After the showers have gone.....

Johns' Explorer made the perfect Ice Pack this morning. Crackhouse Puppy needed to go out, so I gingerly slipped on my Crocs, threw on my shawl and carefully stepped outside. While waiting for my buddy to get down to business, I leaned against the car....Ice Cold, and the perfect height. It hit most of my parts that are screaming with pain this morning.
   It's been a Hell of a week in the Kennedy household....actually, a Hell of a two weeks. Mr. Kennedy had a serious allergic reaction to a sulfa antibiotic he was taking to ward off any nasty infections, after he cut his hand at work and became the recipient of a number of stitches. Babiest girl has Pneumonia. Baby Girl has some weird virus that settled in her eye and stomach that also produced multiple days of hives....and me? Well, I fell out of the attic on Tuesday. (This being Thursday, I am REALLY feeling it today....).
    I decided to take advantage of Baby Girl being home on a school day, and enlist her to help me with the Thanksgiving decorations...which, of course, were in the attic. She was up in the attic, getting the boxes and handing them to me for transport down the ladder (One of those nasty pull down things). Standing on the next to the top step - my body in the attic space - I reached for the box, and in the blink of an eye, the contents in the box shifted as I grabbed hold and knocked me off balance. Shift to slow motion. As I fell backwards, I twisted in mid air - grabbing for the art piece that was hanging on the wall to my left - sending it crashing to the ground. I followed. The good news is the box fell on top of me - I cushioned it's fall, so none of the contents were destroyed! I heard a screaming in my head...I assumed it was my scream, but it belonged to Baby Girl - she thought I was dead, because evidently I was neither moving or breathing (Having had the wind knocked out me). She jumped from mid ladder (She will be seeing the orthopod on Monday - she did something to her foot!) "Mama....MAMA!......are You OK?!" Me: "I......don't.......know. Go get Debbie". About that time, Babiest girl (having dragged herself off of her sickbed : i.e. Recliner) comes screaming up the stairs. There I lay....face down, trying to asses the extent of my injuries - feet...really bad. Hip....pretty bad.....Left arm.....agony.....Head.....still attached.
  Baby Girl must have flown across the street, because suddenly she was back with my neighbor Debbie - a nurse. She looked me over, and shared my concerns over my feet, arm and hip. I sat up slowly, and we determined my hip was not broken....feet blue and swelling....arm excruciating. John made the 20 mile trip home from work in record time, and we were off for Xrays.
   Barefoot and shaking, I managed to get myself into the wheelchair at the medical facility (Which shall not be named, to protect the innocent). It was raining - a cold rain mixed with a few snow flakes. By the time John wheeled me inside, I was damp and freezing.(John was so sweet....he laid an old towel he had in the back of the car on the pavement, so I wouldn't get my feet wet as I stepped down). The receptionist, who was expecting us thanks to a call from my neighbor, got right down to business. Name? Date of Birth? Address? Insurance?................... silence...........because, of course....we have none. Since John lost his job 4 and 1/2 years ago - we have been among the ranks of the uninsured. He works 6 days a week in a commission only job. They, of course OFFER insurance, but to pay the premium - many months that would be more than John brings home....he would owe his employers money. I am not eligible for insurance at my job, because I am not a full time employee. We have been able to supply the kids with insurance...but us? Not possible. So we have done what we have always done in our life together. We have made the best of it. Most days, while I ALWAYS think about it, I am able to deal with it.....even when friends and family make snide remarks about "Lazy no good people trying to bilk good tax paying folks out of their hard earned money." Even while I read post after post on Facebook containing cruel, hateful, ignorant rantings about "Obamacare", and how "those people" don't deserve to be insured if "they" don't work for it.
    I have been advised more than once to keep my political leanings to myself, and out of the public forum. Wise advice, in light of what I do for a living. Advice that I generally adhere to, because I have no desire to hurt anyone's feelings, or make them feel uncomfortable ....But that Tuesday afternoon, full of fear and in excruciating pain,  under the sneer of the receptionist who, looking down her nose at me said..."Oh we do NOT serve uninsured patients here."....well, something broke inside me. There she stood - this girl who I am CERTAIN had far less education than my husband and I do...this girl that had poor grammar and even poorer posture, with one glance passed judgement upon us as unworthy....as some of "those people".
   I fought back tears in my shame.....I was embarrassed beyond measure - by this time, people in the waiting room were staring at us...trying to get a look at the "freeloaders". I couldn't even look at John....I couldn't bear to see the pain in his face....the pain that I knew full well was there. Mortified and shaking, I started to say "Let's just go home",  when the receptionist said with a put upon air "Well, let me call upstairs....sometimes they see the uninsured up there". Thankfully, there was a compassionate person on the other end of the phone, and they agreed to see us (after a very large upfront payment). The Doctor was kind, and Thank You Jesus, nothing was broken, which was miraculous, given my age and the height from which I fell.
  Perhaps I should say, no bones were broken...because something in me DID break on Tuesday. My shame and embarrassment turned to anger somewhere around the 3rd of many XRays.
   I don't know any person who works harder than my John. He works 6 days a week at his full time job, then does furniture repair on the side. He also mows lawns and anything else he can find to do. He is a person to be admired and respected, because he refuses to let himself be dragged asunder by our circumstances. I too, take as many paying jobs as I can find, in addition to my work at the Church. Acting gigs, singing gigs... whatever pays (and is legal!), well - you can count me in!
   I say this, not to elicit sympathy, or pity....but to say, "I'm mad as Hell, and I'm not going to take it any more". Each snide or careless comment or FaceBook post has taken a little chink out of my soul. I only ask, that before you post that Meme about Obamacare.....or go on a two paragraph rant about "those people"....or stand around in a group and loudly discuss those good for nothing folks that don't have insurance, I only ask that you think.....that you see my face, or Johns face, and remember that there, but for the grace of God YOU might go. We never in our wildest imaginings would have dreamed that at our age, and level of education and work experience we would find ourselves in such a spot - but here we are, and here we have been for quite some time.The AFFORDABLE CARE ACT is, at this point, our only hope for insurance.....and it's not just us.....it is millions like us.....hardworking people, trying to do their best with circumstances beyond their control.
  So yes....I did break something on Tuesday....and in a way, I am glad. Because I will no longer be ashamed, and afraid that someone might "find out" that we have no insurance. And if you are among my friends or family to post something hateful on FaceBook, or engage in a conversation in my hearing, rest assured that I will be privately sharing with you my point of view. Not in a public forum such as you have used to chip away at my self esteem, but privately and intently. I will defend your right to believe as you choose -I always have, and I always will....but I will no longer stand quietly by and say nothing, as you  have a go at "those lazy people", for as my Mama taught me, "By saying and doing nothing....I HAVE said and done something - something contrary to my beliefs".
  Thanks be to God, for the mercies of this week....for another chance to Keep on Keepin On.....for "hope, of  the sunshine tomorrow, after the showers have gone"......

Nine Flights Down....Nine Flights Up......

