Carry

"Carry" is a word my maternal grandmother used a lot. A nurse in a small Mississippi town, Mamaw would carry people to the hospital. She even had a spiffy maroon Barracuda with a fold down seat that she used to transport the sick to the local emergency room before the advent of reliable ambulance service.

Mamaw would also carry food to the sick and bereaved. She carried the "old people" who were often younger than SHE was, to the doctor, the grocery store, and to church.

My mother was my grandmother's only child. She was a nurse as well, and inherited the "carry" gene. Before she became chronically ill, Mama carried people to the doctor and the grocery store. Even after Mama became quite ill, if she heard about an illness or death in our circle of community and friends, she would get out of bed, cook, and carry food.

My sister and I are third generation "carriers." With two children and a full time job, my sister is mostly a food carrier. She may not cook all her food from scratch, but she knows where the best takeout is.

And I am a carrier. It is just in my nature. I carry people to the doctor and the hospital. I carry food, usually homemade, to the sick and bereaved. I get more stressed at the thought of NOT being able to do these things than I ever get at DOING them.

I really feel like carrying is in my blood. Being able to do this honors the memories of both my mother and my grandmother. This apple did not fall far from the tree.

So, I carry. And carry on.

Twick

Actually, her given name was Martha. Nobody ever called her that, though. It was always "Twick." This gracious lady was a staunch supporter of me and my music. Hers was the face I looked for in the congregation for encouragement.

Twick passed away on Thursday of cancer. Lung cancer. She had none of the risk factors. Just one of those unexplainable things.

I was honored to be asked to sing for Twick's funeral service today. It was quite an occasion. Four members of the clergy, two lay speakers, two soloists, and a jazz trumpeter were all part of the service that Twick had spent her last weeks planning.

I got through my solo. I was behind a huge stand of flowers and had difficulty seeing the family. I was handcuffed by my choir director's wish for piano accompaniment to a song that begged to be allowed the freedom of being sung a cappella. Asthma, MG, and exhaustion worked together to make breathing more difficult than usual. Although I know few, if any, in the congregation noticed, I was left feeling frustrated and unsatisfied with what I wanted to be my very best effort.

All I can do now is pray that God took my less than perfect effort and made it good enough.

At least for Twick.

Alone Again

My husband is working, so I ate Sunday lunch today alone.

I would love to occasionally be able to go out with friends for lunch on Sunday when this is the case. But, the problem is, most of them go to the casinos to eat. Even the Methodists. I don't go to the casinos.

Back when the people of my city were trying to vote to make Riverboat gambling legal, my pastor at the time took the typical Methodist stance against it. But, some church people, many of whom had much to gain financially, wanted gambling voted in. This all resulted in causing a split in my church that has yet to fully heal.

I never wanted any part of the casinos. I voted against them. True to predictions, our crime rate has gone up and social service agencies are overwhelmed with people who have gambled away the welfare or child support checks and need help feeding their families for the rest of the month.

My husband and I seem to be the only hold outs in our respective families. We have missed parties, family gatherings, and opportunities to be with friends. It gets a bit lonely sometimes. But we have to do what is right for us.

At least I enjoy my own company. :)

Dungy

Wow! My cup runneth over as far as football is concerned. First, LSU wins the National Championship. Then, Eli makes it to the Super Bowl. Now, much the delight of legions of Indianapolis Colts fans, myself included, Tony Dungy has agreed to come back and coach at least ONE more year.

In the world of professional sports, class is sometimes at a premium. But the Indianapolis Colts have it in Spades with Tony Dungy both on and off the field.

Peyton might even be doing a happy dance.



Nah.

Eli

A Manning is going to the Super Bowl and it ain't Peyton.

If anyone had said to me at the beginning of this season that Peyton's baby brother would be going to the Super Bowl while Peyton watched, I would not have believed it. Eli has been in the shadow of his big brother all his young life. The name Manning may open doors, but it brings an awful lot of pressure as well.

Eli's daddy is Ole Miss legend Archie Manning. It is hard to explain to anyone not from around here what "Archiemania" was like in those days. Even those of us who did not root for Ole Miss had a soft spot for the polite, soft spoken young man from Drew, Mississippi. We were happy when he was drafted by the New Orleans Saints, who were the closest thing Mississippians had to a "home" team.

But, New Orleans was never able to build a decent team around Archie and he played almost his entire career being the only good player on a team so bad that fans wore paper bags over their heads to the games. He tried to play a couple of other places, but by that time his oft sacked and weary body just wasn't up to it anymore. He left the pro game, never realizing his potential.

When the draft threatened to put Eli in the same position his daddy had been in years before, Archie stepped in to try to keep that from happening. It might not have been the smartest move, but it was certainly motivated by concern for his son's future. I think Eli's behavior on draft day had more to do with Archie than Eli himself.

Since then, I think Eli has shown that he is willing to do what it takes to grow into his name and family legacy. Even if he does not win the Super Bowl, (and I am by no means counting him out) I think he has shown the football world that he too has the talent and heart to take his rightful place in Manning history.

I wish him the best.

Geaux Tigers!!! National Champs!

GEAUX TIGERS!!!

The LSU Tigers are the 2007 National Champions!

After a REALLY crummy week, this is a real cheerer-upper!

My T-shirt is ordered. With apologies to my fellow football fans, I am gonna milk this for all it is worth!

Tee-Wee

My dad came home from a morning hunt with the news that our former maid and nanny had passed away this morning at the age of 92. He went by her house to take her some deer meat and got the news from her foster son, Calvin.

Some of my earliest memories in life are of Tee-Wee. We moved to Russum, Mississippi when I was 3 years old, my brother 2, and my sis was still an infant. Daddy hired Tee-Wee to help my mama and to take care of us during the day. My brother would bang on the table with his fork and spoon, demanding that Tee-Wee make him "battercakes." She never failed to oblige. Those hands that could wring a chicken's neck in seconds, gently wiped away tears when we fell prey to ordinary childhood hurts. Tee-Wee could not pronounce my sister Tammy's name so she became "Tangy baby."

Like most folks around there, we struggled to make ends meet. Tee-Wee and her husband, John, gave us free rein of their fields of corn and peas. They brought us baskets of blackberries in season. In return, we took them to town to get groceries, and when boycotts threatened, we did their grocery shopping for them. In that much simpler time, despite the racism of other places, tiny Russum was an oasis. If we recognized someone, black or white, walking to town, we offered them a ride. If we had plenty, we shared. Everybody looked after everyone else's kids. Race simply was not an issue there.

Tee-Wee's passing is more than the passing of a person. It is the passing of an era.

An era that I miss.

The End

I got the call this evening. Louise's family, faced with overwhelming evidence against any hope of a quality life for her, decided to disconnect the machines keeping her alive and allow her to go to Heaven in peace.

For her family's sake, I am thankful that Louise made it through the holidays. I am thankful that there was enough of a reprieve for her to see her children one last time. I am glad that she got to see the roses that I had bought her on Christmas Eve and stubbornly stored in the refrigerator until I could take them to her in a room.

And I am glad that I was allowed to know Louise and to be a part of her life.

Thank-You Note

Today I got a Thank-You note in the mail, and it tore my heart out.

Thank-you notes are usually something that I enjoy getting. Heck, I find it a real treat to get anything that is neither junk mail, nor a bill!

Now Martha is the kind of proper Southern lady who never lets a kindness go by without acknowledging it in writing. Martha has written me a number of notes over the years. But this one was written for Martha, in whose honor I made a donation to Heifer International, by her son.

Now, if you are not from the South, you must understand that for a proper Southern lady to let someone else write a note for her, she must be close to death.

And Martha is dying. Her friends know that she has been battling cancer for over a year. But recently, she decided to stop treatments and live the life she has left in relative peace and comfort. Her family is guarding her privacy and no one really knows how much time Martha has left.

