Gratitude Is Best Served with Cool Whip

In case you live outside of the US,
one of our biggest holidays is coming up this week:
THANKSGIVING--
from my earliest memories
it began with white construction paper shaped into a pilgrim's hat
or
construction papered Indian headress assembled with Elmer's glue.

Back in the Olden Days,

THANKSGIVING was, as far as I knew,

based on the kindness of native Americans to the New World Pilgrims

who were seeking freedom and liberty from the Old World.

It was all very simple.

It even tied into The Golden Rule...

treat others as you would want them to treat you.

The Thanksgiving Feast was the cumulative "Celebration"--

to be shared by family, neighbors, friends.

I remember food drives in school--

to make sure none of my classmates missed out on the biggest food holiday 

of the year.

My mother used to tell us kids how,

growing up in Florida, in a family of ten kids,

her brothers and sisters used to go pick citrus fruit

for their local church to make Thanksgiving Gift Baskets--

they'd work at the orchards all morning,

and soon after,

discover a Thanksgiving Basket on their own doorstep.

Hearing that story from my mother made me feel grateful

that people were good even way back then.

Growing up in a huge family--

we usually made two stops on Thanksgiving Day--

one to my Granma Guy's house in Miami.

The little three bedroom, one bath house on the corner

with the humongous rubber tree plant on the side,

and bougainvillas on every corner of the house,

the hand-laid kaleidoscope  tile walkway and porch that my Grandaddy made himself.

All or most of my Aunts, Uncles and 20-something cousins fit into that little red brick house

for Thanksgiving--

I still don't know how we all fit in there 

around the small round dining table--

I remember most of us kids sitting outside on the porch eating.

All of the Aunts brought over their favorite dishes,

while Granma made the turkey and stuffing.

And pies--my mom made a great pecan pie, served with Cool Whip.

The second stop we made was over to my father's only living relatives--

his Aunt Mary and her sister, Aunt Emily--

their home was huge compared to my Granma Guys' house.

They had a built-in pool right off the livingroom...

and a diningroom table that everyone could sit around

plus some.

Aunt Mary usually made something from Uncle Habib's Turkish background--

stuffed grapeleaves were my favorite.

Aunt Emily was always in the kitchen wearing her well-worn apron

with the pink rickrack trim and her house slippers,

her curly gray hair barely touching her sweaty neck

because the kitchen air was so hot.

She'd shoo us kids out from under her apron strings.

It's been decades since I've spent any time with any extended family.

I miss those cousins, Aunts, Uncles, pecan pies and Cool Whip.

Thanksgiving was never about Black Friday Shopping,

staying up all night long to get the "best deal" on Christmas gifts.

Somehow,

I don't know how really,

being grateful for one another was Enough.

A little turkey, 

a bit of dressing,

a spot of cranberry sauce,

devilled eggs,

pecan pie with Cool Whip

served up with family and friends--

whatever you do,

whomever you share the day with,

May your Thanksgiving Day be a memorable one.

November 12, 2013

Auto-Pilot.

That's what I'm on these days.

My goal is to stay in the moment.

Not project to the darker days

that are surely ahead.

Wild thoughts tempt my emotions,

the pleading of my heart ringing in my ears:

"I'm not ready. Please. I'm not ready."

Quickly, I dismiss those thoughts--

banish them from my present. 

My presence.

I will live for today.

Work is good.

Staying busy is good for the soul.

I've cleaned out closets.

The fridge in the garage that has needed it

for so so so long.

I fight the urge to toss out everything that requires

more energy to hold onto,

to care for,

than I want to expend.

I fight the urge to want to control my world

in ways that are unhealthy.

Does anyone understand this?

A friend came by last night;

she said she "admires the way" I am handling my life.

Using words like "example" and "inspiration".

I told her I am completely clueless and totally winging this--

I can't see how I'd be an example to anyone.

There are scenes playing out in my head all day long--

from running far far away in any direction

as though I outrun the coming dread,

to curling up in a ball,

or wrapping my arms around my son so tight

that death cannot take him away

because of sheer willpower and mother-love.

Example?

of what?

a hot mess.

This place I'm in demands answers.

I feel them come in those fight-or-flight moments.