   So, I'm sitting here before bedtime - eating a Chocolate BB Bat, and drinking a Coke. Not in despair over a three week plateau (I'm stuck at 73 pounds gone), but at the end of a cheat weekend, in honor of my belated birthday trip with the whole family....All five of us - together - my favorite thing! We started the weekend off with a college tour for Baby Girl. In the Mountains, but not College Boy's mountains - further south, and west. After the tour (we all LOVED the school - it is a real contender!), and a late supper, we discussed the options for our Saturday adventure. Hiking won the popular vote. In years past, I would have been the lone dissenting voter - mountain hiking? Not my thing. In years past, Four Kennedys would have trekked away - turning back to wave at me, as I settled down with my book, on a bench close to the trail head.
   But yesterday morning, I laced up my fancy hiking boots (Found new, at the Goodwill! 150 dollar boots for 5 bucks!), donned my AppState Sweatshirt (a  birthday present from College Boy...did I mention that it was size LARGE?!?! Not even an "X" in front of the "L"!), and bounded down the the stairs of the borrowed cottage. As we pulled out of the driveway I grabbed  the "Transylvania County Waterfall Guide", and read up on the trail. "Difficulty - moderate to high"......hhmmmm......"4 mile scenic hike"....hmmmm......Commence the internal pep talk. "You've got this....you ZUMBA for goodness sakes....your new motto is Keep on Keepin On......"  Buoyed by my own inspiring words of wisdom, I settled in for some serious scenery watching. Even with the GPS, we had some difficulty locating our intended location - DuPont State Forrest. After a few wrong turns, and finally, a quick stop to ask directions, we pulled into the Parking Lot at the head of the trail (And, not a moment too soon - I forgot to mention the two cups of coffee I drank on the ride over....and Lord have mercy, let me tell you about the line at the bathroom....I finally had John stand watch outside the Men's Room while I went in.....what?......I am not proud.....) A quick picnic at the car (No tables...it is a Forrest, NOT a park, as we were told by the volunteers in the visitors center....), and we were off. Emboldened by my store bought walking sticks, I took the lead. Up hill, down hill....the Fresh Air Mountain Smell was intoxicating. It was grey, damp and cool - my favorite! I will stop here, and share with you my theory - when they are making these hiking trails, they like to lure you in with a false sense of security....modest inclines and descents....so minor as to barely be noticeable.....until you are too far in to turn around, and then.......Lord help.
   We were gaining speed, as we walked down the first major incline - I was loving life - smiling and greeting people that we passed...until it occurred to me - What goes down, must go up (In hiking, that is....). We heard the first waterfall long before we saw the sign for it. Triple Falls...such a utilitarian name for such a miraculous sight. We took a right, following the arrow....and then, I saw the stairs. They went Straight down the side of the mountain....I offer not one shred of exaggeration here when I say that from the top, you could not see the last of the stairs. My entire family turned as one, looking at me questioningly. Inside, I was screaming "NO,NO, NO....you CAN NOT DO THIS". I put on what I hope was a pleasantly brave face, and nodded towards the steps - "Let's Go!". One step at a time, down I went - making note of the sturdy benches built into the railing, at every other flight. I comforted myself with the promise that I could sit down whenever I wanted or needed to. After what seemed like an eternity, the staircase made a final turn, and there before me was a natural wonder more beautiful than any I had ever seen. I stepped down onto one of the massive stones, and burst into tears. Never in my life as a Mother had I been able to share such a thing with my children....the majesty.....the awe inspiring roar....the delicious spray of water as one Fall pooled and then spilled into another, and then another....one by one, my babies patted and embraced me - John took my hand, beaming from ear to ear. For a moment, all of us stood still - enfolded in the victory. The kids scrambled over rocks, right up to the falls - but John and I sat, side by side on a beautiful boulder - silent, each with our own thoughts. Mine ranged to the miraculous - the miracle of God's handiwork - the majesty of our surroundings. The miracle of those three precious humans that are mine - playing together, as if they were small again - my heart bursting with love and pride. The biggest miracle of all - that I was able to be there with them - a feat which, 6 months ago would have been an impossibility. We stayed a long time - reveling in the moment. Pictures were taken, and then....the ascent. 9 flights down......9 flights up. I would be lying, if I said I wasn't nervous....truth to tell, I was slightly panicked. I developed a rhythm. 2 flights...stop and rest. 2 more....stop and rest.....as I reached the top, John at my side, I was greeted by the faces I love most..... each wearing a look of pride, joy and disbelief. Laughing, we turned to face the next direction signs. One led to the rest of the trail - the other, a side trail that went all the way to the bottom of the gorge - to the pool of the third waterfall. As it turns out, the nine flights down - that was only half way down.....The trail we now faced went down a mountain.....an. entire. mountain. Giddy with my previous success, I allowed my beloved family to hoodwink me into believing that I could scale an entire mountain - Down AND Up. (Perhaps it wasn't giddiness per se....more likely it was lack of oxygen to the brain from the altitude, and my recent encounter with the aforementioned 9 flights of stairs.) Against my better judgement, one foot and one walking stick in front of the other, I began the steep descent. Dirt, gravel and kitchen words were flying, as I tried to stay on my feet. More than once, feet and walking sticks tried to skitter out from under me. Before I was a third of the way down the mountain, my leg muscles were shaking, but John was always there, and together, we made it to the base of the mountain. It seemed that once again, the Good Lord provided, because there - at the place where the trail leveled out at waters edge, was a tall boulder with a flat top - perfect for the collapse that ensued. Down I went - trembling, terrified and triumphant. As I rested, I scanned the river for a rock suitable for the rescue helicopter that would surely be dispatched post haste to get me back up the dadgummed mountain. Once again my mostly grown, little children scampered off to play in the rocks. John looked at me, laughing and shaking his head...."Honey....You made it"......indeed I had. My family knows me well enough to know that some powerful magic was going to be needed to get me back up the mountain. Teasing and laughing, they took turns walking back up with me.......a bit of a climb, a rest, a song sung in harmony or a laugh.....a bit of a climb, a rest, a song or a laugh, and in no time at all, in spite of myself - I had scaled a mountain...physically AND proverbially. The rest of the hike was a breeze, after that...up hill, down hill - covered bridges and streams. 5 miles in all.
    The family took turns rubbing on me last night....8 hours in new hiking boots destroyed my feet and ankles....my thigh muscles cramped and burned. But I woke up this morning, able to move. College Boy was returned to his side of the Mountain. The car is unloaded, the laundry is started, and as I got up from the computer just now to let Crack House Puppy out, my limp was barely perceptible.
   So yes, I am drinking a Coke and eating a chocolate BB Bat, in my Size Large shirt and skinny jeans. Tomorrow, the Food Log will reappear and calories will once again be counted. Tonight is for savoring.....chocolate and Coke.....Size Large shirts.....remembrances  of Waterfalls and Mountain Ridges that I could once only dream about (Or see in  Movies - the Hunger Games, to be exact....)...experiences and victories that now live in my sense memory....Nine flights down...Nine flights up.....one step at a time....Happy Re-Birth Day to me......

Dance, Baby, Dance.....

  I was waiting to turn right - out of the Teeter Parking Lot. I looked to my left - a long stream of traffic was approaching. I was content to wait my turn. My windows were down - a beautiful breeze was blowing - Dan Fogelberg was playing - who could ask for more? I glanced once again to my left, and my eye was immediately caught by an enormous insect - hovering mid air - two lanes over...it was MASSIVE, and what's worse, even with my ever decreasing eyesight, I could see that it was a hornet. As I am allergic to everything that stings, I reflexively pushed the button to raise the windows - laughing at myself as I did so. It was two lanes over, for goodness sake - I was well within the safety zone.                   Now people, I must emit a fragrance that is irresistible to lethal looking, venomous stinging things - because this sucker (pardon the upcoming pun), made a beeline straight towards me!  It was at that very moment that things started to move in Slow Motion - the Hornet, winging it's way towards the open window - that very window inching it's way up....It's Not going to Make it in time!! I did what any intelligent person would do - I pushed the button harder and scrunched my eyes closed. I felt the window slide into the closed position. I cracked one eye open - then the next. I looked in the rear view mirror - whew! No flying monster anywhere in sight. The front seat was clear, as was the dashboard and all other landable interior automotive surfaces. Narrow escape!
   I made my right turn, onto the busiest thruway in our town. After about half a block, I rolled the windows down, and recommenced singing harmony with my Man Dan. I rolled to a stop at the intersection with Main St. I was several cars back, which put me on eye level with The Tuesday Morning Store. As I looked to my right to see what was on the sidewalk sale, I saw a crumb on my shirt. I reached down to brush it off, when it's antennae wriggled. "That's odd", I thought to myself - "crumbs don't have antennae". I came to the realization that I hadn't even eaten anything that might have left a crumb at the exact same moment that I realized I was sporting a large, live Hornet Broach! I threw the car into park - flung the door open, jumped out - right into the highway, and proceeded to give half of my little town a show that they will never forget. It is a good thing that I have been Zumbafied. Shoulder isolations.....abdominal rolls.....hip thrusting. A dance of such magnitude it literally stopped traffic. The woman in the car behind me sat bug eyed( I know...I'm punny!) as she mouthed "Do you need help?"  I started to shriek like a mad woman, as my gyrations were doing nothing to dislodge the stinging demon. In a last desperate attempt to free myself, I grabbed the hem of my tee shirt and commenced to pull it off. Thank the good Lord, at that point, the wee beastie decided that it was in it's best interest to fly away, because I was prepared to go the Full Monty - right there by Main Street. In my panic to exit the car, I did not realize that the strap of my shoulder bag was hooked around my ankle, and with the last great heave of my shirt, I pulled the bag out of the car - spilling it's contents on the road, causing me to fall. I saved myself from contact with the pavement at the last moment by hooking an arm through the open window. As I bent to snatch up my bag and it's strewn contents, I gave a weak little wave to the massive line of cars that were now backed up - their drivers slack jawed and pole axed. The changing light, long since turned green, seemed to awaken the drivers from their  stupors, and the cars slowly moved around and past me. With as much dignity as I could muster, I threw my bag in the car, and dove in after it. As I put the car in drive, I caught sight of my very red face in the mirror, and then I smiled.......still stopping traffic in my Fifties....that's just how I roll.

How Kelley Got Her Groove Back.....

"MOVE! FEEL the MUSIC!.....", she shouted over the deafening volume of the song. I had to smile....sweat dripping down my face, hips gyrating, feet flying - arms jerking to the tribal beat....because my awe inspiring, drill sergeant Zumba instructor had just hit the proverbial nail on the head. If only she could have shouted those words to me LAST year.
   It has been a year....372 days to be exact, since I wrote my first Blog - it was about being stuck in Mid Life. As I re-read it now, I realize I was not just stuck - I was plummeting towards the downward spiral of no return. I was miserable, and old....and in pain - physically and mentally.....and fat.....very fat. I could see nothing ahead of me...I was in trouble.
   What a difference 372 days can make in a persons life. They have been 372 days of loss and sorrow, pain and trouble, more loss, new life AND renewed life and laughter....and music.....and movement. In March, when I decided to loose a few pounds so I could buy a decent dress, I could have never imagined that I would be sitting here in September - 69 pounds lighter, Moving and Feeling the Music!
   I have always loved to dance - once upon a time I got paid good money to dance - 5 to 6 shows a week (Get your minds out of the gutter, there were no poles involved - theatrical dance, not that other kind....). 372 days ago, there was not much dancing going on.... it was mostly shuffling and limping.....Two months ago, I stepped into a classroom - complete with an entire wall of mirrors. I stood in the back row, telling myself I was just there to encourage Baby and Babiest. - they wanted to try Zumba. I thought that I would make it through the first song or two, slip quietly out and walk on the treadmill while I waited for them to finish their class....after the first song, I knew I was hooked.Our instructor is a dynamo - an amazing dancer, and an effective motivator. And the music....it gets into your blood....and the dancing itself....the moving....it reminded me that I was alive.
  It wasn't a pretty sight at first - me trying to remember how to dance. My form was terrible, and my endurance.....forget about it! I looked like a fish out of water - gasping for breath, but as the days went by, my form AND endurance returned....and my bodys' sense memory begged for more. Muscles and vertebrae loosened - one by one, awakening from their long sleep. I am now enthralled by my leg muscles - they WORK! They can pull me up a hill, or flights of stairs. They allow me to leap up from the sofa, and squat and bend down. Amazing things, really.
  To my beautiful Zumba instructor - I would say, "I DO feel the music.....all the time!" More than once, I have caught myself dancing down an aisle in the Teeter, or the Wal Mart.....and sometimes, there's not even any music playing! I worry for the day that someone at Church catches me doing the Samba (Or worse still, The Wobble) down the long hall in the Children's Department. I was even chair dancing in Choir on Wednesday night! I dance in the kitchen, I dance in the driveway while Crack House Puppy plays outside (Sorry, neighbors....)...I move, and I feel the music - of life. I am re-awakened....I no longer feel old (I mean, HECK, my Zumba instructor is a year OLDER than me, and she is Fabulous!)...and while I suppose I am still a Mid Life Wife, I  feel like I should change the name of my blog to "How Kelley got her Groove Back....."........Move!.....Feel the Music!......Zumba!

To each his own....the Victory.

