The Elective Eye Surgery Nightmare

People, this eye surgery situation is sending me right over the edge. Not being able to see clearly has proven to be among the greatest challenges of my life. I have a dead mother, for pete's sake! My Mimi went blind from glaucoma when I was 8. She never complained. Ever. I bitch to anyone who will listen, as I am clearly doing now. I want to see! 

So, thanks for listening.

Sigh.

I had a Missouri State student (whom I love) say "Rowe, you still can't see?"

Now, where are my sunglasses and where is my cane?

THE ANUS

Well, Big Daddy Rowe had the run of it this week. We ended up in the ER Wednesday. I've only once seen Poppo in such pain. It was awful. 

Then the best thing happened: Dad was stationed on one of those stupid gurneys in the hall because the geniuses at Mercy couldn't construct a facility large enough for this community's needs. It's not as if we don't pay those greasy corporate bastards enough as it is. But I digress.

Dad is on the mend. Just a horrible inflammation in his throat and sizable drugs.

The visit from Bob made the whole thing worth it. I don't know that Dad would agree, but as long as he is okay, I can tell the tale.

Bob is easily 1000 years old and deaf. Bless him.

They pull him next to Pops. A curtain separates them. That, and years and intellect. 

Dad looks at me in abject misery and just shakes his head, as Bob nearly screams, "I'm Bob! I'm German!"

A few moments later, the nurse came by the super-non-HIPPA-violating-gurney and asked this poor fella if he has pain in his male areas. He didn't understand. Then the nurse asked if he had pain in his anus.

Bob said "what's that?"

It was at that moment that my father, who could barely speak, beckoned me to his bedside and whispered, "he didn't know what an anus is."

And then I knew. The film crew is somewhere beneath the gurney. I hope.

I Have THE Dream

As you know, my friends, I have a dream.

I have a dream of writing a book filled with my clearly inspired musings.

I have a dream that little children will take my life as a cautionary tale of absolutely what not to do.

I have a dream that during my lasik surgery tomorrow I will not go blind. But if I do, I will learn Braille and still harass you all. Hopefully in a bestseller. 

That's all!

(PS-- I'm thinking of titling the best seller "That's All," because it seems pretty clear that my work here is done. At least that is what Satan said at breakfast. And if you don't understand that, you should watch "Murphy Brown.")

The Funny Face

It's interesting how smells and objects can conjure up memories. Today I unearthed another of my Auntie Grace's rings and put it on. 

Auntie was a force. When she didn't get an official invitation to my boy's baby shower by a clear mistake, she sat on the couch throughout the affair with her pocketbook in her lap. She was pissed.

Anyhoo, I was looking at this turquoise ring bestowed upon me by my Auntie Grace and a couple solid memories sprang to mind:

I graduated from college summa cum laude and all Auntie said after the ceremony was "shorten your step and walk like a lady." No congrats on the academia, just some advice on the ladylike walking.

The other memory is a fave. My Nanny was in the emergency room and had to be taken for an x-ray. As a young orderly returned Nanny to the exam room, she looked at her sister, Auntie, and said, "oh, Grace, that poor boy had to see my funny face." 

That's when I knew. I was surely being filmed.

Teach on, sis!

I love teaching. Especially on days like today.

First, I took a sweet girl who has lost both of her parents out to lunch. She is a doll who has been through too much. She is a blessing to me.

Then, my 2:30 Missouri State class worked its usual magic. I assigned their informative speech and assured them the choice of topic was entirely theirs. I told them I'd heard rumor of another professor requiring his or her students to speak of a national park. I said "I gotta tell you, I'm not interested in 25 speeches on national parks." One particularly clever fella up front said, "ok, everybody, we are all speaking about Yellowstone." I'm afraid this is going to happen. More power to them.

Soon thereafter, I was lecturing on the difference in values in people. Let me back up: in an earlier speech, one girl referenced Shaquille O'Neal and said "I think he played basketball." She wasn't kidding, and the crowd went wild. So today, I asked the kids for an example of discord in values. The bright young man up front offered "well, many of us like sports and Angie doesn't know who Shaquille O'Neal is."