A calm warmth settles on my shoulders.

A blissful thought whispers and suddenly

I am me again.

I see things clearly

comforting

peacefully.

The world slows down.

I quiet my Self.

The wild fears that crowd my mind

leave without a fuss.

I mentally plan a funeral--

who will sing "I'll Walk With You"

and who will sing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives"...

Dean's favorite songs.

Who will tell Dean's story?

I have to get his Special Olympic medals out...

he has had some remarkable accomplishments in his life.

No college, no marriage or career...but still.

He's lived and been successful with what he came with!

I look over old photo albums and see his face with different eyes.

Does this even make sense?

How pre-mature are these feelings?

How ready do I need to be?

I feel guilty even having these thoughts.

I purposefully slow down.

I will not get out old photos again,

not while he's still here.

Will I regret that?

I will not think about a funeral for the next hour.

If I'm not, will someone else come help me when it's time?

I will think about spending time with Dean.

I will think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and Nana's homecoming.

Do I need to call a grief counsellor for me, for my children?

When do I do that? Is it too soon? I am grieving already, so maybe it's not too soon?

How are we going to get through this?

I pray for clarity.

I pray for peace.

I search my husband's eyes for answers--

he's lost both parents and a dear older brother.

He rarely speaks of how he dealt with those losses.

I need him to tell me how on earth I am going to do this

very hard thing.

But the words don't come.

I don't wanna know. really. I don't want to know. 

I know the "why" this is happening.

I understand that.

But. BUT.

Today, I will be grateful.

I will speak to my boy and listen to his voice and make plans to see him later.

And he will hold my nose and say, "I love you, Mom."

I will touch his nose with my finger, "I love you, Deano. Always."

We'll smile at each other with our knowing smiles and see into each other's eyes

the secret we both know...

that time is running out and the next chapter is a page away.

Dean, November 9th, 2013

It's November 9th, 2013.
IN Colorado Springs, it was unusually warm--
a light jacket or none at all was good in the afternoon sun.

We woke up this morning, grateful to be home
after a long night in the ER with Dean again.
We'd picked him up at 5:30-ish to go to dinner in town.
At first the plan was just to have him come over for dinner,
but because we live so far north of where he lives--
and that he was supposed to be staying in respite care this weekend
with a gal named Cecelia and her family,
I made a last minute decision to just pick up Joseph and Arianna
on my way home from work,
and head into town,
fetch Dean and eat wherever he chose.

He decided he wanted Del Taco.
I hate Del Taco.  (French fries with tacos?? ugh)
But. It was his night to chose so be it.
We ordered and took a seat.
Kent called just as our food arrived
and at first said he was too tired to meet us in town
so he'd just go home and scavenge up a meal there.
I understood his tiredness--
I've been tired for months now,
so I told him to do whatever he needed and we'd see him later.

Dean's HHP had texted me the day before to say that Dean
has been going to bed earlier and earlier recently.
Keeping that in mind,
I thought that once dinner was over,
we'd run him to C. so he could get into bed on his own time.
Well, I texted C. once we got our food
and she texted back to say that she and her family were at
a sit-down restaurant and it would be at least an hour
before they were ready for Dean.

OK, I thought, well, we'll eat and because it's Friday night,
it will probably take us at least a half hour or more to get to the east side of town.
"Things will work out."

Kent changed his mind shortly after the first phone call,
called back and said he was on his way to meet us.

#1 tender mercy.

Soon after Kent arrived,
Dean was finishing up his hamburger and turned to me,
looking very tired--
and said, "I'm ready to go."
Patting him on the shoulder I said,
"OK, buddy, as soon as we're finished eating, we'll leave."
He barely nodded his head,
then looking straight at me,
his eyes rolled back and he had a seizure,
slumping towards me.
I held onto him, got Kent's attention ( he was sitting on the other side and talking to the kids)
and he stood and helped me hold onto Dean so he wouldn't fall out of the chair.
He started to come around, but had another seizure and another and another....

I don't recall every detail after that--
I ran out of the restaurant to look at the street sign as I called 911--
the workers at the restaurant were of no help at all...
just a bunch of teenagers.