But, after getting a Thank-You note written by her son, I have to think that Martha will be going home.

Soon.

Imagine

No, despite the title, this is not a post about John Lennon or the song, which I do love, by the way.

Just for a moment, I want you to imagine yourself waking up one morning. At first you feel OK. You make your way to the kitchen to get your breakfast and choke on your cereal. You forget eating and decide to try for a shower. You get your shower, struggle into your robe and collapse on the couch, exhausted. Forget the hair and makeup. That will have to wait, if it gets done at all. You are having trouble breathing. Your vision is blurred or doubled. Your legs feel like jello.

You know something is wrong. You go to the doctor. He calls it "stress" and tries to give you tranquilizers. You don't buy it and you keep going to doctors for the next two years until someone finally figures it out.

You have myasthenia gravis, a neuromuscular disease that causes muscles to fatigue easily and become weak. If you have a type that does not respond well to medication, your life has changed dramatically.

I have been diagnosed with this disease for the past 8 years. Looking back, I know I had it several years before I was diagnosed.

But, I am not writing this in an attempt to gain sympathy.

What I want you to do is imagine.

Imagine yourself being diagnosed tomorrow with an incurable neuromuscular disease that will change your life forever.

What would you do differently TODAY?

Just imagine.

Reprieve

My friend has been weaned off her ventilator and is breathing on her own. Not only breathing, but getting ornery enough to remove her own feeding tube and ask where folks are. Louise is "in there."

Her family and friends do not have to face losing her right at Christmas time. No life or death decisions are having to be made at this point. I am thankful for this.

And, in rallying, I think my friend is OK with being here with us for a while longer.

And I am glad.

Another Christmas Eve

I got up early this morning to buy roses. Not much would get me up early, but my friend, Louise, was not feeling well and I wanted to surprise her with a bouquet of her favorite flowers. I found a lovely bunch of cream colored tea roses and called her daughter to find out what might be a good time to deliver them.

To my dismay, I found out that my friend had just been taken to the hospital, where she is in ICU with congestive heart failure. Many people survive this, but my friend is 92. At that age, anything like this is very serious and quite likely, fatal.

When I saw Louise, lying in her bed, her breathing aided by a ventilator, my mind immediately went back in time to a Christmas 17 years ago. My mother was the one lying in bed, hooked to a ventilator, and dying of congestive heart failure. The nurses wore Santa hats and had the nurses station decorated in an attempt to cheer both themselves and the people waiting that Christmas Day. The effect was a bit surreal.

I try to pray, but I don't even know what to ask for. This precious lady is tired. Her husband of 62 years lies unresponsive in a nursing home. She has expressed her wish to go "home" to several of her friends, including me.

But, I am selfish. I don't want to lose another loved one. Especially not on Christmas Day. But, her family and I know what SHE wants.

And that is really all that counts.

Another Christmas, Another Cantata

Another Christmas cantata in the done column. If my reckoning is correct, this was # 22. I missed one the year I had severe laryngitis, but have been present for all the other ones.

The Christmas cantata is sort of a love/hate thing with me. I love to sing. There is no doubt about that. I love Christmas music.

I hate long rehearsals, choir director tantrums, and not being able to get all the musicians together at one time long enough to REALLY perfect things.

Every year, I fantasize about just not doing it this year. Just relax one Christmas and enjoy the season without the hassles participating in the cantata. But I just can't QUITE make myself not do it.

Ultimately, it boils down to this.

I love Jesus and I do it for Him.

LSU going for the National Championship!

What a wonderful early Christmas gift! LSU is going to play in the National Championship game!

This year has been the most exciting SEC football season I can remember. The lesser teams have made the better ones WORK for their wins and kept most of the games pretty exciting.

LSU has played with heart this whole season. Teams have had to make it to triple OT to beat them. And several players have played injured, trying to hang on. Ryan Perilloux, backup to the injured Matt Flynn, had to go have his blood soaked bandages changed between possessions when they played for the SEC championship last night. Glenn Dorsey, clearly hobbled, played until he just couldn't play anymore.

Now, it is time for them to take some time off and get healthy so they can put away Ohio State in January.

Geaux Tigers!!!

Give Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

OK, I can't resist. With Christmas approaching, please allow me the indulgence of being "the therapist" for a few moments.

I am already hearing people talk about how much they are dreading the holidays. They are worried about finding gifts, dealing with family members, time crunches, etc.

Losing my mom on Christmas Day really put this holiday into sharp focus for me. Now, it is much easier to decide what is REALLY important and what to let go of.

Some suggestions:

1. If the gift giving has gotten out of hand, talk to family members about paring things down. There will usually be a whiner or two about this. It is OK to tell them that you just can't continue this for financial, time, etc. reasons. Let them pout if they want to. They will get over it. Seriously!

2. KNOW that when a family gets together, members are going to fall right back into the patterns of childhood to a certain extent. If this is NOT a good thing, you can CHOOSE to react differently, not spend as much time with them as you think you need to, etc. It is OK. The world will not end, no matter how much of a fuss they make.

3. Don't over commit. Different people have different tolerances for how much they can physically and emotionally handle during the holidays. You DON'T have to accept every invitation, singing gig, etc. Again, the world will not end if you say NO.

4. Take time for yourself. This is NOT a sin. If you feel overwhelmed, find SOME way of carving out space and time for you. Even if this means staying home while the rest of the family goes to an event. If staying home from the annual Christmas Eve brunch with people you don't particularly enjoy will make you more rested and able to enjoy Christmas with people that you DO enjoy, do it.

Give yourself a Merry Christmas. You deserve it.

Lecture over.

Thanksgiving

This year, my Thanksgiving was spent with my husband's family. My husband is the middle child of 5 and their birth order traits are so typical, they are textbook.

Alice is the oldest child. She is a typical high achieving, responsible first born. Shopping list in hand, it is Alice who usually the first to arrive. Wal-Mart on the Wednesday before Turkey Day? I wouldn't do it for all the tea in China. Alice charges in and finds creative ways to get her groceries despite the crowds and people blocking the aisles to chit chat.

Mike is the next child and the oldest boy. Sweet, handsome, and secure, he is the epitome of the first BOY born to the family. He has a way of asking for things so charmingly that the women wait on him without resentment. It's a gift.

Bill, my husband and the middle child is typical in that he craves attention, and guards his resources. He lights up when I make cookies for him to share with the guys at work or go out of my way to make a favorite meal or find some little something that I think he might like.

Jerry, the youngest of the boys is the family clown. He is funny and tends to see the lighter side of most things. He takes life's difficulties in stride.

Becky, the youngest child, is cheerful and sunny. Not much ruffles her feathers. Because she is 5 years younger than Jerry, she has taken on many traits of an "oldest." Becky was one of my best friends in High School and introduced me to Bill.

I am truly blessed in that I like all my in-laws and their present spouses. We have no feuding or fussing at family gatherings. I'm not saying that everything is perfect, but we all try to be tolerant of our differences while enjoying our similarities.

And that is something to be thankful for!

Turning it Off

My name is Karen. I am a counselor.

I try very hard NOT to be a counselor when I am with family, friends, or acquaintances. I have to admit, sometimes it is hard. When someone has a problem, there are still times when I want to swoop in there, clarify the problem and help find solutions. But, when I am not on the job, that is not my "job."

But, it is not always that easy. Ethically, I have to take any threats/thoughts of suicide or homicide seriously, whether the person is my client or not. This is in my code of ethics and I have no problem with this. And, if asked specifically for advice by a non-client, I will give it. It is not my job to give advice to clients.

However, I find that I DO use my skills in less obtrusive ways. Selective inattention is a counseling tool that I use to avoid reinforcing maladaptive behaviors. I seldom respond to fishing for compliments. I will not beg someone to come back after he or she has expressed a wish to leave my company. I don't excuse behavior that is "pseudo" thoughtless.

