Father's Day

I was doing a ten minute tidy on my bedroom when it occurred to me that I hadn't sat in my recliner all day. And I didn't miss it. Wonder of wonders. When I got up this morning, groggy, because I am at the end of a nasty cold, I grabbed my coffee and Bible and headed straight into the great outdoors for my morning talk with Jesus. Sitting in my rocker under the umbrella, and perusing the yard, I was suddenly overcome with thankfulness. I am so glad to be here, with the blooming Sun Parasols, and the Cannas, the vegetable garden, and the birdbath, with it's chatty flowing fountain. The coffee was good, the Word was really good, the air wasn't too hot yet. The Mr. came out and joined me, with Frankie, and we just sat in peaceful silence, enjoying the morning, and the coffee, while the dog capered around us. 

I could not ask for more. 

Then back in the house I came straight into the office, bypassing my usual recliner time. I pulled the office chair up to the desk and perused yesterday's creations. 

 My son in law and I are making my daughter a coffee table. Not just any old coffee table, but a coffee table for her library that you can peek down into to see another world. A miniature library, within her library. She knows something is up but she doesn't know exactly what. The son in law is making the actual coffee table. I am making the miniature books for the library shelves. Yesterday I made magazines from the forties. Today I was planning on making some paperback books. I had a printout of some classics, miniature book size, maybe an inch high and half an inch wide. But then I hit upon an idea. What about Dick Francis. I love Dick Francis. I have most of his books on my shelf. Last time I was over at Katie's I noticed she had several of my books on her shelf. She said I gave them to her, when I asked about them. Hmmph. Maybe. 

Anyway my love of Dick Francis is well known around here, so I thought that would be fun. I googled Dick Francis book covers and was thrilled to find out that someone has posted a web page with all of his book covers one page. Sooo I downloaded the page, scaled the page down, printed the image and then cut the covers out individually. Then I had to make backs for the covers, because of course it was 2 D. Image only. So I got out my scrapbook paper and matched the books to the paper. If you know anything about DF you know his books are very colorful. Then I made the backs, matching the paper to the book colors, and glued them to the fronts. Then I folded the insides and glued them into the books, one by one. It took a few hours, but at the end I had an entire DF collection for my daughter's miniature bookshelf. When do you think I should probably be honest with myself and realize that I have descended into madness? What will she say when she sees what I have done? Will she be amazed? Will she laugh her head off? Both, I hope. 

Anyway, this is how it has been with me lately. Since this new diet I started two months ago, my brain is working all the time. My cognitive thinking has dramatically improved, and I want to do things. Sitting in my recliner is such a waste of time. Yes, my knees still hurt, unbearably, sometimes, sadly the injections didn't do diddly squat for me. Despite that, I want to be creative, I don't want to sit around doomsday scrolling anymore. I got a new guitar and am spending time learning new music, new chords, new picking methods, and generally just having a ball. 

The diet can be a drag, but the benefits seem to be far outweighing (haha, see what I did there) missed foods. No dairy, or very little, no bread, no seed oils, other than avocado or olive oil, no sugar. No cheese. I thought that one would hurt a little more than it does. I still have a bit of cheese now and then, but not much. I used to live on it. The thing that hurt the most was the coffee creamer. Since I can't have sucralose I have had to let the flavored coffee creamers go, even the zero sugar ones. It has made me re evaluate my relationship with coffee. Turns out it isn't really the coffee I love, it's the creamer. We have found some substitutions, but coffee time just isn't the same. Still, sixteen pounds for me, and nineteen for the Mr. is worth it. And the fire going on in my brain makes me never want to go back to processed foods again. 

As I said, I got a new guitar. It hadn't been in my plans to get a guitar. I already have one that belonged to my grandfather, one that I love dearly, the one I learned to play on. It's a 1949 Epiphone Flattop Texan, very vintage, pretty rare, especially in it's good condition. It has real Mother of Pearl inlay on the fretboard and headstock and it has a lovely woody tone to it, the kind that only comes from a seasoned instrument. Did I mention I love this guitar? However it is hard for me to play. The fretboard is very long, 25 inches, and the strings, even after all these years of playing, still hurt my fingers. I was in the middle of trying to play it one day, and having trouble, when the thought occurred to me that maybe this was too much guitar for me. Maybe I need a smaller guitar. With less action on the fretboard. Less action just means the strings aren't so high. Can you tell that during my doomsday scrolling I have included lots and lots and lots of guitar tutorials? Vintage guitars tend to have high action on the fretboard simply because they are old, and the fretboard tends to bow over time, even if it's imperceptible to the eye. Old Tex looks perfect, but he is difficult for me. 

So I considered what to do. Should I buy a new guitar? I posed the question to my musical aunt, the one who gave me the guitar. Buy lighter strings? You should do that first, she told me. 

So I decided to follow her advice. The next time I was downtown I would step into the pawn shop and pick up some lighter strings. However, that's not how it worked out. 

We went downtown to the Mexican restaurant one day, shortly after this, and after lunch I strolled next door for those strings. I walked up to the counter and told the gentleman what I wanted. He got them for me, while I looked around. I walked over to the instrument area and perused all the hanging guitars, as I always did when I was in here. I have seen many that I would have liked to buy, but money being what it is, I always left empty handed. This time was different. This time, as my eye roved over all the feast of offerings, I saw something that excited me very much. Another Epiphone! Could it be possible that I could have TWO Epis? I looked at the price, and it was formidable. I looked at my husband and to my surprise, he said Get it. I was in shock. Absolute shock. The gentleman took it down and let me play with it. Bonus. I hadn't noticed it was electric. I have always, always, wanted an acoustical electric. 

Today seemed to be my lucky day. 

So that's how I came to have a second guitar. 

Not made in America, like Tex. This one is made in Indonesia. It has plastic on it. Plastic nut. Plastic binding, plastic saddle. It' has mother of pearlite. Not mother of pearl. It is an "Inspired by Gibson" Hummingbird, the Gibson Hummingbird being a famous guitar from the sixties played by the Beatles and a bunch of other people. Despite not being American, despite the plastic, it plays incredibly well, and all the reviews are outstanding. So I am happy. 

And because my brain is working better, I am better able to understand the music. I am playing chords I have never heard of and would have never attempted not that long ago. I would have just shaken my head, put the guitar down and walked away, or maybe just played something easier. I have a large book of chord songs that I flip through and play, or attempt to play. Most of them I can't play. But I like to try. To my surprise, I'm finding that some of them aren't as difficult as I had supposed. 

I'm still ridiculously slow, though. Even after all the years I have been practicing, I can't change chord positions quickly. I have to stop and look at the chord charts, sometimes. Most times, if I'm honest. However I am truly enjoying guitar time like never before. 

A few weeks after the guitar purchase the Mr. and I stopped by the pawn shop again. This time we were looking for an amp. I hadn't yet heard the guitar live. I had bought a couple of different cheap ones from Amazon and they hadn't worked out. I was way out of my element. Had no idea what to look for. But they had one there that wasn't too big, nor was it small. It wasn't a horrible price, but it also wasn't cheap. I asked the guy behind the counter about a cable for it, when he told me that there was something better than a cable. Bluetooth. Sometimes I love technology. You plug the receiver into the amp, the transmitter into the guitar, and wa LA. Wireless Amp. My mind was blown. I ordered it from Amazon while the Mr. was paying. 

