All Good Gifts Around Us....

   The first time I sang this anthem, I was pregnant with Babiest Girl....16 years ago - the Sunday before Thanksgiving. "All good gifts around us are sent from Heaven above. So thank the Lord, Oh thank the Lord for all his Love...." The words are familiar and simple....the melody and harmonies are haunting and soul stirring. I have never sung this piece, that it did not reduce me to tears - today was no exception.
    The tears have actually flown freely in the last 24 hours.....First - it was a YaYa Weekend, so there were tears of joyful greetings, tears from laughter, and tears from worries and troubles shared. Sadly, I had to leave the Gathering early, to get to the Theatre for the final performance of my current Show. At Intermission, the Night Manager came to my dressing room, and told me I had a friend in the Audience. The name she offered rang no bells, and I momentarily feared for the state of my stellar memory. A tugging began in the back of my mind, as I thought - that must be a married name. I grabbed up my phone, and started going through my FaceBook friend list - and then....NO.....it couldn't be. My Childhood friend.....my Neighborhood Bestie.....how many hours had we spent, playing in the creek, skating in her carport.....putting on plays in my room, playing Monopoly, praying for snow days.....
     I could hardly wait for the show to be over. Would I recognize her? Suddenly, her sweet face was in front of me...unchanged over the years. More tears, shrieks  of joy and disbelief....her dear smile transporting me to long ago and far away.
    This morning, surprise tears overtook me, as I learned that a young woman I have long loved had been named a Deacon in our Church. I taught this girl in Sunday School, Vacation Bible School and Children's Choir. As she grew to a Teenager, she became my babysitter, and as she grew to Adulthood, she became my friend. I had to lock myself in my office to cry tears of happiness and wonder, as I bore witness to the Circle of Life.
   Which is how I found myself in the Choir Loft at the 11:00 service singing through my tears..."All good gifts around us are sent from Heaven above. So thank the Lord, Oh thank the Lord for all his Love". In that 8 pages of music I saw myself as a little girl, long hair flying as I twirled around a carport in my new boot skates.....I felt myself pregnant with my last child, happy and wistful...I was a naturally raven haired 20 something (no hair dye required), walking through campus with my friends....I was a MidLife Wife, astonished by how blessed life can be - even when it is bone crushingly difficult....
   I lifted my voice in Thanksgiving....grateful to know that you can dance in the rain, mindful that I have been granted my hearts desire - a family to love and call my own. Grateful for the view from MidLife - where I can pause, and see the tapestry, woven by my years on this earth.....see the beautiful smiles of old friends, cry tears of love and remembrance, and hold hope for the sunshine tomorrow. So, thank the Lord......for all his love.....Blessed Be.

The Actor's Life for Me.....

