The Ormand Drive Gang

A couple of weeks ago, I received an email from someone asking if I remembered her ... someone I grew up with, someone who lived on the same street I did. I was surprised to hear from her because we lost touch many, many years ago; in fact, I think the last time I saw her was when Daddy passed away and she and her mom came to the funeral home to pay their respects. She tracked me down after one of her friends who lives in New York forwarded my blog to her ... I know ... that is so weird, eh? We've exchanged a few emails since she sent me the first note, and we've chatted a lot about what it was like to grow up as Southern gals on Ormand Drive. We share so many of the same memories ... painful chestnut burr fights, games of touch football in the vacant lot, rides to and from school on the bus, favorite teachers from junior high and high school, passings of people we loved, first dates with guys neither of us really wanted to date, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows over fire pits in my back yard, raucous college parties involving the consumption of way, way, way too much alcohol. I guess I never really thought about it, but there's a group of people who have many of the same memories of their childhoods as I do of mine ... the kids who grew up as part of The Ormand Drive Gang.

The older I get, the more I appreciate my Southern roots and the heritage that accompanies my family name. I grew up in a magical time ... a time when doors weren't locked and children weren't kidnapped ... a time when candy cost a penny a piece and an ice cream cone from the Dairy Delight could be had for a dime ... a time when there were sock-hops at school and friends got together every week to watch Happy Days on television ... a time when neighbors stood and chatted over their fences and trust in your fellow man was a given rather than an exception. Looking back, I realize that there were a lot of kids who lived on our street ... an unusually large number of children per square foot of real estate. Some of the kids were my age, some were younger than me and some were older, but age didn't seem to matter ... there was an unspoken bond that existed between us that transcended age or time ... we were all members of the gang ... The Ormand Drive Gang.

A week or so ago and then again today, I read on Facebook about the deaths of two of the older kids who lived on our street .. I'm not sure how old the man and woman were, but they couldn't have been more than a few years older than me. When I read the sad news, my mind was instantly flooded with memories of times spent together when we were young, and my heart hurt for the families they left behind, especially their siblings. I know that pain all too well ... the pain of losing a dearly loved sibling. The memories of years gone by coupled with the sorrow I feel for my friends who have lost their sister and brother have proven to be a catalyst for causing me to ponder once again the brevity of life. Not one of us is guaranteed another year, another month, another day, another moment. Life is so very short, friends ... so very, very short, and so many of us waste so much time on things that are so unimportant. Things like hate and judgment and condemnation rather than love and acceptance and encouragement. We waste so much time tearing one another down rather than building one another up. We waste so much time focusing on each others' faults rather than searching for each others' strengths. We waste so much precious, precious time, friends ... we waste so much precious time indeed.

Tonight, my heart is in Tennessee ... tonight, my prayers are with my Southern friends ... tonight, my mind is filled with memories ... tonight, my soul is grateful for my childhood ... tonight, I'm proud to have been in the gang ... The Ormand Drive Gang.

The Donna Decade

The truth is I've been trying to write this post for a while, and it's proven to be way more difficult than I thought it would be ... for lots of reasons. In fact, I decided on my drive home from work this evening that while I originally thought I would publish this post at the end of August, tonight was the night that felt like the right time. I'm not sure why that is exactly, that tonight is the night I'm choosing to share this post with all of you ... it just feels right to me. As to why this has been a hard post to pen, it's because the person I'm writing about is someone who is not only very special to me, she's very special to more people than I can count.

My first conversation with Donna was on the phone when she called to ask me to come in for an interview at SHS ... sometimes it's hard for me to believe that was almost 11 years ago. Like so many of the life-changing events I've experienced over the years, I didn't have even a remote idea of how meaningful, how important, how ... well ... life-changing that conversation and my subsequent interview with Donna would truly prove to be. For as many things as I can't remember, I remember in vivid detail the day I first walked into SHS to meet with Donna, down to the clothes I was wearing ... get this ... I wore a skirt to that interview, folks ... I sure did, I wore a flipping skirt. I was super nervous that day for many reasons, not the least of which was that I knew the company I was working for at the time was in big trouble after losing its largest account. And I knew I already had offers from a couple of other companies, and they were pushing me for a decision. And I had three children living at home who needed me to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their bodies and food in their tummies. And I had heard so many great things about SHS and knew several people who worked there ... I wanted the job in a big way.

I was surprised at how quickly my nervousness evaporated as Donna and I began to chat about what was involved in the position she was looking to fill and other typical interview stuff. At least I was surprised back then ... now I know why my nervousness disappeared that day. I felt an instant bond of friendship with her from the moment we entered the conference room, and it didn't take long for our interview talk to shift to talking about our children, our mothers and Donna's grandchildren (including her then most recent one whom Donna herself had delivered on the front seat of her car). Our conversation that day was warm and friendly, and there were two things I told my children that evening when I got home ... that the lady who interviewed me was really nice, and that my gut told me the SHS job was the job for me. A few days after my initial interview with Donna, I was sitting in the same conference room being interviewed by "the posse" ... a large group of folks from the various teams I would be working with. Obviously, I passed their test and became an official sheephater a few weeks later, and the rest ... as the old saying goes ... is history.

