Bad News/Better News Part 3

 

Fear is a tricky thing. In a healthy dose, it can warn us. Left unbridled and it becomes an overpowering monster, bent on paralyzing us to our core. I am no stranger to the shackles of fear. It has been my nemesis, my sin, for decades. If there is a fear of fear, then I have it. After all these years, one would think that I would smell the sulphur before I went full in to the web of fear. But after 43 years of following Christ, I still get blindsighted. I still get duped. I still think we know better than the Supreme, Holy Sovereign LORD Who has warned us 365 times in Scripture of the faith crushing sin.

Researching all I could prior to infusion, I compiled all the highlights. Two things seemed to run through all the advice and articles I read: 1. Drink a lot of water. 2. Stay ahead of nausea.  Check and check. I returned home post infusion to gear up for the ride. I started guzzling water and took two different kinds of anti nausea drugs on a religious schedule. Not today, side effects, not today.

For the rest of day and all throughout the next, I kept the routine up. I was positively obsessive about it. That was my focus. Common sense, not so much. Never in my life had I relied on medicine the way I did that day. By mid afternoon, I knew I was in trouble. I could not focus. I could not think clearly. I was trembling and frozen. I hadn't slept so I was near delirious. When I awoke at 3am, I was thrilled that I had slept four hours! I then wondered in a panic if I had thrown off 'my' schedule of meds. I grabbed my little schedule and headed to the bathroom. A swimmy kind of feeling followed me in but I figured it was probably my middle of the night fuzzy. 

The next thing I knew, my husband was yelling loudly at me. He was telling me to wake up. (Wasn't he just four hours ago telling me to go to sleep?) I was awkwardly perched in our bathtub, feet straight in the air. My head was scooched down perpendicular to the faucets. The next next thing I knew, I was back in bed, wondering what in the world? My very rational, very calm inducing hubby of 50 years was clearly losing it. That scared me more than the past ten minutes of unconsciousness. He tried to assess me and I myself. Then a thought hit-my husband lifted a dead weight, unconscious me up and out of a deep tub and onto a bed 10 feet away! He has a very bad back! He'll be 70 in a few months! How in the world! It was all too surreal. Too other worldly, but I knew I had to get to earth and figure out what was next.

Next will come in bullet points:

• ride in an ambulance
• 8 hours in ER
• 3 rides to the CT room
• 1 doppler on my carotid
• 4 different blood draws
• room in the oncology ward
• met with a kidney specialist and received excellent advice how to undo the situation I got myself into
• Found out that the huge amount of water I was ingesting, was filling my stomach so that I had no desire to eat; the water literally diluted my sodium so down I went. The amount of meds I was taking was excessive considering I didn't need them
• had a bevy of caring, tender oncology nurses
• 2 daughters came to visit
• 1 son since the other was busy coaching his wife's birth adventure
• 36 hours released

Whew.

This is not meant to terrify you. This is not meant to be a poor Deb whiny fest. This is to illustrate the depths of fear and it's web. I count it my own fault that I was so fearful. I have been assured time and time again that He is near and I know it. I chose to settle in on my own mangled control over something that I knew God was in control of, but just in case...

I know now that all that had to happen. Our caring, loving Father wanted me to wake up from my lack of faith to trusting Him with it all, not just what I wanted.  I know now that it was the best way that it would have turned out. Had I mentioned that this 69 year old woman with osteoporois, flipped over a safety rail, landed head up, in a dead weight into a steel tub with ceramic tile all around, with only a tiny cut on her foot? That there was absolutely NO bones broken in the event?? That I didn't even take a Tylenol for pain, it was that small of an amount of discomfort?

When God wants to get our attention and we keep running saying, 'Oh thanks God! I got this part!', believe me when I say, He will get your attention and He'll do it in a way that you will be praising Him in the end.

Our God is a good, good Father.

Praise God!!!!

Bad News/Better News Part Two

 The day had arrived for my first infusion. To say I was a little anxious is a little like saying the Pacific Ocean is a little pond. With blood pressure soaring and heart racing, I went forward, not knowing how in the world this health conscious woman, who has eaten clean, taking only a few medicines for years and dismisses most medical interference, was going to survive the next four hours.

But by God's grace and mercy, I pushed forward. I had told my friends that there was no way, if it came to me ever having cancer, that I would put myself through it. I would take my chances and hope for the best. Fortunate for me, I am surrounded by wise advisors. Advisors that asked me to be open. To be thoughtful about the ramifications. To remember that I'm not the only one that is affected by this weighty decision. I looked into the faces of my husband and children and thought about my grandchildren. How could I face them with the answer that Deb/Mama/Mimi didn't want to be uncomfortable. Didn't want to be inconvenienced by the onslought of chemicals that I would be inviting into my pride filled tabernacle of my doing? Last year, one of our pastors gave a sermon on our idols. We were to write it down, pray about how it interuppts our relationship with Jesus, then lay it down at His feet. My idol you ask?

Comfort.

Who among us races to uncomfortable situations? Unless you fly with a flare for drama, the answer will be hardly ever. As it is with me. I THINK I do uncomfortable things for the ministry, but I do it in a way that it fits into my comfort parameter. I do it. Not waiting for Jesus to show me when I need comfort or if I need it to accomplish His purposes. 

I have people around me that have good memory. One of them, kindly reminded me of my idol. And there it was. I could not justify telling myself (and my people) a few years later, 'Well, I guess I shoulda gone through it.' 