And now I have gone on and on and on about the guitar, and the diet, but I just have to say that those two things have turned my life upside down. And I am painting again. 

Well trying to, anyway. I wrote in a previous blog about rescuing my grandmother's paints from the late sixties, early seventies, from my garage junk, and about how I got new rubber stopped bottles for them, and rehydrated them to bring the colors back to life. 

Well lately I have been trying to use them, and to my surprise, they are quite nice! The colors are crisp and bright. And Amazon still sells the paint, so I have been adding to my color collection, a little at a time. However I have had quite a few failed paintings. I start out well and then before I know it, I have muddied the painting or overworked it, and nothing I can do can bring it back. However, much like my guitar revelation, I realized I needed a different kind of paper. The paper I was using was not working for me. So I got a new tablet from Amazon, this time a brand name paper, that I know is good. A couple of days ago I prepared to paint. I got out the paper. I taped off the edges so I would have a nice clean perimeter. Then I stared at it for several days. What if I mess it up? So I hesitated. I procrastinated. I ruminated while some ideas germinated.

Meanwhile Father's Day was suddenly upon us. 

We had planned on going to church, but the Mr. was not feeling well, so we stayed home. I sat out in the garden and had a long talk with Jesus about fathers and other things. I told Him how much I miss mine. He already knows, of course, but He lets me talk it out. Daddy has been gone for three months now, and it still seems very unreal. In my mind he is just at his house, three hours away, and I haven't seen him for awhile. In my mind he is working in his shop, cooking breakfast, walking down to get the mail, and settling down in his recliner for his evening session of Family Feud. In my mind he is healthy and strong, buying groceries, reading books, taking Jo out for her doctor's appointments, and going to church. 

In my heart there is a dad shaped hole, caused by his absence. His house is empty, the shop is gone, his hands are still. I miss him. I look at his face on the blanket that someone so kindly gave to me on the day of his funeral and I am overcome with strange feelings of loss, feelings that are new to me, and hard to rectify. He is gone. I know it. This first Father's Day without him has been more difficult that I expected. I can't call him, or hear his voice, or tell him how much I love him. 

After church in the garden, we got dressed up and ready to have lunch with the family at a hibachi restaurant in Sherman. Just before we left town though, we stopped at the grocery store to buy some flowers. Since we would be close to the grave yard, I thought it would be very fitting to go to the cemetery and leave some flowers for Dad. I went into the store and saw many dozens of roses, all so beautiful, each and every bunch. My hand reached out for some red ones, but they just weren't quite right, so I kept looking. In the end I chose a colorful bouquet. My dad loved color. In his entire neighborhood, and I mean the entire complex, he was the only one with a turquoise garage door, and matching front door. Everybody else had tan doors, but not Dad. And in the house it was the same. Turquoise kitchen, Aqua colored Kitchen Aid mixer. So when I saw the bouquet, which had yellow, lots of blues, greens, pinks, and even some oranges, I felt it was right. We made it to the hibachi, and the girls were just floored by the fire show. They loved it. Arya was a bit scared, sitting on my right, but she did OK. They will be talking about it for the rest of their lives, I think. We had a wonderful time, and then went our separate ways. The girls with their parents to go shopping, Matt, to who knows where, and the Mr. and Ally and I to the cemetery. 

It was quiet there. So quiet. It's way out in the country, and when you enter the gates, all the city sounds fall behind you. It's just you and the wind. The church was empty, all of the congregants long since gone home. The sun was high and the wind was breezy. There were little American flags peppered all over the grave yard, each veteran a recipient. 

There it was. The tiny stone had all but disappeared beneath the grass and weeds. I spent a few minutes pulling it all off until the marker was completely clear. Then I placed the colorful flowers just below the his name. The Mr. and Ally were standing by, quietly. I could tell Ally was very moved. She misses her grandpa. 

After a few moments I moved along the row of tiny stones to Jo's parents. Their stones too, were overgrown with grass. I spent a bit of time pulling back the weeds, thinking about them, as well, and remembering the dream I had had the day before Dad died, about Jo's dad, and how in my dream he had been young and strong and healthy. I fervently wished he was here, that the dream was true. And I wished my own dad was, too. 

Then I was done. I spent a moment or two longer, snapped a photo, and then walked away, leaving the bright flowers to mark the spot where I had been, and he would remain. It was kind of sad, and moving. Very poignant. 

We were quiet on the way home. I looked at the pictures I had snapped of the bouquet and decided that was what I would paint. I loved the juxtaposition of the blues, yellows and greens. 

But could I do it? 

I came home and stared at the blank paper some more. Afraid to mess it up. When did painting stop being fun and start being about my insecurities? 

I got out a pencil. I put on my glasses. And then I started drawing. Then I got out my brushes, and I got a bowl of water. I got out the paints. I put on some music. 

And all the insecurities just melted away. It isn't finished, and I can't say that I won't mess it up. However, I am liking what I see so far. 

Dear Jesus, this has been a tough couple of weeks, within a tough year for our family. There is a lot of grief and anxiety, angst, and many tears. I lift up each and every member and pray for peace and comfort. Let us never forget that you walk beside us every single step of the way, and when it's too much you carry us. We cast our many cares upon you now and thank you for your continued provision and goodness to us. Tell our Daddy hello for us, and let him know we miss him. 

Adventures and other oddities

We had plans, good ones, for the weekend. We knew we would have the girls very early Saturday morning, starting at the crack of dawn in the morning, namely six AM. Their parents were going out of town for the night and would not be back until late the following afternoon. We talked about what we would do with them. Would we take them to a movie? (More screen time? I mean I know it's a very big screen, but still?) Would we take them skating, as we had promised them the day we went to the carnival? To Urban Air (Kinda expensive). We opted for skating, but within five minutes of their arrival, I knew it was not to be. I looked at Claire's flushed cheeks and heard her cough and knew we would be in for the weekend. No skating. No movie. No church. We would just have to find something in the house to occupy us. It wouldn't be too difficult, because tomorrow was Ally's birthday, and we had some work to do to get ready, the kind of work any kid would love, such as blowing up balloons, and putting up paper streamers. I know, I know, Ally is 28 years old, but still loves all that stuff, so we do it. Also it was Memorial Day weekend, so there was food to cook. There would be stuff to do. 

But I digress. 

First thing I did was call Mommy and Daddy. They apologized profusely. I could have had them call off their overnight trip, but I knew they needed it and her fever wasn't too high, so I told them to go on. 

I dosed Claire up with some children's Motrin and gave her something for her cough, and she was soon feeling a little better. Ally bought donuts for the girls for breakfast, and about noon we decided to make a big brunch. Ally, for her birthday, had requested eggs benedict, and so it was, hollandaise and all, with bacon and sausage, and poached eggs on toast, since we don't have any English muffins. Arya was not so sure about the poached egg, but Claire asked for another. 

Brunch cleaned up we hung around for a bit. I let the girls watch a little TV, and then we decided to head to town for an early dinner and a trip to Hobby Lobby for art projects to keep the little ones occupied. So we all piled in the car and headed west about a half an hour. We stopped at a steak house and had some dinner. I had some kind of caramelized lemon on herbed chicken, which was ooh la la! I had a salad too, with my own avocado oil ranch, which I sneaked in under my sweater. I don't want to appear snobby, and really I'm not, but I just can't eat dressing with soybean oil in it, anymore. More on that in a later post. 

So I'm bringing my own. 

