She Loved Knowing That He Loved Her

When I called to wish him a happy birthday,
he reminded me that this would be the first
New Year's Eve in over 60 years that he didn't
have a sweet heart to kiss.

She often seemed impatient
when he was silly
or sentimental
but she loved knowing
that he loved her.

Those private smiles they shared at sentimental
moments are among the most beautiful things
I have ever seen.

It was more than difficult to say
good bye
to him that night
and even though I tried to stay busy
all I could think about was
how I was about to began a
new year
without a mother.

As New Year's Eve wound down
the sorrow rose higher and higher in my throat.

And I grew quieter.

When my husband mentioned running up to the
neighbors for the last few moments of 2010
I shook my head and said that I was feeling
emotional.

(I can write about my grief but sharing it in
person is not something I have ever done easily.)

The sorrow took over and I was incapable of
speaking at all.  Physically incapable of
explaining my sorrow for my father and for
myself.

There are times when I don't dare open my
mouth to give voice to my grief because
I am afraid that I will lose all control and
give way to heaving sobs.

There are times when I am impatient with
the rest of the world because it does not
remember that each 'first' is a painful
reminder of what I no longer have.

Logical? No.
But then again, I have never promised
to be logical.

The old year died and a new one was born.

And I felt empty.

The Color of Grief is Gray

I know, I know. It's been a month since my last post.

I had to take a break. I blame the holidays...because it's
convenient.

Truthfully, the real reason is the Gray.

The Gray is often at the edge of my vision.

Sometimes I pretend not to see it.
Sometimes I turn and face it belligerently.
Sometimes I run from it.

The Gray can be bad for me.
It has packed on more than a few pounds
of fat and it sucks the productivity out
my free time. The Gray has left me more
distracted and absent minded than usual.

And that's pretty dang distracted.
Tonight I pulled up to a red light,
stopped, looked both ways and
ran it.

The Gray is not my enemy but it can never be my
friend.

To be friends with the Gray would leave me in
the bed all day. Detatched from all those I love.
Withdrawn to a place where all colors and
feelings are muted because loss is less
painful that way. 

I know this because I have been friends with
the Gray before and I had to fight hard to
break up with it.

I made it through my first Thanksgiving as the
Mom in charge. It was pretty awful. For many
different reasons my extended family was very
scattered and for the first time I can remember
we weren't together.  Only four of us gathered
around our table that day but we were thankful
to be together and it was okay.
I kept the Gray pushed away because I was
worried about my oldest who was very sick.
AND I was busy trying to figure out a way to convince
her and her husband that they were still my little 
chicks and would be better off moving into my basement.
That would make it so much easier for me to take care
of them when they are sick.

Just sayin'......

Christmas night I said, somewhat pridefully,
that sometimes the anticipation of a painful
event is worse than
the actual event.

Then I woke up this morning to the Gray.

My little piece of the world seems to be filled
with pain for so many of the people I care about.
I am so tired of feeling helpless against their pain.
I have spent the day teary eyed for my father, my
friend, my brothers and my sister.

What I know is this.
Ignoring pain makes it stronger.
When the pain comes...
it is best to face it and feel it.

Just don't make friends with it.


Just sayin'.........

Trash to Treasure?

My next project is this primitive pie safe that has been waiting for me in my parent's basement.

I have been looking for something to display my Lu-ray dishes, McCoy vases and some other old bowls and things I have acquired over the years. 

I like it. Tony isn't so sure. I can tell by the quick intake of breath followed by a just as quick 'Nevermind'. 
His acceptance of my love for things with 'hidden potential' is one way I know he loves me so I just pretend not to notice. 
Smile. 

 The drawer is original but the shelves have been replaced at some point.  Even so, they were pretty dirty.  This picture was taken after I washed them off in the kitchen sink.  My motto has always been: Why work outside in the weather when you can work inside?  With a nice t.v. show in the background.

Heh.

I love the remnants of screen left clinging to the doors and the way the latch has worn a groove in the wood.  I'm not going to replace the screen and I won't repaint it a shiny white. At the most I may give it a wash of blue. I like it just the way it is now.

