Sunday, December 20, 2009

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

A life LIVED!

Last week my husband's mom passed away.  She suffered with Alzheimer disease for over 15 years.  We had her up here, close to us for the past 3 years.  We could BE with her.  Smile with her.  Hold her hand.  Talk about her farm days.  The chickens, the cows, the popcorn she ate with her dad.  She didn't know who we were.  Not by name.  Not by face.  But she could FEEL us.  We knew that.  For sure.  When she could speak she told us at her 90th birthday celebration at the nursing home, "I like what I see" - my husband holding her hand, smiling his gentle warm smile at her - her grandsons, 9 and 6 playing around her - and me, leaning toward her, rubbing her shoulder.  That will forever remain with me. 

Interesting when someone close to us passes - we can, if we choose, to see ONLY love.  She was difficult to be around 15 years ago.  We didn't know she had the disease.  My husband's dad didn't want to burden us.  When his dad passed away, my husband became her POA.  We found out then - that it was Alzheimer.

The first six months she was here, we all played!  Took her to lunch, sang songs with her, brought her to church with us each week, went to the park, festivals, had her at our house, read to her.  The boys jumped all over her.  Crawled in her lap.  She read them stories.  Told them stories.  It was so wonderful.

She didn't remember us after a while.  We were prepared.  We had fun with it.  We'd repeat the same things over and over and then tease her.  We could always get her to laugh.

And eat chocolate!

That woman LOVED chocolate.  She couldn't remember our names, our faces, but give her a piece of chocolate - and she'd smile and say, "luscious!"

Bluish purple was her favorite color.  Her finger nails were painted a bright fuchsia color, lipstick on her lips, earrings dangling from her ears.  She was one of those gals who embellished her clothes, her jewelry, even her plain pillow cases.  She HAND MADE dozens upon dozens of quilts.  She crossed stitched, embroidered, knitted, crocheted and painted.  She played the organ, the piano and directed the choir at her church in her little town.  She made banana bread unlike any other I've ever eaten.  It didn't turn dark brown and it didn't have all those brown specks in it.  It was light and fluffy.  She served her church, her family and her friends to best of who she was.  She was a proud woman.

And the best part.

She and my father-in-law adopted my husband as a baby and raised him and loved him.  I will be forever grateful for that gift.  He is truly one of the best men I know.  In spirit.  In kindness.  In care.  In manliness.  In respectability.  In honor.  I have never met a better man.

Thank you, Mom, Momma, Grammy, Grandma Beryl, Honey for who you were and for being here for all of us.  You will be missed.


Sunday, November 8, 2009


I don't really know how to do this blogging thing.  I can't figure out how to post pictures.  I want to change the colors, the background, the fonts, add fun decorations, have ads, sell stuff, create those badges, etc.  The girl who knows how to do all of this is about ready to go into labor.  Any day now.  I can't ask her.  So I'll wait.  You'll have to see me on FB.  I know what I'm doing there.  Sort of.

Hope to see you here soon!


Wednesday, October 21, 2009


I love the description and words and clarifications that come from my boys.

Today:  "It's a handful to write, but fast to read!"  my oldest son told me after I sat reading what he had written in his notebook about the Battle of Saratoga (for school).

In fact I think I'll start another blog and call it  A HANDFUL TO WRITE!  Genius, really!

My younger son makes up words that actually sound like they should be words.  I understand them.  When I try to sneak in a word that perhaps he's actually trying to say, you know as a replacement, he corrects me. "No, Mom, I meant tractionary", in reply to the remote for his Cat bulldozer.  See what I mean?  Tractionary.   You can figure it out too!

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Welcome to my kitchen table

So much happens at the kitchen table! Isn't it just about the grandest place in all the world?

I don't really like my kitchen table. It's a hand me down. From my in-laws. It's the perfect shape for the tiny breakfast area, though. For now I'll keep it.

However, the most amazing things are created and tended to at this table. Half my creative life occurs in this little spot. I have my afternoon tea here. I read wonderful magazines at this table.

It's the wonderful spot where I first used my breast pump (while nursing my babies). It's where my husband and I would land while caring for our sons when they were infants, up in the middle of the night.

The little oval, formica table top is where my husband and I discuss just about everything. Our home's remodels, decisions about his mom who has Alzheimer disease, whether or not we'll be on vacation this year and where to if we can go, what curriculum to purchase for the boys. And God. The church. Everything.

It's an amazing place.

I hide there some times. It's steady with traffic, though. You walk in from the kitchen, from the dining room and from the great room, from the laundry room and from the back door. Doesn't seem to be a place for hiding. But believe me. I can sit there for an hour and all the passersby don't even take notice of me. And I don't notice them. They rush to and fro as I sip my chamomile brew and read or draw or paint or contemplate.

From this spot is where this blog is born. My Mac is not in there, but it's close enough.

I'll ponder from the kitchen table. And walk over here and write to you.

Hope to hear from you, too!



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