I failed the class....not once, not twice, but three times. It was the bane of my existence, and my Mother was mortified. Three times in as many years, I failed the beginner swim class at  City Lake Park. Each time, I was the only child that did not pass - the only one that did not get to swim in the deep end. The only child doomed to repeat beginners - not invited to continue my aquatic education, with advanced strokes and....diving. I put my little Irish foot down after the third failure and flat out refused to ever take another lesson. I must have been about 11 years old, and truly, it may be the only time my Mother ever allowed me to tell her "NO!" Shortly thereafter, we joined the Neighborhood Swim Club, where my best friend patiently spent summer after summer, teaching me how to dog paddle, then to crawl....then to give my best approximation of freestyle (Which, let me tell you, does NOT involve me putting my face in the water for even the tiniest of seconds), and finally, at about the same time I learned to drive a car, I learned to do 10 - 15 feet of the backstroke. (That dear girl also tried her best to get me to jump off of the diving board - not a high dive, mind you, but just a little one. Weary of her cajoling, in a weak moment, I allowed her to help me up the ladder. I walked to the edge, pinched my nose shut, closed my eyes, and in I went - swallowing half of the pool water as I descended - only surfacing thanks to the heroic dive and rescue efforts of my bestie!).
   So now you know - I am no fish....I don't like the deep end, I hate to have my face under water, and if ever confronted with a tragic boating accident, I would be voted most likely to drown in the absence of a floatation device. My idea of swimming involves a few moments of floating on my back and kicking my feet a bit.....and I have always been OK with that.
   Today, at the age of 64, Diana Nyad finished her swim from Cuba to Key West....without stopping to rest. She first attempted this in 1978, and has tried over and over again in the ensuing years - never giving up on her insane dream....Such an accomplishment! Such a feat of endurance and athletic prowess.How proud and fulfilled she must be tonight. I mention this, only because this was an aquatically momentous day for more than one swimmer.
   On Mondays, I take water aerobics (We joined a gym - I LOVE it - I Zumba 3 days a week, take this Monday water class, and do a little weight work too. The girls come along, and we all have a really great time!)
Today being Labor Day however, all Night classes were cancelled. "That's OK", I said to myself -"I'll just take the morning class, since I have no Staff Meeting today". I suited up, and was right ready at the appointed hour...there was no one....no classmates, no teacher - just a lone middle aged man doing laps. It's a two lane pool (We take down the lane rope for our class), so I figured I would do my own class....I've been going long enough now that I've got the moves down. I made some chit chat with the other swimmer - you know...."Don't mind me - I'm just going to hang in this corner and jog and jump around". I may or may not have scared him off with my maneuverings, because he was gone in a flash. "Great", I thought - "A private pool!" I worked hard for about 30 minutes, and started to get bored....water aerobics for one is not nearly so much fun as a pool full of people. I grabbed a noodle, thinking I would just float for a bit. I don't know what prompted me to put the noodle under my stomach, but once it was there, I realized that it cured my most basic problem with swimming. My center of gravity must be wonky, because I can never seem to stay prone in the water. Assisted by the noodle hugging my waist, I took a few strokes. "Huh", I thought. "So THIS is what it feels like to swim". A few more strokes followed, and before you knew it, I had swum an entire lap - my first ever. (It is a competition length pool - not the little short squatty kind). Emboldened by my success, I did another, and another - switching to backstroke by readjusting the noodle to the small of my back. All told, I swam 10 laps. What a feeling of accomplishment I had! As I exited the pool, my arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, and for a moment I doubted my ability to walk into the dressing room, where Baby girl was waiting....I must have looked a sight - rubber band limbs and all - grinning from ear to ear. Diana Nyad's got nothing on me! I am sure that she is exhausted....so am I. I am sure that she is incredibly sore.....so am I. I am sure that she has limited mobility at the moment....so do I!(It was a real trick reaching my arms high enough to get my coffee mug off of the shelf after supper, let me tell you!) She may question her decision to make such a grueling, punishing swim....I know I feel that perhaps 10 laps on my first go round was about 5 laps too many! And I am just guessing here, but I bet she is already plotting her next swim.....as am I....to each his own....the Victory!

Up the Down Staircase......

   I had become a really good excuse maker......"My knee hurts"......"I'll meet you up there in a minute"......"No, I'd rather stand, thanks"........After 8 years of Open Houses and Concerts at our little school, I had a whole repertoire.....all designed to keep me from having to climb the numerous flights of stairs, or sit in those desks....you know, the torturous ones that have the table top attached to the seat. Why did I go to such lengths, to avoid those things? Because I couldn't climb one of those flights of stairs (much less the three flights required to go from the lower building to the upper) without being so out of breath that I thought I might faint. Because I could not so much as wedge my ever increasing girth into one of those demon desks in a classroom, That's why!
    Tonight, at the 9th straight Open House I have attended at our little school (Where Baby Girl will be a SENIOR!) ( Babiest Girl would have been a Freshman, but I can now release the news that she will be attending a fancy school in a neighboring town, and BOY, is she excited!), I climbed those stairs - ALL. OF. THEM.....even the three flights between buildings. I sat in those desks - with room to spare between my body and the laminate desktop....Nothing hurt, I was never out of breath....not once, and my biggest fear of all, getting stuck in one of those damnable desks - evaporated - like a drop of rain falling on a steamy sidewalk. As cheesy as it sounds, I don't mind admitting that when I climbed the last few steps of the three flights, the song from Rocky was blaring in my head, resonating with a jubilance reserved for major life events....and make no mistake....this. was. one.
   There have been many such victories, in the last few weeks - I have made the transition from Plus Size clothing to what I have long referred to as Regular People clothing. I can cross my legs - something I haven't done in over 20 years. I can reach the back of my head with my curling iron, and not have to prop my arm on the wall by the sink to hold it there. I can bend over in a chair and buckle my shoes. I can once again, for the first time since we were Newlyweds, steal one of Johns Tee Shirts and have it be big enough for a night shirt. My rings, once devices of circulation strangulation are now falling off of my fingers (I recently lost my thumb ring - only to find it on the floorboard of the car). I can work in the yard, and use a dustpan. I can get down on my knees to peer into the cavernous depths of my baking dish cupboard, AND get back up. I actually carried boxes and other assorted heavy items into College Boys Dorm last weekend....multiple trips, up stairs and hills, instead of  staying in the room and "organizing", like I did last year....in short, after 62 pounds lost, I am a functioning human again.
   I list these things, not to brag, but to catalog....against the day that I falter - days when temptation and diet exhaustion get the better of me....to remind myself that NOTHING tastes as good as climbing those stairs tonight FELT....to remind myself that a large Coke from the Sonic is a poor substitute for the satisfaction I felt as I slipped into that desk.....to remind myself that there are even greater things waiting for me at the end of this weight loss journey....bike rides, and a hike up to the Appalachian Trail.....zip lining and indoor skydiving (Hey - they're on my bucket list)....high heels and a slinky dress (Yes, the Diva in me only lies dormant - not dead!).....Health....Fitness....who knows what I will dream up while I loose the last 40 pounds....after all....you're only as young as you feel.....Thanks be to God.

Harmony.....

It smelled of fresh paint. The sun was streaming in the tall windows - 7 on each side of the room. From my perch behind the microphone I could see blue sky, and I watched the trees dancing in the gentle summer breeze. It was, in short, one of the most precious experiences of my life, and even though the Sanctuary was empty, it was truly Spiritual. This afternoon, we went over to the Church - College Boy and I - to practice our music for tomorrow. My Son and I will be singing our first ever duet - He will take the lead.
   I should have known that he would grow up to be a fine musician. When he was a toddler, he sang all of the time. We sang together at bath time, at bedtime, and all of the in between times. The amazing thing, is that even at a very early age - he could hold the melody line, while I sang a few notes of harmony. His favorite toy? A little electronic violin that would play 7 or 8 different tunes....the trick was that you had to move the "bow" over the electronic sensor in the correct rhythm, or it would just be a random series of notes. The labeling on the package read "for 8 years and up"......College Boy mastered it before his third birthday.
   So tomorrow, he will raise his voice, and play his guitar - He will lead the music in our early service - in the House of God where I was raised by my parents.....the same House of God where I, in turn, raised my children. As we sang today - our voices rising and falling in harmony and synchronized breath - my minds eye offered up a vivid slide show. Me, standing in the choir loft at the same age College Boy is now, singing a duet with my Father, who was also an outstanding musician....Holding my baby boy, there in that very Sanctuary, as he was dedicated to the Lord...Watching him Process down the aisle in his little white choir robe with the big red collar - waving his Palm Branch (a more accurate description might be "bashing his friends in the head with his Palm Branch", but still.....). I saw him as a young teenager, standing tall and proud in front of the altar, as he received his Eagle Scout award....but most of all, I saw him floating in the Bathtub, singing his favorite songs - "You are my Sunshine", "Goodnight Ladies" (Do not ASK me how this song found it's way into a two year old's repertoire - I can not tell you, but he sang it with great enthusiasm....), and anything from The Jungle Book or Pete's Dragon.
   As we practiced this afternoon, I felt the presence of my Fathers....the Earthly One, long gone to his reward, and the Heavenly One - who delights in the voices of His Children. Standing there on the podium, in my usual place - at the end, just to the left of the piano, I delighted in the voice of MY Child....of our voices together - just as they were so many years ago....the Same, yet different - separate voices, weaving notes and love together...fed by the music, the harmony and the Spirit.
   Tomorrow, I will marvel at how my little boy has grown into this man...I will stand in awe of his talents....I will sing with my Son during Worship - knowing that I am blessed.....beyond measure.

Tale as Old as Time.....

"Handsome as my Daddy".....four little words, printed on a newborn tee - a gift, at today's Baby Shower. They were my undoing. For the shirt is intended for my as yet unborn great nephew - Charles. His Daddy? My much loved, much mourned late nephew - Chuck. I have no doubt that little Charles will be as handsome as his Daddy was - I am sure that he will also be as beautiful as his Peruvian Mother - Vanessa. I hope that he has her thick black hair and big brown eyes, I hope that he is healthy and robust, I hope that he comes gently into this hard world - but most of all, I hope that he bears the impish grin that was his Father's trademark.
   Today was a testament of love and hope....It was a coming together of good Christian women - doing what they do best.....caring for those in need of succor. The shower was hosted by friends of my Sister In Law ( I am sure that they are also my Brother's friends, but in a situation such as this - a hen party and all, we will refer to them as Her friends). The table was piled high with gifts - front and center was a portrait of Chuck and Van on their second wedding day - the one in Peru. (As usual, he was sporting that grin....). The fragrance of friendship permeated the room and enveloped those of us who were relative strangers - Food spilled over from every corner, and abundant laughter laid the soundtrack. Occasional tears were shed and gazes were covered over with fleeting sadness, but we were bound together by the glue that comes from that mystical well of the Sacred Feminine.....that special place inside women that holds instinct, compassion, empathy, nurture......and strength..... strength to open present after present for a baby that was so very wanted by the Daddy that he will never know on this side of the veil - a Daddy that only learned of the creation of that precious baby on the Heavenly side of the veil.
   I watched in awe and amazement, as I was reminded today, of the power of the Love of the Sisterhood - a tale as old as time.....Women, unconsciously calling on the special gifts of their spirits - weaving a healing, binding blanket of kindred love - the most ancient of spells - the tradition of caring for each other - a sharing of burden and sorrow....a tradition of digging deep and pulling forth a wellspring of hope for tomorrow, and gratitude for the blessings of the day. Today was a celebration of life anticipated - a remembrance of life lost.
Blessed be.......the tie that binds.