This is the last thing my mother gave me. My mom was always generous and loved giving. We shared a fascination for all things old and she loved to tell me the history of the treasures she came across.

I grew up surrounded by antique furniture and as a result I find it difficult to purchase something that doesn't have a story.

Each piece of furniture from my childhood had a name...Mamaw's dresser, Nan's spool chest, Uncle So and So's whatchamacallit...I didn't have time to hear the story of this old pie safe.  Mom was already sick when she gave it to me.

I guess it will known as Grandmother's pie safe from the basement.

I miss her so.

Just sayin'.................

Get a Job!

Today I confiscated a mangled paper clip from one of my students.

As I dramatically implored the precious angels to refrain from twisting all of my paper clips completely out of shape and to place them unharmed on my desk one of my little sweeties said,
“Yeah, cuz they costes alot of money and you don’t have any money!”

They may have heard that very comment some other time.
Possibly uttered by an adult.
Maybe in reference to the excessive use of glue.
Maybe.

Anyway, the others around her nodded with concerned looks on their faces and one little girl piped up with,
“My mama says she doesn’t have enough money.”
I nodded my head and solemnly added,
“I don’t have enough money either.”

We all gazed sadly at each other contemplating our mutually, pitiful financial state and the possibility of life without paperclips.

From the back (where the trouble makers tend to be) came a little voice…..
a little impatient voice.

”Then get a job!”

After I finished laughing I told the students that I DID indeed have a job.

Same location.
Same kid.
Same slightly irritated voice asked
"Then what is it?"

This is the second time this year my students have been shocked to learn that my JOB is to be with them all day!

Earlier this year as we walked out to recess one day I remarked that I just hadn’t wanted to get up out of bed to come to work that day!

You could have heard a pin drop and the entire line came to a halt. They ALL stared at me with confused expressions on their faces and finally one little girl said,

“You have a job?!?!?  What is it?"






I don’t get no respect at all…..






Just sayin

Normal? Not me.

I have come to the conclusion that no one is 'normal'. 
I know I'm just a little to the side of normal
and you?
You definitely are off the beaten path.

I'm not Kidding.

I freely admit that I must be somewhere on the spectrum of something.

And I'm pretty sure you'll agree.

The following is a list of reasons why I know I need some kind of diagnosis.

I can't abide anything touching my face.
Anything at all.
Like.....
my hair.

I think everyone at the fabulous Awaken Aveda Spa and Salon knows that my hair is not allowed to touch my face.
AND
they even remind each other of that fact with a straight face. (Such solicitious attention to detail is why you all should grab your phone immediately and call for an appointment. These people are seriously AWESOME which is why people drive from all over the state for an appointment!!!)I'm sure that owner and miracle worker, Cade, knew he was in trouble soon after he introduced himself to me.
It probably became clear to him the minute he asked what I had in mind and I whipped out a picture of......
wait for it......
myself. 
Yes, I've heard of people bringing in pictures of celebrities....
eh, whatever.  I really liked that haircut.

How about this little nugget...

Both bottom and top sheet must be wrinkle free in order for me to sleep. Nightgowns wrap around my legs and trap me so t-shirts and tank tops are all I can sleep in. I will apologize for waking you up when I get out of bed to straighten sheets but I.will.straighten.them.

Most tags must be removed from my clothing and I have been known to remove a tag while still wearing the offending article of clothing! Many a blouse has been ruined due to itchy tags and impatience.
I like to think that my skin is just a bit more delicate than most.

This next little hinky dink (that's an official educational term I'll have you know) is unfortunate for someone in my profession.

Repetitive noises, especially those favored by the six and under age group, make.me.want.to.be.violent! I have a rule in my classroom.
It's called
No weird noises.
It covers humming one note for hours, tapping, clicking your tongue, kicking the table leg that rattles, nonsensical sounds or fake mechanical noises.

Most little kids are nice about it.

My husband finds it ridiculous. He can pop his gum louder than the sonic booms caused by the aircraft in our area and if I so much as flinch he gives me the...
'you are so dumb' look.
And continues.