So here I am, in infusion room number 4 on a cold January day. All the preliminary work began. Paperwork, port readying, blood work, doctor visiting prep. As I waited for the go on the mixing of the infusion, I sat with my headphones on, blasting worship music and soothing myself with colored pens and sketchpad. I sensed someone looking at me. It was the very concerning eyes of my previously kind and gentle nurse. I removed my headphones to hear her. There was a concern about the two drugs I take regularly and it's devastating clash with my prescribed infusion mix. An astute pharmacist caught it while she perused my chart. Concern and doubt in the heads of my trusted team was not something I could handle. I wanted to run and run fast. I needed confidence and care, not bewilderment. Pat and I hashed it all over the best we could, for it rattled my calm, collected husband as well. I paced and paced while several consultations were taking place. The final agreement was that they suggested resetting my appointment and selecting a substitute.

While clearing and closing my port, I asked my nurse if that had ever happened before. She replied, 'Not on my shifts'. While she went over the new meds and orders, she confidentially shared, 'I believe you dodged a bullet today. The medicine you were to take was one of the strongest.' Gulp.

We went home extremely thankful for a pharmacist that was looking out for her patient. Those two drugs have been on my chart for years and years, yet no one considered the counterindications except for the young woman for which it was her job. I will always be praying for the TEAMWORK it takes to care for patients. To do your job above and beyond what is expected.

Praise GOD from Whom all blessings flow!

And it gets 'better'.....

Bad News/Better News Part One

Every medical adventure has a story. Some are full of disappointments and sadness. Some are joyful and inspiring. Some are all of it. The following is the saga of several of my recent visits. Be prepared to be in awe of how God works.

After undergoing my first surgery, I faced the second one with a tiny bit of confidence. Confidence in my excellent surgeon, the medical staff, the very hospital. I was at peace and ready to get on with it. 

Then he came into the room.

You know when the danger music in a movie begins, you begin to tense and maybe squint a bit, because you know it's going to get bumpy. You gird yourself and look around to see if everyone else is feeling the same way. The anesthesiologist assigned to my surgery, walked into the room tentavively and awkward, like a kindegartener on his first day. He held himself oddly. His eyes were wide and empty. He stayed away from me but then came to my side to hear better. I smiled and nodded, hoping to reassure him, since he appeared more nervous than I was. It was then I noticed his eyes rolling back and flutter. He seemed unable to comprehend what I was saying and kept referring to Pat as my interpreter. He patternly scribbled something on a scrap of paper, then returned it to his pocket. Again and again. Panic flooded my pre surgery nerves. Knowing that my mind catches all things in a room, I searched Pat's face for an assurance that I was overreacting. There was no affirmation there! He looked as unsettled as my mind felt. As the doctor turned to leave, my anxiety hit a new level, even for me with years of practice. There was only twenty minutes before they would be taking me to surgery. I knew if I reported it to an already bustling surgery center, everything would go to chaos. I was prepped and meds were ready to be administered. My sensitivity versus medical staff. My hunches versus screwing up a schedule. I asked one nurse if she knew much about the doctor but she was not familiar with him. There are a zillion docs in a large city medical facility. Pat and I looked at each other with so much doubt in our minds. At that exact moment, Old Neighbor Friend, in a different time zone, sent this text:

                  'As Joe and I were praying just now, a thought came to me to text you these words:

                    Fear not for I am with you. ( Isaiah 41:10) I will never leave you nor forsake you.' (numerous places in the bible)

And the fear began to fade.

I said to Pat that we might not have any control over what is going on with that doctor but I do know Who does. I do know that the Great Physician has a plan for this surgery and even though I am not privy to all the details, I BELIEVE that He does and that is where my peace comes from. My surgeon came in and instead of storming out the door, I readied myself for what was ahead, knowing my LORD was attending.

Days later, recuperating, I started investigating the doctor. There were many disciplinary actions against him in another state. I knew I had to do something. I contacted Nurse Friend and she gave me thoughts on how to address the situation in the form of a letter. After praying over the right words, carefully assuring the hospital and my surgeon that I have the utmost respect for the institution and its staff. But carefully pointing out the fear and concern I had in this one instance. The letter was delivered at my next appointment.

The offending doctor is now gone from my hospital.

While healing from that surgery, my Quiet Time took me to Luke 8: 22-25, the story of the disciples in a boat with Jesus when a fierce storm arises. Jesus is there in the boat with them, yet they panic as their boat fills with water and they believed they were destined to die while Jesus slept. Jesus was awakened by their crying out and spoke out to the wind and the waves to be still. And there was calm. That was how I felt that day. The storm was brewing around me. Chaos reigned. Jesus was with me, but the chaos distracted me from the fact that He was there. As soon as the text came from my obedient friend, my focus returned to where it needed to be; on the Great Physician rather than the obviously troubled young doctor that I was facing. 

I was meant to be in that surgery with that doctor for much higher purposes than to just get my margins cleaned up after the lumpectomy. 

God is a good God with plans more perfect than we can imagine. Wait for Him. Trust in His ways. Find peace in your storm.

The Backstory

 I have no indications that I would have ever developed breast cancer.

I have never smoked.

Used birth control pills in the 70's for only six years.

I have never drank alcohol. (Thank you parents.)

I never had an abortion. (Controversial, I know)

I never worked in a toxic environment.

I have eaten a whole food diet and eaten clean for seven years.

I drink copious amounts of water daily.

I use non alum deodorant since the warnings came out.

My dabble in 'social' drugs lasted only a few years in the 70's

I recently replaced a bottle of Tylenol that had expired in 2014, so it's rare for me to partake in medications.

I sleep a solid eight hours most nights since menopause.

In short, I am the LEAST candidate for cancer according to health standards and recommendations.

So why? Why did my careful utilization of my life, curve off the plan? Was it a random, crazy run of bad luck? Was God's wrath upon me? Am I being cursed for the judgmental life I lead? Is God a punisher, ready to walk away from me? Is He an unfair God? Why me?

No, no and NO!