   It is 8:00 p.m., and I find myself in the kitchen, running the water, trying to coax my bladder into releasing that which it is designed to hold.....it's just been that kind of a day. It started off well enough - Special K and Cheese Toast for breakfast. 2 Cups of coffee, Babiest girl out the door mostly on time to school. A couple of loads of laundry, and I too was out the door - headed to the next town over, where I had a matinee at the Dinner Theatre.
   I believe I have mentioned before, that one of the perks of working Dinner Theatre is the meal that accompanies your paycheck. As I set my plate down at the table and joined my cast mates for lunch, I caught the tail end of the news of the morning....plumbing issues. A few toilets non functioning (unless you call overflowing functioning), but not to worry, the plumber was on his way. By the time I shimmied into my Act one Costume, the entire Women's Restroom was closed due to....ummm....malfunctions. The Men's room hurriedly became the Women's, and the Men came upstairs to the Actors Restroom (Theatre folk are resourceful, you know?)....that would be about the time I scared my bladder into submission. After having Three Children, AND not listening to my Doctor about the importance of the Kegel exercise, I find myself in need of the facilities.....often. Not entirely possible today....which is why I had prayer meeting with my poor aforementioned bladder before I stepped foot onstage.
   About ten minutes into the show, out of the periphery of my left eye, I saw some sort of commotion in the audience. (The theatre is in the round - in the square, actually, and the stage is surround on all four sides by patrons). As I turned, following my blocking, I saw the sweet little lady with whom I had chatted in the buffet line, slumped over her table in a dead faint. As people rushed to tend to her, amid mumbles and rumbles, the action on stage continued. I had a fortuitous exit, and used my time off stage to ask about halting the show. The lobby was quite a scene....managers on the phone to 911, a family member pacing and telling me that he thought she was "gone". Another bemoaning the fact that the lady had no pulse....you get the picture. We managed to get through the scene, and then paused while the paramedics entered the Theatre to tend to the still unresponsive woman. To our great surprise, the woman we feared deceased was revived, and walked out to the waiting ambulance. (She later returned to the theatre, to sit in the lobby for the remainder of the show).
  Toilets continued to fall to blockage, one by one, until none remained. After a quick costume change at intermission, and another stern warning to the old bladder, we finished the show...amazed that we were all still standing.
,   As I left the Theatre, on my way to yet another town to pick up Babiest Girl from the Fancy Pants School, I realized I needed coffee.....badly. So, I stopped at the Sheetz before I got on the Highway, where I added a little Irish Cream flavoring to my Dark Roast -  I deserved those extra calories after THAT show! Standing in a very long line to pay, I was happy to hear one of my favorite songs cue up on the Musak......"SHOUT!" You know, of Animal House Fame? The very same song that I broke my wrist to, at my Best Friends Wedding (but that is another story).  As to what happened next, my only excuse is that I was still in Actor mode....you know....we dance to the preshow music in the Lobby, dance to the scene change music in the Lobby, dance to the curtain call music......I just zoned out for a minute. Imagine my surprise and extreme mortification, when I realized I was dancing. Not just tapping my feet, but DANCING in the Pay Line at the Sheetz.....during Rush Hour....holding a very hot large Coffee. I must have been pretty good, because by the time I got to the front of the line, Head down, trying to hide my blushing face behind my newly short hair, my coffee was free!!
   20 minute drive, Babiest Girl secured....another 20 minutes back to the old hometown, dinner to fix and eat...dishes to wash....And that is how I find myself, at 8:00 p.m., trying to assure my Bladder that it is O.K. to.....Let it Go! I believe that it must be suffering from a wicked case of stage fright.....terrified to function after such a day.....oh....wait.....gotta run......fast!!

BLUE

  Out of the blue....on a day I was blue.....came a bowl that was blue. Delicate and finely crafted, it arrived at my office this morning, in a box marked "Personal" and "Fragile". It was a gift from my friend's family. My friend that passed away in July.      
               
                      Fred.

   Baby Girl has asked me why I haven't written about Fred. I couldn't. It was too Personal. I was too Fragile.
   Fred was my first love. We met in College. Oddly enough, we had grown up in the same town - his youngest sister was my childhood friend, yet our paths never crossed. I was shy, quiet, naive and sad.
He was Fred......Unbelievably Handsome, Wickedly Funny, Incredibly Talented, and sad. My Mother had just died.....He was just out of the Service.....Off again, On again, after a couple of years we split for good - knowing that the sad places in each of our souls only fed off of the other, making us worse. Amazingly enough, we were able to put the Romance to the side, and over the course of time, he became one of my closest, most enduring friends. I am blessed with a Husband who was never threatened by this friendship...John liked Fred too, and he respected the bond that had been built in our almost 35 years together.
    Last spring, Fred fell ill.  Cancer. It was quick, and brutal, and relentless. He gave me the greatest gift ever, by trusting me with his illness....his hospitalizations....his decline....his pain.....his Funeral.
The term Pole Axed may have been invented just for that day last July, when I learned that he had slipped away in the early morning hours, and then shortly thereafter, when I found out that he wanted ME to plan his funeral...to speak the last words over his beautiful, troubled, wonderful, burdened life.
Those days took more out of me than any since December of 1978, when my Mother died, and I still feel their effects.
   It is Autumn....a time of change....when nature prepares itself for the onslaught of Winter. I feel like I am entering my Autumn. Gone are the halcyon days of the summer of life, when your family was new, your Children were small, and the future stretched before you like gifts under the Christmas Tree in the first week of December.
I am a MidLife Wife...bandying terms about like "downsizing", "Streamlining", "simplifying" - watching my Children....my Young Adults, one by one look to their futures - while I gaze, from the heights of Autumn, back at the seasons past.
    So on this day....out of the blue, when I am blue, gazing at a bowl that is blue, I will remind myself that Autumn and Winter are my favorite time of year....the air is bracing, the sky is brilliant. There are festivals and Celebrations - sacred Holidays and beautifully wrapped gifts. There is adventure and coziness, and gathering of loved ones. If my life should run parallel to the seasons, there is much goodness yet to anticipate.
  The Blue Bowl sits on my kitchen table, surrounded by the last of my red Zinnias,  Beeswax candles and feathers. Every time I look at it, I will remember Fred, and his family. I will remember the gifts and lessons that He left me with....the Girlfriends he reconnected me with after more than 30 years - the YaYa's.....the reminder that life is a gift - fleeting and rare.....Personal.....Fragile.... delicate, finely crafted, and an object of great beauty.