All Quigley Down Under.....

   It didn't hurt that he looked like Russel Crowe.....with a pony tail.....and a cool Celtic-y, tribal tattoo inside his Right forearm.....He was also great with kids, and an incredibly talented musician...a Total package that provided me with the best time I've had in a long time...at the Library, no less!
   We stumbled upon this flyer last week, announcing a Didgeridoo workshop, on Monday July 15th. Babiest girl has had a fixation with the Didgeridoo for years, (Remember, this is the child whose favorite animal in Kindergarten was the Echidna....)so we decided to have a girls night out, Baby Girl, Babiest Girl and Me, and  registered for the free workshop.We arrived at the appointed hour, and took our seats on the 2nd of two rows....Most of the participants were young children (a few of their parents joined us on the back row), and we were feeling a little out of place in the Children's Story Room......until "Quigley Down Under" walked into the room, strapped a bracelet made of bells around his ankle, sat on a Drum Box and blew into his instrument....you know.....the Didgeridoo. Now, let me insert right here, that I was fully prepared to be slightly bored - I mean, how interesting can a tubular instrument with no slides, no keys, no strings be? Just a long series of Johnny One Note, right?
   How wrong I was.....First the drone started - then the split tones, and finally the rhythm and percussive force of his breath.... I was done for! (Like I said.....he looked like Russel Crowe!) It was pure electricity (The music, I mean.....I am a married woman, after all - AND, I was in the company of my daughters!). It was all I could do to stay in my seat - My feet and spirit wanted to dance - to join in the primal, rich, wanton beat. It sounded like Primordial Ooze, and campfire on a starry night, and antiquity. This was music to be heard with ear, heart and soul - and it spoke to the Wild Celtic Ancestors that reside in my person. It was pure, and organic, and liberating.
   Sadly, this was not a long concert - it was a workshop, after all, and before we knew it, we were lining up to get our "student instruments" - a piece of pvc pipe, and a strip of masking tape (to ensure the sanitation of the "mouthpiece" - otherwise known as one end of the pipe). I am proud to say, that the Kennedy girls were the star pupils. I may have had an unfair advantage, because playing the Didgeridoo requires the same mouth positioning and breath as the Trumpet - which I played for most of my school years.) We laughed and laughed as we tried to coax "The. Sound." from the PVC, and giggled with pleasure and embarrassment, when we were asked to demonstrate our superior sounds to the group. The hour ended all too soon, and we were loathe to leave. We made of ourselves vocal Didgeridoos, droning the tunes and rhythms as we exited the Library, hand in hand - our high spirits leaking out, and made audible. What an amazing adventure, tucked into a little quiet corner, of our bland little town....On this out-of-the-ordinary Monday night, we Kennedy women will sleep with a smile on our lips, an aboriginal song in our hearts, and this unanswered question in our brains...."Where DOES one buy a Didgeridoo download"?!  

Faces of Adventure and Blessing...

   It has been quite a week. I sent baby AND babiest girl thousands of miles away - to a tropical paradise to do the Lords' work.... It was Vacation Bible School, I celebrated 25 years of wedded bliss, I hiked 2.7 miles on a mountain trail full of felled trees, roots, hills and boulders to scale....I hit the 45 pound lost mark, AND I crossed my legs.....did you get that last one? I crossed my legs.... for the first time in YEARS! (I will not again mention the wretched hair butchering I received at the hands of the befuddled beauty school student). That's alot of big things to pack into 8 days...Which is, at first, what I attributed "that feeling" to. For the entirety of my life, I have gotten "those feelings". My sister has them....my Mother had them too. It's a Celtic thing, I think.....that ability to "know" when something bad is going to happen...a "knowing" when bad things are happening miles away, at that very moment....sometimes knowing exactly what is going to happen, minutes, even hours before they do....it used to freak me out, as a child - take for example the Sunday afternoon when the phone rang - as it was ringing I said to my Mother - "Dad has been in a terrible wreck"....my Mom answered the phone, and the police officer on the other end of the line repeated those very words...or the time when, newly married, I woke from a dead sleep screaming "Oh no....we have to help them....the accident, the accident".....only to have a moment of silence followed by one crash, then another, then another. John and I jumped out of bed, ran outside, and saw  a scene of carnage and mangled metal. We spent the next hour putting blankets on the injured, and holding car doors, while firemen used the jaws of life to free a dead man.....All of this is to say, that I NEVER take "Those feelings" for granted.
    They started the day before we put the girls on the plane. They continued - day and night - while singing Moses songs at VBS, while hiking in the Mountains, as I cooked 55 chicken breasts for Soft Taco Night - waking or sleeping, they were never very far away. I am sure "these feelings" were responsible for my loosing 5 pounds in the same number of days - I couldn't eat. When they would hit - I would pray...calling each family member by name - praying a hedge of protection around each and every one....I prayed more this past week I think, than I have in the last year....Yesterday, as we got in the car - College Boy, John and I - to head for Raleigh to pick the girls up, I prayed once more for safety for this last leg of our time apart. At the Airport, as I searched the faces of the departing passengers, I felt the most immense relief - such a surge of love and thanksgiving as I saw one, then the other.....the faces of my beautiful daughters - exhausted faces - bug bitten and joyous....faces that bore the mark of adventure and blessing. As we embraced - all five Kennedys together and whole, I breathed a sigh of relief and a breath of a prayer....."Thank You".
   Bags were gathered, goodbyes were said, Waffle House was visited, bellies and hearts were filled. We found ourselves on the highway - pointed for home....at 2:00 in the morning. I checked my watch - should be home by 3:30. Once there, if I hugged the kids, and let the dog out, I figured I could be in bed by 3:45.....a.m. We chattered and laughed for the first 10 minutes of the drive, but one by one, each child quieted, and soon the car was filled with the soft, regular breathing of sleeping teenagers. John and I talked for a bit more, listened to music....and then, the struggle began. You know.....that fighting with your body - the one where your body says "I've been awake for almost 24 hours....I. Must. Sleep.", and you reply "No...not quite yet....we have to stay awake a little longer". Despite my best efforts, my head started to nod......for 30 miles or so, I would fall asleep, then startle myself awake - and repeat the same phrase "How are you doing honey?"....His reply? "Tired.....". We were within shooting range of home......just a few miles left on the highway before we could turn onto the exit ramp leading to our little town. And then it happened. I nodded off again.....and so did John. We awoke at the same instant - to a car speeding down the edge of the grassy median....I am amazed by our calm....by Johns steady hand at the wheel, as he slowed the car and guided the car back onto the highway.....silence.....I stated the obvious...."You ran off the road"......."I know", he replied.
    We woke in the comfort of our bed this morning at 11:15. John looked at me...."We almost died". "I know", I replied. For us, this could have been a repeat tragedy. Years ago, Johns oldest Sister died, when their Mother fell asleep at the wheel - 3 year old John was thrown onto the highway , out the back window of the VW bug - his middle sister and Mother seriously injured. I recalled my week
long petition for a hedge of protection - for a divine covering.....my Celtic Feeling of impending doom....little did I know that the danger would be on the happy side of the week, as we were all reunited. Thanks be to God, for the Guardian Angels that were with us last night, for John's calm and steady hand, for disaster averted....I am humbled and heartened by the knowledge of Prayer heard and answered. As we sit down to our supper tonight - each precious face will be that much more so.....each laugh will sound brighter, the food will taste a little better....the prayer of blessing on our lips will be that much more heartfelt.....Thanks be to God.

Shorn....like a sheep.

It started out as such a nice little day.....the day after Vacation Bible School ended....the 6th day without my girls (meaning that I am on the home stretch, with only 3days remaining until they are back on American soil, in my arms, in their own beds). It was a day in which I was beholden to no one.....John working early and late, College Boy laboring away at his summer job....what should I do? Sleep?!? That was the activity of choice - until the mosquito bite on my foot was itching so fiercely that it woke me up - at 5:45. As I was scratching like a mad man, my mind drifted to Costa Rica....and mosquitoes, and the Malaria medication that we did NOT give our girls, on the advice of our Dr. and the US Government....and what if the girls have mosquito bites, and it was from the one mosquito that had flown from the East Coast of that country to the West...with the sole purpose of infecting my daughters.....I pulled myself together after a couple of cups of coffee - enjoyed predawn in the Pavillion (you know....my converted Car Port). Since my dear friend sleep had eluded me, might as well start the day....First up - Pedicure. Long overdue Pedicure. I was the first customer at my preferred salon, and got "the new girl". She was fabulous! Pleasant and funny, she gave me a great pedicure with a kissy pinky red polish. Then, on my way back to the car, I took a short cut through Belks - and there before me, in all their glory, was an amazing pair of RED cowboy boots....on sale....big sale.....for a price that I could afford (translate, put on my Belks Card). My blog tonight was SUPPOSED to be dedicated to the sublime perfection of my new boots (Now resting in a place of honor in my closet - purchased to celebrate hitting the 45 pound lost mark). If only I could end the story there.....
    I was on a Red Boot High, when I got to the car...why not go for the whole shebang, I thought to myself....lets get the hair cut too! Now - I am loathe to admit - that I am a haircut cheapskate.(Much to the everlasting dismay of my niece, who is a very accomplished hair stylist, and who would gladly cut my hair for free, I am sure, if she didn't live half way across the State). If Great Clips is not running their 5.99 special, then I just take myself over to the beauty school by  Hobby Lobby. It's not like my hairstyle is complicated - blunt cut, straight across, with long layers - finished out with a trim to the bangs. While I was waiting in the beauty school lobby for my name to be called, I picked up the US Weekly laying on the table, and was quickly engrossed in the "Who wore it Best" feature. This might explain why I did not immediately look up, when I heard a voice going down the line - "This you name? This you name?".....I looked up, and saw a woman - disheveled, less than clean, and of indeterminate origin, smiling and waving a card in my face "This you name?" For the briefest of instants, I contemplated saying "Nope...not me". Instead, I returned her smile and said "Yes, I am Kelley"........if only I had gone with the first instinct......To say that her English was broken, would be an understatement, and for the next hour the only phrase I understood was "You want me fix gray?" I assured her that I myself would be taking care of the gray, with the help of Miss Clarol, later on, in the privacy of my own room. I relaxed as she used the good smelling shampoo on my hair - to give credit where credit is due, she did a great job on the hair washing. I gave clear, instructions - with Hand gestures too, I might add - telling her how I wanted my hair cut....trimmed really - holding my thumb and forefinger about an inch and a half apart. An industrious student, she was at work in a flash, clipping here - clipping there....my back was to the mirror, and I became caught up in the goings on - the beauty school is a busy place, you know.
    Finished at last, and chattering away in her approximation of English - my student turned me to face the mirror. You know those tears that fall immediately and unbidden from your eyes when you least expect them? Yep.....I had them, for instead of a nicely trimmed, just above shoulder length, layered bob - I was now the mortified owner of an ear length 70's shag cut. "You no like?", she said, as her instructor came rushing over. "I'm sure it's a very nice cut", I stammered, " It's just really short". The instructor picked up the comb, and off she went - "Let me see your shears.....oh these are awful - too tight(whatever that means) - you need new ones...." On and on the admonishments came, and with each word - she cut and cut - I am assuming in an attempt to "even things up".....So it is that my nice little day came to an abrupt end. I am shorn....like a sheep.....like a sheep whose shepherd had really rusty clippers, and was, perhaps blindfolded at the time of the shearing. In an attempt to look on the bright side, it was a lot easier to color my hair, after supper....and thrifty too.....I barely even used half of the hair dye.....I could share....any takers?