My God, my LORD is a Sovereign God. He is over all and in all, whether we like it or not. He is Creator, Healer, Shepherd, a God of order, not chaos. When the diagnosis hit my brain, my thought was, 'okay LORD. I see. You have this in my life. I pray you use it. Use it for Your glory. Use it for Your mighty work. Use me. I have this one life to live and I'd rather live it for Your work than for any other reason. 

Do you think this is a foolish rant of a sick, delusional old lady? Are you ready to see all that I'm learning in this amazing journey my LORD has placed me on? The days where my thoughts drifted toward despair, then inexplicably, He sends a messenger. He speaks to me in His Word. He sends a bluebird. He sends a text with a verse. He awakens my senses because He knows I see Him there. He sends a Shepherd in the form of a breast cancer survivor. Countless stories of His provision and I'm only into this journey four months! And you know what the kicker is in all this? This cancer could consume me and that would be okay too! For I know where I'm headed and that has been prepared for me before I was born. The moment I was reborn, it was sealed. Now I just want to follow Him while I'm here, even if it's where I thought I'd never go.

Stay tuned for more works of His presence, provision and power.

(ps. The photo above is an antique item that has been passed back and forth between my Kindred Spirit Friend during times of distress in our lives. I'm assuming that she will allow me to keep it for now.😉 It makes me smile.)

Here We Go

 It's been a minute.

Years have passed since I last appeared on this forum.  The things that have been documented on this somewhat archaic platform are precious to me and I was glad to share them. My life in a small town, the newness of grandmotherhood and all the fun of creating and sharing my craft, was covered on this site for years.

Things have changed a bit.

I am entering my 70th year. I have attained 50 years of marriage to my best friend. I am on the cusp of celebrating the arrival of my 12th grandchild. I have lived in the big city of Indianapolis for six and a half years. I have enjoyed watching my grown up children become solid adults with beautiful families. There have been highs and lows, troubles and joys but through it all, I have my Jesus. I have life now and eternal.

And I have breast cancer.

I found out while checking my phone on my My Chart Page. I was on my way to my grandson's soccer game, so it came into my head but got pushed aside while I attended his game and chatted with my son and his wife. Light things. Just those, well, now; that's something, kind of talk. I shared with my children as soon as I received the news and then we all processed it. We still are processing. Processing as each new surgery and each new testing. It's been a part of my life for four months now and it's as startling today as it was then. But not impossible and not overwhelming. Because, you see, I have my Jesus.

These blog posts shall be the journey. Some of you will be interested. Some will be scared for me. Some will ignore it but there are those that might wonder how I'm doing and how Jesus is revealing Himself to me through it all. It is all about Him you know. I'm old enough to realize that you don't get through this thing called life without something! And if you are walking with my Jesus, you will see just how He works in situations like this  and how you can be a part of this wondrous thing called hope that He provides. 

I start chemo this week. There will be times where I will be absent from all the ramifications that chemo brings, but on the days that I can, I will share with you all that I'm learning so that you too, can have hope. Maybe not for a perfect cure but for grace in the journey and hope for eternity. 

Please know that I'm not archiving this for any pity or sadness but only for God's glory. He wants me to share all that He is teaching me and I am humbled to be called upon to do this.

I appreciate and welcome any and all prayers for me during this time. Let me know how I can pray for you and your concerns and trials. I have to not be consumed with me at this time so I would be honored to pray for you.

Ready? 

Here we go...

House Sounds

A house spoke to me last night.
At first I thought that it was the smell of the summer night or the cicada serenading, that brought me to such a receptive state that is needed when listening to the sounds of life.

We are vaguely familiar, this house and I,  but yet she wanted to share with me.
It seemed she had so much to say and needed to spill it all out to me because she knew I was interested.

So many things she shared with the lifts of excitement and heaviness of grief.  Childhood giddiness  and elderly woes- it all came out...

This house will celebrate it's fortieth year this summer.  I clearly remember it being built and the excitement of watching it unfold as each crossbeam structure lifted into place and rooms became clear.  I remember Move In day and all the joyous chaos that it brought. But there was so much more that the house had to recount.

The House stated that many children tromped up and down the stairs.  Sometimes the cry of a newborn in the night made the house sigh but how she enjoyed the giggles. She told of merry holidays and the aroma of many menus.  The House wondered at her strength when groups of people would gather, warmed by her hearth and welcomed by tables laden with food.  There were so many words spoken, much laughter and the inevitable tears when a family of seven dwell together.

This night, the House wanted to share it's heart.  She gave me a glimpse of every day life, some of which I was familiar.  I do remember when babies came home from the hospital to this home.  I do remember family gatherings.  I do remember remodels and updates.  The normal stuff of life this house, this night, she let me feel.

But then, she reminded me of the Sad Day.  She spoke of the time when grieving came in torrents and silence.  When the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness and unalterable change, came to her.  The horrible day when the house stopped it's normal function and it paused as it's family, as it knew and loved and protected, would be forever changed as it's owner left this earth to his eternal house.

That day had a profound affect on the house and all who entered it in the days and weeks and now years to come. No amount of tears seemed to compensate the loss.  The weeping and pacing and comforting absorbed into the very wood of the home and remains to this very day.

But the House wanted to remind me to keep remembering the joys that made up the majority of the forty years that the house let them call her home.  She told me clearly that so much life took place within her walls, that it was hardly fair to draw such attention to the Sad Day.  Still, she needed to speak of it, needed to make sure we knew how much it took out of her and those she called family.  She wanted me to feel the void.

So, I laid in a bedroom of some child, teenager, young adult, who dwelt there for years, reflecting the sounds, smells, sights of a house well lived in and viewed, ever so briefly, the silent days when grief was born at the speaking of a single word: Cancer.

I drifted off to a dream filled sleep, accompanied by the history of the house and it's story, the sounds of summer and the comfort of family.

Bless and keep all of us as we expose our homes and our hearts to this thing called life...