The YaYa Nation

   She sat on the floor.....drying her long black hair, reading as she did so. If it weren't for the grey dusting at the roots of her hair, and the fact that she was reading her emails, not a romance novel, it could have been 30 years ago. For a brief few days, this precious girl was once again my roommate, shaking her head and calling me "Bells".
   8 Women - 4 days at the Beach. 7 Theatre Majors, 1 Music Major. 2 sets of former roommates. 30 some years stood between us and The University of North Carolina at Greensboro - our common denominator.
   We have been separated by time, distance, neglect and circumstance. Some of us were very close, some of us were acquaintances, some were strangers, but in the magic of the ocean air and the smoke of a bonfire, bonds were made and renewed.
   There, in the embrace of a clapboard beach house, we spent our days and nights in laughter and tears....often simultaneously. The Laughter of the variety that makes you bend at the waist and pound the table - the kind that leaves your cheeks sore and your stomach aching - The Tears of the cleansing, healing variety. Suddenly the mundane chores of cooking and cleaning, became a dance - choreographed by the Master Dancer Himself....golden and organic.
 Coffee, eggs and cinnamon rolls....Scallops and spinach, Shrimp and Grits....Country Ham and Bagels, all were elevated to gourmet cuisine when enjoyed by the sea, at a table large and warm enough for all. Small private chats...group Gab fests.....shared remembrances and an unburdening of souls. Games, Photo sessions, shell gathering, movie watching, the crafting of crowns...days and nights were filled with a joyful purpose of spirit.
  Yesterday morning, as we shared our last meal together we found ourselves the Audience as the Creator gifted us with an incomparable show. Dolphins appeared - following a Shrimp Boat. Not the two or three Dolphins that we are all familiar with seeing at the Beach, but 30, 40 or more - too many to count, undulating in the wake of the boat - churning up the water with their presence. Pelicans filled the sky, and shared it with multitudes of Giant Dragonflies and more Butterflies than I have ever seen in one place...orange ones, yellow ones, gracefully riding the wind. The Dolphins must have eaten their fill, because before we knew it, playtime commenced. Leaping, twisting and flipping, they treated us to a show better than any ever seen at SeaWorld or Marineland. Momentarily transfixed, we soon broke into Gasps and shouts and laughter....
   What a gift. Not only the Dolphins, but the entire weekend. A time such as I have never experienced.....a time to reflect on the past....a time to embrace the present.....a time to welcome the future. We are the YaYa's.....warrior women - tired but not broken....older but not old.....searching, but not lost.....individuals, but never alone.

 My friend Kathryn used this Thomas Wolfe quote to describe our time together...."Peace fell upon her spirit. Strong comfort and assurance bathed her whole being. Life was so solid and splendid and so good." So let it be said.....so let it be done......may it always be so.