The dispatcher kept me on the phone--
helping me to describe what I was seeing with Dean
until the EMT's came.

I led them to Dean,
who was still passed out
and suddenly,
felt a tap on the shoulder--
I turned around to see a friend I know from church.
That was tender mercy #2--
Brenda wrapped her arms around me and I can't tell you what she said,
but I felt so loved and cared for in that moment.

Dean was loaded up in the ambulance
and headed to Memorial North for the second time in 3 weeks.
Kent took the kids home in his car
and I climbed into the Sub, alone,
following the ambulance.

I don't remember much of the drive.

I got to the waiting room, gave my name and Dean's name--
he was not yet in a room so I had to wait.
IN that time,
I texted Dara, whose in Seattle for the weekend
as part of her journey home from Alaska.
Told her to let the other kids know.
Then I texted my visiting teacher, Lynnel--
told her what was going on and asked for her prayers
and others' too.

It wasn't long before I was back in Treatment Room #6
with Dean--
they'd given him ADDAVAN for the seizures
so he was awake but drowsy and non-verbal.
I held his cold hand.
"I'm so sorry, buddy."

Kent arrived a few minutes after that.
The attending Dr let us know that there were blood tests being done
and such so it would be awhile.
I don't recall a single word between Kent and I.

Then suddenly,
Bishop appeared at the doorway.
Tender mercy #3.
I didn't expect him.
Hugs and tears all around.

He then told us that our beloved home teacher,
Patriarch Christianson and another brother from our ward, Brother Ellsworth
were in the waiting area, (tender mercy #4)
as they'd only allow one person at a time to come back.
I wanted Dean to have a priesthood blessing,
so I volunteered to leave the room so Kent and Bishop could
administer a blessing upon Dean.

Walking out to the waiting room,
I was so happy to see our sweet friend, Brother Christianson.
He is old enough to be my father. We love him.
He too, gave me a great hug and so did Brother Ellsworth.
They asked me about Dean and then asked me how I'm doing--
"I'm a hot mess." I replied.
Then they asked if I needed a blessing.
Yes. Yes I do.
Brother C. asked a nurse and soon we were given a small room to go into.

Now, I had no expectations of this blessing.
I just needed the peace that comes with such a gift.
But, in this instance,
28 years after the birth of my son, Dean,
I feel like the heavens were opened and I was gifted with the most precious knowledge
that could've been given to me.
I do not feel it proper to share this here at this time--
but suffice it to say,
I am Dean's Mom because my Heavenly Father loves me and trusts me to be--
a decision that was made long before this life.

The blessing did reveal that Dean's time here is limited.
I knew that. I've known that.
But to have it confirmed was also a gift.

I will leave the rest of the blessing private.

They finished, we all hugged and I returned to be at Dean's side.
 Bishop left moments after that too.

I'm gonna skip all the rest of the hospital stuff--
the docs basically increased Dean's seizure meds
and then sent us on our way.

We came home,
tucked Dean into bed,
then ourselves.
It was a long restless night for me
as I checked on him throughout the night.

This morning we made a nice breakfast
and spent the whole day with Dean.
He held my nose several times and told me
"I love you Mom."
Then he held Arianna's nose,
"I love you Bee."
And he held Joseph's nose,
" I love you, Joseph."
November 9th, 2013 was a good day.
We had to get some new meds for him,
then we went to lunch as a family, (Dean tipped the waiter $1)
then we walked around the little mall in town.
He picked out some new sneakers and a hoodie--(he paid $2 of his own money)
we went to the Dollar Store where he purchased a Christmas elf felt hat--(another $1)--
and we finally came home.
Dean likes paying for his own things. It makes him feel responsible and grown up.
I love that about him too.

We came home and decided we could all use a nap!

An hour later, we got up, had left over pizza
and soon after that, Dean said he was tired and going to bed.
It was just barely 6pm.

I tucked him in, turned off the light and shut the door.

If I have another November 9th with Dean,
I will be so dang happy! so blessed! so grateful!

I love him so much.
He is my boy.

An Alaskan Homecoming

My fearless Alaskan Explorer
has packed up her bounty
and is en route home tonight.

Calling from the Juneau Airport this morning,
her voice was giddy and warm:
"I'm so happy that I'm comin' home, Mama."