Again I digress. 

We were in their awhile, maybe an hour. The Mr. didn't really get to eat, because the prime rib he ordered came out raw. They took it back and came out with another raw plate. He just said no, take it off the order. His new liver, much to our dismay, is giving him trouble. He just can't eat rare meat. 

So we went over to Target to get some coffee, and walked around a bit, and then went to the art aisle, and perused all the art kits. Both girls simultaneously lit on the same type of kit, although not identical. This would be a new adventure for us. It was called diamond painting. Keychains and stickers and lots of "diamonds". I wasn't exactly sure how it worked but I read the directions on the half hour drive home, and then it dawned on me. 1000 gems! It said. Per box. Two THOUSAND gems were about to descend on my house. What have I done?? I thought to myself. WHAT. HAVE. I. DONE!? 

But it would be fine. And they would have so much fun with this. 

Back home we opened the boxes and got out the directions. I thought they would need help, but Claire let me know right away that she knew what to do. Ok, I said, then tell me what you do, and she proceeded to tell me, step by step. Apparently she is not as new to this art genre as Grandma is. She has done this before. And Arya had no difficulty. There were little plastic trays to put your thousand gems in, and tiny little squares of wax, and a stylus. You take the stylus, stick the point in the wax, pick up your gem with the waxy end, and then deposit it on the corresponding sticky dot on the plastic picture that will soon be a piece of art. 

I went downstairs to take Frankie out, and saw that the Mr. and Ally were headed to the store to get some stuff for her birthday the following day. I started to open the door, but heard a meowing cat, so I held back a minute. Cautiously I opened the door, to make sure the cat was gone before we came out, but the cat was nowhere to be seen or heard, and neither were the Mr. and Ally, well on their way down the street to the store in the car. 

Fifteen minutes went by. The phone rang. It was the Mr. You won't believe where I am. I'm at the oil changing place. His phone was cutting out a little. I was confused. Why was he there? Wasn't he supposed to be going to the grocery store? Then he told me the unbelievable. There was a CAT in our wheel well! We are at the oil place, they are trying to get it out! 

It's been in there since before we drove to Sherman! (He told me later he heard it when we left but didn't know where it was coming from). 

So that cat, actually just a tiny kitten, had been riding shotgun in the wheel well of our car most of the day! That's an hour of driving time, plus eating and shopping, and no telling how long it had been in there before that. Poor little thing! They were able to extract it, and she was fine. She was dehydrated, and her tongue was hanging out, and she was fighting mad, but they got her out. The garage asked if they could keep her, and that was fine with us. We don't need a kitten, especially with Frankie around. 

I was glad that worked out well. Turns out they had been looking for a cat for their shop. We were happy to oblige.

Sunday morning and the girls continued with their gemology projects. Arya was very pleased with her keychains. Because we had spent time making bracelets last time they were here, she knew exactly how to connect the chains and lobster clasps to the keychains. She asked for the tools and she did it all by herself. 

By evening their were gems all over the house, as I knew there would be. Claire accidently knocked her tray on the floor. We swept it up and Grandma spend a large parcel of time straining it through a colander to separate the gems from the dust bunnies that live on the hardwood floor. 

Five O'clock and Mom and Dad were back and Great Grandma was here for Ally's birthday. There were chicken wings and potato salad, baked beans, chips, and pepper poppers. There was ice cream cake and ice cream for dessert. 

Finally everybody went home, and the kitchen was cleaned up. I went upstairs and fell asleep, like the dead. Tomorrow would be a rest day. 

And it was. A wonderful rest day, with spring like weather and sunshine. I spent the day creating, in my office. Practicing my new guitar, water coloring and working on some miniature books I am making for a future project with my son in law. 

But don't you know, this morning, the Mr. caught Claire's cold. Sigh. 

Satisfaction

I knew it was going to be a long, long week. I looked at the schedule in front of me and just plain old didn't know how I was going to get through it all. Most weeks I might have a couple of days I need to do something, or go somewhere, but this week, for some reason was off the charts. I said a quick prayer that the Lord would help me through each day, and looked ahead to the moment, a whole week away from now, that I would be able to plop down in my chair and know we had made it through. 

Monday we had to drive to the Dallas VA for the Mr.'s liver fibroscan. This is a two hour trip, each way, depending on traffic. 

Tuesday I had to take Frankie to the vet, because he developed some kind of bump on his chin. 

I also had to pick up my Aunt and bring her to my house, because she was having surgery the next morning, and I was taking her. 

So Wednesday I had to get up at five AM and be at the hospital by seven fifteen. This was going to be a very long day, because of course I wasn't going to just leave her there. I would wait for the surgery to be over and she was comfortable before I came home. 

Thursday I thankfully had a day to breathe. Auntie's friend would be taking her home from the hospital. Friday we would be having a sleepover with the girls that would last through Sunday evening. 

And Sunday, overlapping with the girl's visit, we would be attending a ceremony honoring my father and all of the others interred during the year at the cemetery he was buried in. 

Also Ally was planning on using the kitchen to make a cake on Saturday and having a sleepover for her friend's birthday, at our house. 

So Monday we did make it to the doc appointment for the fibro scan, and the results were not what we hoped. We knew it wasn't good when they called us right after the test with the results. It seems his liver is in danger, and we need some lifestyle changes. We have just been eating too many fatty foods, and too many processed foods. Fortunately we realized this three weeks ago and had already taken steps to change things. We are on what's called the RAD diet, or Rare Adipose Disorder diet, and the Mr. has lost 12 pounds. I have lost ten, which is a miracle for me. 

This diet lives up to it's name. It is pretty radical. But it's what we needed to do. There are no processed foods, no dairy, no sugar, no gluten, and no seed oils, other than avocado and olive. And maybe coconut oil. It consists of vegetables, fruits, limiting red meat and chicken, and when we do have it, it must be organic and grass fed, to avoid the hormones and the corn. Corn is not on the menu. It is heavy on the fish, similar to the Mediterranean diet, which does not make the Mr. happy. I also changed my soap to ivory and stopped using fragrance on my skin. All of that causes inflammation. My goal is to reduce inflammation. 

And it's remarkable how much better both the Mr. and I feel. I haven't had cheese, other than parmesan, feta (watching the salt) and some laughing cow, in a month. Well, full disclosure, I have allowed myself a couple of mozzarella cheese sticks, and a small amount of cheddar on my bunless burger. But considering that I used to eat primarily cheese, I would say that is pretty good. The tough thing has been salad dressing. I just can't eat salad without dressing. Almost every single dressing is made with soybean or palm oil, and so is mayo, the one other thing besides cheese that I can't live without. We have searched far and wide for a salad dressing made with avocado oil, and we finally tracked some down at Target. It's pricey, at five dollars for a small bottle, but it's worth it, in my opinion. The Mayo is a different story. I love Hellman's. I adore Hellman's, although Sean of the South (click the link) might disagree with me. But it has bad inflammatory seed oil in it. I considered changing to Hellman's with olive oil, and so I looked up the ingredients and was appalled to find out it's all a lie. Hellman's with olive oil is primarily made up of soybean oil with an addition of potato starch. Potatoes are also off the menu, sadly, and so is their starch. There is olive oil in it, but it's way down on the ingredient list.

So I decided to allow myself the mayo. It's my one concession and I don't eat too much of it, maybe a tablespoon when we have a burger. 