I attempted some more teaching but soon declared "I think the wheels are off the bus."

A girl piped up and said "were they ever on?"

I'm a tribute to the profession.

The Eyes Have It

I'm getting Lasik eye surgery in a couple weeks and lately my eyes are getting really dry. I don't know that these things are related. I digress.

I was at the home of my close personal friend and was in the bathroom. I saw what I believed to be eye drops and helped myself.

A while later, I noticed my eyes oozing some kind of oily substance. I told my close personal friend what was happening. 

Me: "I used those drops in your bathroom."

Him: (Laughing hysterically) "That is oil for my razor. Who squirts something into their eyes when they don't know what it is?"

Me: "Apparently, me."

But I'm not blind. Just blurry. Praise the Lord.

I rock.

On the Pew

My Dad says a lot of things that I deem worthy of a book. If I can ever get myself together outside of a ballpark, volleyball game or classroom, I hope to write one. For some reason, these nuggets sprang to mind. I like to keep my people entertained 😉.

I was in the youth group at church and every so often we would lead the Sunday night service. A youth would be assigned to pray and, if nervous or uncomfortable, would read the prayer.

On one fateful Sunday night, a girl read her prayer. It was a painful reading with pauses and mispronounced words and ums and uhs. I tried to keep my eyes closed.

When the service was over, all Dad did was look at me, close his eyes, and say "please, God, teach me to read."

On another Baptist occasion Dad and I were sharing a pew and a very lovely older man was singing a country song during which he would also randomly speak. At one point, Dad just leaned over to me and said, "I'll take two Bud Lights."

Bill Rowe. The Man. The Myth. The Legend.

That's all.

Auntie

My Auntie Grace had no children. She was widowed before I was born. She was my Nanny's sis. Auntie was one of the first Deans of Women in the United States, at Mississippi College. I thought she was a strong-headed champ. Albeit a tad tough.

She also hated to clean or keep house.

Sound familiar?

My parents and aunts and uncles think I'm channeling Aunt Grace. Fine by me! She was a woman ahead of her time and had better things to do than dust and sweep. I wish I wanted to do all that, but I'd rather watch Netflix and shove nails through my nails. And hang out with my kids.

I picture Auntie up in heaven with her pocketbook on her arm, saying "that's fine." And Nanny is shaking her head. And they are both watching Jeopardy and drinking gin and tonics in gold cup holders.

I miss them❤️

The Big Swim

Today in one of my composition classes I charged them with interviewing another with the end result a biographical sketch. In one class, we had an odd number and the sweet girl who grabbed the short straw had to interview me.

Her first question was "who shaped who you are?"

I immediately teared up and apologized for being like I am, with all the tears ;).There are so many who have shaped me. But when I was able to speak again, I told her my Dad was strong and competitive and the best. And I told her Nyds was incredible. All those are understatements, by the way.

The best thing about the interview was what I learned about her. Some kiddos endure lives most of us couldn't fathom. She has had the run of it. But, you know what? She keeps swimming back to the surface. And I have no doubt she will continue to do just that.

Teaching is an interesting scene. Sometimes--no, more often than not--students inspire me, rather than the converse. I'm grateful I get to keep swimming up; as do they. And I will forever try to bring them up. As long as I can pull.

Toots

Back in the day, I got crossways with a fellow coach who thought storytelling was the most important event of all time. Storytelling is animatedly telling a children's story, which is remarkably silly, if you ask me. But I coached it; we placed nationally in it. This coach, however, took issue at one tournament when I had a student performing (quite well, I might add) with a book called "Walter the Farting Dog."

Karma is a bitch, my friends, because my dog Oscar is a gas machine. My guess is Oscar could out-do Walter.

I apologize to that former colleague. I set my course.😂

The Ride

I was just watching an old episode of "Ellen" with Melissa McCarthy as a guest. She was describing her youngest daughter (who apparently has lots of zip) on her Big Wheel.