Weighty Matters

It is a good thing that fingers are the only thing required to move when typing....I think they are currently my only functioning body part. Today, I put my pride to the side, and participated in a new (for Me) class at my Gym. I am stalled in my weight loss, and feeling kind of Rut stuck with Zumba. The cute little girl at the front desk told me I might really like "Active"...the name should have been my first clue.
  The description went something like this -"part step aerobics, part weight lifting. It's fun....you'll love it......."
   This morning I arrived at the appointed hour, and to my consternation, 95 percent of the room FULL of participants looked like Malibu Barbie! Golden tresses slicked back into a gorgeous high ponytail, or elaborate braids artfully tucked into a bun. And as a side note, may I say that I was unaware that spandex could actually BE THAT TIGHT!
    Over in the far corner were a woman in her 40's and a younger girl in gym shorts and a baggy tee....MY TRIBE!! I made my way to that side of the room, introduced myself as new, and asked what equipment I might need. Before you know it, I was set up - step, risers, dumbbells, flat disc weights and yoga mat.
    First up, the step....not too bad - my knees offered only the slightest of protestations, and it was a great cardio workout. Then came the weights.....I wisely chose lighter dumbbells. The instructor is shouting words of encouragement - 20 more - 15 more..."Ladies, don't lift the weights too high in this one - just to right under your chest".....ummmmm......I thought we were supposed to be lifting the weights - if I lifted to just under my chest, what with nursing three babies and gravity, well - lets just say I wouldn't get much benefit from the activity! I quickly looked at the beautiful people, saw how high they were raising their elbows, and followed suit. I will NOT say how far above my chest that movement required.
   Next, some floor work on the angled step unit....not too bad, until the instructor shouted" Now quick, up on your feet"...........to the amusement of the lovelies around me, they were halfway through their next set of standing weight moves before I hauled my carcass up off the floor...the room is fully mirrored, so I don't even have to imagine what I looked like....I had a 360 view!
   Sweaty, hair flying everywhere, I was overjoyed to hear "OK, now lay out your mats, this LAST section will be done in a prone position"....Down went the weights, I grabbed a Yoga mat off of the pile in the back, laid it in my space and..........I became a body in motion! My foot stepped on the mat, which was slicker than Goose S*#t, and away I went, surfing through the ranks of the young, beautiful, lanky, young enough to be my daughter populace. I must say, my balance was impressive, aided by the flailing of my arms, and the swaying of my hips. In a last ditch effort to stop my surfboard of a yoga mat, I hopped off, and stuck the dismount with a two footed landing. Mustering all of the dignity I had left, which let me tell you was minuscule, I gathered up my mat, returned to my place, and quickly laid down upon it.
   I finished the class, returned my equipment to the proper place, and headed out the double doors of the class room to my reward. Just to the right is Nirvana itself.....a small passageway with a gigantic  wall fan on either side. You push the big red button, and it becomes a wind tunnel. Given that wind is just about my favorite thing in the world, those 45 seconds of being buffeted by the giant fans is often the highlight of my day. There, standing in my unadulterated bliss, hair flying EVERYWHERE - I noticed the lovelies, exiting the class room, makeup still perfection, nary a hair out of place. They stared, aghast at my dishabille. I heard a few of them giggling, as they walked away.
   And this is how I know just. how. far. I. have. come.   I will BE their entertainment. Let them exit, laughing about that crazy older lady. I will return to this class tomorrow. Because the joke is on them. At 89 pounds lighter, I can lift weights. I can use a step for aerobics. I can get down on the floor, and even get up. I have won the victory.....thanks be to God, for the laughter of this day.

Oh, and By The Way - if I see you this afternoon, and give you that teenage boy head nod as a greeting, it's because I can't lift my arms above my chest (and we all now know how low that is) to wave.

Never. Dull.

