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.