The story drummed up memories I haven't had in a while. I had a Big Wheel called "Flower Power" (not by me) and I would drive it as fast as I could then slam on the brakes. The result was one flat side of the wheel. I drove that sucker around in a very bumpy fashion for years.

But then I also thought of that moment on the street where my Nanny and Papa lived, and where we lived for a time, and my Pops held onto the back of my bike when I was learning to ride. He let go, and I kept riding. I remember realizing he had let go and he was back down the road watching me ride. I was afraid. But I was free.

Isn't that the way? A bumpy ride, sometimes afraid, but, if you are lucky and can pedal and balance: free❤️

The Fear

Well, I've given this some thought. Obviously I have or I wouldn't be putting it in writing. It's the idea of fear. 

I've been watching a bit of old Letterman clips of late, and in one he admits to frequently being afraid before going before an audience. 

I ain't Dave (whom I love), but there wasn't a day I wasn't afraid before walking into the classroom. And even the years when we were winning again and again (not to sound like an a**hole), I was afraid every weekend we would never win another trophy. I didn't doubt the kids. They were brilliant and talented. I always doubted I hadn't done enough for them. 

But the fear made me work harder and strive beyond it. And I will never forget my buddy, David Watkins--a hero in his own right--one night at the end of his tourney (the toughest all around), handing me a bag of cookies from his sweet wife and saying "the climb is sometimes better than the top."

I had lived with fear of not living up to my predecessors. I know I did all right. Seeing Dave admit the fear gave me pause. I never think of these folks as mortals. But I suppose they lie awake as we do; as I am now. 

I'm grateful for kiddos who understand me and two predecessors who always made me feel like I did good stuff. And an assistant principal who always cracked up when I chilled my Diet Cokes on the roof outside of my classroom.

How's Aunt Katherine?

I don't know what brings these stories to mind, but they are worth repeating.

My dad has told me this story that is a favorite about my mom; and proof that I am her daughter. 

Back in the day, they were dining at the Shady Inn with another couple. Mom and Dad noticed that her Uncle Bob (her dad's brother) was dining with a woman who wasn't his wife.

Mom got steamed and, if you knew her, steaming was one of her talents. So, before they left the restaurant, Mom marched up to Uncle Bob's table and said, "Hi Uncle Bob. How's Aunt Katherine?" I'm not sure, but I don't believe she allowed him to answer. She took her big hairdo, collected Coach Rowe, and departed.

And the MINUTE they got home, she called her mother. You know those 1970s landlines burned up.

The Girl

Dad and Nyds married when I was seven. My mother and I were (am) a couple of small chested broads. Now, I don't want to embarrass my Nyds, but this happened.

The only boobies I'd seen were Nanny's when she would roll them up from her waist and put them in her bra. So it was a surprise to see real ones on a real person.

Not long after Nyds and Dad married I wandered into their bedroom. I was a brown eyed girl with a bad bowl cut.

Nydia had gotten a bunch of fetching gowns from a wedding shower. One happened to be pink and had this cutout in the middle. So I roll in, about boob-level, early one morning. One of her girls had popped out. She tells me she woke up to see a little brown eyed girl pointing in astonishment that this could happen.

And that is absolutely one of my favorite Nydia stories. And I love telling it. But it's payback for her letting me shave my eyebrows in 7th grade. 

So there.

Love you, Nyds. But govern those girls!

Mamma Mia

Ten years ago I went with two sets of friends at two different times to see "Mamma Mia." It became among my favorite movies.

The soundtrack I would run to.

The other day, my best friend Sarah and her girls and I went to see the sequel. It was good. There is a moment when Sophie (the Meryl Streep character's daughter) is about to christen her child. The Meryl character is dead. Spoiler alert.

Sophie says "I wish she was here."

At that moment, I lost it. 

Sarah looked at me and said, "things need to pick up here, because I am losing it."

I agreed.

It's something to have a best friend who cries when you do.

That's all.

