Monthly Archives: February 2013

Click for Confusion

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If my mom hadn’t told me her clicker story, I wouldn’t be telling mine.  

Hers is that she searched all over the parking lot for her car by clicking on the remote to get the horn to beep…but there was no answer.  She walked up and down the rows of the lot and clicked, becoming frustrated and then annoyed and finally panicked that her car had been stolen.  She pulled out her phone to call her grandson/my nephew to come and get her so they could report the car missing when she saw his car right in front of her and realized she had driven his car. 

My clicker incident occurred a few months back when I first started driving Sam’s Mustang every day after years of driving of my Durango.  The Durango, Sophie by name, is my baby, light silver just as I picked.  I love sitting up high first of all and the best part of is being able to lay down all the seats to drag home whatever I’ve found at a garage sale.  Sophie has transported bikes, dressers, futon frames, dog kennels, patio furniture and a treadmill, to name a few items.  Before they could drive, the kids did nothing but make fun of Sophie.  “Old lady car”, “stupid Durango”, and such.  Sam was the first to discover that Sophie has seat bellts for SEVEN people and learned to love her so much that at one point he traded me his Mustang to take Sophie back to the Marine base for a month or so.  I was happy to have her back for my shopping trips.  She knows the way to Ross and TJMaxx as well as she knows the way to the beaches in Southern California.  When Hannah started driving she swore she hated Sophie and had hissies every time I’d make her drive my Sophie, but lo and behold, after discovering she can comfortably ride all of her girl and guy friends along with the inordinate amount of things they seem to transport to school on their backs these days, her hissies are confined to when I need to “borrow” Sophie.  

In any event, I was still in I-drive-Sophie-my-Durango mindset when I came out of the mall one day and walked up to a light silver Durango and proceeded to click my remote. I walked all around it and clicked, not sure where the connection might be made, and clicked and clicked and clicked and…nothing.  People were passing me as they went to their own cars and one man commented it was probably the battery.  Having been through that once before I agreed and pulled on the door handle, knowing I would hear the long beep-beep-beep of the car arm but I had my key ready to unlock the door and jump in and start it so I wasn’t worried.  Until I looked at my key that was not the Durango key.  And then I saw the baby seat in the backseat of the Durango and I haven’t sported one of those in many, many moons,   And then I remembered…I was driving the Mustang…and the entire time the Durango that is NOT Sophie is sounding off…beep-beep-beep-intruder-beep-lady-beep-trying-beep-to-beep-steal-beep-me-beeeeep!  

As casually as I could I backed away as if I heard absolutely nothing and had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the mad Durango having a conniption as it went from beep to RRRROOOOHRR-RRRRROOOOHRRR-RRRROOOOHRRR and Wee-HOO, Wee-HOO trying to scare the pants off me or have me arrested by mall security or something.  Stupid Durango. 

A little further up I spotted the Mustang, clicked it open, got in and sped away just as the unnamed and very whiny Durango started another series of Wee-Hoos.  

You would think I’d have learned, right?

Next time I was actually driving the Durango but as I came out to the car I whipped out the  remote and clicked and clicked and clicked and…nothing.  I cautiously looked inside to confirm I actually did have Sophie this time and, yep, there was my daughter’s school bag so I felt a whole lot better.  As I again paced around the vehicle clicking a guy asked what I was doing and I told him the clicker wasn’t working and he held out his hand to try it and said, “Are you sure this is the right one?”

At that second I realized I had stuffed the Durango key in my jeans pocket, had been clicking with Mustang remote, and, very red-faced, said I was born a natural blonde but trying to recover.  

He gave me his business card and beneath his name in bold black letters was “Behavior Modification Counselor”!  He was grinning like a Cheshire cat.  

Redder-faced, I thanked him, used the correct clicker to get in, started the car and almost backed into my shopping cart that was left full of purchases behind Sophie but I saw it in the rear-view mirror in the nick of time.  Talk about embarrassed!  

 

We should boycott those sneaky, confusing clickers and just use car keys, but as I, along with my mother, have become adept at providing parking lot entertainment we might as well keep it up.    

 

 

 

 

Rosie’s Little Red Dress Pin

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The year my sister was dying as a result of a congenital heart defect that is common and successfully treated now with surgery, but then posed an enigma to physicians, she was given these little red dress pins from the American Heart Association.  Because the congenital heart defects wasn’t the mission of the American Heart Association and she had never received support from them, we felt a little funny about them, but then we looked at the dress.  It was flirty.  It was girly,  It was Rosie.  So we wear them proudly because though they are to raise awareness of women’s  heart health, to us, they raise awareness of adults with congenital heart defects and in particular, Rosie.