P31 March for Humility

 



I have a thought.

I am going to start a Virtual March for Humility; Proverbs 31 Style.
What with all the marching that's been going on of late, I believe I can get my idea to fit in nicely.

There will be no traveling, no hotel reservations or for that matter, you might as well stay in your jammies.  Agoraphobics will not be excluded since they can accomplish this march in the safety of their own home.  In fact, everyone, from sexual orientation, race, gender and political leanings can join in.  No hats required either.


Here's what's involved:

We shall take all the biblical admonitions regarding womanhood, all the downright practicalities of Proverbs 31, and march it right into our hearts and see what we can do with it in our day to day.  See what we can do to accomplish a life modeled on peace, confidence, strength, humility, respect, hard work and family care.

Let us assume that you have read and maybe reread Proverbs 31.  It's the last Proverb in that particular book.  Saving the best for last, let us say.  Before you sign on to the P31 March for Humility, let me zip through some of the principles that we will march in our hearts for:

Verse one shows us that a king's mother taught him about women and which ones could be detrimental to his reign.
Verse two through seven, lets us know that to get drunk might get you in trouble with the press.  Keep the heavy stuff for those that really need consoling, like the dying.

Verses six through nine has been a driving force in much of my ministry and just in general moral living:  Speak for those that can't.  Take care of the poor and helpless.  Plead justice for all.

Ten through the end gives us some guidelines for being a wife and mother.  In general, womanhood.
What can we learn from these verses?
This:

A great wife is more valuable than anything else.  Beyond riches.
If she is trustworthy, she will enrich others.
She will bring others no harm in any way.  Always.
She's busy.
She works hard and long.
She owns a business and runs it with dedication.
She has helpers and treats them well.
She invests and reaps the rewards of that.
With her talents, she helps care for the needs of others.
She is no dowdy chick.  She dresses well.
She is respectable and makes sure that her husband is respected by her actions.
She sells things she makes.
She is fearless.
She is confident.
People listen to her because she has a proven record of wisdom and kindness.
She makes sure the cat is fed and the dog is up to date on his shots.
She knows when it's her turn to speak at her children's class and when to make cookies for the Christmas party.
Without prompting, her kids and husband, sing her praises.  They really like her.
She will grow old gracefully and will not embarrass her family by not.
At her funeral, the lines will be long and their will be many testimonies of her amazingness

Not too much to ask, right?
Simple.  Be kind.  Treat others like you want to be treated.  Know we will have differences and get over it.  Pray for others in so doing, you keep from getting overly consumed with your own concerns.
Be respectful to everyone, including yourself.

Can your heart and spirit march to the rhythm of the good sense mentioned in this dear chapter of this Great Book?  If so, then do this.  Watch how you respond to the next controversial thing that pops up in your news feed. Heck, for some of you, this post could be a pot stirrer. How does it make you feel?  How does it make you want to react?  Search out our hero, Proverbs 31 Woman, and see how this lady would respond.  Chances are, if you wish to emulate this well respected woman, you might reflect just a bit longer, sieve your thoughts another moment and speak as if your daughter was hanging on to every word.  Because she is.

We have a very brief time on this earth, relatively speaking.  Let's make it kindly count in our little square.

Thirdsie Launches

It never ceases to amaze me how unique each person is.
It never ceases to continually amaze me how different children born forth from the same womb can be.
I shall always rejoice in the individual imprint that each child possesses.

That said, let me relay a Story of Individuality of one of my progeny.

My thirdsie, my younger son of two, third of four, has always had a distinctive mark upon him.
He was the one that challenged my patience as a mother, the one whose bent was a bit left of center.  He was the one that wrote his own script amongst his siblings and caused me to shrug my shoulders when others would ask questions as to his own drummer kind of thinking.

It took me awhile to adjust to his own way but once this was accepted by his father and I, we grew to appreciate and enjoy his unique way.

This son eschewed the usual way.  Not one to enjoy 'normal' childhood activities, I remember distinctly the day that I gave up on Little League and organized sports in general.  He joined teams in junior high merely because his brother was involved in the same team and he was at an age where that was important.  I know he would have gotten along quite nicely without the experience however.  YS would beg me to remove him from AWANA and Sunday School.  He would point out, rather accurately, that they were places of noise, i and organization that he, as a matter of fact, did not need.  After informing him that he would have to attend our adult Sunday School class, sitting absolutely quiet without the entertainment of drawing or match box cars, he seemed rather pleased.  Turns out, he enjoyed our class and was often raising his hand, answering questions, usually accurately.  I knew then that his level of intellect might someday challenge my own and it looked like it might happen soon.  He stood by as a toddler, listening to the home school instruction of his two older sibs while seemingly playing with the assorted super hero, G I Joe kinda figures.  To my amazement, when the day came to begin him on phonics and number assignments, he was able to zoom ahead as he had heard it before and equipped with an audio modality, he was already entrenched in the basics.


This interesting young boy spent lots of hours reading encyclopedias.  A fount of trivia knowledge began to build up and soon his conversations could broach the span of generations, completely able to speak well with most age groups.  As a teeny guy, he would carry a large copy of Wind in the Willows around with him, stopping and perusing the book for hours.  His love a books grew and expanded and currently the walls of  his tiny cottage are covered in books.

Once he left us for college, we knew that he would probably experience it differently that others. This is a fearful and wonderful thing.  We knew his bent could border on the dangerous so we spent many an hour praying for God's protective hand upon him. Once graduation was completed, he parked himself nearby while he considered his future.  We observed him contemplate several different options and plans, all while keeping him close and relatively comfortable.