A quote I read once said: "Be chary of giving advice. Fools won't heed it, and wise men don't need it."

Words to live by.

Especially if one is a counselor.

Wishbook?

Wishbook???

This thin catalog I got from Sears today? Surely not!

I remember when the Sears Wishbook was thick as a big city telephone book. My siblings and I would grab it from the mailbox and crowd around it as we looked at pictures of the toys we wanted Santa to bring us. My brother usually wanted things like chemistry sets. My little sister wanted a rocking horse.

Me? I wanted BARBIE. Not only Barbie, I wanted the Ken, the Dream House, the clothes, the carrying case...

You name it. If it had to do with Barbie, I wanted it. My first one, no doubt ordered from the Sears catalog, had three wigs. On any given night, Ken could sleep with a blond, a brunette, OR a redhead. My favorite gift ever from my maternal grandmother was a box full of beautiful handmade Barbie clothes. She had made evening gowns sparkly with sequins, satin evening coats, you name it. And NOBODY else I knew had anything like them. They made the commercially available Barbie clothes look like things Stacey and Clinton would toss in the garbage can.

So, I took a look in this "excuse" for a Wishbook. Barbie was in there, but relegated to half a page and only as one of those "sit on the shelf and look pretty" dolls. What's the fun of THAT?

It looks like the big, thick, luscious Wishbook is a thing of the past. More's the pity.

Geaux Tigers!

Whew! LSU just pulled a CLOSE one out against arch rival Alabama! It was an ugly win, but it was a win!

I have to admit that I am even happier about this win than usual. Les Miles has had to put up with comparisons to Nick Saban, claims that the only reason he has had any success is due to players being recruited by Saban, etc.

Now granted, Saban has done a remarkable job with Alabama this year. But, he is hamstrung by having to deal with the lesser players recruited by HIS predecessor.

But, I think now, having won head to head, Miles can at least claim SOME credit for the development of the talent, even if he did not do the recruiting. And maybe at least some of the monkey is off his back.

There is talk of Miles taking off for Michigan should the opportunity arise. This would be close to "home" for him and I would not blame him if he took it.

If this is his last season, at least he is making it an exciting one for Tiger fans. And, for that, I thank him.

You Can go Home Again

Last Sunday was the 200th anniversary of the Presbyterian congregation in Port Gibson, Mississippi. I was a member of this congregation from age 3 to age 8 when we lived in this city that General Grant himself declared "Too beautiful to burn."

I had no sooner walked into the annex (which had once been a presbyterian school, but is now the fellowship hall and Sunday school area) than I was intercepted by the church organist. Now, Miss Betty has been a fixture of this church since I was a child, but she continues to fill that organ bench every Sunday with style and skill. Of course, I agreed (say NO to Miss Betty??? I think not!) and a robe and folder were quickly found for me. My mother sang in this same choir 45 years ago. I felt like I was standing in for her, in a way.

As I was over at the piano in the Annex, picking out my part, I was joined by another soprano voice. I looked up to see Beth, one of the daughters of the preacher, Brother Daniels, who was there when I was a member of Port Gibson Presbyterian. Squeals and hugs ensued as Beth let me know that Miss Betty had recruited both her and her older sister, Melanie, for choir duty.

Being in the Annex together brought back memories of a children's fellowship group that we used to attend together on Wednesday afternoons. After a snack of cookies and Kool-Aid, we would sing "Follow the Gleam" and "Tell Me the Stories of Jesus." I know we must have sung other songs, but those are the ones I remember.

There were 5 Daniels kids. Alan, Melanie, Beth, Stephanie, and Quenton. Beth and Stephanie were close to my age and we used to play together before and after the children's fellowship at the manse (Presbyterian for parsonage).

And, of course, Beth and Stephanie had to remind me of the infamous "swing incident." Hanging from a great big tree in the side yard of the manse was one of those swings made out of a board with a rope in the middle. One day, Beth and Stephanie turned me around and around on the swing and then let me go. However, my best "Her Majesty" panties wrapped around the rope the OTHER way and I was STUCK! Miss Earline (Beth and Stephanie's) mama had to come cut my panties out of that swing. Pretty humiliating for a 6 year old!

It also happened to be Brother Daniel's 80th birthday, so a rousing rendition of "Happy Birthday" was sung to him right in the middle of church. He was in his element, surrounded by all of his children and many of his grandchildren and great grandchildren. The only person missing was his unflappable wife, Miss Earline, and I am sure she was beaming down on him from Heaven.

Afterwards was the covered dish dinner that is a staple of Southern church affairs. I indulged in a glass of sweet tea and set out to visit with everyone I could.

I was home.

Beautiful Things

When my husband suggested that we go to the Mississippi Museum of Art's exhibition of "Between God and Man: Angels in Italian Art" I have to admit, I nearly dropped the newspaper I was reading. He usually disagrees with artistic portrayals of angels, while I am comforted by these same portrayals. They give me something tangible to wrap my mind. I need tangible.

I also literally NEED beauty. I can become depressed to the point of physical illness when forced to spend prolonged periods in ugly environments. I got so disgusted with the waiting room of the counseling center I worked in when I was in grad school, I organized a bake sale to pay for paint and lobbied the administration for new furniture.

So looking at rooms of beautiful angels was right up my alley. Even if my husband insists that they don't really have wings.

He needs to watch "A Wonderful Life" one more time.

Right, Clarence?

Another View of St. Louis

I recently visited St. Louis to meet a group of friends from my belove Weight Watcher thread RML. This used to stand for "Run My Life" as we would pose questions to our fellow posters for help in making decisions. Now, we just get together daily to support one another in both our weight loss journeys and in our lives.

Since my MG diagnosis, get-togethers, while still enjoyable, are a tiny bit bittersweet. Some of the places that others visit are off limits to me. I have to go to bed early while the partying is still going on. Fatigue puts me into more of an observation mode that a participatory one at times. Even on my scooter, I can't always keep up.

But, there were some advantages to being obliged to take things at a slower pace and not being able to stay with the crowd. Some one on one time with a particularly dear friend who chose not to participate in an activity was precious. Being able to appreciate the very quiet, but VERY dry wit of another friend was also a lovely surprise. It was interesting to sit back and watch which combinations of personalities seemed to mesh into even closer friendships.

And I was blessed.

Preacher

Sometimes a minister comes along who becomes known to most of the adults in his congregation simply as "Preacher." Not Don, not Reverend W., but Preacher.

The former minister of my church, "Preacher", was called in to preach this morning in the absence of our regular clergyman. I did not realize just how much I have missed this man until I saw him in the pulpit today, singing the hymns with gusto, giving the choir the "thumbs up" after the anthem, and preaching a real, three point sermon with Biblical references throughout.

Preacher was more than a preacher. He was also a PASTOR. That means he visited the sick and shut in. He listened to the members of his congregation when they needed to talk. He treated his wife with courtesy, love, and dignity.

And, he stood up for me.

For ten years, out of fear and lack of skills to know how to handle the situation, I had been the recipient of unwanted attentions from a "pillar" of our church who was a member of the staff. These unwanted attentions ranged from being inappropriately touched to being backed up against a wall in an empty Sunday School classroom. The man was 40 years my senior and I was afraid that no one would believe my word against his if I said anything. So, I kept my mouth shut.

Until one day, bolstered by therapy and the realization that I did not have to just "take it" I went to Preacher. I told him that if that man touched me ONE more time, I was going to deck him.

Preacher took a long look at me, and said "Be my guest!" He also told me that he would stand by me if I wanted to make a complaint to staff-parish. I was amazed at the "no questions asked" support I got from this precious man.

As is customary in the Methodist church, Preacher's time with our church came to an end, and he went on to bless another church with his presence. We have had "Preachers" since then, but, alas, no one who deserves the title of "Pastor."