Like the little red dress, she had spunk and sass and a bit of a quirkiness to her sense of humor that made us laugh often.  A ride anywhere with her was sure to end in giggles because she could find humor in the most prosaic things and quick quips were spoken in the driest tone making the delivery of the message as funny as the message itself.  I don’t know if we’ve ever laughed as much since she’s been gone.  

She also carried herself with a confidence that is portrayed in that little red dress.  She had multiple scars from five open heart surgeries but a dipped neckline didn’t bother her.  She was proud of every one of them and never let it bother her when people stared and pointed and made negative comments.  Those were her scars of life.

So we’ll wear the little red dress pin and celebrate Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Day by delivering heart pillows to pediatric patients, whether they be newborn or 36, like she was when she had her last open heart surgery.  We’ll wear red and “think Rosie”.  We’ll remember the grace and courage and spirit she showed even as her body, her heart, gave out.

Remembering Rosie.  Wearing red.  Feeling sassy through our sadness wearing the little red dress pin. 

God, let her know we love and miss her…we know she’s right there with you.  

 

Mind the Gap – DP Challenge

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My house is littered with them…paperbacks, hardbacks…each one a treasure that I’ve read, enjoyed, read again…and, for some, again and again and again.  I love their tattered covers and weakened spines.  I love their dog eared pages and sometimes find a stain from my coffee or a crumb hidden between the pages.  They may have begun as pristine pages with a nice shiny cover but by the time I’ve invested days into reading them, my heart into the characters, my mind into the plot, and tucked them into purses and bags and laid them open face down on counters, they wear the signs of use.  They are my Velveteen Rabbits, each one made real by being loved.    

My Kindle, though convenient to lug around hundreds of books at a time, doesn’t have the appeal of holding the one book you’re currently reading and making that tangible connection to the printed page.  It’s almost like a connection to the characters within the book, and even to the author.  I can “feel” them better when I’m holding a book.  

And a bookstore?  Be it a new or used shop, I get a little zing of excitement when I have the time to browse, touch, open and read a few lines, check out the back cover, see if the title jumps out at me, discover more books by authors I’ve read and like or new authors I want to read, and enjoy the anticipation of discovery that comes from walking inside a bookstore and knowing that within each of these books is a carefully constructed, beginning, middle, and end, escape.  It may be a funny escape or introspective escape or even a trip down Cupid Lane or imaginary worlds, but whichever it is, I can go there by grasping the pages and opening that book and letting my eyes and mind hitch me to the magic carpet of that book.   The Kindle is flip, scroll, buy…and convenient but just doesn’t have the same appeal or sensation.

eBooks may be the way of the future, but the book hoarder that I am, I’ll continue to rummage used book racks and garage sales, I’ll continue to schlep into bookstores with New Release tables and, sometimes, authors who autograph their works/gifts.  It’s books for me, because without them, reading a good book just doesn’t seem real.   

  

 

 

 

Dog vs. Cat at the Pet Resort

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When we went away for the holidays, Mac was treated to a stay at a pet “resort”.  When I say treated, I mean I got the only open kennel only after being put on a waiting list and that was sometime in November!  I’ve learned my lesson well, however.  No more waiting to book Mac’s vacation when we book ours.  

Anyhow, this wonderful place sent me pictures of Mac’s “holiday” with them from which I am to see my dog is alive, happy, healthy and enjoying himself.  He was walked and he had a ball thrown for him every day.  He got “couch time” to cuddle with someone. He was even pampered with a “Christmas dinner” of turkey and stuffing, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes with gravy, carrots, peas, and pumpkin pie.  Since we were stuck at an airport for Christmas, the dog ate better that we did!   He was given a “well-behaved” report and before coming home enjoyed a spa day with bubble bath and the works.  I  hope they did the anal glands, too, as part of the works.

Okay, so I know what dogs get at one of these places.  What about cats?  Hmmm. So, what would my pictures of these kitties look like from a holiday at the pet resort?  Would they look as content as Mac? 

Let’s start with Mona….Image

 

She would have to have her own room, own food bowl, own water dish, own fancy schmancy little cushion to sit upon, room with a window to watch the birds outside, and be entirely separated including by smell from any other animals.  She hates them all.  