Over the last seven years as he contemplated, we had the pleasure of sharing his life as an young adult.  We have shared many meals, long walks, evenings in the garden, watching the most interesting movies and sharing our ideologies and philosophies and political leanings  Respectful and smart, he knew not to be forward about our differences since a home cooked meal and laundry service is something always handy to have near by.  Many times I knew I was being played but it didn't really matter much - his company is just that lovely.

The time has come.  YS has accepted a teaching job in another town and his time of launching has arrived.

It was his slow revelation of something that I have seen in him for a long time.  Even when he chose a non teaching degree, I knew in my heart of hearts, that it wouldn't be long before he would see what he was designed to do.  His enormous heart and generous spirit coupled with a vast knowledge encased in his no nonsense frame, has prepared him for the task of mentoring, teaching and caring for high school students in the important subject of literature. Unlocking doors of the mind and heart by teaching them the importance of reading and writing, will aid beyond the year that he will have them in his care.

As a mama of a nearly thirty year old man, I am over the moon that his time has come.  As merely a mama who has had the most delightful companion/son so nearby, I would be a liar if I denied that he will be sorely missed.

I can only imagine where this journey will take him.  He shall never get rich as a teacher, but I believe the richness will be in the hearts of the children that he inspires with his heart and his knowledge.  Years from now, I can picture his students referring to sophomore year English, and that eclectic, fun (but stern) teacher that they had in Mr. Cory.

And my heart shall be blessed....

The Tenacity of Quilts

In the early 80's, God provided for this Young Mama, a neighbor, a confidant, a helper, a friend in the shape of an older mama, (just two years older than I am now), to come along side me to help me adjust to being away from my family for the first time.  Due to a job change, my young family packed up and moved three hours north from my home town.  I had a three year old and a nine month old in tow and felt lost, discombobulated and overwhelmed.  At the exact same time, my neighbor had just retired and was wondering how to fill her days.

My, my.  Did we ever cover that nagging question!

This needy young mom clenched onto her loving, caring ways with a firm grip.

This Wonderful Woman babysat my children, taught me how to paint on china, shared her vast life learned wisdom and encouraged my creativity.  I was known to ask her over for supper and have her bring the main course.  And she did with a great deal of entertainment and enjoyment. 

 

 Wonderful Woman had a plethora of friends that she introduced us to as we entangled ourselves into her life.
We were embraced readily as her buds could see what a blessing our rag tag group was to her.

 One friend in particular was an excellent crafter.  She could fashion huge wool rugs out of strips of old coats.  She could quilt like no other.  And she promised to share these crafts with me.  A stroke robbed her of much of her capabilities and as dementia took over her life, my opportunity to learn from a master evaporated.
However.
Before she met her devastating fate, she handed off to me, a legacy of her talent.
As a young woman in the 1930's, she pieced a quilt top and like most of us quilters, she packed it away, 'for another time'.
Why she deemed me worthy to complete this quilt, I have no idea but I am ever so glad she did.

 My skills were undeveloped at that time so I folded it carefully and refolded it on occasion, plotting and planning for the day that I would complete it.  Pregnant with my fourth child in 1987, I decided to attempt the quilt.  I began adding appliqued hearts to the white spaces because my fourth child was destined to be a Valentine's baby.
I probably got through two rows of hearts when my Baby Girl arrived and the reality of caring for four children prompted me to, once again, fold up the quilt and store it for another time.

 Fast forward to 2012 and my Baby Girl announced the arrival of her second child, a daughter.  With her first child, she had a clear plan of a quilt  that she wanted her firstborn to possess from her Mimi.  But the second one came before the second birthday of the first and quilt planning was less important to a very busy young mama.
Then I remembered the very vintage quilt tucked away in my stash and my memory.
I showed Baby Girl the unfinished attempt at the heart applique that I attempted for her and she liked it.  She acquired fabric scraps from her mother in law's fabric stash from her grandmother and added some checked flannel from BG's grandfather's pajamas, and we were set to begin. 

Last fall, as we awaited Baby Girl #2, I cut and sewed (enlisting the help of Most Loving Friend during a weekend visit) and prepared this long ago quilt.  Kindred Spirit friend donated fabric to me while on a visit last summer, that would work perfectly as the backing.  I added some free form black stitched embroidery to the borders, to make it more me.  I embroidered flowers, pumpkins, swirls and leaves and her lovely name, Della James, as we traveled this past October to Kansas City to visit their new location.  The heavy weight of the near completed quilt provided close quarters in the front seat of the car as we journeyed the many miles to their new home.
There was just enough fabric from the stash to complete the bindings on this quilt.
I pieced what I could salvage, determine to use the memorable fabric to it's fullest.
Then, this week, this holiday week, I worked on hand stitching all the bindings to finalize this long awaited project.
Last night, Thanksgiving Evening, seated amongst my dear ones, in front of the fire, I completed this quilt, started over 80 years ago by a woman who entrusted me to the task.

Quilters, keep an eye to legacy when creating a quilt.  Quilters, understand that your talent has merit and the memories created with a quilt is worthy.  Remember to entrust others to projects that will be seen to fruition....someday... and that your story will be told years from when you started your project and that is okay.

Quilts are stories in fabric and quilters weave the story.
See to it that you find or create your story for yourself and your family.

A Most Serendipitous Birthday

If you have been patiently following this blog, you might notice that I am quite enthralled with the kismetian aspect of life.  I enjoy those 'chance occurences', those 'coincidental oddities', those 'only we could have this happen to' moments.

And this past birthday has proven, once again, that my little family certainly flies close together while we are miles apart.

Many years ago, my sisters and I would laugh, long distance, about how we managed to send our parents the same or very similar card for some important occasion.  We often sent each other the same cards for holidays.  Fun, family stuff.

But my little gang really did it this time.