   
       I've cleaned everything that needed cleaning, I can't go upstairs, because Clancey the Crackhouse Puppy and I must stay downstairs and keep a watchful eye. I am unable to settle down enough to read, and I can't watch T.V. in the darkened Den where Babiest Girl lies in a drug induced sleep. "No visual stimuli" is how the Doctor phrased it....so here I sit, in front of the computer, drinking my umpteenth cup of coffee for the day....a day that really started yesterday morning.
   Babiest Girl came downstairs yesterday, dressed for school, but without that usual spring to her step. As we got breakfast together, she casually mentioned that she had a bad headache - a not completely unexpected thing - the Barometric Pressure had changed in the night, and that is one of her Migraine triggers. As she was packing up to leave she said "I had the weirdest dream - I dreamed that I  hit my head on the organ". Here I will pause for a word of explanation - College Boy, being the musician that he is, just happens to have an old electric pedal organ in his Bedroom. Babiest has slept in there the last few nights, as his room is vacant, AND has the best mattress in the house. "Honey", I said, "That wouldn't even be possible...the organ is too far from the bed".
     Hippie Headache oil applied, pain meds taken, I helped Baby Girl out the door to the car - she was determined to soldier on, as she has so many times before, in the onslaught of a Migraine. With one last hug, kiss and "have a good day", she was gone....off to school....and to Field Hockey Practice, and then a special dinner and Smoosh Cake - a tradition at the Fancy Pants School.
   We were in touch a few times during the day, via text....nothing alarming - a little nausea along with the headache...typical for her. When she walked through the door at about 7:30 last night, I knew that we were in trouble....as soon as her feet crossed the threshold, she said "Mom, I don't think it was a dream", whereupon she raised her bangs, and pointed to a lump that had NOT been there when we examined her head before she left for school. The full story of the day came out, and it included visual disturbances, facial pain, and memory lapses. A quick call to the after hours on call Doc had us headed straight for the local ER.
    As we pulled into the the parking lot, we were enveloped in what can only be described as an unsavory looking assemblage of young people (P.C. for gang bangers). So many of them, that for the briefest of moments, I was afraid to get out of the car. Putting on a brave face, I put my arm around Babiest and propelled her forward and through the big Bay doors, wondering  why there were so many folks out at 8:00 on a Monday night. (I later found out that there had been another shooting, and a couple of drug overdoses)
    After a triage assessment, we were taken immediately to a room, and with mind boggling speed, my girl was being wheeled down to a CT Scan. The diagnosis - concussion with a 3cm. hematoma. Blessedly, there was no brain bleeding or swelling. She had INDEED fallen out of the bed and hit her head on the damned organ. As it was explained to me by the ER Doc (I will pause to say that the Dr.s and nurses were really terrific. We couldn't have asked for better), the Concussion probably brought on a Migraine (the visual disturbances were in both eyes - indicating Migraine not confined to the one side, which would have indicated pain from the concussion). The Doctor said that it would be best if we could stop the Migraine, giving the brain the peace and quiet it needed to heal. He recommended a standard course of the "Migraine Cocktail" - 4 different IV meds that used together had great success in putting the brakes on a Migraine.
    Let me state right here, that we are NOT medicine people. It is with trepidation that I hand out Advil, much less anything else. I have always been blessed to have Doctors that respected my views. Consequently - we medicate  very little....an antibiotic for Strep, and that's about it. So you can imagine my distress, as the list of medications were ticked off. "Breathe", I said to myself...."all will be well, and she will be helped". And it was.....and she was........after a terrifying reaction to one of the drugs (according to the nurses, and our own Doc this morning at a follow up visit, probably the Steroid). Almost immediately after they started to push the second med into the IV, a little voice piped up, sounding as if it were far away "Is it supposed to take affect so fast? I feel funny". And then, it was as if she were Linda Blair. Her limbs flailed and trembled so violently, I was certain she was having a seizure. Body stiffened, head pushed back with mouth wide open - her heart beating so fast and hard, that the little silver Anchor necklace she was wearing bounced up and down in a nightmarish dance. Out came the heart and vitals moniters.
   I could hear the words coming out of my mouth, calm and zen like....encouraging her to start her breath prayer mantra....you know - three words inhale, three words exhale....I even gave her my Mantra to use - "Trust the Gift, Trust the Giver".....inside however, I was a hot ball of fiery fear....every nerve ending screaming "Help her Lord!"
   In reality, the episode probably lasted less than 10 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity. Then she slept, and my eyes bored holes in the monitors....heart rate dropping....140....125.....110......99....eventually all vitals returned to normal, though they kept her for quite a while for observation. When she was cleared to go, the nurse (A wonderful Man - with a true giftedness for nursing) suggested I go get the car -  he would get her in a wheelchair, and keep watch over her while I was gone.
   I raced down the hall, through the doors and out into the night. I had forgotten about the assembled masses of unsavory looking young people. By this time it was after midnight, and my Mothers voice came, whispering in my ear - never walk alone at night.....Keys held between my fingers to function like a sort of brass knuckles (I read about that once, as a good defense....I needed it, after I gave up carrying my real set of Brass Knuckle on my key chain after college, but that is a story for another time) I jogged to my car. unlocked the door, and threw myself inside. My long skirt caught in the door, I pulled the handle to get it unstuck and.....nothing.....my door wouldn't open. Insert your choice of expletive here - you're bound to get one of them right....I used them all. You see, my window doesn't work (neither does my A.C.), and a few nights ago, John took the inside panel of the door off, to pull out the window motor, so he could order a new one. In so doing, he may or may not have broken the door handle, and then Jerry Rigged it. Always a man with a plan, he said "Don't worry about it - it should open, and if not....just crawl out the other side".....RIGHT.
    The air in my car was blue with Kitchen Words as I pulled the car out of the lot and around to the ER doors. I rolled down the passenger side window, leaned over, wearing my best "please don't hurt me" face, and inquired of the multitudes of young men loitering around the entrance if they wouldn't please help me, by opening my door from the outside. There were several that were happy to oblige, and before you know it, I was out and opening the door for Babiest Girl. My new friends were happy to help me get her into the car, and wished us well as we drove into the the night...or early morning. However you want to look at it.
   John was waiting in the Relaxation Pavillion (fine...Car Port) as we pulled into the drive, whereupon he opened the door for me (He has since Re Jerry Rigged it, so I should be fine). We got Babiest in the house and on the recliner, where she slept soundly - Clancey and I kept watch.
   So now, it is late afternoon. She lies on the sofa in the dark room...I sit here where I can watch the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest....Sometimes,It may be dark..... Often times,It may be hard....but my Life? It is never dull.