Then there’s Bop…ImageBop, or formally, Optimus Prime, would be bored in three seconds flat.  Been there, done that, seen that, ate that.  It’s a ball.  Oh joy.  Somebody go chase it.

They’d have more luck with Bett…Image

 

What is it?  What is it?  Can I have it?  Is it for me?  All would be great until someone else tried to play and then all “bets” (har-har) are off!  Bett is very possessive.

And then there’s Morgen…aka “The Piranha”…Image

 

I can see a lawsuit lurking…if not from the actual biting that really isn’t biting since he barely touches a human with his teeth, from the pickpocket propensity. (Notice the giant paws he is trying to grow into – the better to steal with, my dear.)

Naaaa…I just can’t see the cats having the same experience at a pet resort as Mac seems to be having. They are better off at home where they can scratch their own furniture, nap, zip at high speed through the house, nap curled up on the (my) cozy, comfy bed, play who gets to eat from the food dish first when a fresh scoop is added, nap, watch the birds from the window, nap, have a little wash here and there, nap.  Forget a dog’s life…it’s a cat’s life I want.  

And poor Mac still wishes he were a cat.  

 

 

Good God, Bad Things…And the Question That We Can’t Answer

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No picture with this one…no one photo would fit because they come at us at different times in our lives, through different events and circumstances.  Sometimes we’re the children, the innocent ones, the ones who love them, are bound to them, the casualties of someone else’s mess.  Sometimes we’re the catalysts, those who cause the hurt and pain and horror that impacts and scars and burns deeply into the life of others.  Either way, there’s always that question that crops up somewhere.  “Why would a good and loving God let this happen?  I can’t believe in God because of this.”

There are so many things that happen in the world that shatter us, that freeze our faith wherever it is and cause us to keep it at a distance.  The senseless, unexplained things that happen seemingly at random.  It’s so hard to look kindly at others who aren’t there when we are because we wonder, why us?  What did we do?  Why aren’t we worth whatever they are?  Why is it easy for some and tremendously hard for others?

I don’t have a great answer. 

What I do have is personal experience with pain and trials and suffering.  And I have asked those questions.  And there have been times I’ve screamed at God in anger for what was happening because the hurt was so intense it seemed I wouldn’t recover.  

Somewhere between becoming a mother and growing my relationship with the Lord something hit me smack between the eyes.  We had Aaron and we had another child we were in the midst of adopting.  She was a year younger than he was but something in her young little life caused her to do very terrible things to Aaron.  One day I came home while my mother in law was babysitting them and this little girl was sitting on top of Aaron choking him and he was bleeding from having been repeatedly bitten on the face.  My mother in law was screaming while holding an empty pitcher, the contents of which she had dumped on the girl child hoping to shock her into stopping the assault.  Without a word, I immediately  wrapped her tightly with my arms and got her away from Aaron and into her room; I then examined Aaron and determined he would need stitches in his forehead.  My mother in law commented that she didn’t realize things could get this bad with this little girl, but she was proud of how I handled what needed to be handled.  

I think of that time as a one of hardship, pain and suffering, and going out of my comfort zone and into fire. Not being tough parents but making hard decisions that hurt everyone at the time and caused great emotion, but much later those decisions were seen to be spot on, to be exactly what was needed when it was needed even though they came with costs.  I know the Lord was with me, us, during that time, but everyone in our world looked at us askance, many even condemned us.  

It made the pain worse, so much so that sometimes I questioned it.  Why weren’t we good enough?  Should I, we, have just let one child beat the snot out of the other all the time?  What about if I let my kids go play in the street and then get mad at the cars that struck them because I didn’t set boundaries for where to play and step in to enforce them when needed?  Is it okay to let a child do whatever he or she wants without interference so long as they are happy doing it?  Here, Sally, of course you can put the fork in the outlet…you’re having fun.  None of us think that is in any way reasonable, right?

But we expect that of God.  We expect him to sit back and just smile on whatever choices we make and then make darn sure nothing happens to us when we stick that fork in the outlet.  And when it does, we get mad and we stop believing, stop having faith.  

Or maybe we were the innocent ones and other people were pushing the fork in the outlet, people we love and trust and look to protect us and care for us and treat us fair and right, but didn’t.   Where, oh God, were you then?  Why didn’t you swoop in and save us?  Why did you let us go through this?  Why, why, why?