 This past summer, during one of our rare visits as a group, Eldest/Administrator and Baby Girl and I, stumbled upon a most delightful booth at our local Farmer's Market.  Pam Voorhies  http://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/LittleRedPorch has put together a 'little' business of making signs with all sorts of heartfelt, whimsical sayings on them, expertly combining colors and fonts to please the eye and to decorate your abode.   Needless to say, E/A, BG and I were smitten.  E/A found a sign perfect for her Hazel Jane's bedroom and I. Found. Mine.

Those that know me, know my love for my porch.  ALL of my porches from each stage of my married life.

  I plan each winter as to the layout of each year's porch, that important summer room. I have utilized the tiniest of screened in porches, rejoiced in a windowed in porch in my first married apartment and now glory in my broad eaved veranda that has been our seasonal perch for fifteen summers now.

Life slows down on the porch. 

 You are out there for only one reason: to relax.  There are no dishes to do on the porch.  There are no bathrooms to clean on the porch.  There are only cooling breezes, books and magazines to read and people to draw into this lovely.

 The conversations that have taken place on my porch, go deeper than most.  Secrets are shared, hearts are exposed and burdens are lifted.  Magical.  Spiritual.

At the time of the discovery of  Little Red Porch and it's goodness, I could not justify the expense for such a treat that I really didn't know where it would even go in my already overladen walls.  And E/A so wanted a sign as well.  I sighed, put my little covetousness on the shelf and went on my way.

But I kept thinking about the porch sign.

  Every week at Farmer's Market, I visited 'my' sign.  One week, I saw where she had come up with another one that stated, 'Life is Better on the Farm'.  PERFECT for BG's in laws.  I quickly messaged BG and her MIL and let them know that they had to get that sign toot sweet.  And they did.  And I was just the teensiest bit jealous at their good fortune.

Several times, I visited LRP's etsy and several times I was tempted.  But Hubby and I are on limited income these days since Retirement visited our home.  So I would acquiesce.

Then one day, I had a brilliant idea.  As you know, my family has a Code Word that is just for us.  LYSMICETY will show up on our notes, cards and banners. (http://sonowiknow.blogspot.com/2012/02/lysmicety.html ) Love You So Much I Can't Even Tell You is our slogan, our motto, our family solidarity.  I thought it was highly appropriate, for Christmas, to tell each of them and their families in solid, colorful, wood.  Something that will survive the years and remind them each of their importance in this family.  I could envision cousins being comforted in knowing that they belonged to each other as they visited each other's homes...

Quick as a bunny, I sent LRP and the lovely Pam a message and the process began.  I told her I was in no hurry as Christmas was many weeks away.

MEANWHILE,
 in lands far away, some Birthday Gift Planning was taking place, unbeknownst to me.

The time came when the signs were dry and ready to be picked up at Pam's Little Red Porch in a little town nearby.  I looked at my burgeoning schedule and tried to figure out how to pick up all of the signs in a timely manner.  (I do not drive and thus the arrangements.)

LRP contacted me that she was going to be headed my way and would I prefer to just meet her at the local MickyD's to make the exchange of goods and services.  I was gleeful at the ease of it and the prospect of viewing the ordered signs.

Halloween Night came with a chill, so Hubby and I decided to kindle the fireplace so that we could roast hot dogs for supper as we answered the door to the ghoulies and ghosties of Halloween.  We informed Youngest Son that this was commencing in the Big House and he could not resist a good inside weinie roast with the prospect of viewing costumed little ones at our door.

In the course of our fireside chat, I mentioned that I had an early morning meeting at McDonalds.  YS was very intrigued as to the reason: 1 Why  I would have an early morning meeting.  2.  That it would be at McDonalds.  I noticed that for a fireside chat, he was awfully interested in his cell phone, but in this day and age, it's not terribly unexpected.  I also couldn't help but notice that he asked me Three Times why I was going to McDonalds at 9am.

Being the kind of mother that I am, I replied to his queries, 'None of your business.'

When I refused to tell his nosy self, he responded to me (after much consulting to his cell screen, communicating with E/A, that I really needed to tell him since HE had a 9am meeting at McDonalds as well......

The roar of laughter that emitted from me was epic.
I could not believe the coincidence regarding the whole situation.
I could not believe that two orders headed to the same house without any pre planning, landed at the same early morning drop off by the same innocent artist who HAD NO IDEA THE TWO ORDERS WERE IN THE LEAST CONNECTED! 

What fun it was to pick up the orders and have a good giggle with Pam as to her unsuspecting complicity!
What fun to see my children ban together to get their poor mama the sign that she kept referring to and whining over!
What fun to see what the whole scenario means to us!
What fun to see O'Henry sacrificial giving in action!
What fun to now have my beloved sign on my wall and all the fun filled meaning that it has to me!

Thank you Pam at Little Red Porch for your talent and time!

Thank you, dear children, for making your mama's 60th memorable and sweet - you all are the best....

(ps.  Baby Girl's birthday card came in the mail today - compare it to E/A's...Similiar?  I think so....Love. It.)

Golden Pie Weekend

The planets aligned this weekend.

Three crazy busy families were able to share probably the most beautiful weekend of the summer together.

At my house.

In my garden.

Into my life.

And I am refreshed and encouraged and grounded by two lovely young women; one I gave birth to, the other I 'adopted' into my heart.  Both of them came toting the younger of their children.  A special treat for all involved.  While the absence of the elder children was felt, it was also a good, good thing to get some one on one with the youngers.  It was also good to see how dependent the youngers are on their older sibs for modeling and companionship.  Did our hearts good to see them miss their brother and sister in their own ways.

If I had just one reason for learning to sew, it would have been to be able to meet my beloved Pretend Daughter, Kris.