But, just for today, we had Preacher. And, once again, I was blessed.

Another Manning Sunday...

Anybody who knows me very well, knows that I am a longtime "Manning" fan. I rooted for Archie when he was the only good player on a very bad Saints team. I would have started rooting for him earlier, but played his college ball at Ole Miss. Nuff said!

Now, Archie's sons, Peyton and Eli are carrying on the Manning Legacy. Peyton, already a future Hall of Famer, is the quarterback for the reigning Super Bowl Champion Indianapolis Colts. Eli appears to be coming into his own as third year quarterback of the New York Giants.

Of course, I am impressed by the Mannings' football accomplishments. But, I am more impressed with the way they handle themselves away from the field. Peyton is the National Spokesman for Court Appointed Special Advocates cause, a charity that helps foster children learn to make the right decisions and lead healthy lifestyles. He is also involved in the YMCA and Special Olympics. Eli Manning is involved with Feed the Children, and For the Kidz.

Another thing about the Mannings that impresses me, particularly in this day and age, is that you never see them in the headlines for DUI, domestic violence, drugs, or any of the other pitfalls that other professional athletes encounter on a regular basis. The Mannings realize that, like it or not, kids are looking up to them. And they try to set a good example.

Don't get me wrong. The Mannings are not perfect. There was some bad press about Archie not wanting San Diego to draft Eli. Even Eli and Peyton occasionally lose their tempers. But in these days of the likes of Terrell Owens, Ricky Williams, and Adam (Pacman) Jones, Peyton and Eli look pretty darn good to me.

And they sure make Sunday afternoons something to talk about.

Are You Ready for Some Football???

Conversation in Mississippi has now turned from "the heat" to football.

Now I know a lot of people just don't understand the Southern obsession with SEC football. These folks sneer at our favorite Fall pastime and wonder why we are not more concerned with "the Problems of the World."

Well, Monday through Friday, we are concerned with the "Problems of the World." SEC football fans work a variety of jobs. We are counselors, booksellers, people who help administer programs to help provide shelter so that low income people can have decent homes, schoolteachers, and nurses. We provide for our families and take part in church and civic organizations.

But on Saturday, we deserve a chance to kick back and enjoy "our" teams. Rivalry is largely good natured. Football gives us something to talk about besides the "Problems of the World," most of which we can't solve anyway.

So I'll yell Geaux Tigers and wave my purple and gold pom-poms as long as I am able.

And long live the SEC!

The Heat!

Well, it is August in Mississippi and there is only one real topic of conversation.

The heat.

We really can't complain that much. It had been an unusually mild summer for us until August. That's when the record temps decided to come out of hiding and gang up on us all at once.

But there are some advantages.

* I have a legitimate reason not to cook. Don't want to heat up the house and drive up the electricity bill ya know. ;)
* I have an excuse to spend more time playing on the computer.
* I have actually made a dent in the natural disaster area that is also known as my office.

Now if you'll excuse me,

I'm Mellllllltttiinnnnngggggg...

Whew II

Dad called. His cancer has NOT spread. Treatment options will be discussed later in the month. Thankfully, the fact that this is contained makes those much more varied and considerably less invasive.

Stepmom is already researching treatment options on the internet and printing things out for Dad to read. I am amazed at what is available now that wasn't even five years ago when Dad battled this cancer demon for the first time.

So, I finally breathe out that BIG sigh of relief.

Whew!

Saying Goodbye

My Episcopal priest friend recently announced that she is leaving her church in Vicksburg to answer the call of a new church in a nearby town. I am happy that she is going to a much better situation, but will be sad to see her go.

When I asked her about the possibility of getting together once she got to her new church, she made those polite excuses about probably not having time since her new church would be bigger, more to do, etc.

I can take a hint when applied with a sledgehammer. I was her friend for a season. There when she needed me as she coped with what turned out to be a very difficult parish. There to sing for special occasions. There to help come up with activities for her tiny, but dedicated, youth group.

So, I prepare to say goodbye to my friend, knowing that any future contact will probably be limited to chance meetings, if at all.

My life has been richer for knowing her. I have enjoyed our time together. And I will get over my temporary hurt and remember the joy.

Priceless Treasure!

A couple of days ago, I found a priceless treasure. Now, normally, an almost twenty year old audiotape would not be anything special. But, this one is because it is the only recording that I know of that contains my mother's voice.

I knew that I had made this tape, and that it was around somewhere. But, I was afraid to look for it and play it because of the fear that it might break.

Thanks to the miracles of modern technology, it is now possible and economically feasible to convert analog tapes to digital files on a home PC. So, after finding a tape deck at a yard sale for $5.00 and a program that would enable such a conversion, I popped tape after tape into the tape deck in hopes that it would be THE ONE.

And, after a surprising small number of attempts, I found IT. A tape made one lazy summer day on a small paddle wheel boat on the Mississippi River. Mama and Lela, a family friend were helping me learn some songs from the WWII era. My dear friend, Elizabeth Ann, also now deceased, was playing the piano. The whole tape is filled with stories being told, spontaneous bursts of song, and laughter.

I wouldn't take a million dollars for it.

So, tonight, I am going to take the CD that I made from this precious tape to my sister's house. My 14 year old niece will be able to hear her grandmother's voice for the very first time.

And I have a feeling that I will be in tears. Tears of joy.

We Spoke Too Soon

Just got the call from my dad. Despite the positive results from initial tests his cancer HAS come back.

Now we wait while more specific testing is done over the next two weeks to determine the exact location and size of the cancer we will be dealing with this time.

Dad sounds optimistic and believes he is in good hands.

I am just praying for the strength to be there for him.

Whew!

My dad called yesterday afternoon with good news. In spite of some preliminary indications, his prostate cancer has not come back. I am almost dizzy with relief!

Dad has not always had an easy life. He was married for 32 years to my mother, who was an alcoholic and who later became chronically and seriously ill for the last 12 years of their marriage. I have no doubt that he loved her, but his needs always came second to hers.

When he met and married my darling Stepmom a couple of years ago, he became a new man. He just glows. They enjoy each other's company and are always on the go. The thought of cancer intruding on this long awaited happiness made me sad and angry.

But, thankfully, cancer is not in the picture. And I can breathe again.

Badminton

I think I have created a monster.

When I went to Nashville recently, I looked for something to bring back for my husband and our neighbor Sam, to play with. I found a badminton game in a toy store there and decided that might be a fun thing for them to do.

Well, since I brought badminton to my front yard, my husband and Sam have killed one racquet, 4 birdies, and some grass. :) But, they are having a ball.

As long as Sam is around, I know my husband will stay in shape.

Thanks, Sam!

A Day with KK

Back when my niece and nephew were small, I struggled with finding ideas for gifts for them. As the only grandchildren on either side of the family, they were knee deep in toys and clothes. Not wanting to add to that pile, I devised "gift certificates" for "A Day with KK."

The kids come to my house individually and are allowed to do (ALMOST) anything they want to do that day. It may be a Cartoon Network watching marathon (God save me from Billy and Mandy!) or making peanut butter Rice Krispie treats (a perennial favorite).

With the niece yesterday, the activities are now geared for a teenager. I gave her a pedicure, showed her how to make a mandala, and did meditation exercises with her. One of her favorite meals was cooked and served on my mother's china. We took out my mother's things and I told her stories about her "Nana Broomstick" who, to my great sorrow, never got to see her precious granddaughter.

I got an e-mail last night from my niece, saying that this was one of the best days she had had all summer.

