Hang On! Here Come the Holiday's!

Oh, the craziness this time of the year brings! Because not only does the changing of the flags come about, so do the house decorations! The dining table, the kitchen bar, and everywhere in between will be covered in fall and the likes of colors orange, yellow and brown.

But first – all of those things must be found! After all, those pretties have been stored away for a whole year and I don’t know about you – but I know what can happen in my storage space in the span of 12 months’ time – everything! 

Just as I begin my yearly ritual of change-over conversation, the faces start changing into scary carved pumpkin faces and the groans sound like the witches and ghosts from the movies. My husband begins to transform into a very frightful rendition of himself which is to say, he is not ever pleased that any of these things are about to happen, nor does he understand his presence being a requirement.

Well it is – mainly because I can’t climb hurdles of STUFF like I used to and let’s face it, he’s the one who piled it all like that last year when the said events were over. 

Now before, when my youngest son lived at home, it was a toss-up as who was responsible for burying what and where; but, alas, now it’s just him, even though he still tries to claim no guilt or prior participation.

So, the fussing and carrying on begins, like it’s the trial of the century to have to do these things so I look at him with all the calm and reason I can muster and say, “WHY must we do this every year – this annual questioning with the why’s and the what difference’s does it make? It’s going to happen, we’re going to do it, and we’re both going to live through it.”

The look on his face says one of us might not live through it, but I’m betting we do. Mainly because in about 45 days, it will all have to happen again, on a much bigger scale.

And I don’t even want to begin to tell you what the Christmas decorating entails! Oh my, that ruckus begins in the house and spreads to the outdoor shed and every neighbor from here to yon can hear the grumbling, mumbling, and fussing that is going on!

But for now, everything is pretty and decorated in all that is pumpkin, and a weekend or so ago, my parents came down and we all ate Sunday dinner at that beautifully decorated table with the corn cob candles that rest in my iron sunflower candle holders.

So today I end with a learned lesson from year 2013 via my Alabama born, very (and that r in very is rolled) southern mama: when you decorate a dining table with candles, you don’t necessarily have to burn them then, BUT, they have to have at least been lit once. New, unburnt wicks is not how a southern table is set.

Now ladies, put your game faces on and supervise that decorating! 

You Just Have To Believe

When I was growing up, I didn’t have a whole lot of experience with death. My extended family was fairly young and healthy, and it would be after my teenage years before I would really know what the grieving part of losing someone you loved would even mean.

My PaPa Josh died when I was seven years old, at a very young age, of brain cancer on Christmas Day and all I can really remember about that happening was that people were sad, people were whispering and I was scared.

I was scared because even at that early stage I think I believed that somehow when people died, they still saw you, might even still be “with you” and I’m still not sure how I came up with that theory so young, but I did.

The next person to pass would be his wife, my Sara MaMa, when I was twenty years old. By then the feeling of being scared was gone, and sadness, regret and grief took its place.

I can remember being at work right after it happened and discussing her death, and death in general, with a wise older woman with whom I worked. At some point, I was saying that I would see her again, I would see them “all” again one day and my co-worker said yes, you will, but the bible says you will not know them as your grandmother or your grandfather, but you will be happy and you will see them again.

That conversation I can hear today as clearly as it was like a blow to my stomach way back then. In that one minute, my thought process of how it was all supposed to end, what we are all here waiting for, looking forward to, didn’t even exist.

I didn’t just want to be happy and pain free, I wanted to be reunited with my family, as I knew them, not as strangers, or just people who meant nothing to me. That didn’t make me happy at all, and that was what the real idea of heaven was supposed to be to me – the ultimate happiness. What you work so hard for all of your life – your reward for being a good human being.

The number of books I have read in my lifetime might astound a lot of people. I don’t read as often now as I once did but I’m trying to re-learn to close the laptop and pick-up a book instead.

I’m also not a book reviewer, but I recently read and finished a book that lifted my spirits like nothing else has for a long time. The afterlife we’re all working towards, and the idea of what heaven must truly be, was described in such a way, that I have hope again that I will reunite with my people one day and live happily ever after.

                                                                            

The Whole Town's Talking written by Fannie Flagg – read it. It might not change your life or your mind about how the end really works, but it sure will give you hope that it turns out just like it should. 

Knowledge is Power

                                                          

Every year in October I plead, beg and preach about the same thing. I give examples of neglect, I explain the seriousness, I describe the various outcomes, and I try my very best to give encouragement.

Because let’s face it, no one wants to do it. It’s not what anyone would describe as comfortable in the least, it’s a bit scary, and some would say, it’s just downright painful.

I have personally experienced all of the above emotions, but I still do it every single year. I still ramp myself up for the chore before me, make my appointment, and then I go and sit. I sit among chairs full of women.

Some of those women are there for their annual appointments’, some for second readings/more extensive testing, and some are there for things that none of us ever want to think about happening to us or anyone else that we know.

                                                                             

I have been to that place for two out of three of those things, many times now. It’s never any less nerve-wracking and it’s certainly never any fun.  It has always turned out in the favor of grateful and blessed, but my grand, at the roads it has taken to get there at times. Three or four weeks can seem like a lifetime when you are waiting on results.

So, we all sit and watch one another, trying to imagine our neighbor-woman’s plight; nervous and waiting for the unknown that always seems to go hand in hand with these visits.