There's no possible way that I can begin to do justice in describing who Donna is ... if I tried to share even a miniscule portion of the multitude of things she's taught me over the last 10 years, I'd be writing for a very, very, very long time. Perhaps the closest I can come is this ... from Donna I truly learned what it means to not only have a servant heart in the business world, but how to put that heart into action on a daily basis. She taught me what it means to be willing to go the extra mile to get things done to the best of my ability ... she taught me how to put the needs of others before my own ... how to be a team player every minute of every day ... how to think outside of the box in order to solve a problem. Donna taught me what it means to be a great employee, but so much more, she taught me what it means to care enough to invest myself in the lives of the people I work with and treat them with respect, honor and dignity.

As I'm sure is true of all supervisor and employee relationships, Donna and I have had some ups and downs over the last decade. But no matter what was going on, whether it was business-related or personal, I have always known one thing ... Donna is my friend, and she cares deeply about my well-being. She has stood by me through some tough stuff in life, and she's stood there with an unfailing and abiding love and spirit of acceptance and encouragement ... Donna has stood by my side when so many others decided to leave ... she's been there for me through it all. We've welcomed new members into our families ... we've laid our mothers to rest ... we've experienced problems with our health ... for the last 10 years, we've done life together. Donna and I have spent the last decade of our lives growing a friendship that we both know will weather any storm and endure as long as we are breathing.

Donna is retiring at the end of August, and it's difficult for me to imagine what it will be like not to have her leadership and guidance in our offices on a daily basis. And though I know our friendship will remain strong and that it reaches far beyond the work environment, I also know that I'm having a hard, hard time thinking about her not being a part of SHS. You see, in many ways, Donna has always been sort of the torch bearer for the fire that is our agency. She's the mom around the joint ... taking care of every little thing and every single person, including me. SHS without Donna seems like pancakes without syrup or fall without football or babies without blankets. Having said that, I know beyond the shadow of any doubt that my friend is making the right decision both for herself and for her family. And though things will inevitably change in our offices after she retires, Donna's legacy at SHS will forever echo through the walls of the buildings and remain etched into the hearts of all those who love her.

So ... my dear friend ... my sister of the heart ... this one's for you. Thank you can't even scratch the surface of my gratitude to you for all the ways you've helped me over the last 10 years. I wish you all the wonderful, amazing, spectacular things that life has to offer ... I know you will enjoy every moment and treasure every memory you'll be making. Because I know you, friend, I've been changed for the better ... because I know you, I've been changed for good. Thank you for loving me ... thank you for believing in me ... thank you for being my friend.

Adult Assembly Required

One of the things I enjoy about my job is that every now and again I get to do things that have absolutely nothing to do with editing. Don't get me wrong, I love being an editor, but there are times when it's nice to do something different ... times when I get to do some physical labor and rest my eyes for a bit. Things like bringing the firewood up to the cubby behind the fireplace and stacking it piece by piece in a neat and orderly fashion (those of you who've been reading along with me for a while know I love doing anything related to the fireplace). Things like taking trash out to the dumpster behind our building. Things like moving boxes to find the extra carpet squares that were buried beneath them. Things like helping one of my co-workers change the florescent light bulb in her hanging desk light. Things like locating cleaning supplies or helping someone remove a stain from his shirt. Things like finding just where in the world that piece of paper is that is causing the paper jam in the copier. Things like all of those, and things like one I got to do today ... one today that ended up being way more than just a task to be completed.

Our company has grown by leaps and bounds since the beginning of the year; in fact, our Kansas City office has nearly doubled in size. Adding so many people has involved a lot of shuffling and moving around to make room for all of the new employees, and it's also meant adding new work stations and some additional furniture in order to adequately accommodate everyone's needs. One of those items of furniture arrived on Friday, and today when I had a lull in editing, I was able to work on putting together one of those new pieces of furniture. Now I need to tell you at this point that I definitely don't fit the stereotypical role of women like myself ... I pretty much suck at any kind of home repair, and assembling things has never been my strong suit. I've complained many a time about the difficulty of understanding assembly instructions ... I mean, come on ... seriously ... who writes those things anyway, and do they really try on purpose to make them impossible to understand? But today I was determined that I would win out over the instructions, and I did. I managed to follow the instructions and assemble a glider chair. Yep, I sure did ... put it together, tightened all the screws and bolts, and even sat in it and rocked back and forth to make sure that 1) it worked as it should, and 2) that it didn't collapse when someone sat in it. That would so not be good, you know, to build a chair that crumbled the minute someone sat in it.