Ditto for me. :)

Losing Weight

This is what I am not doing right now. I am maintaining. I am mindful of what I eat and I am journaling. But, due to numerous meds and medical conditions, I just don't seem to be able to get over the hump to get the calories down to what it would take for further loss. I have tried the high protein, low carb thing and just could not stay on it but 4 months. Then promptly gained the weight back after beginning to eat carbs again. I realize, that with a steroid and stimulant fueled appetite that I would weigh MUCH more if I were not at least trying to do something to take control.

I actually brought up the idea of lap band surgery at my primary care doc appointment today. He told me he would be OK with making a referral, but also told me that the chances of anyone touching my high risk self would be slim and none. I would literally be risking my life to be thin.

I am actually not that unhappy with myself. But my husband wants me thin. I see the way he looks at me when he sees me with a cookie or going back for a second helping of something. I can't even begin to remember when he paid me a compliment on any aspect of my appearance. And I want to lose the weight. For him. But, am I willing to die for his approval? Sometimes, I think I would be.

And that is sad.

Really Good News!

Whew! My family has just dodged a bullet of potentially serious proportions!

Last week, my sweet stepmother had been provisionally diagnosed with myelodysplastic syndrome. In this disorder, the bone marrow does not make enough red blood cells and can transform into leukemia. Turns out, her symptoms were caused by medication she was taking for another medical problem.

I have to admit, when I heard about this diagnosis, my mind started down all kinds of paths. I could see the probability of chemo or bone marrow transplant. I could see the possibility of my precious dad having to bury another wife, the woman who truly has become like a "second mom" to me.

Then, I got a grip and started putting Stepmom on prayer lists. I refused to let my mind wander down the dark paths. I started thinking about a course of action to keep myself as healthy as possible so that I could be of service to HER, if and when she needed me.

Thankfully, I can tuck those plans away. Hopefully forever. :)

The Blahs

Today I have had an old fashioned case of the blahs. I hate it when I feel like this. With all the stuff that is going on with friends and in the world, I feel like I have NO excuse for feeling blue.

A lot of times, the blahs come from things that are pretty small in the grand scheme of things. Stuff like the husband being grumpy from weeks of a grueling schedule at work. Frustration that my body won't hold up to do all the things I want to do. Feeling like my "real life" friends are always tugging at me, but never seem to be there when *I* need to whine!

And, I feel guilty. Even though I know the blahs are a normal part of life, I don't feel like *I* am entitled to feel that way. I have a cozy house, nice vehicle, loving family, financial stability, and loads of friends. Most people would be envious of the blessings I enjoy.

I know that these blahs won't last long. They will probably be gone with a good night's sleep.

And I will be my happy self again.

Monday's Child

This morning, the leader of an online Weight Watcher thread that I am on posted a JFF question.

What day of the week were you born?

I dutifully went to the posted page and found that I am a "Monday's Child" who is supposed to be "fair of face."

Now anyone who knows me can tell you that I am no beauty queen. But, I am not totally unhappy with my looks. I have my dad's eyes and my mom's mouth. When I look in the mirror, I can tell where I come from.

When I was growing up, I was called "ugly" by my less charitable classmates. I had braces and wire rimmed glasses. I was skinny and I was awkward. I was not going to be entering the Miss Mississippi pageant.

But, a funny thing happened after I grew up. Despite struggling with my weight most of my adult life, I FEEL attractive. My mother was a large woman, but she was beautiful and made the most of her looks by dressing well, keeping her hair and makeup current and stylish, and by carrying herself with a confident air.

So, even though I am a large woman now, I learned to make the most of what I have from the master.

My mama.

Gone to Heaven

I got the news this morning. Friend Don passed away last night. I am relieved that his suffering has finally ended.

When Don's daughter got married, we took a picture of him sitting in the back of his antique green truck, in overalls, with a cardboard sign saying "Daughter just got married. Will work for food."

I can picture him now, in his overalls, sitting in his old green truck. But this time his sign says "Gone to Heaven. See y'all there."

The Wait

My friend's cancer is in it's final stages. He is having seizures and he requires heavy doses of medication to manage what has become unbearable pain. He is largely unresponsive.

So now we wait. Every time the phone rings, the hearts of his friends and family skip a beat. Sleep is fitful. Plans are tentative. We pray for a "good" death and a peaceful end to his suffering.

God, be merciful.

Holy Week

This week is one of my favorite weeks of the entire year. The week that we Christians relive the last week of the life of Jesus. The week that we go from triumphant entry into Jerusalem, to the Last Supper, the Crucifixion, and finally the Glorious Resurrection on Easter Sunday.

And this week, I will sing the "Via Dolorosa" at a local Episcopal church for the 17th year in a row on Good Friday. It is the most moving service of the entire year for me. The altar is stripped of adornment, save a rough wooden cross. Everyone enters and leaves in silence.

This week always reminds me that there is light at the end of every tunnel. I just have to walk through the darkness in faith.

Katie

I recently got an e-mail from our oldest niece, Katie. She is my husband's older brother's oldest child. If I recall correctly, she was 4 when I married my husband, just a little pixie with brown eyes and bangs.

Katie and I connected. We both loved music. We both valued comfort over style when it came to clothing. She loved her Aunt Karen.

Then, her parents divorced. Katie disappeared into a lifestyle of bad companions and bad choices. Never being allowed to make her own choices as a child due to a controlling, mentally ill mother, Katie struggled for several years. I did not hear much from her. But, I never stopped loving her or praying for her.

Thankfully, those prayers have been answered. Katie now has a paralegal degree and is joining a law firm next week. She has found a life partner. She plays guitar with a band on weekends. Katie has finally made a good life for herself.

And her auntie is proud.

All They Can Do

My family got the news Wednesday. After months of brutal chemotherapy, the last two spent in the hospital, my dear friend was given the news that it did no good. The tumor did not shrink.

The doctors have done all they can do. He will be coming home tomorrow.

The hope of him coming back cancer free is put aside for the hope of him having some quality time with his family before this disease takes him. He is at peace with going to his eternal home and that is a comfort to us.

But we will continue to pray for miracles.

Kicking and Screaming

Well, today is the day I attempt to bring my dad and stepmother kicking and screaming into the 21st century. Wish me luck.

For years, they have been struggling with a less than reliable, budget, dial-up internet connection. And every time they have difficulty with it, they call ME! Also, Dad has an OLD Gateway that he refuses to give up. This dinosaur is 10 years old and lacks much of what is needed to run modern programs and peripherals. Stepmom has a newer laptop that is what I hope to persuade them to use.

So, I have finally persuaded them to consider a cable modem. Stepmom has been diagnosed with some rare allergies and needs to be able to research them. The cable guy, (hopefully NOT Larry) will be at their house this afternoon to see what can be done to get them hooked up.

This may require a miracle...

A Southern Funeral

Yesterday, I was awakened by my father-in-law with the news that his sister had passed away. This was no real shock. Aunt B was in a nursing home and was in her eighties. Her physical health was failing, but her mind was still sharp and her wit, biting.

Now begin the rituals of the quintessential small town Southern funeral. The body will not be viewed in a funeral home, but in the small Baptist church this aunt attended. There will be a visitation the night before the service. Family will be coming in and no one will be staying in any motel. Local family members will house the "out of towner's" who come in.

Although this is a solemn occasion, the time before and after the funeral service will be more like a family reunion. Southern "funeral food" will be out in abundance. Homemade pound cake, green bean casserole, stuffed eggs, and fried chicken are practically mandatory at the post funeral gathering back at the home of the bereaved.
People will cluck over how much the children have grown and vow to get together on some other occasion than a funeral. Family gossip will be caught up on. Hugs will be given and received. Stories about the deceased will be shared and laughed over.

A mixture of happy and sad. Just what a funeral should be.

Friend Girl

Today my husband's "friend girl" arrives from out of town. He met her when he was in the Navy years ago and he was stationed in her town. Every three years or so, she comes to visit him. And I get a bit blue.