Erma

June 11, 2018

I have regrettable insomnia. Nearly every night between 3 and 5am, I'm up. Call me.

Tonight/this morning, my son and my dog are both snoring beside me. I honestly love the sound. When Drew picked the dog up from the foot of the bed and slid him between us, I was particularly amused. And now Oscar's hot breath, at 4:45 am, is charming.

To fill the moments of the middle night, I decided to read some Erma Bombeck. Here are some gems that make me think we could have been best friends:

Housework can kill you if done right.

No one ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed. I have known mothers who remake the bed after their children do it because there is wrinkle in the spread or the blanket is on crooked. This is sick.

Cleanliness is not next to godliness. It isn't even in the same neighborhood. No one has ever gotten a religious experience out of removing burned-on cheese from the grill of the toaster oven.

When humor goes, there goes civilization.

If you can't make it better, you can laugh at it.

My second favorite household chore is ironing. My first being hitting my head on the top bunk bed until I faint.

Thank you, Erma. Just when I think I'm off the grid, I know at least one other person was once there, too.

The Fridge Pics

June 10, 2018

I'm getting a new fridge today. The old one leaked and over froze and also stopped keeping stuff cool. That's a problem. 

My fridge is covered with pictures. As I dismantled the montage of my life this morning, I took stock of what has comprised my kitchen landscape: my children, their awards, their pals; my parents; the day we got this house; the day we got Oscar; my best pals at happy happy moments; former students; me holding my best friend's first born; the ultrasound of my Drew. There wasn't enough room on that fridge for all the people I love.

You know what? A crowded fridge door is about the best blessing. I don't take it for granted. 

Nor will I take for granted a refrigerator that works.

Not Today Satan

June 7, 2018

I woke up to the news that Anthony Bourdain had taken his life. I had always thought he was arrogant and talented, and I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry about Kate Spade. As a front row spectator and near victim of Mom's suicide, it makes me very sad.

But life does go on. Because I lived, I got to have McDonald's between ballgames this morning with my Dad and Drew and I got to see a very large older man in a tank top that read "NOT TODAY SATAN."

I also got to advise my father that if he EVER wears topsiders, black socks, and camo shorts to read his paper at McDonald's, I will commit him. He thanked me.

He went on to describe some horrible woman he once knew who should be riding a broom.

Sometimes I think I'm being filmed.

Oh...with all the debate love

June 6, 2018

I was a high school debate coach. A public high school. In the midwest. We were competing against fancypants private schools, wealthy to-the-max districts. I had kids in such poverty my father and an assistant principal (and dear friend) and I took him out of a SHED from which he was living. 

We beat them all. The fancies. The privates. The folks with lots of coaches and no bureaucrats on steroids to make everything 1000x more difficult than it needed to be. Golly, do I seem bitter?

I'm not breaking my arm to pat myself on the back. I have colleagues who have done so much more. But tonight I ran up on this pic. It was a holiday party with my squad back in the day in my back yard.

I don't wish to return to those times. They were hard. But I wouldn't give them up for anything. I loved these kids. A lot.

We had so much fun. That's what matters. They learned. We laughed. Done. ❤️

The Pool

May 29, 2018

I have a great, zany pal who built a pool around fifteen years ago. She gave me a key to said pool and told me if I ever called ahead, she would take the key back. Thus and so, my children and friends of mine have had free reign. Unearned, but appreciated more that I can say.

I crave a pool. I crave the ocean. I've informed my kids and parents that once the former are out of the house and the latter depart (not that I anxiously await this horror), I'm relocating to a place where the  waves crash in. I've been landlocked far too long.

I am blessed with a teaching schedule that nourishes my soul with time off in the summer. Today, my Drew and I made our first seasonly visit to Debbie's pool. As I jumped off the diving board, it was an absolute gift.  

There is something about being suspended in water that is freeing and magical.

Debbie Jay-Reichert, thank you for this gift. You have no idea what you have done for us.

