown a fit, but that wouldn't have changed things.
I could have demanded my money back - I'd still have yellow hair.
I could have told her what a horrible stylist she was - but that would not have made friends or influenced people. In fact she was a good stylist - she just heard me say my regular stylist always made me yellow - and I figure she didn't hear the rest of what I said from that point on.

"I don't like it yellow - but her point was that I was trying to cover the gray, so why make gray even grayer?" I had said.

She didn't hear that part at all. So she is thinking, "I gotta do it like her regular stylist or it won't be right."

I'm thinking, "Oh surely she will hi light it in red or something."

To make a long story short, I figure the difference between a good hair-do and a bad one is about two weeks! So I am living with it without an ounce of worry about what people will say. I've decided they will not say it to my face unless it is one of my grandchildren.

Which they did, without pretence of not noticing. I had to laugh, for they were the only ones brave enough to say anything - I mean ANYTHING about my hair and its unique color.

While playing "I-Spy with my little eye" one came up with "something multi colored".
As I couldn't think of anything like that I asked for a dominant color. To which he replied "Brown". So I started guessing things with brown, and finally gave up. With a giggle then a laugh he said, "Grammy's hair!"

I laughed as hard as he did, for finally after almost a week someone was brave enough to say something and it didn't hurt my feelings, it only brought laughter. Maybe it was the way he said it, I don't know.

However today I thought of Susan Boyle. Not to compare myself to this gracious lady, but the thought was this "Maybe I am getting comfortable in my skin after all."

There are a lot of things about me I'd like to change, but it doesn't stop me from going out in public, enduring the stares for whatever reason. In the meantime, I'll continue to style my hair each day and watch as the golden rod yellow hues slowly fade. I'll also listen to Susan sing "I dream a dream" often as well.

In fact, she and I may have a kindred spirit.

Grammyof13

2009 Reunion

Traveling well is in the past for me. Doesn't mean I won't try again, and grunt with my back a couple days afterward. I think this week is my week to get in touch with the spine clinic, and see if there is anything they can do for my problematic back.

We were a year shy of completing our time frame for our buried time capsule. However the Patriarch of our family kept asking when the time was to dig it up - the decision was made to do it this year instead of waiting until next year. One year-give or take didn't really matter.


This was our first time for such a venture, so everyone had their own ideas as to the exact spot it was buried. The container we chose to bury our "stuff" in, may not have been the wisest choice - but hey - no one in the crowd had ever taken part in such a venture - so we accepted this as the best way.

So the digging began. First three strong men dug into the soft hillside dirt with a passion. However they quickly gave in to the machine after a little while. Remember it was 100 degree weather and any physical activity added to the already too hot humidity. (This wasn't such a good idea, we all thought silently, to do this now instead of fall,) but the dig and exchange of ideas continued.


Stopping to rest occasionally and regroup, my Brother-in-law Raymond went at it again. It wasn't long until the shouts of glee from the crowd of witnesses, went out that the capsule had been uncovered.


Little fellows who had no earthly idea what these weired adults were so excited about, began asking questions. It was lesson time for their parents and aunts who were close by when their mirage of questions started. And one word answers weren't good enough. They wanted to know why. I'm not sure we were able to satisfy their curiosity - hopefully one day they will understand the significance of it all.

The elements had not been kind to our container. But many things were salvaged. I wish we had a time of talking about what we had put in and why, but each one took their contribution they made many years ago, and walked away to look, read and remember. The fun time we had when we watched it sealed and eventually go into the prepared spot, was exchanged for what I would call a somber mood.


In the mean time Daddy was not satisfied until his treasured pocket knife was found. He wanted to see how it had faired all these years. The same pocket knife that had whittled wood into several Gun stocks for his grandsons.


He was patient up to a point, when he asked again, "I had a knife in there, did they ever find it?" Setting beside him, I tried to keep the crowd out of his view, as well as give him a minute by minute report on what was happening. His eye sight is very poor.

Eventually the packet which had kept the knife was found and presented to him. After one of the granddaughters cleaned it, he held it in his hands and began reminiscing about the gun stocks and how many he had made with his beloved knife.


He kept looking at his watch after that, and decided he needed to get back "home". He was unable to eat much lunch, and wanted to get back in time for supper. Maybe the food there isn't so bad after all! (my words, not his)

We had several of the grand-kids missing as well as one of my sisters and her husband. He naturally looked for everyone, and even though he may not be able to call each one by name, he can scan the crowd and see it isn't as large as it has been at other reunions.


As he was being wheeled away he raised his right hand toward the sky and said, "I may not get to be here next year, but I want everyone of you get right with God, and meet me in Heaven"! or something to that effect. He was not real vocal otherwise, only carrying on a conversation with anyone who stopped long enough to sit a spell and listen to his stories.


Still with his quick wit and a great mind, when asked "Arthur do you remember where we buried the capsule?", he answered as though he was needing someone to ask. "It sure ain't where you're digging!" It brought a great laugh to us all and he grinned his famous mischievous grin as well.


Such was the week-end which rolls around each year round father's day. A time as with most families, those who can travel the distance comes, and those who can't - well they can't. And even though each one was missed, I agree with Daddy. I may not - you may not - any one of us may not be there next year. But hopefully to follow Daddy's wishes, there will be a time (we have prepared for) when the "family circle" will not be broken, or no one will look around that circle and find another missing.


Grammyof13