Don't get me wrong. I trust my husband with all my heart and soul. And I know that there is nothing romantic between them anymore. I am jealous of the things that she can do with him that MG and other health problems keep me from doing. She can go bowling with him. They can go for long walks. She can try out that new restaurant that severe food allergies make me afraid to go near. All things that my husband and I used to do together.

Another thing I am jealous of is that for the next four days, this woman will get my husband's largely undivided time. In the everyday hustle and bustle of married life, I sometimes have to beg for a slice of his time away from work. I know this is normal, but it doesn't keep the green eyed monster totally at bay.

But, this will pass. She will go home to her husband and her life.

And my husband will be all mine again.

A Gift of Good Days!

Wow!


I have just had the gift of two good days in a row. This does not happen often, so when it does, I am particularly happy.

Over the past two days I have:

• Organized books in my office.
• Gone out to lunch with my husband and my sweet father-in-law.
• Visited my local craft store which has a lot of wonderful new inventory.
• Checked out a lovely new independent bookstore downtown.
• Cooked a new hot chicken salad from Paula Deen's recipe collection (this one did NOT start with a stick of butter!).
• Gone to choir practice.
• Participated successfully in a Weight Watcher challenge online.

For most people, this is not a lot. They can do all this and more in a single day. But, for me, this is a gift.

And I appreciate it.

New Year's Eve

I suppose that it is natural on this particular day to sit back and ponder on the soon to be "old" year.

As years go, I really don't have much to complain about. My immediate family is all together and relatively well, given their ages and stages. My health, though not wonderful, is at least stable and I can happily say that I have not had to go to the ER ONCE this year! That is big, considering that there was a time when I knew the ambulance crews by name and they could remember where and when they picked me up the previous time.

Finally getting my disability has given me back a small measure of financial independence. That has been a blessing for sure. Now I can work on getting out of some of the debt I incurred as I lost the ability to work steadily. Medical bills add up FAST!

I am continuing to learn how to manage my myasthenia gravis with more efficiency and hopefully, more grace. It can actually be viewed as a gift at times. If nothing else, it has forced me to slow down and figure out what is REALLY important. I simply don't have the energy to deal with what is not. I wish my friends would take a day to reflect on what they would do differently if they faced the onset of an incurable neuromuscular disease tomorrow. What would they do differently today?

I went through a wonderful course called "The Artist's Way" at a local Episcopal church that really broadened my horizons. I made new friends there that I am keeping in touch with.

I have also had the opportunity to meet more of my RML friends in person and see some of the ones I had already met once again. I rejoiced with one at the marriage of her son, and wept with another at the loss of her beloved father. We have celebrated good grades, held our breath over medical test results, commiserated over ornery spouses and children, and even talked about food on occasion!

I have been able to enjoy the children in my life. Although the oldest niece is doing her teenage thing, she still loves her KK. Nephew will still be seen with me and occasionally go to a movie with me. Next door neighbor, Sam, is here frequently, and little Anna wants to come to Aunt Karen's and bake cookies. Being childless myself, it feels good to leave a bit of an imprint on the next generation.

If 2007 is this good, I will have no real complaints.

Visiting Gravesites

I just got a call from my dad. He was upset because the cousin he asked to take the Christmas tree off my mom's grave in Hazlehurst called to report that there was no tree on her grave today. It's OK. My sis had gone down there and taken it off.

Then Dad proceeded to lecture me for not going to visit Mom's grave. First of all, let me say that Mom's grave is located a two hour round trip away. Most of the roads are two lane and winding. And, (anyone who knows me will understand why this is important ) there are not many bathrooms on the way! Dad and my sis have pretty much taken care of the site and that has been fine with me. I have no big need to visit my mom's grave.

I would rather spend my time doing things Mom would have done. Cooking for friends having a hard time. Tending the grave of my friend Elizabeth, who had no one. Singing at the local nursing home. Sending cards of encouragement. To me, these things seem more important than going and staring at a piece of stone that only marks where mortal remains are. My mother's spirit is not there.

I like to think that part of Mom's spirit is in me. And I don't need to drive two hours to find it.

Early Christmas Gifts

It's not Christmas yet, but I have already received several very nice gifts.

The first gift is finding out that my darling Stepmom does not have kidney cancer!

The second gift was getting an e-mail from an old sleep apnea list buddy. Every time there is a long lag between e-mails, I fear that he has died. But, tonight I got a lovely e-mail and picture from this sweet man who handles many illnesses with grace.

The third gift is that my cancer friend and former long time next door neighbor is having several good days in a row, just in time to enjoy his holiday.


I don't need anything to open on Christmas morning. My gifts have already arrived.

Concern

Two of the most precious people in the world to me are having medical tests today. My sweet stepmom, who has been so good to my Daddy, is having a second round of MRI's to check out a mass on her kidney. I am praying that this is nothing and that she will be around to make Daddy happy for many years to come.


The second person is my sister's precious mother-in-law. When my sister's kids were born, we all began calling her Granna. Granna has been in my family since my sis and her husband began going together when they were 14. They have been together for 30 years now, and Granna has been there for my family ever since. She has been unfailingly supportive and caring through the loss of my mom and grandmother, Daddy's prostate cancer, and my illnesses. I can't even begin to imagine life without her.


This, along with Dad's recent surgery have really brought home that this generation is aging at a rate that is just too fast for me. These people are my "human" anchors through the storms of life. I'm just not ready to lose any of them.


May all the tests be negative. Please.

Christmas Cards

One of my favorite things to do at this time of year is to send Christmas Cards. In these days of vanishing traditions and too much hustle and bustle, I make it a point to send out hand addressed, personalized cards. This year, all the folks on my personal card list are getting them hand painted as well.

There are many reasons cards are special for me. They tell my friends and family that at this most busy time of year, they are in my thoughts. They (hopefully) provide a note of cheer for those who struggle with the holidays. And they are something special that I can do for people who do so much for me during the course of the year.

I even get a kick out of picking out the stamps for my cards. Religious for my Christian friends and snowflakes for friends who are of another faith or who are non-observant. Then, I apply my personally designed return address labels and they are ready to go.

A little much? Maybe. But if each person who receives a card from me feels even a tiny bit of the joy I get from creating and sending them, it is well worth the effort.

And even if nothing else gets done around here for the holidays, I am happy.

A Threat

Today I got a call from a client. She called to tell me some good news and bad news. The good news is that she has finally thrown her drinking, drugging, and verbally abusive hubby out of the house. The bad news, is that he threatened to kill her and selected acquaintances while he was being removed from the premisis.

One of these acquaintances just happens to be me. I recognize that he was probably drunk and/or high when he made these threats. But, I also know enough to take any threat seriously. I will be extra cautious for a while, but do not plan to let this disrupt my life.

I am concerned about his wife, but she is taking precautions to help ensure her own safety.

I just hope we don't end up on the front page.

The Morning After

It is the morning after Thanksgiving and not too late to reflect on some of the unexpected things I found myself thankful for yesterday.


1. I am thankful that my daddy is still healthy enough to "host" Thanksgiving.

2. I am thankful that my little niece's parents are secure enough to let her wholeheartedly love her extended family.

3. I am thankful that I really love my in-laws and get along with them well.

4. I am thankful that my MG symptoms were stable enough yesterday to let me enjoy my Thanksgiving.

5. I am thankful for a group of online friends who really help keep me going through times both good and bad.

6. I am thankful for SSRI's that help keep my mind clear and able to focus on the good things.

Now, if I can just remember to be thankful for these things all year. :)

Human Again

Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors.


For me, these are four of the most beautiful words in the English language. And I am thankful that they had been invented when I first needed them back in 1994. I was in a black hole that I could not dig myself out of, even with good therapy and lots of prayer. It became obvious to my counselor that another component was needed. Hence, SSRIs became part of my daily routine.