That’s the hardest of all.  And I don’t know if we will ever find an answer this side of Heaven.

But I do know what we will find here on earth if we want it…we will find God was with us, we will find that nothing touched us without passing through Him because He gives us the tools we need to go through whatever it is…if we believe and turn to Him.  He is the comforter, the healer, the maker, the creator…and wants us to know we are loved through any and every circumstance. 

How?  How did God show me that when all the awful and terrible was happening?

Maybe it was the strength you had to go through it.  Maybe it was one kind soul who you could turn to.  Maybe it was a special animal that you whispered your hurts to.  Maybe it was a book that let you escape your world for an hour or two.  Maybe it was the something in your heart that kept telling you to go on, go on, you can do this.  Maybe it was anger, anger that you turned to determination, something good and useful and purposeful, to help you not be the person who hurts others like that.  

But you hold on to the anger with God and the disbelief because if you give even a tiny bit of your heart there, you’re afraid it’ll break again.   

Fear.  It’s fear that traps and holds us.  

What if the truth hurts more than what happened?  What if the truth is that whatever happened to hurt you really has nothing to do with you?  

When we made the hard decision to let this little girl go to another family, one thing kept running through my mind…this might not be about me, us.  This might be about her, her needs that we aren’t capable of meeting.  And though I was blasted, criticized, and  ostracized, this little girl went to a place where she got the help she needed, found the parents who could meet her where she was, and give her all she deserved.  It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about Aaron.  It wasn’t about us.  We were the fall out, as unfair as that was, but years later, it was good.  

Ah, you say, this isn’t the same as my hurts.  Hurt, pain, grief and suffering are still hurt, pain, grief and suffering.  It’s what we do with it, how we live with and through it, that makes us who we are.

Believing is a choice, too.  Believing and accepting God’s promises.  And when that happens, faith occurs.  Faith is believing in something we cannot see or touch, but life gives us experiences that, when lived in faith in Christ, crushes doubt.

We have a good God.  Bad things break our hearts, minds, bodies, families, marriages, homes, etc.  God is still God.  And He hasn’t given up on you. 

 

  

 

  

Oh, Donna!

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The first thing I think I noticed was that she was smart…we both had really good grades.  Bonus was we lived in the same neighborhood and it was an easy trek from her house to mine and mine to hers.  She loved science fiction and fantasy, we both were avid readers, and she tolerated our house of cats.  We talked and talked about everything and spent oodles of time in my bedroom sharing secrets.  Her house always smelled of yummy food, something homemade and I remember lace.  Maybe doilies, not sure.  She was rather shy but had a quick wit and an incredible sense of humor and a huge smile.  

Right after our eighth grade graduation she moved away with her family and neither of us can remember how we lost touch, when the letter exchanges stopped.

A while back she sent me a message but her last name wasn’t there.  I made a guess and sent a message back, maybe six or eight weeks ago. Got a bit worried that I didn’t hear from her. Yesterday she found my message and we exchanged the basics.  

Today we called!

I feel as if for the first time since my friend Kim died (and it’s really odd, Donna, that your friend back there is named Kim – I met my Kim after my daughter was born, about 16 years ago), I actually have a girlfriend again!  Wow!  Praise God!  

I’m thinking about how time goes by and how what we think we know we don’t really know.  As we talked, both Donna and I found out things that were in our lives at the time that we either had never discussed or didn’t recall discussing.  Important things that shaped both of us to be the individuals we are today.  Funny how when you’re a kid you don’t see the whole picture.  Funnier still that when you do as an adult, things that you didn’t know made sense suddenly do.

I knew she was a responsible, good-hearted, kind, beautiful girl…I didn’t know where all the seriousness and responsibility came from until now.  

I knew she was an animal lover…somewhere in the box of photos is a picture of her and I holding our 4 week old kittens outside on the grass, grinning into the sunlight, and when I find it I will scan it in.  I didn’t know she would feel as I do…our pets are our furry babies.

I knew she was smart, smart, smart!  Loved that about her because sometimes being smart can be a stigma and with Donna I didn’t feel that.  I could get great grades and be proud of them, not try to hide them from everyone.  I just learned she graduated college with honors!  I’m so proud of her!

I knew she had a terrific imagination…I didn’t know she was a writer and edits books now!  