A Mother on the Edge

Sleep eludes me...for days, it has been the same, but tonight (this Morning - what do you call that in between time?) - it is particularly bad. I stay prone until the thoughts in my head drive me up and out. In 24 hours, I will put my girls on a plane to Costa Rica for an 8 day mission trip....in a foreign country....on a plane....to go far away....did I mention the plane? To Central America? I have employed all manner of thoughts and inner monologues, trying to keep the demon panic at bay. I remind myself that they will be with trusted adults....that they have each other, to lean on....that they are facing the adventure of a lifetime, in the service of our Lord.....That it is only Costa Rica. I remind myself of my friend, who has sent her son to India for the summer - facing it with such calm and good grace, just like she faces everything else (WHY can't I be THAT kind of person?). Instead, I fight to breathe - struggle to relax my body enough to draw a deep breath. My stomach appears to be refusing most food (which is super good for the diet, btw), and my mind....is in hyperdrive.
   This morning, as I stared into the dark, I was telling myself that my own Mother(the worlds foremost  nervous Nellie) survived my big High School trip....I was the same age as baby Girl - a rising senior. I had earned a place in the National Tournament for NFL(speech and debate). I, along with 2 teachers and a couple of other school mates who had also slogged their way into the tourney, would be "up, up and away" - flying cross country to Seattle, Washington. OH, my Mother was in a state (who do you think I get my anxiety from?!). My Mother HATED planes, and in the 70's it was not a common thing for folks to up and travel "half way around the world", but my Father insisted, and off I went, with beautiful new clothes, and the coolest, highest pair of elephant platform shoes you have ever seen! What adventures were had! Flying over the Rockies took my breath away (What little I had left.... for upon takeoff, I immediately joined my Mother in her dislike of flying). I will never forget the feel of the Pacific Northwest air, as it hit my face as we walked across the tarmac after descending the long roll up staircase from the tin bucket with wings (yes, it was THAT long ago - before they had fancy accordion tunnels that lead to the plane). The air was cool and heavy...it tasted green, and exotic....not at all like North Carolina air. My body felt hyper charged, and as I stepped off of the plane, I remember feeling myself grow up a little more - felt myself mystically propelled towards freedom, and autonomy....
   I lay in bed and remind myself of the greatness of that adventure, and smile into the dark at the memory - knowing that my girls must be facing just such excitement....my predawn smile starts to fade, as I delve further into the memory of "my great adventure"...as I recall the snakebite I received - actually not one, but three! We had travelled to an island (on the smallest, rockingest boat you have ever seen, over incredibly turbulent waters - I spent the majority of the voyage - all of 30 minutes, laying on the floor - certain that this bout of motion sickness would be fatal) - for a true Pacific Northwest, Native American feast - wood plank roasted salmon with all of the fixins....The island was replete with Indian Maidens and Totem Poles....and walking trails....and snakes. As my comrades and I stopped for a rest from hiking the trails, we all plopped down on the ground, to take in the amazing view. I plopped on a snake....one bite to the hand, two to the back...as the viper slithered away, we only saw it's tail, and had no way of knowing WHAT kind of snake it was...the panic that ensued is legendary - needless to say, THAT is an evening I still haven't forgotten.(You can relax - it turned out to be a nonpoisonous snake). A few days later, I fell victim to Food Poisoning that was so intense, I hallucinated - called my bedridden Mother, to tell her I was dying, and wandered away from the hotel - burning with fever - alone, in a strange city. The culprit? The steak that was served at the closing banquet....so many kids became ill, that it made the National News....where my Mother heard it from Walter Cronkites own lips....I was rescued by a waitress in the diner across the street from the hotel, who called the front desk, which sent a bellboy to retrieve me.
Still weak and unwell, we boarded the plane a couple of days later for our return flight, only to have the engine break free from it's moorings as we taxied the runway....causing us to disembark, take a horrifying walk back to the airport, miss our connection in Chicago, spend the night in the seediest hotel imaginable (Think Dark lighting and tons of crushed red velvet), and arrive home a day late, in clothes that we had been wearing for 48 hours.....An adventure of a lifetime, for sure....but perhaps not the best memory to soothe a Mother on the Edge. 
  So I pray the same prayer that my Mother must have prayed, for myself and all of the kids facing the adventure of a lifetime.......God before me, God behind me.....God above me, God bellow me...God to my left, and God to my right....God within me....surround my children with safety and love, and bring them home, full of your Good Grace.....

RUMINATIONS ON A MORNING AT THE MALL....

I had a coupon. And the flyer showed a sale, plus - a shirt on the cover that I thought I might like. I woke up bright and early and said -"Today's the day". You see - Friday is my day off and NONE of my clothes fit. I have some really old items that I have pulled out of boxes, but none of them are summer things...you get the picture. I pulled on some jeans (you don't even want to know how I keep them up!), an ancient black embroidered peasant blouse, my red walking sandals and over to the next town I went (Seeing as how the flyer was for JCPennys, and we lost our Pennys last year) - to the BIG mall..  Going to the mall has lost it's luster for me over the years - Fat lady clothes are ugly - nothing ever fits - everything is so expensive - I could go on, but I will spare you. Today, however, in light of my 30 pound weight loss, I figured I might snag SOMETHING...and as previously stated, I had a coupon! I pulled into the parking lot, excited about my mall time - all by myself! No Forever 21 or Claires or PacSun for me - nope, just stores I wanted to go in.....just me!
   I entered the dressing room, loaded for bear. They, of course, did NOT have the shirt featured on the cover of the sale flyer - but I found a number of suitable options. Amazingly....everything fit...or was too big! Doing the happy dance, I reached for the next to last item. Just as I had it halfway over my head, the lady in the dressing room next to mine put her cell phone on speaker. From her one sided conversation I had already surmised that she was talking to her one true love, and that they were headed out of town for the weekend.I can only hope that in her fervor, she didn't realize she had pushed the speaker button - because what transpired next had no place in the Fat Ladies dressing room at the JC Penneys! (Or in ANY dressing room for that matter!) The boyfriend on the other end of the phone proceeded to explain to my dressing room neighbor - in excruciating detail,(And, unfortunately and inadvertently to me and everybody else within shouting distance) - just how many ways till Sunday he was going to take care of her....you know....in the carnal, pornographic kind of way...Let me just say, that I'm not sure I have ever even heard of some of the things he was suggesting - there I stood, hands over my head - pretty green shirt halfway on - frozen to the spot. What to do?! Should I speak up, and let her know that her steamy little confab was going out on the open airwaves?! Should I run out of the dressing room (after I finished putting the green shirt on) and get a salesclerk to attend to the problem? NO - I did what any 52 year old red blooded American  woman would do....I sat down on the little bench, rocked back and forth with both hands over my mouth, and shook with laughter - silent, so as not to disturb the mood! Lord have MERCY, what a hoot I had - and, if truth be told,  I also got an education on the current sexual practices of today's young couples!
   I was dying to catch a glimpse of the woman who could inspire such passion from a disembodied male voice, but it was not to be. I left the dressing room, used my coupon, made my purchases (I bought the green shirt, and will always remember the circumstances under which I tried it on - every time I wear it!), and journeyed deep into retail heaven. In one store, out the next...I discovered that I am really between sizes - and celebrated the victory of three and one half sizes smaller! I went into Dillards, and tried things on that weren't even on sale - just for fun! After a couple of hours, my dogs were barking, and my stomach was rumbling - so I meandered up to the food court. As the escalator made it's way to the top, I suddenly realized that I might be in trouble. Sbarro's pizza? Nope.....Subway.....Nope. That Baked Potato place that I love.....nope. Let's just say that a Mall Food Court is not exactly Atkins friendly! I solved the problem by walking past all of the places handing out chicken samples (None of whom would sell me just the meat without the rice and noodles at a lesser charge), and taking a couple from each place (Heck - they offered, I just accepted). And there you have it - a yummy protein filled lunch on the go - at no charge! A few sips from the water fountain, and I was once again pounding the pavement. Headed for the Belks, I passed a kiosk that sells those insanely priced flat irons. This is of note, because in all of the times that I have walked past this little place in the last 10 years, never once has anyone given me any notice. Not even when I stopped to look at the product. Today, a young foreign man said "lookin' good lady - let me give you a free hairdo.....do you use flat iron? Hey lady....." I smiled and said "Thanks, no...." and he pursued me "aww, c'mon....." "No - really - I don't want a free hairdo, but thanks."  As I continued walking, I thought back to the perfume counter at Dillards, and the make up counter - and in every store I went in today....people were anxious to help me, WANTED to wait on me. In the last few years, I have had to practically BEG salespeople to help me when I was looking for a certain item, or had a question, or even wanted to pay.....and with that realization, I got mad. Because the difference between today, and all of the other times can be tallied in pounds - 30 of them. And as I started to stew, it occurred to me that things had changed in other places too....my butcher at the Teeter no longer calls me Dearie. Last week, he called me the pretty chicken lady ( I know....I buy WAY too much chicken), and one of the teenaged cashiers commented yesterday -"Hey, cool necklace". A nice complement, unless you factor in how many times I have worn that same necklace in her line over the last two years, and she never took note. In my insular world, it never occurred to me that I was invisible - or worse: visible and ignored....and here's the kicker...I'm still fat....I'm just not nearly So fat....evidently, as discriminatory practices go - there must be levels...you know - "would one of you please step off the scales" fat, stuffed sausage fat, pleasantly fat, and so on.....My anger was tempered by the feel of the bags in my hand - proof positive of my progress. It reminded me that I am not responsible for other peoples views - I can't change anyone but me....and I am changing - day by day, minute by minute. Today I passed up Baskin Robbins Ice Cream, The Cookie Shop, and the big Candy Store. Today, I looped the mall not once but three times (three floors), and didn't even breathe hard. Today, I overheard the phone call of a lifetime. Today, I bought some cute clothes that should tide me over until, pray God, I loose the next 30 pounds. As I walked back to my car, I did so with visions of my next visit to the mall...when I might just not even have to shop in the Fat Lady Department (God willing). The sky was a bright Carolina Blue, the temperature was perfect, and the wind (which is my favorite thing) was whipping - I rode home with all the windows down....it's a good thing I didn't take that cute fella up on his offer of the free hairdo.....I would have ruined it, in my breezy abandon!
 