Because of her keen styling sense, she approached my daughter in their Bradley Classes in regard to the bags that my daughter carried, made by my hand. The normally subdued, somewhat shy PDK, asked my daughter about the bags that she carried and thus began our adoption process.  PDK and I are kindred in many areas and 'get' each other.  PDK's mama left this earth far too soon and as my relationship with PDK develops, I find that her mama and I would probably had been very good friends.  It is with great pleasure that I care for this young woman in a minimal, long distance kinda way that I believe her own mama would have been pleased with.

I just love this child bearing, droll humoring, garden hugging, book reading, crafting, husband loving, organically influenced, gourmet chef, pie baking young friend of mine.

 Did I mention pie?
I have no skill for pie.
I am too scared to make it work.  I overwork and over heat to make it any good.
I have to make up new names for the mess that it ends up being just to justify the effort.
When I found out that PDK puts together a pie at the drop of a hat, I swooned.  I do so admire pie bakers.
I had her attend my first mama's collection retreat to instruct us other not so nimble bakers, all her skills.  I took notes and watched and then later experimented.  And it got more comfortable.  I could even say that perhaps I can now say, with the right recipe, courtesy of Cook's Illustrated and freezing cold vodka, I can now make an acceptable pie.

When PDK noted on Facebook that she had collected buckets of blueberries recently, my little taste buds suddenly wokied up with dreams of fresh, blueberry pie.
The confluence of events came together when a mid summer visit was planned with Eldest/Admin and PDK and the Two Youngers.
After a bit of suggesting and begging, I was assured that berries were coming my way.

 I did have to build up quite the gumption to bake a pie for my Pie Idol.  But because of her acceptance of me and all my flaws, I pursued on to Pie Nirvana.

While the two buddies visited under the janked up umbrella I fashioned to keep them sheltered from the rays, I quietly scampered into the kitchen to create what turned out to be the Pie Epic.
Yes. In my very kitchen.  And with the resounding approval of the one that I would like most to impress.

The ladies came into the kitchen as I was putting the Epic together and I listened to the story by PDK about the day that she picked the bountiful blueberries.  Her two children accompanied her to the berry ranch.  She told of their childlike stamina and of the fun that such a jaunt provides.  She told of the chance meeting of others in her family at the same blueberry ranch.  While she spoke, my mind started unfolding the passion and love that this humble pie was beginning to represent.

Here I was, on this most temperate day, listening to the young ladies resting in my vintage lawn chairs as their children slept and they kept watchful ears to the monitors turned to their precious babes.  I listened as they shared their lives and hopes and thoughts. I mixed and rolled and cooked, doing the very thing that I love most in the world - making my lovelies comfortable and comforted.

I thought about the love the berries represented.  How PDK gathered and  picked and carried three hours in ice to get to me fresh and bake worthy.  I thought of the love of my E/A and her willingness to share her mama with this wonderful friend.  I thought of the tutelage of many a pie from my ever watchful Hubby.  I thought of the loving, detailed God that I serve, allowing this kismetian weekend to occur, custom made for me.

We oohed and ahhed while the perfume of this masterpiece permeated the air.  We patiently waited for it to cool properly by walking the dogs and babies.  We tested and guessed and proclaimed it Ready.

Hubby had hustled off the store to get just the right vanilla ice cream to accompany this gastronomic event.

I cut into it.
It did not run.
It did not stick.
It was golden in just the right places.
The steam from it was just the right temperature.
The ice cream melted just the right amount.
And I presented PDK the first piece, the silence of reflection and our anticipation was palpable.

And then it happened.
It was pronounced the Best Pie Ever.

I'm sure it was because she was in my presence and I had just fed her the Ultimate Summer Supper that encouraged her enthusiastic statement, but it melted my heart as easily as the ice cream on that very warm pie.


Even her three year old son appreciated the yumminess of the event.  Leaving barely a morsel and essentially nothing on his face and clothes and looking for more on his mama's plate, made this eager to please Mimi, euphoric.


We sat for awhile extolling the virtues of pie.  I pronounced it an act of love.  I pronounced pie making a gift, beyond just a dessert.  I pronounced it a wonderful way to end an amazing day. 

 (Did I mention that PDK is also a certified massage therapist?  Did I mention that she carried her portable, heated massage table 3.5 hours to allow me to enjoy the fruits of her wonderful training and enjoy the Best Massage I Ever Had Right in My Own Front Room.  I could cry.  I did.)

Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of friends who arrive bearing more gifts than they are even aware of.....)

Wonderfulness

Let me get this straight.  I am not a crier.  Ask my family.  Ask my friends. Hubby is the designated crier in our family.  Commercials, movies, news reports, sermons, the sight of his grandchildren, a low balance on our Discover card, you name it - he cries.

Not me.

Nope, hard hearted Hannah this girl.  Years of callous built up on this heart and I can stare down a bully at 2 feet and win.

However.

Lately, I have found a bit of Crying Karma visiting my squishy heart these days.

Lately, I have been known to excuse myself rather than be caught up in the throes of a heavy duty cry.

Why is this?

Hormonal imbalance?  Overdose of real life? 

Who knows.  But I do know that it has knocked me on my keister.  Having no governor on my previous reigned in emotions has made me vulnerable to all sorts of breakdowns of late.

 Hear me clear: I am not sad.  I am not overwhelmed in a negative way necessarily but I am moved to a point lately that I cannot contain all the emotions welling up within me even with my iron will constitution still firmly in place.

 I blame it on grandchildren.
Yep.  That is the start of it and I'm pretty sure the undoing of this previously very controlled lady.

 And it's not just the grandchildren that is the root of all this emotion.  It's their blamed parents.
It is the progeny, the fruit of my loins that has me all in a dither.
It is the realization that these people, that formerly lived in my home 24/7, not to mention my womb for nine months, that has me over the top.

 You pray, you hope, you research, you read, you cajole, you threaten, you yell, you cry (well, some do), you cross your metaphorically speaking fingers and hope to the Dear Lord that  you did something right.