Words, I think she is surprised are coming out of her mouth.
These are not the words she had been saying
over and over and over
just a few months ago
when she was a high school Senior.
Nope.
The words she most commonly used in my direction
sounded alot more like,
"I can't wait to get out of here."

Sometimes, adding a [bite] on the end
to emphasize just how much she meant them.

I tried to smile through those bites,
and return the same with my own two cents:
"Me too.", I'd say.

Good times.

Of course, it wasn't that I wanted my daughter to leave my life,
I just wanted her to use up her knowledge
that had been accumulating all eighteen years of her life, dontcha know.
She was a virtual plethora of knowledge!
Everything I said to her was responded to with,
"I know, {eyeroll} Mom. I know."

That's when I knew it was time to give her the boot
from the nest, as they say
and let the little chica test her wings.

It was a clean month before she ever even called home
after she left.
I'd get a text now and then,
but it was a clean break--
there was no fretting, no fussing, no mention of "home fires burning"
on either end.

I blessed her Grand Adventure with a hug and a kiss
with hopes that this would be the beginning of an exciting life
for my fifth child
who has been a happy Wonderer since she learned to walk.
The plan was that she would work and pay her own way--
her room and board,
her entertainment and other needs
(except for medical--she's still on our insurance)
and just see up close and personal
what this Life has to offer in a small Alaskan town.

The friend we knew in Alaska provided a landing place,
but not long after arriving,
they decided it wasn't a good fit
so Dara moved in with a family from church
that understood what it means to have a teenager
in the house--
their home had some already!
Dara fit right in and continued her journey
without skipping a beat!
My child who hates getting up in the morning,
GOT UP in the morning to catch a bus for work.
This child o'mine who used to thumb her nose up at dinner time,
made a confession during her first phone call home:
Momza: "SO, what are you learning in Alaska, Day?"
Dara: "I miss someone cooking dinner every night, Mama."

yeah.

There it was.
That was worth the distance itself.
 Kids take for granted the everyday things Moms do,
until they're out on their own and nobody cares of they are eating
healthy three squares a day every day.
She said she missed having someone to nag her into doing the things she should be doing--
noone cared if she was late to work,
had clean clothes to wear,
stayed up all night on Pinterest,
she learned what we all learn
the first time we leave home.

We learn that home is where the heart is...
there are little comforts there that are not found elsewhere.
That's what makes it HOME.

But the most important lessons are those she has learned about herself.
She's about to go off to college in January--
live in a social situation filled with ridiculous young adults
who don't understand much of anything,
immature, self-centered, insecure boobs--
who are anxious to put value-judgements onto their peers
without having a clue about themselves!
I want my daughter to know her Self--
her strengths especially,
so that when those knotheads try to pigeon-hole her into something she is not,
she doesn't believe them.

I hope she goes to college with a stronger identity now
than she would have,
had she stayed home since graduating high school,
being spoon-fed her daily life,
one bite at a time by us parents.

So that's what I hope this adventure has given her.
Confidence.

You can't give someone confidence.
Encouragement, yes.
But confidence? --no, that has to come from inside.
And once you have that awesome thing,
it's yours.

Day is spending the weekend in Seattle
with some kids from her stake in Juneau as they attend the temple there,
and do some siteseeing,
then she's heading down to Boise to spend a few days with David Scott and Tisha--
we'll see her happy shiny face on Friday night!

Getting my arms around my Explorer will feel so good--
there's nothing like a Homecoming.

A Very Rustic Luxe Christmas Finale

Play this first. 

Okay here we GO..... 

Ahhh  the up-cycled pergola with a gauzy scarf and blinged-out chandelier--also chalkpainted in Paris Grey with a silver gilding wax + german cut glass glitter finish...totally works!

  The dresser was painted specifically for this display: ASCP French Linen base w/ Old White wash.
The antique door was painted in Milk Paint, again specifically for this display. Did you know that in France, a blue door is a sign of hospitality? 

I am very fortunate that my bosses at Shades of Amber

fully supported me

and gave free reign to create

the Christmas Room of my dreams.

It was a little bit of inspiration on my part

and a lot of perspiration on theirs.