For better or worse - but never for granted....

    It was a long trip home from Nashville. We had just spent four days packed with laughter filled, frenzied, joyous, Wedding preparation - celebrating the marriage of my youngest niece to her one true love. I did lots of things to try to stay awake (I have to help John drive from my perch in the passenger seat, you know....). I sang at the top of my lungs, I swapped funny stories with the kids (all three of them - even College boy was truant for a few days!), I played the "If I could go on any dream vacation, I would go to _____" game in my head, caught a couple of daydreams, and still I managed to doze off once or twice.We stopped for awhile, when we dropped College Boy off on his side of the mountain - we ate some supper, exchanged hugs and kisses, and set back on the road to home, one passenger lighter. It was on that stretch of road, the one that has become so familiar to us, that I started in on the heavy thinking. Replaying memories of the Bride - as a toddler, as a young, exceedingly active girl, as a teen full of angst - My favorite memory was the most recent - that of her beautiful face, as I handed her the wedding bouquet that I had made. The bouquet that I had dreamed and fretted about for months - what the composition should be - the colors - the flowers. Endless nights of just before sleep planning...hours on Pinterest (yeah, well - that one is not such a hardship), all of it was worth it - for that one instant - the look on her face - the love and excitement....priceless, and never to be forgotten. Naturally, my thoughts then strayed to my other nieces....I have done the wedding flowers for two of the three, and I sang at all of their weddings...I was then poleaxed to remember that I had sung for both of my nephews as well - not for their weddings, but for their funerals. Both ends of the emotional spectrum - both a part of the circle of life. Funerals and Weddings - pinnacles of emotions - both tremendous catalysts to take stock of your life.        How much we take for granted.
   As we rode, I thought about things that I hoped I would never take for granted.....there were the usual suspects - family, home, work that I love - but I now have some new things in my life - things I hope I will appreciate every single day that I am blessed to have them - like no pain.....like being able to get out of a chair or sofa without relying on the nearby table to pull myself up....like having a mind that is clear and focused....like having enough energy to work late into the night, and wake up at the crack of dawn ready to begin again....like not having to lay down after a trip to the grocery store....like looking in my closet and knowing that everything in it is too big (with the exception of the new wedding dresses and 2 other shirts I bought to get me through the next couple of sizes, and a few really old, beloved items that I have hung in plain site to motivate me to once again be able to put them on my body).
   In the interest of full disclosure - I. ate. wedding. cake....and fries....and Texas Toast.....and biscuits...and maybe a few pieces of chocolate off of the candy bar at the wedding.....and Coke...I drank one Coke, and to my delight and my disgust, it tasted like Fletchers Castoria - you know, that Childrens Laxative that our Mothers gave us back in the 60's. At the end of four days I regained four pounds. Yet here we are....four days later, and I have lost those four. I like the symmetry of the whole thing Four days, four pounds gained....four days, four pounds lost. But most of all, I like that I was able to go right back to my diet....and yes, it is a diet - not a "lifestyle change" (that is the second phase of this process) I didn't think, as I would have previously, "Oh well...I blew it, I might as well keep on eating". I thought instead "This was one of lifes great joys - celebrating with family over food....and cake....and steak and biscuits - a life event to be treasured and enjoyed to the fullest". These past four days have also been an event to be treasured - to eat bacon, and kale chips, and Almond Milk, and Cauliflower - for supper AND for breakfast, cause I swear it tasted just like the Cracker Barrel Hashbrown Casserole.To realize that I am stronger than I was before. I remain optimistic that I can see this to the end - to regain my health, to look better, and most of all - to feel better. For better, for worse - but never for granted!
  

Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.....

  A friend of mine posted a before and after photo on his FaceBook page a few days ago (the picture was not of him, but of a lady who had switched to "clean eating" )....the caption was "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead". Even as I chuckled, it spoke to me. These last 4 years have been brutal on my body. Comfort eating, worry eating, stress eating...you name it - I have been guilty of it.....I was Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.
   About four weeks ago, I went shopping for an outfit for my nieces wedding...all day..... encompassing two cities....nothing. I fell in love with two things, but one wouldn't even button, and the other - well, it's best not to even think about it, it looked so hideous. At the end of the day, I was exhausted. My knees and hips hurt so badly I limped from the car to the house, and barely made it to the sofa. As I laid on the sofa, a calm voice inside my head whispered, "This. must. stop." Three little words....so quiet...so simple. And in that moment, I took a raw, honest inventory of my person. I had constant pain, my energy level was non-existent. I was constantly covered in a blanket of malaise. My mind felt foggy - all the time.....muddy and so very sad. In the deepest recesses of my heart, I feared that the best of my life was behind me, and that nothing was before me.....Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead........."This. must. stop."
     The day after the shopping fiasco, I started the Atkins Diet. Many years ago, I had great success with Atkins - it was familiar, so I decided what the heck, let's go with that. Let me say, that the first week was much rougher this go round. I had terrible sugar withdrawals. On day 3 and 4 I was in such rough shape I didn't even leave the house. My family gave me a wide, yet supportive berth. On day five, I woke up a different person. My mind was crystal clear...I had energy to spare! My knees didn't hurt - no pain in my back or hip. At the risk of sounding hokey, it was nothing short of miraculous.
     It is now three weeks and 4 days since I started my diet, and I have lost 20 pounds. Both of the catalyst outfits are hanging in my closet - two sizes smaller than I wore on that fateful day of shopping....one for the rehearsal - one for the wedding. I bound out of bed in the morning, not dreading the day, but embracing it. I can now take the steps foot over foot, instead of the Grandma way of both feet on each step..... I. have. no. pain. My skin looks five years younger. All of my clothes are indecently big....I can bend over and pick things up off of the floor. I have discovered a love of  home made Kale Chips, roasted broccoli, and water. Do you know how many good "no carb" recipes you can find on Pinterest?
   For me.....sugar is poison. I know I have a long way to go, but I am now a quarter of the way there, and I already feel like a different person. I am praying, every day, for the strength and commitment to make a permanent lifestyle change. Maybe one day, I will be able to eat sugar in moderation, like normal people... but if not, I will gladly swap the Cokes and all the rest for the ability to feel like I do now....clear headed and hopeful....a much better alternative to Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead. 

Giradelli Apocalypse.....

       I love a good magazine. Decorating, Lifestyle, Women's, Food, Travel (OK, fine....I will admit to the guilty pleasure of sometimes enjoying a gossip rag too). In the throes of our "New Normal" household state of  economics, one of the first of the"luxury items" to be cut was magazine purchasing. That might explain my tendency to take some time glancing at the offerings on the big magazine rack at the Teeter when shopping day rolls around. Today was a treat....all of the new magazines had been shelved - Southern Living, Womens Day, Better Homes and Gardens....all with the most beautiful covers. Flowers and gardens and picnic blankets replete with lovely springtime food on fancy picnicware....(Never mind the fact that outside the big plate glass windows you could see big snowflakes blowing in the wind....). As I tried to decide which beauty to peruse,  I came across a brightly colored magazine....High quality paper, beautiful fonts, lovely name....Peach Days.....I think my eyes knew that something was not quite right before my brain did.Upon closer inspection, the graphic on the front of the cover was a  smattering of survivalist tools, and under the Magazine title was the heading "Apocalypse Survival guide". Having just read a novel called A Second Later (or A Second After...I can't quite remember)  - my mind was already a little fried in regards to the whole survivalist thing. It revolves around the detonation of an EMP...you know, the kind of bomb that wipes out all electronics of any kind. It was not a terrifically written book, but it sure as heck was gripping. So much so, that I have spent  a lot of time in the past week thinking about how we would survive such a thing. Starvation, keeping warm, sanitary issues, transportation (All the batteries in vehicles were fried....in the book, I mean).
     As I picked up the magazine - I thought to myself that just the main article in this months issue must deal with surviving....but no! This fancy, somewhat snooty looking magazine - in. it's. entirety. - was devoted to Apocalyptic living. Picture of shelters that people have made preparatory to the commencement of Armageddon, Recipes for "Refuse Dining",Charts to help you determine which plants and berries will kill you, and which ones will just make you sick, How to acquire clothing, How to hide and defend yourselves....the more I read - the more freaked out I grew! I hastily reshelved the thing, and grabbed up a Southern Living......the periodical devoted to the opposite of Apocalyptic living! But by now, I am tainted. All the beautiful container gardens and raised beds full of Annuals pictured therein seemed a waste.....
quick - plant a survival garden in that elaborate ceramic planter.....that beautiful place setting on the back
veranda - those cloth napkins could be used for bandages if need be. That lovely recipe for Shrimp and Grits....what exactly IS the refuse conversion? That article on serene river vacations? Is that a little cave I spy, in the curve of the river - there in the rocky face of the bank? It could be used for Apocalyptic hunkering down.....
    I fling the Southern Living down - now ruined for me, at least for the day. As I shuffle my buggy towards the checkout - I pass a display of Easter Chocolate. Considering that I am on my fifth day of the Atkins Diet, THAT certainly took my mind off of all things Apocalyptic....until I remembered that yesterday, I turned down the offer of a free piece of  Giradelli chocolate from the sales pitch man in WalMart......If THAT doesn't indicate the immediate onset of the Apocalypse, I don't know what does!!