As I got used to the dosage, I was amazed. Grass was greener. The sky was bluer. Or so it seemed. The fog that had been hovering over me for what I realized was almost my entire life was lifted. I could think clearly. My obsessive compulsive disorder became manageable. I could corral my thoughts before they spiraled out of control.


However, every now and then, I would need to tweak my dosage or try a new SSRI to continue to get these benefits. This fall, I noticed myself sliding back into the haze and decided to talk to my neurologist about an update. We decided to try the newest antidepressant, Cymbalta. This drug has the added benefit of helping control nerve pain.


At first, I was in heaven. My chronic achiness got better and my appetite declined. But, as a few weeks went by, I noticed that the depression had returned in full force and the obsessive thoughts were coming back as well. I dithered for a couple of weeks, trying to decide what to do. I was loving a break from the physical discomfort. But, ultimately, I could not manage the mental discomfort.


So, I talked to the doc again. She switched me to a pure SSRI called Lexapro. After less than a week, I can tell a marked difference. I feel like "ME" again.


Better living through chemistry?


You bet!

Those Caveman Commercials

OK, the gloves are off! Those commercials with the "sensitive" caveman have gone too far!

The latest one shows the caveman sitting on a couch in a therapist's office. He is his usual whiny self, complaining about the original commercial's assertion that getting a particular insurance is so easy "a caveman could do it." He begins to challenge the therapist with the thought of how SHE would feel if these people said something was so easy a THERAPIST could do it.

He does have a point.

The Good Stuff!

OK, now that I have the previous rant out of my system, I can focus on the good stuff that DID make up the bulk of the trip!


1. Eating omelettes with Walter at the Holiday Inn in Nashville, TN. This man has been cooking for Holiday Inn for 24 years. His cooking and his cheerful presence are what keep me staying at this same hotel everytime I visit Nashville.


2. Meeting Teresa's cousins. They have encountered multiple family tragedies over the past few years, but this couple counts their blessings and they do what they can to cheer others. They opened both their home and their hearts to me and I am grateful.


3. The beautiful fall foliage that we saw in Kentucky and Michigan. Totally worth the price of admission.

4. Getting to meet a Weight Watcher friend in person. Sandy was warm and welcoming and let me have a glimpse into her life and work. She and her husband also introduced me to Greek food! Yummy!

5. Seeing my brother-in-law and his family. Dear me, where does the time go? I remember going to help take care of these children when they were babies! Now they are almost 18, 16, and 15. They are also nice human beings and that is a good thing to be able to say.

6. Seeing old friend Ruth again and being introduced to her husband, Bart. They introduced me to Antonio's, home of some of the best Italian food I have ever eaten anywhere!

7. Which brings us back to Nashville, where I got to record an "informal" CD of gospel songs and hymns for my little old lady card buddies. And, ONE more omelette with Walter.

Overall, a very good trip.

Hmmm...wonder when I can get back to Nashville?

Back to Reality

I am home! For the most part, I had a lovely trip, but I am glad to be back in my own space with my husband and my computer. I have made a vow never to leave home again unless I can buy a laptop to take with me.

This comes partly from my experience on Mackinac Island. To preserve the history of this lovely place, motorized vehicles are banned from the island except for a few necessary emergency vehicles. This is great, if one is able bodied.

However, I am not and I found myself "back in time" as far as disability friendly environs go. Island businesses are not required to meet ADA standards unless they are making major renovations. Public restrooms were poorly lit, up a hill, and unheated. Restrooms in restaurants were often down long flights of stairs or in the back of the building with tables crowded so tightly together, I could not get my walker through, let alone the scooter I had hoped to rent. The scooter renters, unbeknownst to me, decided to leave the island early. But, it would not have done much good in on the island in general. Things were simply packed too tightly together. Lunch at the Grand Buffet turned into a panic situtation as my walker was jostled by people trying to get to the buffet, nearly causing me to fall. There was one accessible taxi, but it could take an hour or more to get picked up. That is a long time for a weary MGer to wait in cold and wet weather. The indifference of many of the island merchants and businesses made me feel further marginalized.

I found myself spending the last 24 hours on the island staring at my walls in the tiny B&B room Teresa and I shared while she explored the island. My cellphone reception was practically nonexistant. There was no lobby to go to for people watching. I finished my book. And, although there was a connection in our room, I had no computer. I ended up eating chocolate and crying. After the first day, this charming and seemingly inviting place was largely off limits to me. I felt isolated as people must have felt before the ADA made handicapped access a requirement.

God bless my friend and traveling companion, Teresa. She gracefully agreed to forgo the last few hours on the island and drove us back to the civilization of Grayling, Michigan. One internet session and a hot tub dip later, I was feeling human again.

For once, I was glad to get back to reality.

But, next trip, I will have a laptop!

On the Road Again...

Is it any wonder that this is one of my favorite Willie Nelson songs?


I love to travel. This is a love that only came to me in the past few years, but, better late than never. I love seeing new places, eating in restaurants that can't be found in my part of Mississippi, and, best of all, meeting new people!


Tomorrow I head out with my best friend and longtime sidekick, Teresa to Mackinac Island, Michigan. This is the beautiful place where the movie "Somewhere in Time" was filmed. No gasoline powered conveyances are allowed on this island. People get around on bicycles and foot power. Fortunately, electric scooters are for rent and are allowed in this small slice of paradise.

One of the things I am anticipating the most is the opportunity to meet another member of my Weight Watcher online group. She will be number 11 if I am counting correctly. I have enjoyed every member whom I have had the pleasure to meet face to face from this group, and I am sure that Sandy will be no different.

Most of all, this trip is a chance to get away from the everyday things that can drag me down and will give me time to reconnect with myself.

And, to quote a popular ex-con, that is a "good thing."

Artist Date

I am currently participating in a book study with my Episcopalian friends. It is called "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. The focus of this book is on getting rid of the things and attitudes that block creativity and keep one from achieving one's creative potential.


One of the suggested activites each week is to make an "artist's date." This can be any activity that feeds the soul and promotes the flowing of creative juices. Last minute cancellations of other activities today led me to drive to nearby Clinton where Wyatt Waters has his gallery.


Wyatt Waters is a watercolorist. His paintings of subjects that range from mailboxes to the Mississippi River are absolutely amazing. Most of his paintings depict local subjects. His use of color is unique and his technique has an impressionistic quality. The artist himself is a whirlwind of constant activity, while his wife, Vicky, is the practical, down to earth half of the enterprise.


In this gallery one is encouraged to pull up a chair and chat while pictures are pulled from drawers and brought in from the back room to be perused at leisure. There is something for every budget, from the originals that sell for $1, 400.00 hand framed all the way down to postcards that sell for seventy cents (my budget!).


After feasting my eyes on Wyatt's works, I peeked into a new independent bookstore across the street. It is a lovely place with an emphasis on Southern literature. Then, at Vicky's suggestion, I ended my morning at a nearby coffeehouse, called "Gravity", where a gentleman with a voice that sounded like a cross between Jim Croce and James Taylor (can it get any better?) crooned songs from my era while I enjoyed pimento cheese on homemade bread.


This day appears to have pulled me up from my recent bout of doldrums. It reminded me that as I remember to properly nourish my body with healthier food, nourishment of my artistic soul is equally important.

One More Day?

Tonight, my husband comes in from Pennsylvania. I love him, of course, and I am glad he is coming home.


But, I wish I had ONE more day alone. I am trying to clean out my office (also known as a natural disaster area). To clean out things here, I have had to put stuff in other rooms until I can sort it out and decide what gets to come back, and what can be donated to charity or simply thrown away.


Things like this take time. And I am not finished. I don't have the energy to get it all done before he comes home. I hate for him to come home to a mess. But, I don't want to put it all back in here before I sort it out.

I need ONE more day...