Three words printed on the side of the box the chair was shipped in struck me the moment I saw them, pounded in my head as I worked to assemble the chair, and have been rolling around in my brain all evening ... "Adult Assembly Required." As I read the instructions and carefully placed the bolts and screws in the correct spots, I found myself wondering why the makers of the chair felt the need to emphasize that the chair should be assembled by an adult. I found myself wondering why a kid would be trying to put the chair together ... it seems to me it's a given that the assembly required for the chair to perform as it was designed to would only be undertaken by an adult. The more I wondered about those things, the more I began to think about us as humans ... how we're assembled ... Who put us together ... being designed and created for a purpose and according to God's plan.

The more I thought about being assembled, put together, designed and created, I suddenly remembered something a friend wrote to me in an email a few weeks ago ... something her kid told her about what she was learning during her week at a Christian-based sports camp. The little girl's biggest takeaway was that God has a plan for all of us, and He doesn't make mistakes. He knew He would create the little girl to be tall, have light brown hair and everything that she is. He knew he would create her best friend to be short ... He knew it. That's a lot of wisdom and insight coming from a little kid for sure, but it was when I read my friend's recounting of the following words from her daughter that tears sprung to my eyes and quickly made their way down my cheeks. 

"'And, Mom,' she said, 'He DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES. He made us all exactly how we are supposed to be. So we need to be happy with who we are, because we are all part of God's plan.'"

You know what I think? I think maybe there was a reason I noticed those three words on the box of the chair today ... "Adult Assembly Required." I think God wanted me to recall the words of my friend's daughter ... to remember that He made me ... to know that He put me together ... to understand that He alone assembled me ... to accept that He has always had a plan far bigger than I can begin to comprehend ... to believe with all my heart that He doesn't ever make a mistake.

Adult assembly required? Maybe for the chair ... but not so for my heart ... not so for my spirit ... not so for my soul ... not so at all, friends ... not so at all. 

For Good

A little over a week ago, I penned a post about my bucket list ... my list of things I'd like to see, do or accomplish before I die. I didn't elaborate much in that post about the things on my list, except to say that it has evolved a great deal since I first began composing it more than a decade ago. There are some things, however, that I placed on the list that have remained ... things that I imagine will never be removed and quite possibly will never be crossed off as completed either, which makes me a bit sad from time to time when I think about it. Maybe as time goes along, I'll share more of my seemingly unattainable bucket list items with you, but for today, I'd like to share just one. Many of you will think it's a rather dumb item to be on a person's list of major things to do before he or she leaves this world, but I would also guess there are at least of few of you who will nod your heads in agreement when I tell you what it is. So here it is, dumb though it may be ... I would like to go to New York City and see a Broadway musical.

I don't possess one ounce of musical talent, which makes it even more odd, I suppose, that seeing a musical would make it to my bucket list and remain there through several iterations of said list down through the years. Each of my children are blessed with musical talent, however, and they all participated in their respective schools' presentations of various musicals when they were in high school. And for all the activities my kiddos were involved in when they were young, I must say that watching them perform their hearts out in the musicals always made this mom's heart swell with pride when I saw them appear on stage. Perhaps that's part of why going to New York and seeing a Broadway musical has garnered such staying power for my bucket list ... because my kids had such a blast singing, dancing and acting in those productions and I so enjoyed seeing them being involved in something they loved so much.

Sometimes when I have trouble sleeping, which is way too often these days, I crawl out of bed and stretch out on the couch and watch videos on my laptop. Most of the time, I watch Ellen clips or old television shows on YouTube, usually something light or funny with the hope that it will cause me to get drowsy and be able to fall asleep. You know the little sidebar that's on YouTube ... the sidebar that offers suggestions for other videos the viewer might enjoy? I can't remember now what I was watching, but one of the suggested clips was the performance of a song by Kristin Chenoweth and Anna Kendrick from the Broadway musical Wicked. My interest was sparked when I saw Kristin's name because my brother and sister-in-law are good friends with her parents ... in fact, they've known Kristin for many years and even call her their adopted daughter. The song was "For Good," and while I'm sure I've probably heard it before, last night the words spoke so deeply to me that by the time I clicked off my laptop and climbed back into bed, my cheeks were wet from the tears that had coursed down them as the words reverberated in my soul.

The first thought on my mind this morning when I woke was the song, and after I fed Julie and Ollie, I jumped on my laptop to find out more about the musical Wicked and to read the lyrics to "For Good." I must admit, I had no idea what the musical is about, and I was surprised when I read that it's about an unlikely friendship that forms between the witches from The Wizard of Oz. The more I read about the story, the more I thought about people in my life who have made such a difference to me ... people who have changed me because I knew them ... people who have changed me for good ... people who have left their handprints on my heart ... people who make me know that I'm who I am today because I knew them. And as I walked along the trail with Ollie this morning, I found myself hoping beyond hope that when the day comes that I do indeed kick the bucket, others will be able to say the same about me.