The Fall

May 28, 2018

Well, I made a big fool of myself today. See, I'm addicted to the sun, so while every other parent on Drew's team sits in the shade, I sit in the sun. I had not had enough to eat. I had one water. I'm an idiot. 

I stood up after they lost and started to walk toward the other parents and saw stars. I fell down, pseudo-fainting, scraped my knees, and created a scene. It was awesome.

The Mavs moms and dads and staff of the Ballparks of America came to my rescue. I slammed water and protein and I'm fine. Good grief. 

I rock.

The Game

May 27, 2018

Tonight I have to endure an endless 13 year old baseball game against a team from Colorado. The parents are incredibly obnoxious and "instructive" to their offspring. Some in heated Spanish. Do parents really think constantly screaming things at their kids is making a difference?

I was sitting behind home plate and finally had to retreat to a remote area. Sitting in my yellow chair, trying not to kill people, another group of kids from the same franchise (yes, there are youth franchises to whom you donate much of your salary) came and stood beside me and blocked my view of the plate. I ended up with my face pressed against the fence trying to see.

At one point, I mentioned to a kid, "hey bud, I was here first," and he moved about 5 inches away. Then another one appeared and blocked me even further and I snapped. I said, "hey dude, I don't mean to be a d*ck, but I was trying to see people bat."

There was zero awareness of the people around them. And I was kind. Sort of. They have no idea of what I am capable. I taught public school, for heaven's sake.

Earlier in the day we got to experience an umpire who undoubtedly fashions himself a comedian and/or the most important person on the planet. You can't make it up!

I am competitive and I am a believer in supporting my kids. But there comes a point when you want to look at some peeps and say "LIGHTEN UP."

We are tied. It's been three hours.

Give me strength.

That's all.

Aunt Diana

May 23, 2018

I've spent the afternoon in the emergency room with my aunt. Aunt Di suffered a couple strokes a few months ago, about which I've written. She has fought back like a champ. I speak to her each day. It is a joy for me.

This seems to be an inner ear debacle and she is home now.

Aunt Diana is the classiest dame on the planet. She is 82 and has worked her whole life with a fervor that only she and my father share. I've always said she is the female version of Dad (but she might be nicer...although, he is pretty great).

I don't like seeing anyone I love compromised in any way. I especially don't care to see my saintly Aunt Di in peril. But the Lord gave us a reprieve today and she appears to be rolling on.

Word to the wise: the day my Aunt Di goes on to her great reward will be among the hardest of my life. I hold on for her to stay as long as she can. I would appreciate it.

The Loop

May 17, 2018

I think I've developed a disorder.

Unless I already know and like you, I have issues.I wish liked people more, but I don't. As Tom Segura says, "I'm  all friended up."

I'm grateful for everyone I know and love. And I do enjoy meeting and knowing students each semester.

But I am introvert at heart. Walking into a room of strangers makes me want to vomit. Lately I've become about three steps from a recluse. Kids, home, fella, dogs. That will do. The rest wears. Me. Out. I long to be different. But in my advancing stage of life, so I am.

I'm 44 and I'm afraid I'm going to be that lady who hoards sardines and keeps cats. Except I hate cats, I worship the sun, and I exercise. Maybe I'm not in peril.

I suppose the message is this: I hope you're in my loop. I am glad you are. I am grateful. If not, lately it seems like a tight fit. 😉 I'm trying to make some room. It's not in my wheelhouse. But I'm trying.

Who knows...anything can happen.

Peppy

May 14,  2018

My memory of my Papa tonight is amped up. I posted a picture of some roses in my yard and my cousin referenced the roses he grew. Papa was my Mom's dad.

Papa smoked a pipe. In my little 6-year-old  memory, Papa was about 7 feet tall. He was a kind man. He had a dog named Peppy. He would feed good food to Peppy. In Dad's mind, it was like in the movie "Moonstruck" when Olympia Dukakis tells her father-in-law "old man, if you feed those dogs another piece of my food, I'm gonna kick you 'til you're dead!"