Mr. Grumpy

This is a nickname I have for my husband when he is being a grouch. I don't call him this to his face, just in my head. Some weeks it seems like he is grumpy more often than not.


This week has been such a week. I know part of it is having to work nights. I have done that and it makes me a grump too. Another part of it is his anger over his dad "inviting" himself along on his trip to Pennsylvania, which he had planned to take alone. My husband is not assertive enough to tell his dad this, so he is grumpy.


I know I probably do things to add to the general grumpiness. For the most part, I try to stay out of the way when he is like this. But, with my disabilities, I don't always have the energy to go somewhere.


My professional counselor self tells me that I need to be able to keep my own equilibrium, even when he is grumpy. Let him HAVE his grumpiness. For the most part, I can do this. But, some days, I allow HIM to get ME down. Like today.


My counselor self does not have any magic solutions. Today, I felt good enough to drive to the next town and get away for the afternoon doing pleasant things. My inner self tells me that when I love people, their moods are inevitably going to affect mine at times.

Hope this is a less grouchy week.

Wedding Fashion Do's and Don'ts

Last Saturday, I attended a traditional afternoon wedding in the Deep South city of Montgomery Alabama. The wedding took place in a Methodist Church, which views a wedding as a sacrament and the ceremony is considered a "worship service."


However, some of the attendee's attire was questionable for this occasion, from this writer's point of view. I know that this is NOT Earth shattering, and of course, I am glad that they chose to attend at all. But, I present some of my personal observations about wedding fashion here.

Now I KNOW this sounds old fashioned, but Hawaiian flowerdy shirts and baggy trousers are just not proper church wedding attire for men. I think that a sport coat and tie, or preferably a suit, looks nice and conveys a respect for the event and the church. Save the baggy, untucked shirts for a beach wedding.

The same goes for bare looks for ladies. Low cut, cleavage showing dresses are fine for a cocktail party, but NOT, in my opnion anyway, for a formal church wedding. The same goes for spaghetti strapped dresses with bra straps showing, halters, and excesssively short and tight ensembles. Whatever happened to wearing a tasteful shawl or light jacket for the wedding and then taking it off for the reception? Some of the ensembles I saw looked more appropriate for a street corner than a wedding.

I guess this all boils down to one word. Respect. Respect for the bride and groom. Respect for the place of worship. And most of all, respect for oneself.

No More Time

I was saddened today to learn of the death of one of my former clients. This man, in his early fifties, was multitalented, and quite a character.


He leaves behind a grieving life partner of 27 years. While things having to do with death are often complex and difficult to deal with, this man has extra worries. He is disabled with a rare, crippling, neuromuscular disease. He allowed his stronger willed partner to handle all financial dealings. Worst of all, because they were not "married", he finds he has no legal right to their home. He is at the mercy of his deceased partner's family. His future depends upon their charity.


I often urged this couple to do things like put the home in both names. I encouraged this now "widowed" partner to learn to handle the financial dealings. But, they put it off. I'm sure they thought they had plenty of time.

Time ran out.

Waterless

As I write this, my city is in the middle of a water outage. The water has been off for 7 hours and may be off as long as two days. It just depends on which line is broken.

All the restaurants are closed. Schools will likely be closed if the problem is not solved by in the morning.

27,000 people. No water.

Being without electricity is inconvenient. Being without the phone is a pain.

But, no water?

I predict there will be a LOT of stinky people in Vicksburg today.

Stay tuned.

Choir Practice

Last night I went back to choir practice.


Let me preface the following with this. I have been a member of this choir for over 22 years. When I was healthy, I was very faithful, rarely missing a Sunday service or Wednesday night practice.


But, due to the heat, I have taken this summer off. I decided that I did not want to spend every Sunday afternoon and evening nauseated and exhausted from sitting in the spotlit choir loft in a neck to ankle polyester robe. Not to mention the effects of getting in my hot van at high noon in the Mississippi heat.


Of course, during the course of the summer, I heard rumors about why I was not at choir practice. I was mad at the choir director. I was mad because I did not get to sing a solo one Sunday. I was going full time to the Episcopal church. And so on.


So, last night being cooler, I headed back to choir practice. I have to admit. I almost did not go. In order to go back, I knew I would have to be strong enough to deal with the hurtful comments that would come from a particular choir member. This man would give you the shirt off his back. He is active in many areas of the church. But, he can say the most awful things to people. I don't know if he REALLY means the things he says, or if it is more of an "engage mouth before putting brain in gear" thing, but when I am feeling vulnerable, physically and/or mentally down, they can hit me harder than I like to admit.

Last night, I decided that I WAS strong enough to deal with whatever he dished out. I went. He made his comments.

And everything was back to normal.

Sleepless in Mississippi

Tonight is one of those no-sleeper nights. I fell asleep for a couple of hours, but bad dreams woke me. I can't shut my mind down long enough to go back to sleep.

I saw my friend, Mr. Don, for the first time today since his first round of the really tough chemo. He slept through much of my visit and spent his waking moments in a non-comprehending haze. This is so unlike the cheerful, constantly busy (usually doing for others) man that I have known for 38 years. He does not even seem like the same person.

The sad thing is that this chemo is a long shot. This cancer is a rare type that did not respond to the first round of chemo, cannot be helped with radiation, and is inoperable. I have to wonder if this is ultimately going to be worth it, or is he spending his last weeks or months in misery for nothing.

And all I can do is watch.

And pray.

Torn

Today I went to two church services. I attended early service at a lovely Episcopal church a few miles from my home. Then, I went to 11:00 service at my "official" church, which is the "downtown" Methodist church.

Part of me feels like I need to choose between them. That I can't continue to keep a foot in each camp. But I have been unable to choose.

The Methodist church is the church of my ancestors. We have been Methodist for many generations and the Methodist church in Kentwood, Louisiana where my mother's family comes from, was built largely by my kin. I love the way that the methodist church conference helps keep us connected to each other. I love the music that we make at my home church. I love my choir director. As a musician, I need that musical component to worship.

Or so I thought. For the past year, I have been attending early service at the Episcopal church. This service has no music, but is satisfying because of the weekly Eucharist, thought provoking sermons from their first female priest, and the fact that the congregation is small and welcoming. I can use my non-musical talents at this church. Talents that are overshadowed at my "big" church.

So why can't I choose? I think that I would eventually miss the music at my own church if I were to leave for good. There are people there that I care for. I have been there for 22 years. Right now, the person who is serving as clergy is not filling my needs for a preacher OR a pastor. But, I know that he will not be there forever.

I love this Episcopal church, but I don't know if there would be enough there for me without this dear priest. And, I know that she will not be there forever. She is content to let me come to early church, book study, and hang around when I can. She is fulfilling both the pastor and preacher needs I have at this time.

It may be possible to be an associate member of both congregations. I may just continue as I have been.

I just can't choose.

A Year Ago Today

This was written a year ago. I had been staying with my sister in Clinton. We had 14 people, two dogs, and one cat all jammed into a single family home. And we were the lucky ones.

9/1/2005

I am home. We have electricity. That is good.

No cable TV or Internet connection. That is not good.

I am so tired. I feel like my mind and my body are shutting down. I want to cry. I don’t want to hear again how blessed I am or how I have nothing to be sad about. I know this. I do.

It is just that I AM scared. I can’t get gas. I feel so vulnerable. Not knowing whether I can get to the bedside of a sick relative or to medical care in Jackson if I need to. It is not that I want to go “gallivanting.” It is knowing I can’t that makes me feel strange.

The half-empty grocery aisles are another thing that just seem wrong somehow. I hear about how this is common in other countries, but not HERE. Not in a small city in Mississippi.

I am so spoiled. A creature of routine and habit, I don’t like having my daily doings upset in such a fashion.

But, I know I will survive. And, I will be stronger.

I just want a full tank of gas.