But I have digressed way away from the subject. 

We were in a funk all the rest of Monday about the scan results. That liver is precious. We want to take as good care of it as possible, especially after all we went through to get it. 

Tuesday I was up with Frankie at the vet bright and early. Turns out he just had some teen age acne. Nothing to worry about. He has gained a pound and needs some dental prevention in the form of a powder that I can buy from Amazon. Who's a good boy? 

I picked up my Auntie and we had a nice visit. We went to bed early and were up and at the hospital on time Wednesday morning. The surgery went very well. They were able to repair all that needed repairing and I spent the time in the waiting room talking to her two best friends who were also waiting for her to come out of recovery. All in all that was the longest day, I would say. I left home at six and didn't get back home until six. I was so hungry that I actually bought and ate a Greek salad from the hospital Cafe and I didn't even care that it had the hated vinaigrette dressing on it. 

The next day I just sat in my chair. Pooped. So tired. I knew I needed to rest up because the weekend was yet to be gotten through and it was going to be a long one. 

Friday afternoon we picked up the girls from school and headed home. I had told the girls that the next time they came over (which was now) that I was going to teach them how to make bracelets. Real ones, with real charms, not the plastic stuff you get from Walmart. So I actually went to Walmart and picked up some supplies, more pliers and more charms, ironically, plastic after all, and I was ready for them. I had bought a whole container of round connectors, which Claire immediately started to pour out on the table. I quickly stemmed the flow of tiny metal rings escaping the plastic container and then measuring the girl's wrists, cut off the appropriate amount of chain, not too big, not too small, to fit their arms. 

Then I got out the charms and told them they could pick five. Of course they didn't pick five and that was ok. I showed them how to use the tools and how to attach the connectors for the toggles and the charms and they were off. Claire needed a little more help, but she totally understood what she was doing. Arya didn't need much help at all, just needed me to check that the rings were closed so the  charms wouldn't fall off. 

By the end of the hour the office/art room was a mess. There were rings and charms and chains everywhere, tools lying about, and happy hearts. Both girls finished with a bracelet that they themselves made and they were very proud of themselves. 

Until bedtime. That was when Arya realized that one of her special stuffies, the one she loves the most, had not made it over with the suitcases. She began to cry and cry and cry. She was so upset she was almost making herself sick. I tried to talk with her, tried to reason with her. She was determined that she could not, would not sleep without it. In a dramatic fashion she laid down on the floor with no blanket and no pillow and swore she would never be comfortable again. 

I guess I could have gone over to their house and gotten it. They don't live far away. But I was so tired. And I knew she would be Ok in the end. And she was. But I did promise her that we would go get it the next day. 

Saturday arrived much too soon. I was still groggy when Arya awoke at six AM, her usual wake time, but not mine. The Mr. and I had decided that we would either take them to the carnival or to the skating rink today. We dithered, asked the girls what they wanted to do, and it was, of course, a split decision. Claire wanted the carnival, Arya wanted to skate. 

So I made them a deal, which I'm sure I will be writing about at some future point. 

Today we would go to the carnival, since it was only in town right now, and next time we would go skating. They were happy with that. So we went to the carnival! And it was the right choice. They had a fabulous time! Immediately upon entry, Arya saw the giant Conquistador Six Flags type boat and wanted to ride it. This is the same Arya who will not ride the zip line at Urban Air. I was dubious. I was sure she would not be able to handle that. So I told her we would do some other rides and if she still wanted to go on the boat before we left, she could do it. So we rode the rides, had a blast on the bumper cars, did the hall of mirrors, rode the carousel, the spinning dinosaurs, and the girls had their faces painted. They had lemonade and cotton candy, and then we decided it was time to go. But there was still that boat. Arya was sure could handle it. She is nine years old, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. I sat on the bench and the Mr. went in with her. They got in and took the back seat, where the centrifugal force is the highest. I was sure she would be sick, but she loved it! However, upon exiting the ride, I saw that the Mr.'s face was green and he was sick the rest of the afternoon. 

We got a bite to eat and headed home, tired and hot, but with lots of smiles from the girls. 

The house was full. Ally had arrived back home from the birthday party with her friends and they had set up shop in the living room. The weather was looking suspiciously dark, and I hoped we wouldn't all have to squeeze into the tiny shelter we have under the stairs for emergencies. There were eight of us in the house. However the weather passed us by and all was well. As dark approached I realized we needed to go get that toy if we were going to have a peaceful night. I let Arya ride in the front seat so we could talk. I told her that the toy didn't have the power to give her good sleep. Only Jesus could do that. As I spoke though, I was gently reminded in my own spirit, that I myself had had a stuffy, two of them, in fact, until I was twelve or thirteen. I never slept without my Circus pillow and my Hunny the Bunny,  and was distraught if I didn't have them. I remembered what it is to be nine years old and scared. I wished, in retrospect that I had lightened up and taken her to get her stuffy the night before. Sometimes we have to step out of our grown up world and remember what it was like to be a kid. 

Sunday morning and we were almost late to church, because I couldn't find my phone. It was time to go and it was nowhere to be found, and also because I couldn't find the top I had been planning to wear with my new pants. I knew it was in the drawer, I had seen it yesterday. I took everything out of the drawers, irritated at myself and in a hurry. I never found it. I was still ruminating about it as I came downstairs and saw Ally on the couch...I stopped in my tracks and narrowing my eyes, I said to her Did you, by any chance get into my drawer and take a tank top? With lace and spaghetti straps? She looked at me sheepishly. Yes. Well where is it? I need it to wear to church? I'm wearing it she said, and sure enough she was, under her blouse. And that was that. I had to wear something else and I still couldn't find the phone. But at least I knew I wasn't crazy, because I was beginning to wonder about myself.  That top had been in my drawer, after all. 

But we got to church on time, barely, had the service, and then had to rush out, to get home , because we were leaving again, to go to another church, this time a memorial service for Dad. 

I still didn't find the phone. Quickly I fed the girls and we were out the door and on the way to the next service. This was a tiny country church in the middle of nowhere, with the beautiful graveyard sprawling out behind, trees, and birds, and no sounds of city life, anywhere. The church was built in the early part of the nineteenth century and had lovely stained glass windows and all kinds of beautiful woodwork. It felt like time slowed down as we opened the old wooden doors and entered and  found a pew. They had already started. Matt was there waiting for us. We slid in quietly and turned our eyes to the speaker. I have to say the girls behavior was phenomenal. I didn't realize this was going to be a full on church service. I thought it would be a quick speech, a candle lighting, maybe calling out the names of the dead, and we would go home. But no, the preacher preached, the singer sang a couple of specials, the hymnals were opened, a history was spoken of the founder of the cemetery society, an offering was taken, a benediction was given and then finally the candles were lit. The names were called. My dad was almost at the end, as his death was so recent. There were roses given, and bells were rung. And then refreshments. I am not sorry to say I had a cookie and a piece of fudge, diet be darned. I needed some chocolate desperately. The girls picked four cookies and some punch and I didn't say a word. They had certainly earned it. Then we sat and chatted. I happened to know the lady I was sitting across from, had known her for many, many years, although she couldn't place me at first. She was Charlie's daughter. I haven't spoken of Charlie much on here, but he was an old family friend, someone I have known since the early seventies, photographer at my wedding, now long since passed, and actually buried in this very cemetery. 

We had a nice visit and then we headed home to find my phone. 