Another Mother

   I can see her.....clear as day. Stooped and frail, neck held at an awkward angle, thanks to her dowagers hump. Glorious silvery hair, permed and done "just so", smelling of Aqua Net. I always loved how her hair matched the color of her glasses frames - deep silver with a smidge of charcoal .  My Grandmother. My Father's Mother. My Father had her eyes. I have her eyes. We both had her heart.
    I always thought it curious (My Father thought it highly annoying), how she could never let us go with just one hug. There was always something else to tell us, or show us, or give us. We could never make it to the car without her pressing something into my Father's hands....Some cake, or pie - some knick knack from Daddy's childhood. A plate or a glass dish,  some money.....
    She came to me today, unbidden but not unwelcome. She sat on my shoulder as I followed College Boy to his car - not once, but twice. She put her arm around me, as I cried through not one but two grocery stores after He left. She gently told me that I would now need to be Another Mother.
     The word came right out of my own mouth. He was not the one to say it - it was me. Right on the heels of "Remember, don't drink and drive", and "Make sure you take the last of your Antibiotic" it came.
                               "Call me, when you get home."
And I was done for. Two weeks ago, (three days after we moved Baby Girl into College) we moved College Boy into his first Apartment. (I hope that doesn't mean I now have to call him Apartment Boy)
A year round Apartment - with a real kitchen, a washer and dryer, and a permanent address. He lives there now.     Home.          He visits here.          "Call me when you get home".
  As soon as those words left my mouth, I understood my Grandma. Every little thing she ever gave my Dad as we were trying to get started on the 2 hour trip home, even when he was 55 years old, was, for her, a tie to a time when she was his "Mama". Something that represented what she had been to him, before she had to become Another Mother. A tie to his first home....the first place that he belonged.....the place where he would always belong. It was her way of saying "Do not forget me"..."Come back again"......."I remember......"
   I have no idea how to be Another Mother. I have no example. My Mom died before she could show me how to make the transition from being the Mother of a little child to that of an Adult.     Another Mother.
   So, College Boy pulled out of the driveway, laden with Sourdough Bread and Strawberry Freezer Jam, a couple of new shirts, and a travel mug of Coffee that I brewed, just for him.
   This is what we all want, isn't it? To have our Children grow to adulthood, safe and happy? We read and we work and we do everything in our power to learn to parent children. And then they go off to College, and turn 21, and get an Apartment. And just like that, you have to start all over again, learning how to be Another Mother.  On Monday, I will take Baby Girl back to her College. She will exit the car with a beautiful smile and a wave. I wager that she will not even look back, as she takes the wooded walkway to her dorm.
The first signal that soon, she will require Another Mother.....one that presses baked goods into her sweet hands as she drives away. One that prays unceasingly for her safety, her health and her happiness. One that watches as she pulls out of the driveway and heads off towards home. Hopefully by then, I will be a pro, but let me tell you.....it is going to be a steep learning curve - one best approached with caution....and a few tears.