My Dad never really felt that, but he also never understood the love between Peppy and Papa. When Papa died suddenly around Easter of 1981, Peppy went crazy. He just wanted Papa back. So did I.

Peppy stood at the door and waited for Papa to come home. He was never the same.

I always cook extra meat to feed my dogs. I know it's nuts. I think there is something to it beyond my weakness as a dog owner. I think, maybe, with every scrap, I'm channeling Papa. I hope he and Peppy are hanging tight now. I am confident, after all these years, Papa is still sneaking Peppy steak in the afterlife. I certainly hope so.

One Reason Why Nance is the Worst

April 27, 2018

Something happened tonight.

Disclaimer: I don't mean to be cruel. But the confluence of events this evening must be reported.

I went out to dinner with my fella. Our server was a lovely girl I had in class at MSU. 

Soon enough, a large woman with a mullet, wearing an ill-fitting tank top, came to sit at the next table. It reminded me of Dorothy Zbornak's observation in "Golden Girls" that no matter where she went, she attracted the nuts. In one episode, a heavy, hairy, swarthy man sidled up beside her at a ballgame. All she said was, "what kept you?"

So tonight I was desperate to know what was on this lady's tank top. It was something about running. The irony overtook me.

In a true moment of subtlety, I surreptitiously guided my phone her way. Little did I know, the flash was on. It was at that moment that my companion was no longer tolerant of my hi-jinx.

That's when I rose from my table, found my former student, asked if she still had my number, and told her I must know what words would be found on that tank top. She promised to deliver.

In the end, the woman with the bad hair rose and I was able to read those special words: I run to throw off the crazy.

As I reflect on this evening, perhaps the crazy is Nance.

But it sure was fun.

YardoRama

April 24, 2018

Well, the John Deere and I have become reacquainted. Whilst playing with the dogs and picking up sticks, I realized it was time to mount the beauty. 

My dogs like to dig. There is a chance that,  if I exacted discipline, there wouldn't be ruts and grassless patches in my .5acre yard. I would prefer a yard that isn't perfect. One of Dad's friends lives down the street. He suggested to Pops I reseed. When Dad mentioned this, I thought, who is going to restrain these two incorrigible canines during the magical yard work?

Here is what I know: it is beautiful out and I am outside. Thank you, Lord. I have a house and grass. And a riding lawn mower for the conquest. And two pups who chase me during the fight.

MisPositive

April 23, 2018

I was 13 or 14 when "Steel Magnolias" came out. There is a chance I've watched it 100 times. 

But here is the deal: when the 30th anniversary of the film rolled through last year, I read an article about the filming. Apparently it was hot as hell during filming. Everyone was playfully griping about sweating through their drawers, except for Dolly Parton. One of her costars asked why she was not on the complain train. She said she had been so poor for so long, when she made it, she would never complain about a thing.

Now, I am negative for sport. But Dolly's perspective gave me pause. I am truly grateful for everything I have. I know I must give solid voice to that more.

But if you are one of my best friends, we know how these phone calls will go. 😉

A Joan Truism

April 22, 2018

I've been watching quite a bit of Joan Rivers in you tube of late. I always loved her, even when she jacked up her face with plastic surgery.

As you know, her husband killed himself, as did my mom. 

So I was watching an old interview with her and Dick Cavett. Her remark was that Edgar's death didn't make her think about the kind of friends she had, but the kind of friend she wanted to be.

To all my friends out there: I want to be there, no matter the weather. You know? And thanks for always always always being there for ol' Nance.

Also, she said "I'm so over housework. They clean their feet when they leave." 😂😂😂 I'm on board with that as well.

That's all.

Jim

April 20, 2018

Tomorrow my son plays in a baseball tournament at Ewing Field.

Jim Ewing was one of my Dad's best friends. When Jim got ALS and began to die, he had a little device from which he could communicate. The disease was attacking his throat first. I was in junior high. He was like a member of the family. 