Rude! 
It makes me want to lock him in a small room and blast rap music or songs with repetitive lyrics at him.

Much like Sheldon, a character of one of my favorite sitcoms, The Big Bang Theory, I like to sit in one spot.
Surrounded by my stuff.
In my big chair.
Unlike Sheldon, I will not make you get up and move.
But I will wish that you would anyway.

I constantly rock, sway, wiggle and jiggle.
I like to say that I am fidgety.
The rocking started after I became a mother and discovered the joy of rocking small people.
I just haven't been able to stop.
My children won't allow me to rock them anymore so I blame them.

I can't eat anything slimy or anything I perceive as slimy like raw oysters or boiled okra.
Yes, southerners really do boil that stuff and eat it.
On purpose. (Great big shudder)
My mom tried all of my childhood to make me love the stuff.
All I can say is Thank God for big brothers who can be really sneaky.
Also if you live on Fairmont Rd in Greenville, SC there might be a really great compost heap in your side yard just beyond the driveway.
Just sayin......

Also, my socks have to reach all the way to my knees and must not wrinkle in my shoes. As I prepare to put on a new pair of sock I tell them that I am not afraid to throw them away.
It seems to help. 

One of my earliest memories is of nearly pushing my father (who is not a violent man) to commence beating me because he refused to tell me which frilly white church sock went on the right foot and which one was for the left foot. To this day, I know there is
WAS a difference.
Just sayin......

I refuse to take any liquid medication.
I twirl my hair.
I overuse nasal spray because if I can't breathe through my nose I'm convinced I'm probably near death.
I need white noise to sleep.
I don't like the sound dogs make when they lick themselves.
Someone reading over my shoulder makes me a little more crazy.
I love, love, love Star Wars, and fantasy novels.
And PLEASE GOD!

Don't let my underwear crawl.

Just sayin....................

PS-Feel free to confess your own personal hinky dinks in the comments. I shouldn't be out here alone.

Dear Judy

I do not pretend to understand why you
have suffered so.

So much of life on this earth
is a mystery.

Thank you for such a brilliant
example of quiet
faith.

Watching you love the hardest of
all to love taught me to look for
the good in all children.

It taught me that a soft answer
speaks louder than the scolding
voice I too often use.

Judy, for ever more, when I hear
the words grace, genteel or lady
it is your face, your smile and
your example that will come
to mind.

You have fought a beast we
all fear and loathe.

You have fought hard and well
with a courage that has bolstered
those around you.

On behalf of all the children and
parents you have blessed and the family,
friends and co-workers you have loved....

Thank you and we love you, Judy!

We will keep praying for you.
We will pray for peace
and for a miracle.

Just sayin'........................

A Letter to the Crud

Dear Russell Elementary Virus Crud,

You are not welcome here. Please go away!
I shouldn't even be talking to you now.
I am immune to any puny little
grade school virus.

I really don't know how you snuck past
my ninja like immune system.
I find it rude and inconsiderate.
I should have know this morning would end badly
when my sweet faced student told me that she was sick with

'the phlegm'

but she came to school anyway.

The headache you have given me is
way.over.the.top!
And I know headaches!

Last night the throbbing woke me up.
That was totally unnecessary.
I could have been sleeping but NOOOOOO
I had to run through all of my self-diagnosis
procedures to be sure that I hadn't suddenly
developed a brain tumor. 

Like any good teacher I tried to work.
I really did. Remember I like those little people
who spend their days with me. I tell my colleagues that
school will go on just fine without them and that
the kids will survive a day or two without us.
But none of us really believe that. We know society as
we know it could easily fall apart if we take a day off.

However, when I realized I  was seriously considering
teaching from a prone position on the floor
I thought I'd better consider
alternative plans.

I hate you Crud.
I mean it.

You see, worst of all you attacked the husband.
Now we have to share the sick bed.
And it makes me feel guilty when he
manages to get some stuff done around here 
while I just lay around and moan.

Well, not really.

He was in the military. I'm pretty sure they got
some special training for times like this.
I'll bet he has special forces training in
combatting 'the pleghm'.



Just sayin'...............