And then, and then, they have children.  They become these people that you love to visit.  These people that make you laugh, make you proud, make you glad that you gave birth to them.  These people are highly functioning, amazingly friendly, witty beyond belief, servants of God.  And it truly has nothing to do with me.

Your children have children.  You visit when it is acceptable for it is not about you.  Never has been.  You watch their family dynamic.  You quietly work around, tiptoeing, not really wanting to disturb the magic that you are observing.  You want to be a fly on the wall but in a helpful way.  You wish that your lackluster memory could contain all the images that you are soaking in:  Daddy comes home from work.  You know that he has worked long and hard and has to be bushed after not getting much sleep because of a newborns sleep habits.  You see his tired face come into the door and in the background you hear this high pitched little voice run toward her daddy enthusiastically,  'Daddy's home! Daddy's home!, arms reaching up. The previously weary employee magically alters into the super hero his little daughter thinks he is. He brightens, and when asked, 'Daddy, you play with me?' agrees to joining her little gathering of stuffed animals and proceeds to voice each little fuzzy buddy with a hilarity that makes me laugh out loud.  Magical stuff.  And this has been  repeated in each of the babymoons that I have participated in with my three producing (so far) children.

Hence the tears.

I am a peripheral observer in these homes.  Sure, I have a place in their hearts.  Sure, I have served my time as their priority, as it should be. My time with them as influence and advisor is over. And they are doing  quite well without my daily input, thank you very much. They have lives and circles of friends and futures in continuing generations.  When Maddox, the little angel I just spent time with, is a mere 20 years old, I shall, Lord Willing, be 80 years old.  Reality Check.  I am quite alright with the fact that I am mortal.  I am quite alright with the idea that my prime has passed and that I shall be peripheral in most things from henceforth.
But the overwhelming emotion I feel when I see, I feel, the amazing joy, in the result of the hopefulness many years ago, well, it gushes out into submissive sobbing at the goodness of our God and how He works.  He took a crazily dysfunctional girl, placed her in the life of just the right boy and what comes forth, can only be credited to our Lord.

I weep for the joy, I weep for the heartache that young people face while raising families, I weep for the pain of challenging situations that only make you stronger but painful to watch.  I weep for all the joys ahead of them; some of them with me in the picture, some of them not.  I weep for their futures, for the depth of the love that they will experience as they add years to their marriages and as they watch their own children please them in the way that they have over the top pleased me.

I weep in my humanity and in God's goodness...

To God be the Glory and He will dry my abundant tears in due time...

Luck O' the Irish!

Pshaw.

Who am I kidding?

Luck has absolutely nothing to do with all that went on in this old house this past weekend.

 The gathering that commenced had everything to do with the unmitigated, miraculous gift from the gracious hand of God.  Period.

 There is no other explanation of the incredible blessing that a gathering of that magnitude could take place.  There are schedules to orchestrate, travel in fickle weather, illness to hopefully stave off, menus to design, recipes to cull, bathrooms to clean, beds to make and all the endless everyday that happens in life.  
How else could this be done except His powerful Hand?

 And speaking of His Hand, what about the reason for our gathering?
To celebrate the lives of people that have profoundly influenced so many.

Hubby, celebrating an exuberant 60 years.

Miss Viv, whose birth altered my life forever, turning The Big Four.

My Thirdsie, my intellectual, philosophical, mercurial, hilarious son, turning a chapter in his life at age 28

My absent son in law, Baby Girl's Hubby, who makes us so proud and pleased to share him with his family, turning 26.

These special, special people were created and designed for this world, this family at this time, is nothing short of divine.

Former babies of mine, turning delightfully into the most wonderful of adults and bringing their babes into the gathering, is something that is not easy to describe.

Seeing parenting skills that are remarkably, comfortably familiar yet vastly improved upon, makes me smile down to my toes.

Watching the next generation play with the things of play of many years ago, brings to life the bygone days....

Feeling the joy of adding an additional Big Girl pretend granddaughter with all her wit and input and help, well -over the moon....

I think you get the idea.

*sigh*

Now, the REAL reason we gather:
The. Best. Corned. Beef. Recipe. Ever.

4 lbs corned beef brisket
2 onions, sliced
1 bunch parsley, tied
1 bay leaf
1 onion stuck with cloves
Pepper to taste
1 large carrot, sliced
2 lbs small round new potatoes
2 lb cabbage, cut in wedges

Place beef in large pot, cover with cold water.  Bring to boil; discard water.  Add fresh water to cover, and all the ingredients except potatoes and cabbage; bring slowly to boil, uncovered.  Skim foam.  Cover' simmer gently about 4 hours.  Remove parsley, cloved onion.  Add potatoes, followed 10 minutes later by cabbage. Cover; simmer 20 minutes or until potatoes and cabbage are cooked.  Makes 6-8 servings.

(author's note:  My group of 11 consumed 4 hefty briskets...All that was left was photographed and used in the BG's Hubby's own recipe: Corned Beef Hangover Omelets, the next day.

VERY IMPORTANT!!  YOU DO NOT WANT TO MISS MAKING THE IRISH MUSTARD SAUCE!!

IRISH MUSTARD SAUCE!
1 TBLS cornstarch
2 tsps sugar
1 tsp dry mustard
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup water
1 tbls butter
1/4 cup cider vinegar
2 tsp grated horseradish
2 egg yolks, beaten

Combine cornstarch, sugar, mustard and salt in heavy quart pan.  Add water. Stir over low heat until mixture thickens and boils.  Remove from heat; add butter, vinegar, horseradish.  Beat a little of hot mixture into egg yolks, then add yolk mixture back to pan.  Cook slowly, stirring, until sauce thickens slightly.  Serve with corned beef. 


Enjoy!!
(interested in the Irish Soda Recipe from Dublin?  Leave a comment! :D