We were just a few blocks away from them. After Jim died, Dad and my brother and I would ride our bikes to see his widow, Mary. Mary was hysterical, in my view. She always sat in the same chair and wore a house dress. And she always offered us soda, which thrilled me, because we didn't have any at home.

Jim Ewing was a man among men; and he meant the world to my Pops. Playing at the field named for him means a lot to me. I like to think he is smiling in a land where all is well. The fact that we are playing at 8am...I will let that go.

The SMS sweats

April 16, 2018

I've had a pair of SMSU sweatpants since I was 12. When I got taller, I cut off the bottoms at the heel. I've slept in them for 30 years.

Tonight I came to find the dogs had ripped them up. I almost cried.

I grew up at Missouri State. For heaven's sake, when I was in labor with Gracie, I was wearing a threadbare Tournament of Champions 1986 tshirt. I still have it.

It was a privilege to be a child of SMS. I will miss the maroon cutoffs.

Auntie G

April 15, 2018

I was the the niece of an elderly, childless woman. She happened to be a favorite. One of the first Deans of Women in the country. And the sister of my Nanny.

Nanny was everything to me. But Aunt Grace kicked some ass. My mother was named for her. My daughter was named for them both.

She would roll into the living room with her pocketbook on her elbow. Nanny would be watching "Days of our Lives" and wouldn't speak. Auntie would leave, angry. 

But this blue ring she found so many years ago. Every time she wore it, I told her how much I adored it, and how it looked on her hand. 

There was a time when when we thought she might die. Gratefully, she lived on. But she gave me the ring then. She wanted me to have it. She was afraid someone might try to swipe it.

I wear it every day.

At that time, my debate squad began to win in ways that were solid. So I would not go to a tournament without the ring. One time I made a student drive to my home to retrieve it. Another time, I held up the charter bus to get it from the hotel room because I'd forgotten it.

Auntie was committed to excellence. This ring is just a thing. But, to me, it is my fierce Auntie with me every day.

She was a character, but I miss her, and she is a part of me. You know what? You  don't have to birth a baby to help raise one❤️. That's all.

Negative Nance

April 12, 2018

I have a tendency to gripe. If you know me well, you will not be blown to bits by that revelation. Honestly, my bitching is usually just for sport. It helps me cope and it usually makes people laugh. I would love to be more naturally positive. Um, I'm not.

But tonight I'm sitting in 80 degree wind watching my very bright, ambitious and beautiful daughter play soccer. Now, don't get me wrong: I don't understand or especially enjoy the soccer. However, I am in the stands taking stock of what a charmed life I lead. I live in Freedom House with my wonderful babies and pups and I have three great jobs and amazing parents and friends. So, if I'm going to give voice ad nauseum to what goes wrong, what goes right deserves a megaphone, as well.

I've done plenty that deserves some trouble at the behest of the God I love. And I've gotten some trouble. But by and large, I don't know a girl with a better scene.

I'm grateful. To the Almighty, I give thanks. 

And no worries--the next time I'm not a happy camper, you will know. ;)

Mimi

April 4, 2018

My Mimi went blind when I was 8. 

She caught on fire when my Dad was in junior high. Her dress caught in the stove. Dad threw her into the snow to put out the flames. She spent weeks in bed and my heroic Aunt Di took over her duties on the farm.

Mimi played the piano at Buck Prairie Baptist Church well into her blindness. She remembered all the songs. She was brilliant.

Now I will make it about me. I'm starting to see her in my skin. I used to sit on the back of her sofa and roll her hair into pinwheels while we watched Johnny Carsen. Or I would just sit with her and look at her hands. I am starting to see her hands in mine.

It's ok. I've abused my skin with the sun. But it's more than that. I'm not 91, which was her age when she left us. But I see glimpses. And as much as I hate all the aging, I'm transported back to her couch in Aurora when I would describe to her what was happening on "The Guiding Light" because she could listen but couldn't see.

Any part of Mimi is a gem. Even if it is skin that is no longer youthful. She was a champ. I will never be the amazing lady she was. But to look down and see her hands...I will take it.