Sunday Afternoon - Memory in the Making....

     They're all in there. If I look over my left shoulder, I can see them now as I sit here at the computer. About 30 minutes ago, I came into a state of wakefulness - eyes closed, snuggled under a quilt with Crackhouse Puppy (whose new name is Cinderblock because he weighs a ton!) asleep on my lap. I had napped so hard, on this - the First day of Daylight Savings Time, that it took me a few minutes to gather myself. We had slept so long that the T.V. had even shut itself off, due to inactivity. In the quiet of my dark little den, as I lay stretched out in the recliner, I listened for the sounds I love above all others - sounds that alerted me to the location of my loved ones. There was a stretchy, moany sound - Baby Girl must be sleeping on the sofa. Next came a chuffing kind of sound - Babiest girl was in the recliner next to mine. After a moment, I heard the sound that is so often missing here lately.....the thick sleepy throat clearing of College Boy. This was the catalyst that made my eyes open....we were all out of surfaces by my reckoning - sofa, and both recliners full of the Kennedy women. I released the lever on the LaZBoy, shoved the puppy off of my lap and sat up, thinking to find College Boy sitting in the kitchen - on the computer or some such. Just as I stood (no easy chore, since my feet were tangled in quilt and puppy), I heard it again - the same throat clearing that he has made in his sleep since before he could talk in complete sentences. Lo and behold - there he was....wrapped in the green afghan my Sister crocheted me for a wedding present - almost 25 years ago. College Boy was sleeping on the floor in front of the sofa - at the feet of Baby Girl.    
     That sight took me back to the days when child rearing was a full contact sport, and a nap was an unheard of thing. The time when my exhaustion was blinding, and the days ran together in their fullness. The days when the three Kennedy children would go at full speed - from the time their little feet hit the floor (and Lord knows they were all obscenely early risers), until they had each been wrestled into their respective beds for the umpteenth time. Every now and then, as a treat, they were allowed to sleep in the den on a pallet. Blanket piled on top of blanket, pillows from every room in the house - their nest was sumptuous and cozy. On these nights, they were eager to go to bed. There, on the floor of the den they would snuggle and whisper, giggle and dream out loud, until sleep came over them by surprise. They would lay like a tangle of puppies - arms and legs draped over each other - with no clear definition of where one body stopped and the other began. Sometime in the night, each time -I would come out of my bedroom, turn on the light in the kitchen and steal into the den. I would sit in a chair and watch them sleep, in the crack of light that spilled in from the kitchen. I would listen to their sleeping sounds, memorize their faces, and store those memories away for such a time as I might need them....like when they were off to college and driving and babysitting and other such big kid pursuits.
         But today, I do not need that memory - because they are all in there, making their sleeping sounds, wearing the sleepy faces, and needing to be awakened - otherwise, they will never sleep tonight. John will be home from work soon, and we will all sit down to breakfast for supper - a Sunday night favorite. The girls will play hookey from Youth, and we will go to the dollar movie - The Life of Pi, I think. I give thanks for Spring Break - for the week that we have before us to once again be a family of five. I give thanks that my growndy up Boy will still sleep at his sister's feet, that my children love each other. I give thanks for the guitars leaning up against the cabinets, and the myriad shoes strewn hither and yon, upstairs and down. I give thanks for the clementine peels that are piled on the kitchen counter, and the open door letting in the clean air that smells of sunshine and the promise of spring. I give thanks for the memory in the making, in my darkened den, dirty dishes and all...........now, if I could just have that hour back.......

Tweaking the starter.....

     My bread won't rise. I've tried heating the oven on low and putting the dough in to rest....I've put a pan of boiling water  alongside the dough in the oven - none of my little tricks are working. I hope this doesn't mean my starter has died....maybe it's just the damp cold....maybe the barometric pressure is wonky. I've decided I am going to separate the dough anyway, put it in the loaf pans and try a second rise....the thing about it is - I kind of feel like my dough - I just can't be bothered to rise. Maybe it's this nasty cold I've got .....maybe it's the season of my life....maybe it's all of the changes in the past months, but I sure am ready for a "second rise" - praying that my starter hasn't died.
     Here's the thing about living in the same small town you grew up in - you are always running into someone from your past - a friend, a boyfriend, someone you didn't like, parents of your friends.....Yesterday, I was happy to run into the Mother of one of my favorite friends from High School. He grew up and away - living a life of excitement and importance as a Doctor specializing in Infectious Disease - he's been to Africa to research AIDS and new treatment methods, he's worked in major cities all over the U.S....his has been a life of service and difference making, and I have been so proud of him - watching from afar. Yesterday, standing in the cold rain at the entrance to the Teeter, his Mom told me that he has started a new career - left the practice of Medicine for a job in research - she laughed and said that he felt if he was ever going to branch out, it might as well be now. I answered that he was young enough to have a long and successful second career. We said our goodbyes, I turned to take up my grocery bags and was pole axed. I said it....out of my own mouth - "he is young enough to have a long and successful second career".....He. Is. My. Age.             I think I faced it for the first time yesterday......I. am. not. old....I just feel old.....like my life is over.....yet my dear friend is young enough to have a successful second career.
   His starter appears to be in good working order....mine obviously needs a little nudge.....an oven set to warm, or a pan of boiling water tucked up next to me....but where to find it? How to tweak it, so I rise....not sit in a doughy clump at the bottom of the bowl? The painful truth is - I am old of my own making. Not chronologically....I think of my friend as young enough to start over.....where, then...where am I old? In my thinking? In my heart? In my spirit?
    In bread making terms, it is obviously time to feed the starter.......So I turn to you, my friends...how have you done it? Have you ever found yourselves in need of an overhaul? Have you been successful in lifting yourselves up...in tweaking your starter? Do you mind sharing the recipe.....it just so happens I seem to be in need of a new one.

Sciatic Shuffle

    One should never do the extended version of the Cha-Cha Slide when their Sciatic nerve is on the fritz.....I'd like to think that I sat down at the computer in the kitchen to write tonight because of my burning need to express myself...but it could just as easily be because of the burning in my shoulder and hip, and my need to rest before attempting the steps that lead to my bed! You see....we had a dance tonight....at the Church....that's right....at the Baptist Church. Young people....old people....and all kinds of in between people. A Valentines Dinner/Dance, with beautiful decorations, Steak, and a most excellent play list for the dancing - beach music, Moves Like Jagger music, Twist music, fun line dancing music, and of course - a little bit of Romantic Music....it is almost Valentines, after all. I wish I could download my memory - so that you could see the pictures I am seeing, as I sit here - sciatic nerve in my hip throbbing - foot slightly numb....But I'll do my best to describe it - because it really was quite a night. Our new Youth Minister is a dancing machine - he's my  Hero, because he did the unthinkable...he made the dancing seem cool and fun - and before you knew it, Middle School boys were dancing with Middle School girls - high school girls were dancing with each other...the High School Boys....well...you can't win 'em all! Fathers were dancing with Daughters, Mothers were dancing with Sons (I sure did miss College Boy), Teens dancing with the "old folks", and the four and five year olds were dancing with helium balloons that had once been centerpieces! "Pillars" of the community were ripping off their bow ties, swinging them over their heads Gagnum Style, and having a blast. A beloved Gentleman who is slowly forgetting himself and those around him, cut quite a figure as his sense memory guided him as he danced - a beautiful slow dance.
    I love to dance - always have, always will - and it was fun to teach a 13 year old how to dance to Beach Music, nice to slow dance with my sweetie, and worth every minute of  Sciatic agony I will experience tonight -  to Cha-Cha Slide, do the YMCA, the Macarena, the Cupid Shuffle, the Twist....The familiarity of our Fellowship, the joy we felt from laughing and playing together turned the ordinary into the extraordinary. In the grand scheme of Society, our Valentines Dance was a little thing - hardly worth notice, really....except, to my way of thinking, it was so much more. It was 1st Graders in Beautiful dresses....2 little guys enthralled with pink and red helium balloons, and using them as dance partners....a celebration of a 61st Anniversary.....it was a gaggle of teen-aged girls gathered around the handsome exchange student....it was a team of men, adorned with Aprons, cooking for a multitude......it was a time for splitting the last piece of pie...a time for thoughtful teens, bringing coffee to their elders....a time for laughter and family and kinship........it was a celebration of a young widow and widower - how they found each other and blended their children into one big beautiful new family.... a time to forget the aches and pains that make days a  chore.... it was a simple pleasure of togetherness, baked potatoes, and heart paper chains....the best of Life - for this Mid Life Wife.

Talons, and Wings, and Beaks.....Good-bye....