And to get the girls ready to go home. 

We dropped them off with Mom and Dad when we got back and then I came in and gathered all their things. I gave the house a quick clean. Ally's friends were gone, and she was back at college. The place was quiet. I reflected on the weekend as I tidied. Arya riding the big boat ride was the equivalent, in my opinion, of the zip line at Urban Air. I wouldn't be worrying so much about her fears anymore. That girl is going to be juuuust fine. And I reflected about the stuffy toy. I made a resolve to listen more and remember what it's like to be nine and seven, and act accordingly. I smiled to myself as I washed the dishes and swept the floor. There was such a deep well of satisfaction in my soul. We had really enjoyed our time with the girls, and they really seemed to enjoy being with us. Everything had really, really gone spectacularly well, other than the stuffy business. 

And finally, after dropping off the girl's suitcases, I plopped down in my chair and closed my eyes and just rested. And then got out my phone to read the news of the day. Turns out I had put it in the pocket of my robe when I took the dog out first thing that morning, and then hung the robe in the closet. The battery was dead, so calling it hadn't helped. But we had worked out on the way to the memorial that that was the only place it could be. And so it was. 

Easter Sunday

 I had a foreboding as I walked across the floor and spied the "present" my dog had left for me. To be fair, he is a very anxious dog. We have tried everything to try and keep him calm when we leave, but inevitably, as soon as the back door shuts, before we are even at the car, the barking starts. And upon our return we always find a little "gift". Never pee. Always poop. 

It drives me mad. It used to make me mad. But now, after two years of owning my little Frankie, I just sigh and clean it up. I might yell now and then, and he always knows I'm displeased, but I never punish him. It just isn't worth it. I don't like it, but I would rather clean it up than have the dog be afraid of me. 

What gave me the foreboding was that it was was, not to be crass, kind of runny. Oh dear, the dog isn't feeling well. 

Mini Schnauzers are prone to gastrointestinal issues, and every so often we have a problem. It was true with Belle, the lovely mini we had prior to Frankie, and now he too, was living up to his breed's special problem. 

I cleaned it up, which cost me an hour out of my day, because it meant I had to get the steam cleaner out. This required preparation and cleanup, as well as the actual clean up job, itself. 

I did this and went upstairs and thought nothing else about it. 

I hoped nothing would come of it. I dismissed it. Which I shouldn't have done.

Later on the girls came over to color Easter eggs. We had a grand time in the kitchen, trying out all the different colors, using the wax crayon to write on the eggs, and eating Easter candy. The girls had candy that is, not me. After an hour or so Mom came to get them and take them home and get them to bed, because Easter was going to be busy. We were all going to church in the morning and we would be up early. 

We both lay down in bed. The lights went off. I was almost asleep. On the verge. So comfortable. 

The Mr. sat up. Turned on the light. I took off my headphones, interrupting the show I was dozing off too. And then I heard it. Hurking. Like a shot I was out of bed, trying to find the dog. He was nowhere to be found. I could hear him, but I couldn't see him. That would be because he was behind the Mr.'s desk and he was throwing up. Ugh. This couldn't be good. That eerie foreboding came flooding back. I had a feeling we were not going to get much sleep tonight. I cleaned up the mess, and went back to bed. Turned off the light. But now I was tense. Poor Frankie was laying against my leg, shaking uncontrollably. But then he got up. Jumped off the bed. Headed to the corner and proceeded to have explosive diarrhea. 

I was now fully awake. This was definitely going to be a crisis. And so it was. All. Night. Long. Every. Single. Hour.  Alternately throwing up and having diarrhea. He would jump off the bed, I would follow with the bleach and paper towels. By four in the morning I was wasted. And angry. There may have been some words between me and the Mr., and perhaps some sobbing. By 6:45 I was just resigned. Frankie would get up, jump off the bed and I would follow without comment, without anger, without angst. 

As I tiredly cleaned, I thought to myself several times that this must be a hellish plan of Satan himself. Why else, on Easter Eve (when no vet would be open) would all this be happening? I knew we needed to be up early to take the girls to church tomorrow. I thought to myself something good must be in store for us there, and I determined that no matter what, I would not give in and just sleep in, in the morning. Because that's what I really wanted to do. I was so incredibly tired. I had been in a lot of pain the previous few days. When I say a lot of pain, I mean the Mr. wanted to take me to the ER. Thursday morning I almost couldn't walk. I sat in my recliner, pain reliever already on board, pain patch on my right knee, and just cried. He was very alarmed. The pain had finally subsided and I had fallen asleep and awakened feeling better. Not pain free, but better. 

I determined to be at church no matter what. Plans were made and would be fulfilled. So I pulled up my big girl granny panties, set my alarm, so I wouldn't oversleep, and finally, finally, the dog fell asleep. So did the Mr. and I and we did oversleep by an hour. 

I woke up feeling dead in the land of the living. The joy felt like it had been sucked right out of me. I got dressed, fixed my hair, put on my makeup and went downstairs to try to construct a pen for the dog in the kitchen. I am not a kennel girl. I hate kennels. I couldn't bear to put Frankie in a cage. I know there is a lot of positive stuff about kennels but I determined early on that I didn't want that. 

So I got out the baby gate, but before I could get it up, he sidled around me and had a go on the carpet in the coffee lounge. 

Oh. my. gosh. I may have overreacted. I let out a holler that probably would have awakened Jesus, if he hadn't already been raised from the dead. I lashed out angrily at a soda can that was on the edge of the sink, knocking it into the sink. Ally didn't take kindly to that, and she was right. I apologized, and with tears in my eyes, we headed off to church, leaving Frankie alone in the kitchen, with his bed and a small bowl of water. I was afraid of what I would come home to, but a little voice told me Just get to church, and let Me take care of the dog. 

So we got to church. First thing we found out, no children's church. This is always dismaying to me, because the girls tend to get bored in "big" church as I have always called it. It's much easier if they go to children's church where they aren't bored and I am not constantly trying to get them to sit up, not lay in the pew, kick the back of the pew, talk while the preacher is talking, etc. I mean, it is a good discipline, as I think all kids need to learn at some point, how to sit quietly in a room when other people are talking. But today I really wanted them to go to Children's church. 

Instead we would be having Communion and an Easter Message, as well as a lot of extra singing. I felt that this was going to be a long service. 

But as we began to sing, and I raised one hand, the other being wrapped around Arya, I peeked out of the corner of my eye and I saw Claire singing with her hand in the air also. I began to relax. All the dog poo in the world couldn't take the joy of worshiping God with my grandchildren and my daughter, who had also come along, away. I was so glad I had pushed through the weariness to be here. 

And then the call to Communion. As we stood to receive the elements I asked the girls if they wanted to partake. They are eligible. They have both received Christ. Last time we had been there for Communion they had both declined, which was fine. Today Claire wanted to receive it. I leaned over and talked to her for a minute about what was required and she understood. She and the Mr., and Alyssa went forward to get and bring back the "bread and the wine". Arya, like last time, declined, and that was fine. 

My eyes filled with tears as we broke the bread and drank the cup together. So this was it. This was what Satan had been trying to keep us from. This was the first time for both Alyssa and Claire. I wouldn't have missed this for the world. 

Pastor finished speaking and the altar call began. It was about this time that Arya became very agitated, and began to pull on my arm. I leaned over to hear her as she was trying to tell me something. She was pointing and gesticulating to the balcony behind us. I looked around. There was a man filming up there, standing next to a large spot light, which I assume was for productions. Today there was no need for it, and it was not on. 