                                                                      

And then a name is called, we look around anxiously to see who is the next to go through those closed doors ahead of us all, the doors that lead to all the places that can bring comfort as well as dread and the words we never want to hear.

I’m well aware of what the odds are – 1 in 8 women are at risk for developing breast cancer. In the great scheme of things that doesn’t sound like so much, but it also sounds like it will happen to many more women that you may know personally, than you could ever have imagined.

By the time I was 48 years in old, in five years’ time, I would personally know and be friends with, 6 different women who would have positive results for breast cancer. One would succumb to her disease, four would beat it and move on, and one is currently on round two of one of the most rare/deadly forms of breast cancer which is Inflammatory Breast Cancer and it presents itself in 1% to 5% of all women.

                                                                

So, I ask this/beg this/plead this as I do every year - get your annual mammograms. Every single year – never skip a year. Because if you have ever known someone who tested negative one year and positive the next, then you MUST know the damage that could potentially be done if you were to skip a year in between. Twelve little months, coupled with neglect, could challenge the chances of living a full and complete lifetime. 

Love  your family, but love yourself the most – and get tested. 

Ah-CHOO!

As we enter the season of bonfires, roasted marshmallows, sitting in tree-stands or window-blinds, falling leaves painted with the colors of change, hoodies and boots, and homes decorated with pumpkins and fresh mums – we also enter the season of hay-fever.

I’ve had sinus/allergy problems since I was a small child, complete with eczema break-outs on my skin as well. My allergy list is long and consists of just as many foods as it does trees, flowers, and other outside elements.

I’ve been to several different allergists in my lifetime, because as anyone who suffers as I do know that your body changes over the years, sometimes accepting of things it wasn’t before, and just as many times, adding more unacceptable / “can’t do” new items to your list.

One of the best things I came to love after moving here, was upon leaving work every day, I liked to take the back roads home in the afternoons. These roads were quiet, without traffic lights, often smelling of fresh cut fields / grass and absolutely FULL of colorful roadsides!

About a month into fall that first year I was absolutely miserable! I was popping one sinus medication or another every so many hours, sneezing my brains out and blowing my nose until it was raw. My eyes were pouring water like a faucet, and swollen like I had been in a 10-round fight with the likes of Muhammad Ali.

Sometime into that fourth week, my parents were down for a visit. I had taken my mom out for a drive to see the plant where I worked and I decided on the way back home to take her on the scenic route, the back roads, so she could get a feel about one of the reasons I loved my new county so much.

I had described to her before how much less stress I felt, and how every day when I would leave work and take that back road home, no matter what had occurred during the day, once I hit those roads and passed the fields of beautiful colors, all the weight of the world seemed to just drop-off.

Three minutes into the drive back to my house and my mom said “Honey, do you know what that stuff is on the side of the road?” And I as I slowly said no, because I knew something was coming, she began to tell me the story of a little girl (herself), long ago, who gave her mother a beautiful bouquet of those same “flowers” and how her mother was miserable for a week because of it – sneezing and blowing her brains out.

I can remember looking back her, and then looking at my car windows which were both rolled ALL THE WAY DOWN, and suddenly realizing, I had been slowly killing myself!

So, no more windows down for me until the first freeze that kills it all that golden rod off. I’ll just have to take my Saturday evening drives with the a/c on instead of the nice cool breezes of fall, and be satisfied to look at the beauty THROUGH the window.

Nature ~vs~ Nuture

As we raise our children, nobody really knows how to be a parent, it’s a guessing game for the most part. It’s a memory rendition of how you were raised yourself, the things you were taught, and how much of that you actually retained.

But some things are just a given and can show themselves out of the blue and remind you that your children absolutely did come from you, you absolutely did “make” them (or part of them) who they are today, and for those times, there is just no denying it, even if you tried.

My oldest child sent me a text a few nights ago at about 9:45pm, which isn’t really that late, but for us to begin a conversation, we would normally start earlier.

He began by telling me that if I ever had any doubts that he was my child, he was about to explain to me just how clearly that could be proven. He had just gotten home from a night out, was tired and ready to settle down and go to bed when he discovered that his box fan that he keeps near his bed was not working.

Nothing to do but to find himself inside a Wal-Mart in Brattleboro Vermont at 10:20pm, trying to locate a fan. Because Vermont is already well into their fall season, and at night, people are wearing sweaters and coats. So naturally a box fan is not anything that would still be out in a local store.

Luckily, they had been stored in the back, so there would be no sleepless night without the soothing noise of the air circulating in the room as the box fan hummed.

As he’s telling me about his fan and his late night victory – he tacks a note on at the end that said: bonus - the fan is PURPLE! Double-win! As purple is one of his favorite colors.

Immediately upon receiving that last text I rose from my chair, stepped into our spare-bedroom and opened the closet door. The same closet door that would conceal many stored things, one of them being my own box fan – one that I use on every vacation/time away from home. I stack that baby up on the luggage cart with my suitcases and hanging clothes, and roll right up into any swank (or not) hotel I may be rooming at for the night – because shame – I have none.

Because you see, I too, must have the whirring noise of a box fan (or an a/c unit in a window) to be able to fall asleep each night. The rumbling noise that ensures that I will fall asleep MUCH faster and in my case, MUCH cooler than I would otherwise.

As I opened that door, I snapped a picture of mine, and I sent it to my child – to show him that just as much as we are very different, that yes, we are very much one and the same at times. Because I too have a box fan addiction, and my favorite color is purple, and so is MY box fan.