    I have washed my last egg. No more will I see my sweet babiest girl, cheeks pink with the cold, run into the kitchen carrying 3 warm eggs in her bucket. The Girl Scout Silver Award project is complete, and our beautiful chickens are safely ensconced in their new home - giving the residents of a halfway house a new sense of responsibility, and quite possibly the best source of an omelet within the city limits. You might recall that I was slightly discombobulated by their birdlike qualities, when the chickens first came to our house to live...but I made my peace with their beaks and talons (so achieved by never entering the coop enclosure), and grew to love their constant presence. At first, my eyes found the peachy orange of their chicken coop jarring (babiest girl and her partner did a primo job painting the coop), but I soon came to love the cheery contrast it made nestled among the brown bark of the  pines in the backyard - and found it to be downright homey, next to the deep red of our storage barn. If you stood in the back yard and called "chickens" - letting your voice raise by at least a 5th on the second syllable, they would answer with a soothing, heart warming clucking. On pretty days, I would go up and wedge my sizeable backside into one of the swings on the kids old playset and sit there swinging - watching the girls go about their business.....scratching in the dirt, ruffling their feathers, drinking their water, pecking at the fencing...as I swung back and forth, my shoulders relaxed, and my blood pressure lessened.
    The back yard feels empty - no bright orange coop, no scratching or clucking...and perhaps, most saddening of all...no more fresh eggs! The girls were good layers, and we were amazed to discover that each chicken had a signature shell to her eggs. Abigail's were very pale brown, with a pink tinge, and they were the smallest of all. Kesha's eggs bore the cutest freckles, and Falcon's eggs were deep brown - the largest of all. (All of the eggs came with the byproduct of their origin - hence the washing!) When you cracked them, the yolks were the deepest gold, and the whites were thick and clear. Having free, home farmed, fresh eggs to feed my family everyday was an amazing thing - somewhat akin to nursing my babies. I remember feeling this magnificent power - knowing that I had the ability to produce food capable of keeping another human alive....It's the same with baking my bread - every time I bake my loaves, I am reminded that I - by my own two hands - can produce food capable of sustaining those I love.
    We are already working on Mr. Kennedy....reminding him of how much he loves two fresh eggs - sunnyside up....how little work it was, taking care of the chickens....how happy their gentle clucking made all of us...what a great value we received from the few dollars of scratch and feed we purchased. He, thus far, seems unmoved - unswayed by our desire to have a permanent Kennedy flock.....It might be time to throw in a snippet about how we might possibly survive a zombie apocalypse..... with a few eggs and a loaf of sourdough bread.

Forever Young....

      The cover of the magazine almost did me in....there they stood - I had to look twice, and blink once - for the names were right, but the faces....they didn't  exactly fit.....Luke and Laura. Think back....for me, it was the summer before I started College - the TRUE wedding of the century.....Soap Opera Drama at it's finest....Romance, Angst, Conflict, Gorgeous Wedding Dress.....She was beautiful (But a terrible actress). He was dangerous....the kind of man your Mother warned you about. Together they represented a fairy tale (albeit a dark one) come true, and eternal youth. Which may explain why my brain refused to accept the photographic evidence right in front of me...on the cover of Soap Opera Digest...on the rack by the Cash Register....at the Teeter.....where I was recently offered the Senior Citizen Discount.....
      "Luke and Laura - Reunited", the headline proclaimed. Tony Geary (Luke), never your typical handsome man, has not aged well....he looks a little like your standard Creepy Old Man next door. Genie Frances (Laura), looked like somebody's Middle Aged Mom...jowlish jaw line and all.  I've been noticing it alot lately...how folks around me - my contemporaries - are suddenly looking their age...the face that stares out at me from the mirror may or may not be looking a little beyond it's age.....but Luke and Laura?! That's just adding insult to injury.

     It's been a long few days.....nothing earth shattering - just the reality that is mine. Extreme Penny Pinching (my best sport) grows wearisome from time to time, and there are days when it weighs heavily on my spirit. I have had to tell the girls "No", one too many times this week....they ask for so little, and it hurts me....how how rarely the word "Yes" can fall from my lips. I miss College Boy so much today that it is a physical ache....I think that this latest bought of separation sadness was brought on by this past weekend's ice storm. The girls and I were snuggled in the Den - I was watching the clock as the streets were getting more treacherous by the minute - John was late getting in from work, and I was starting to worry. As I heard his key in the back door, I breathed a sigh of relief and thought - "Thank God - now we are all safe, here in the house".....and then it struck me that I was thinking in terms of "Us" as four people, instead of five.....thereby admitting that College Boy is making his own life....as it should be. Which is cause for celebration.....and sadness.
   As I left the house this morning, I popped Joan Baez into the CD player in the car....I got it from the Library over the weekend - her Greatest Hits Album....I had it on Cassette AND 8 track, back in the day, and it was often the soundtrack to my young life.....the best tracks (to my way of thinking) were the ones that dealt with lost love. Forever Young was another favorite - an anthem of empowerment to those of us who were 21 - and surely would remain so in perpetuity. It has been many years since I last heard this song, and as I listened to it this morning I realized it was NOT an anthem dedicated to the 21 year olds.....It is a prayer - for those trudging along in the trenches of life. It speaks, not to the Newly Wed Luke and Laura....but to the Luke and Laura on the cover of the Soap Opera Digest.....the ones that look a little ragged ...the ones that inevitably  wear life's mileage on their faces.....and that very mileage....the mileage that causes our backs to hurt, our knees to crack, our foreheads to furrow, our hair to grey- also causes our spirits to grow heavy....causes our tempers to grow sullen, our hope to run short.....causes us to grow old.
   Children have such depth of spirit.....they are eager and open - they thirst for knowledge, and view the world as a place of wonder. They love with abandon, and express that love without reservation. They forgive easily, and start each day in anticipation of a possible adventure....More than flawless skin, luminous hair, and a 26 inch waist....THIS is what we loose as we age...THIS is the youth Joan Baez wished for us, when she sang her prayer...the prayer I say for myself tonight.....the prayer I say for you, too....
   
      "May God Bless and keep you always, may your wishes all come true. May you always do for others, and let others do for you. May you build a ladder to the stars, and climb on every rung.....and may you stay forever young. May you grow up to be righteous, may you grow up to be true, may you always know the truth and see the light surrounding you. May you always be courageous, stand upright and be strong...and may you stay forever young. May your hands always be busy, may your feet always be swift, may you have a strong foundation when the winds of changes shift. May your heart always be joyful, may your song always be sung.....and may you stay......Forever Young."

Thus endeth the lesson....

    Here's the thing.....when you work with kids, your life is Never Dull! As a Children's Minister, I am privy to a wealth of the precious, the funny, and the downright unbelievable words that fall from the mouths of babes! Take the Sunday, several months ago. I always peak in to each classroom at the beginning of the Sunday School hour, and then again, right before I go to warm up for choir. On this particular day, I went into the Pre School room and read a story. Afterwards, I was in the robing room, putting on my choir robe (my WHITE choir robe), when I remembered that I had left my keys on the counter, so on my way to the choir room, I went back to the Pre School room to retrieve them. As I entered, I heard a gasp,then a squeal, and suddenly there was a three year old hugging me around the knees, and saying in a hushed voice...."Miss Kelley - I always knew you were an angel!"
     Tonight.....not so much. Tonight, we were overflowing with kids of varying school ages, a couple of whom were new. To get everybody focused, I suggested we go around the room and say name, age, and grade in school. Once that was done, as a segue to our lesson, I asked who the youngest child in the room was - then the oldest (we figured this out by birth dates, as we had several of each age). As I was reeling them in to the lesson, one little friend piped up - "wait a minute.....thus and so isn't the oldest (name changed to protect the innocent).....Miss Kelley is the oldest!" Suddenly the room was filled with a cacophony of agreement....."That's right"....."Oh yeah (Said with a laugh), Miss Kelley is OLD"......."She's the oldest, she IS!"......you get the general idea - in one fell swoop, just like that, I lost control of the room.  Control was soon gained by a 5 year old who exclaimed "At least Miss Kelley is not as old as GOD........" "That's right", said her 6 year old compadre, "God is the OLDEST of the Old!"......."Yeah", said another friend, "but what does that make Miss Kelley?!" Several thoughts were then bandied about (None of which were in agreement to MY suggestion that we get back to the lesson at hand!). The pitch of the room was escalating, with each child trying to outdo the other with their passionate opinions in regards to my antiquity.  I feared that a riot was eminent...and then, one of the little darlings, with elbows on the table, put her head in her hands and said "Let's face it......Miss Kelley is Older than Old".........So let it be written......so let it be done.....thus endeth the lesson!

Not enough Hand Sanitizer in. the. WORLD!

          Here I am, a day late and a dollar short...as usual. I missed Tirade Tuesday by just one day. Can you have Tirade Tuesday on Wednesday?...No?...OK - how about Whiny Wednesday....yeah - let's go with that. I know that it might just be possible that I have an inordinate amount of things that annoy me - that aggravate me....like men wearing ball caps indoors, or bad grammar....chewing with one's mouth open - and here's a biggie......cars that go the wrong way in parking lots that have clearly designated "up" aisles and "down" aisles.
     It bothers me to see lovely young women going about their business, out in public, wearing pajamas. (Lord help Baby Girl and Babiest Girl if I ever catch wind of them doing so....). And of course, Trouser waistbands that ride the mid buttock/ upper thigh region, move me to lower the car window and scream to the offender "Pull up your Pants!!!" (Much to the dismay of my offspring!) I am annoyed by restaurants that  serve Pepsi products, and I really can't stand it if someone chews near my ear. Seeing kitchen cabinet doors left open works my last nerve, and upity, elitist folks send me over the edge. I hate it when Green lifesavers that I assume are Lime, turn out to be Watermelon.....and although I am a child of the 70's - it annoys me when people don't dress appropriately.....jeans and tennis shoes are just not meant to be worn to "dress your best" events. But today.....today, I may have reached a new high (or low, depending how you look at it....), when it comes to things that make me crazy........
          It was a simple thing - I held out my money, to be taken by the cashier. The first thing I noticed, as she reached out to take my payment, were her hands.....great, giant, beefy hands (Remember the Seinfeld episode re: Man Hands?!) Then, she took my money with both of those beefy hands.... in so doing, both of her hands grasped mine, and pulsated up my hand, from wrist to fingertip, almost as if she were wiping off something nasty, while adding a slight caress ....her hands were warm, and horribly damp....no, not damp.....moist......For a split second, I saw spots in front of my eyes and calculated just how much change I had coming, and if it was worth it to stand there for one more instant. I took a deep breath, girded my loins, and held my hand out for the change.....flat palmed, like they tell you to feed animals, so they don't accidentally bite your hand.
                    
                        I was giving myself a quick pep talk....this won't be so bad....
                             she'll just drop the change in your hand......
                                                                 
                                                        BLERG!!
            
            It was worse!....She gave me the change in reverse fashion. Both of her hands grasping mine, fingering down the length of my hand to the wrist, and then back up. Her moist fingertips lingering on mine. I could no longer rely on my home training....I could not be polite one second longer. I jerked my hand away and fled. It is not for nothing that I am known in my family as The Hand. Washing. Nazi. I could actually see the dampness that had been transferred from her hands to mine. I caught up to my crawling skin about half way to the bathroom, where I commenced scrubbing to a fair thee well, because people....let me tell you - there is not enough hand sanitizer in the World, for THAT kind of public interaction.