I still didn't know what she was trying to tell me. I tried to get her to turn around and face the front, but she was adamant. And now I understood what she was saying, as her volume had increased. Gramma, Gramma, look, look at that! I looked behind me again. The man was still there. The spotlight was still there. And then it dawned on me that it was the spotlight she was talking about. Gramma, this is DANGEROUS! This is SERIOUS! Gramma, there is a LASER CANNON up there! 

All the time she was pulling on my arm, trying to get me to pay attention, to turn around, to see the danger, as she saw it. GRAMMA It's a LASER CANNON! Oh honey, it's just a spotlight. It's not a laser cannon, I promise, said I, but she would not be convinced. So it was I found myself, at service end, trying to keep up with her as she exited the sanctuary, calling behind her, I promise, I promise, it's NOT A LASER CANNON! 

I am not sure I convinced her. 

So we dropped them at home, and on the way to our house, just about three minutes from theirs, the Mr. told me he had been praying for the dog in church. He was believing for an Easter miracle. I am ashamed to say, I was not so sure. 

Upon entering we saw a couple of accidents. He was still having the same problem, it seemed. However he seemed much perkier. And there were only two spots. I had been expecting to find a poopocolypse when we returned. But it was not so. Apparently it was over. The Lord had taken care of the dog and it looked like we had an Easter miracle on our hands, after all. Let me just say I know, from experience how these things work. When the dog gets sick, especially as sick as he was, it takes antibiotics, probiotics, an expensive vet visit, sometimes doggie diapers, and a lot of sweat on my behalf, not to mention several days of extra cleaning and anxiety. 

But, against all the odds, his recovery was lightening fast. Since we came in from church he has not thrown up or had one accident. He has even managed to eat two small meals of hamburger and rice, with some probiotic powder we got from the vet with the last incident (last year), mixed in. 

I fell asleep in my chair. Upon waking I was in some pain, so I took some pain meds, slapped on a pain patch, and wandered into the office. I have been picking up the guitar again in recent weeks, and today I pulled the music stand over and began to play, turning over the pages, as I went, trying out different songs. I came across a tablature that I have never been able to play, and decided to give it one more try. I do that every once in a while, usually giving up after a few minutes and pushing that page to the back of the pile, once I remember why I didn't learn it in the first place. It's just too difficult for me. This time, however, as I looked at the music, it arranged itself before me in a way that I could understand. I tried a couple of notes, and by golly, it worked! I tried a few more, and then worked out how I could go from measure to measure without moving my fingers too awkwardly. And I realized this was not nearly as difficult as I had always imagined. I was slow, very slow, but the notes were right. I was elated. And I realized that I was actually feeling better than I had since Dad passed away. 

And part of that, I reasoned, was that I had changed my diet a few days ago. I had become tired of being tired and inflamed. My legs look like whales. I saw pictures of myself at the funeral and I couldn't believe how terrible I looked. I looked sick. 

So I decided to find an anti inflammatory diet and see if I could get some of the inflammation down. I was diagnosed with Lipedema last fall, and the doctor told me I might lose weight if I could figure out what was causing the inflammation. But, he said, I wouldn't lose the fat, and if I did it would only be in my torso, my legs and arms would not lose the weight.

But at this point I had to try. So I did something that I consider radical. I quit cheese. And milk. And grain. And artificial sweetener. And sugar. And anything processed. 

I had just been shopping the day before I made this decision, so my 'fridge was full. However, I put all of the things I could no longer eat, so I wouldn't be tempted, in a grocery bag and gave it to my daughter. I then went to the store again, and replaced it all with Almond milk, vegetables, some fruits, nuts, beans, and fish.

And within a couple of days I lost a couple of pounds. To date I have lost five pounds, in about a week. I am not getting too excited, because we have been down this path before, not on this particular diet, but I have lost five to seven pounds several times on various diets, and it always stalls and then I give up and crash and burn and go back to my comfort food. 

But I couldn't help wondering if the reason I was able to work out the music was that my brain was sharper. Maybe this is a sign of things to come? Good things I hope? 

We shall see. 

The day didn't start out well, but is ending quite peacefully. Ally is back at school, Matt is out of town, so it's just me and the Mr. and little Frankie, who is asleep in the chair next to me. 

Thank you, Lord, for my family, and for healing my dog. Thank you for those granddaughters who make me laugh and cry tears of joy. And thank you, especially this day for YOU. 
Without your sacrifice on the cross, NONE of this would be possible. Thank you, Lord, for life, and life abundantly. 

Grief

It comes in waves. Late afternoon sunshine flooding the dining room, and me standing in the foyer looking at his picture on the mantle. September When it Comes is playing on the radio. I was fine a second ago, but now the tears fill my eyes and everything becomes blurred. Yesterday while talking to someone about the funeral, I said The day Daddy died...I stopped and heard my own words with fresh appraisal. My DADDY died!. It still seems unreal. 

I find myself restless. My hands don't know what to do with themselves. My dreams are interrupted by early morning wakeups and feverish thoughts. I find myself staring into space a lot. Fiddling with my phone. 

The way he looked on his last day of life. So frail and thin. It haunts me. So precious in his weakness. 

I really thought he had more time. It occurred to me that he could go that night, but I really didn't believe it. I thought maybe another week. 

When Sarah woke me early in the morning , it was a shock. So soon? I thought. I had only arrived the afternoon before, prepared to stay for weeks if I needed to, not knowing I would not be needed after all. 

But I'm so glad I was there for him on his last day. 

I had followed quickly behind her as she entered the bedroom where he had been sleeping. I stood by the bed and assessed him. His hands were warm but he was no longer breathing. I reached out and touched his chest. No heartbeat.  To my great disbelief he was really gone. Just like that. One minute here and the next gone. 

I came back home and began the forever process of grieving. I have lost grandparents and an uncle, but this is very different. I am forever changed. 

Palm Sunday Weekend

I opened my eyes to the early morning light through the window, dismayed to see that the weather had turned. The last week had been sunny and bright but today had dawned gray and damp. Not rainy, just damp. Ugh. But today was Friday and I was looking forward to seeing my sisters in a couple of hours, and my aunt (AK). Heather was flying in from South Dakota and Emily was flying from Virginia for Dad's funeral, which would be tomorrow. AK was only a half hour away but I hadn't seen her in some time. But first thing, some last minute tidying. I had been cleaning house for a week, a little at a time, my knees dictating how much got done each day. This morning it was all done, and so with a swipe of a dishtowel and the swish of a broom, Ally and I were on our way to pick up AK, and to get back home before the sisters arrived. 

Soon they were at the door and we had quite a tearful reunion, and settled in for a good visit. Later in the day I would be picking up the girls from school and then Kat would be heading our way after work, to visit the aunties and to pick up her girls. But first coffee and chit chat, and then deeper conversation about all the goings-on in our worlds. 

Ally and I decided breakfast was in order, although it was now noon. So the two of us teamed up together in the kitchen and made scrambled eggs, two kinds of bacon, crisp and cooked for the sane people of the world who like their bacon to have flavor, and the slimy kind of bacon that barely holds together, for those that just like the taste of rubber. 

We also had crepes with syrup, along with the never ending cups of coffee. 