I knew I enjoyed our time together…and I’m so thankful we found each other again!  I feel like a kid who has an extra Christmas present and I’ve opened it and it’s the one thing I always wanted!  I feel extra blessed tonight!

I’ve written before about friends and reconnecting with old friends.  Amazing that those we meet and love as kids seem to stay deep in our hearts no matter how much time goes by. It’s as if a childhood feeling of familiarity is experienced but then there’s the part that’s made us who we are now and catching up is infused with a different type of curiosity than if you’ve just met someone…it’s like putting together the edges of a familiar puzzle but the middle pieces create a fuller picture now.  

I can’t wait to talk again…and it better be next week because I don’t want to wait another 40 years!  I can just hear Donny Osmond singing…”I met a girl, Donna was her name…”

🙂

Pickpocket Cat

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ImageHe was such a baby when we got him, all of three weeks old, had to be bottle fed, had to have his little bottom wiped so he’d do his stuff.  Now he can’t even fit across the top of the box of tissues and that’s one of his favorite hang outs when I’m getting dressed in the morning.  Why?  So he can steal something!

“Morgen, that’s my make up brush!  No!”

“Morgen, give me that lip gloss tube!  No!”

Running through the house…”Morgen, that’s my contact lens case!  No!”

Running through the house…”Morgen, that’s my earpiece for the phone!  No!”

Running through the house…”Morgen, that’s my (fill in the blank because if he can grab it, he’s ran off with it).  No!”

He doesn’t limit his thieving habits to me, however.  He takes great delight in sneaking into Hannah’s room or bathroom and making off with something of hers just to hear her screech and chase him down.  Little bugger!  And he goes right back to do it again!

Lately, my purse has been his playground if left unzipped.  I followed a trail of items down the hall and then realized what the contents were and the hunt and chase began….”No, Morgen, NO!”  Everyday I have to make sure I’ve zipped all the pockets on my purse entirely closed because he’s learned he can reach a paw in and feel and pull until he snags something if it’s cracked open just a little.  I have a pickpocket cat.

He’s not quite a year old and truly is a rowdy teenager at this stage.  Wrestling the dog is one of his favorite past-times and stealing anything the dog has just makes it more fun!  Mac knows he has to inhale his treats or Morgen will, quick as lightening, snatch it with his hot little paws and pop it between his teeth and then the chase is on.  It’s not that he wants to eat it always, it’s just to steal it.

He normally has a running streak every evening and when he does this he makes a deep, guttural growly meowy sound totally unlike his usual squeaky high-pitched mew that any male cat would be ashamed to own.  He takes off at one end of the house and by the time he hits high speed he’s almost airborne and rockets toward the cat flap-door into the garage where he circles around bounding from shelf to box to whatever and then shoots back through the door, sometimes running smack into whichever cat, dog or person has come to see what the noise is about.  The sound of him hitting that door at full velocity might be similar to a vehicle crashing into the house.  I still jump up and go look.

Morgen has no boundaries when it comes to the other cats and has no problem inserting himself into any situation.  There may be several cats around me but when he wants attention he walks right over them to get it.

The personality of this not so little anymore cat is most endearing and, ahem, at times maddening.  But it’s that moment when he’s draped over my shoulder, head laying flat against me, little paws around me, eyes blinking his love, that melts me.

Sam called it when he first saw him, just days after Hannah brought him home.  “You lucky little kitten.  Your life is all set now.”

And he was right.

Now You See Them…

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Following last week’s rain several dark clouds scuttled across the sky and I caught these at sunset.  At first it looked as if smoke were dripping from the sky but then I saw the dogs!  Can you see the little Yorkie in the forefront bounding upward, facing right, and the fluffy Cockapoo titled downward just behind him?  Such rascals! They remind me of the mega-balloons in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade, floating just above street level.  Within moments they morphed into something shapeless that found no familiarity in my imagination.  I’m glad I captured these playful clouds, dark as they are, when I did!  

I got to thinking how life can be this way sometimes.  An event, tragedy, or change crosses our path and until we stare at it awhile, get used to what’s happening, we act in confusion, feel disconnected.  We look for something, anything, familiar to hold on to and grab it for all we’re worth, Somehow, with time, we adjust and then we change, morph, grow, and it becomes a part of us.  And that can make us stronger, or it can keep us broken.  It’s all in our perspective and who has our heart.  

Thank you, Lord Jesus, for having my heart, for rain, for puppies in the clouds, and for reminding me to ever keep my thoughts on You.