Later I got the girls from school and the house became a cacophony of noise. Emily was on the piano with Claire, teaching her how to play a song on the piano, which to my great surprise, Clair was actually able to play...on her own, and teach to Arya! I think that was the most amazing discovery of the day, was realizing that Claire had a musical aptitude. AK was doing a little laundry, and in the middle of all of that, the Mr. decided to smoke a huge brisket for dinner. It was an everybody in and out, piano tinkling, dog barking, people talking, door slamming kind of afternoon, and it was great. 

Later Kat and Jeff joined and we had eleven people in the dining room munching on brisket, beans, and potato salad. After everyone was absolutely stuffed, the goodbyes began, if only for a few hours. We would see each other again in the morning under much more somber circumstances. Heather and I took AK home. Em and Ken departed for their hotel. Kat and Jeff took the girls home. Then it was just me and Heather, and she was literally falling asleep on her feet, so I made her a bed on the couch and left her to sleep. 

I went upstairs and fell asleep, as well. I didn't sleep well. I knew I had a hair appointment in the morning. I was very anxious to get the funeral over with. There were just too many factions and variables in play within our family, and I wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen. I had been worrying about it for weeks. Finally I just went to Jesus in simple prayer. Jesus take the wheel. 

And then I felt better. 

I woke up early and had coffee with Heather and then we headed off together to the hair place. And then it was time to get dressed. It was kind of like being in a dream. It didn't feel real to be burying my dad. It also felt weirdly like my wedding day. Hair and nails and dress and family all gathered. Only this time, Dad wouldn't be giving me away. I would instead, but giving him to Jesus, in a way. Still grieving, but not as though I wouldn't see him again. Knowing that God had taken him at exactly the right time and that he wasn't suffering anymore. Letting him go, while holding him close, exactly as he had done me, those thirty four years ago.

I was really glad that the weather had let up. It was chilly but partly sunny, and the wind was blowing just a little. It was a beautiful day for a send off. And so many of my very much loved family members were there. Aunts, and uncles, cousins, friends, nieces and nephews that I hadn't seen in years. 

There was an awning set up, with a few chairs. Not nearly enough for all of the people that showed to pay their last respects to Daddy. It was standing room only. There was a small podium just outside the front of the tent, and what remained of my father was in the small black box with his name on it. There were multitudes of flowers. I picked up the box, while no one was looking. It was very heavy. I set it gently back down before anyone noticed. I'm sure that was against the rules, but I really didn't care. I placed my flowers, an arrangement I had made myself, with roses Emily bought, and also roses from my own garden, down next to the box. 

The service began. 

And it was lovely. Nobody acted out. Nobody got nasty. Nothing mean was said. All was calm and peaceful. Heather and I had prayed about it on the way to the hair place earlier in the morning. Our prayer was answered. It was a quiet and lovely service. Heather spoke, and then I got up to speak. I willed myself not to cry and to keep my voice level, and look at my audience as I spoke. None of that happened, of course. As soon as I stepped up my hands began to shake. With my first words my voice cracked and I began to cry. I couldn't look up from the paper I had brought, couldn't meet the eyes of my audience, or I knew I would lose it. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I finished speaking and sat down, and the service was concluded. 

We kind of hung around for a bit and were among the last to leave. I decided to take my arrangement home, rather than leave it, as the funeral people told us they were going to throw away what was left. 

I hated to leave but I knew I would be back very soon and often. 

Lunch followed with the family, and then it was back out into the bright afternoon sun. Goodbyes were said to our much loved family members, and then the three of us sisters were off on our own adventure. 

We had decided to have our own little memorial. 

It had started as soon as Dad passed. I was there, but I had very little input into the funeral plans. The planners threw out every single idea or suggestion I had. The music, the food place, the obituary information, none of it was used. The music was not music that my dad listened to, at least not that I knew of. I was already a bit upset at this, but trying to give some grace. Then the obituary came out and the picture they chose to use outraged me. I felt it made a mockery of my Dad. He didn't even have his teeth in, and was wearing some kind of doofus hat with a giant pom pom on top. He looked ridiculous, and every single person that saw it said it was a terrible picture. 

So we, the three of us were going to have our own send off. With our own music, the music of our childhoods. And I wrote my own obituary, one with a classier looking picture. I didn't ask, and I didn't tell anyone on that side of the family, I just did it. 

So the three of us headed for the park, with a cooler full of RC Colas, because that was what my dad used to drink, and a playlist that didn't include any Alan Jackson songs, no offense to Alan, or any of his followers. We had some Marty Robbins and a kite. We walked to the top of a large knoll, put on the music, toasted the RC's to my dad, and tried to fly the kite. And had a glorious time. I say tried because we were completely unsuccessful. We had the tails tangled up in our hair and our legs, and the wind was good, but the kite would not cooperate. Finally, over the horizon, came Em's husband, and he was able to set the kite right. He had put it together for us, but had put the rods in backwards. He was able to get it to fly and it was glorious as I said. We drank our colas, realizing in adult hood, that maybe we didn't love RC as much as our dad had. We drank some and poured the rest out as a libation in remembrance of our dad. We finally let the kite go, watching as it sailed away over our heads...until it crashed in the trees in the field next to the park. I felt kind of guilty about that, but I couldn't get over there to get it. In my head I imagined it would just disappear into the sky, but real life is not like that. Real life is crash and burn and get up and carry on anyway. 

So we parted ways, Em went on her way and Heather came home with me. We would get up early in the morning and take her to the airport. 

After we did that I had no plans. I was just going to take a nap. However, as soon as my Pjs were on and I was comfortable melded to my recliner, Ally came in and unexpectedly needed a ride back to college. I sighed and got redressed and headed out the door for the half hour back to Sherman. On the way I decided I would not go back home. I would drive over to the grave yard and have a visit with dad. I waved bye to her and in no time was on my way to the cemetery, which is only about ten minutes from her dorm. The day was lovely. Eighty degrees and sunny. Wind strongly blowing. As I entered the cemetery I could see that I was the only one within a mile. Nobody was at the church. There were no cars. No people. No noise. I parked the car and walked the short distance and sat down by the gravesite. The flowers were still fresh. There was utter silence as I sat there, other than the birds and the wind in my ears. I was fully at ease as I sat there, completely alone in the middle of the graveyard. It was just me and dad and Jesus. Although, I realize of course, theologically, that Dad was not there. But his body was and that was enough for me. I closed my eyes and felt the sun on my face. Felt the wind. Heard the birds. I stayed there a long time, maybe twenty five minutes, not moving. Just touching the flowers, and brushing off the headstone. Picking away the weeds. And enjoying the peace. 

I wanted to take the rest of the flowers, but I didn't quite dare. The large vase that had been left was partially buried by the funeral people, to keep it from falling over in the wind. I wanted to take that, too, but a car came down the single lane and I was parked in the road, so I decided to wait 'til later in the week. If they truly are going to throw all the leftovers away, I will rescue the vase. I left feeling much better than when I had come. 

Then I went home and had that long awaited nap. 

And woke up feeling so much better than I had felt in a long while.

Eulogy

 I got the crushing news today that Daddy is not going to make it. He isn't going to ring the bell. He isn't going to turn the corner, as we had all hoped. I picked up the phone when it rang, knowing that it wasn't good news if my sister was calling me from work in the middle of the day. Cancer is worse. No more treatment. Hospice coming tomorrow. 

I broke down, of course. So did she. 

After a few minutes she had to get back to work. I just sat in the room, still in my nightgown, and stared out the window and at my hands. 

Life without Daddy. I can't imagine it. Can't picture it. 

Memories flitted through my mind, like flickering sunshine through the late afternoon trees. 

He was a good dad, not perfect, but, to quote my sister "he was present". After Mom and Dad divorced he didn't disappear like many dads do.  He took us to the park. He took us to McDonald's. He took us to the movies. He played baseball with us, Monopoly. He flew kites with us. He spent time with us. 

I remembered, as I sat there, how he taught me to make a cheesecake, and how to expertly shuffle a deck of cards. To this day nobody in my immediate family can shuffle a deck of cards like I can. He taught me to ride a bike and to mow the lawn, which I still love to do.  He taught me the importance of keeping my room clean, and he took the three of us to church. 

He gave me a love for Rockford, Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash and Wolf chili.

I have so much to thank him for. And now so little time. 

After some time had passed I got up and moved on with things of the day. Got dressed. Combed my hair. Took out the dog. 

But then I got out my paints and put Marty Robbins on the record player. The album, the actual album is very old, full of popping noises, and permanently dirty, ruined really. I plucked it from his bedroom floor in the debris of hurricane Harvey. He would have thrown it away but I wanted that record. I took it home and cleaned it up the best I could. From time to time I listen to it, but yesterday I sat in the office and painted and played it over and over while memories fell softly around me. The feeling of his big hand in mine as he took me trick-or-treating for the very first time. Him holding my bike as I took off for the first time without training wheels. All the Christmases. Barbie sailboats and Nancy Drew books. Baseball gloves and dolls. Tea sets and wind up trains. Decorating the Christmas tree. Sitting on the floor between his knees while he sat in his chair and brushed my hair. As a teenager, when he would have to go on trips he would always bring something back. A doll. A puzzle. Always thinking of us. 

When I got older and moved out on my own he brought me dishes and kitchen towels. He cosigned on the Scooter I bought, because I didn't yet have a driver's license. And when I got my license, he bought me my first car, a 1974 Toyota Corona, for four hundred dollars. He taught me financial responsibility. I paid every cent of that four hundred dollars back to him. 

He gave me away at my wedding. 

The concern on his face after the birth of my first child. As soon as he heard I was in labor he dropped everything and drove eight hours to be there. I wasn't recovering well and in fact I nearly died. When he entered the room I could see the worry etched into his face, as well as the weariness from driving all night just to see me and newborn Katie.

And when I had Matthew...he called me and the first thing he asked me was who does he look like? I looked down at my sleeping baby, with the big brown eyes and said You, Dad, he looks just like you! And it was true!  In pictures of them as children the two of them look like twins from different eras, fifty years apart. From the blonde/brown hair to the identical nose they share, and those beautiful big brown eyes. When Ally came along, he delighted in her, as well. 

He made them toys from his workshop. Wooden 18 wheelers with cars that went inside. A ferry boat with more cars. They loved those toys, and they are still loved by my own grandchildren. 

And he was there for them, as well. When Katie had Arya, he came to visit and to hold the baby. He was so proud. And when Claire was born he took care of two year old Arya so that we could be with Katie in the hospital. The look on his face when I placed Claire in his arms...He just smiled this huge smile and then put his hand over his heart and melted mine.

And Harvey. I was worried about him. He refused to leave his house, even as the hurricane devastated the Houston area. He finally conceded that he needed to go somewhere safer, and went to a nearby hotel. When that began to flood he finally decided, at the urging of all of his daughters, to get out. Only he couldn't. All the roads were closed and he was, essentially, trapped. Stuck on a country road with only the clothes on his back and some bologna sandwiches in a cooler. He called me from the road and told me he was stranded. He didn't know where to go. The water was everywhere. I had a divinely inspired idea and told him I was going to look at the road closures and call him back. I found a way out for him and I called him back and gave him instructions on how to get out. He called an hour later and said they were on there way here, they had done what I told them to do and they were now safely out of the hurricane perimeter. 

I was so relieved. I had been so scared. After he had been here a couple of days he asked me to go with him, now that the waters had receded, to survey the damage to his house. I jumped in his truck and off we went.

His house was a total loss.  As we entered the house, I could hear his anguish. God Almighty! he said, after crawling through a back window and wrenching open the front door from the inside. It was unbelievable. The refrigerator was laying face down in the kitchen. All the furniture had floated out of place. The water had gone over the top of the house. There were dead fish. It smelled like death and sewage. The beds and mattresses had moved. The couch was in the dining room. High up on a shelf, all of Joyce's bell collection was intact, with the addition of one of Dad's bedroom slippers that had floated up behind them. It was unreal. We rescued what we could. Soaked photo albums. Old glass that had belonged to Joyce's parents. There was little else to salvage. 

He left with a broken heart. 

But dad is a tough old nut, and at 72 he started completely over. Built a new house three hours closer. Bought Joyce a new wedding ring. Started a new workshop. Made new friends. And carried on. 

And that is Dad. No matter what gets thrown at him, he carries on. When he was in the fourth grade he broke his arm. But they didn't know it for a month. They took him to the doctor and the doctor saw that it wasn't growing back correctly...So I asked him...what did he do, Dad? He grabbed it and rebroke it. He said. Just like that? I asked...No anesthesia? No pain killers...He just...grabbed it and...BROKE IT? Yep, he replied. Just like that. 

I cringed. I'm still cringing. I can't imagine that. But, in true Dad fashion, he carried on. 

And in spite of the cancer he is still carrying on. Taking care of Joyce. Going to the grocery store. Taking her to her medical appointments. Making sure all of his end of life care plans are carried out. 

End of life. 

That's where I get stuck. I know he is ready. But I'm not ready. At 58 years of age, I still need my Daddy. 

So today I will put on the Marty Robbins again. Today I will close my eyes and let the memories flood over me. Today I will think about and pray for my dad. Tomorrow I will go see him and spend time with him, and like my dad, I will carry on, one day at a time. 

Two months, almost to the day I wrote this down, my dad flew away.  I had wanted him to stay longer. I had wanted him to be healthy. I had wanted to see him well again, working in his woodshop, cooking eggs with onions for breakfast, or taking himself out for breakfast at the local restaurant on a Saturday morning, as he had done for years. 

But it was not to be. I arrived at his house, determined to stay with him until the end, no matter how long it might be, even if it was weeks, on the afternoon of March 13. I looked in on him as he slept. He was so precious in his frailty. No longer the big strong daddy I had always known, Yet, even in his weakness his larger than life presence was not diminished. The last time he looked at me he gave me a wide eyed wink and a half cocked smile. Still Dad, right up to the end. Then he went to sleep. The next morning he was with Jesus. 

What will I do without my Daddy? 

I will think of him often. I will have an RC Cola in his honor. I will listen to Marty Robbins, Johnny Cash, and Glenn Campbell when I play my music. I will think of him every time I shuffle a deck of cards, play monopoly, make a no bake cheesecake, mow the lawn, or see a dad flying a kite with his kids,  swinging a child at the park, or teaching how to ride a bike. 

I will remember him when I watch the old reruns on TV that both of us loved so much, back in the day.  I will have a slice a fruitcake on Christmas, his birthday, remembering how he told me that Ila Mae's fruitcake was his birthday cake every single year. And I will look forward to seeing him soon.

As he would say...See you later alligator...