For Good

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

It well may be
That we will never meet again
In this lifetime
So let me say before we part
So much of me
Is made of what I learned from you
You'll be with me
Like a handprint on my heart
And now whatever way our stories end
I know you have rewritten mine
By being my friend
Like a ship blown from its mooring
By a wind off the sea
Like a seed dropped by a skybird
In a distant wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good

And just to clear the air
I ask forgiveness
For the things I've done you blame me for
But then, I guess we know
There's blame to share
And none of it seems to matter anymore

Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good

Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
I do believe I have been changed for the better

And because I knew you
Because I knew you
I have been changed for good."

Proud as a Peacock

It's more than a bit interesting to me how certain sayings can carry with them very different meanings depending on the context in which they are used. Take, for example, the saying, "Getting along like a herd of old turtles." If spoken in the context of several moms watching their group of babies who are just learning to walk sort of creeping along, the saying is sweet and even endearing ... comparing sweet little babies to a herd of old, slow-moving turtles can't help but bring a smile to your face. But change the context to several elderly folks crossing the street while you sit in your sweltering car at the intersection, and the saying becomes not only negative but also condescending and rude. Funny how language works that way, eh? So many times in life, it's not only what we say, it's the context in which we say it that makes all the difference in the world.

My dad loved to wear bright colors ... in fact, one of his favorite pairs of slacks was bright red. Those pants were so bright that many times when Daddy would step outside while he was wearing them, our neighbor's dog would erupt in a barking frenzy ... guess the dog didn't like the color red nearly as much as my dad did. For as much as my dear old daddy loved those red polyester pants, Mom detested them. If the truth be told, I remember many heated arguments between Mom and Daddy about the clothes he chose to wear. I don't ever remember my dad criticizing Mom's clothing choices, but I sure remember Mom being more than a little outspoken about Dad's. And for some reason, I especially recall what she would say when Daddy would emerge from the bedroom in his glorious red trousers. Every single time, Mom would say, "Lord, help, Atticus! There you come strutting like a derned peacock in them pants. Look at him, Terrie ... he's as proud as a peacock in them ugly britches." Just thinking about Mom's dislike of Dad's pants and the grin on his face when he wore them makes me smile and miss the two of them in a big way.

The "proud as a peacock" saying has been stuck in my mind all day, and I'll tell you why in a minute. When I got home from work this evening, I decided to Google the phrase and I wasn't at all surprised to find that it often is used in a negative context meaning someone thinks too highly of themselves, that the person is just plain old arrogant. But as often happens when I'm researching something, I followed link after link and spent a good while reading about peacocks. And as I read, I discovered that I really don't know anything about the colorful members of the pheasant family ... I bet most of you are like me and thought they were just birds, nope, peacocks are indeed considered to be pheasants.

I learned a bunch of interesting things about peacocks as I surfed the Web this evening, not the least of which is that they thrive in atmospheres that offer peace and harmony, and they deal better with stress when they have lots of room to wander about. I know what you're thinking, and I thought the same thing ... I must be part peacock because peace, harmony and lots of room to wander about sounds like heaven to me. While many of the facts about the majestic birds fascinated me, it was when I happened upon the following statement that I realized why the phrase, "I'm as proud as a peacock," has been stuck in my head today.

"The peacock is a possessor of some of the most admired human characteristics, and is a symbol of integrity and the beauty we can achieve when we endeavor to show our true colors."

Last night, the advertising agency I work for was named 2013 Small Agency of the Year in the Midwest division by Ad Age. For those of you who aren't ad folks, that's a really, really, really big deal in our business ... a really, really, really big deal. I've written often about the people I'm blessed to work side by side with each day ... about their amazing talent and their incredible work ethic, yes, but also about their hearts. My fellow sheephaters are among the finest folks I've ever known. Not only have they proven that time and time again in their relationships with our clients, they prove it every single day to me on a personal level as well.

So here's to the sheephaters of SHS ... here's to the group of peacocks I'm so incredibly proud and honored to be part of. You guys possess some of the most admired human characteristics ... you are symbols of integrity and real, deep and lasting beauty ... the kind of beauty that is found only in the colors of truth.

Proud as a peacock? You bet I am!

If I'd Never Been Born

If you watch television or listen to the radio or peruse the Internet, you know there was a baby born earlier this week. In fact, I'm pretty sure most of the world knows about the certain baby I'm referring to ... the newest prince to join the British royal family. As I watched some of the media hoopla over the last couple of days regarding the new royal tyke, I'm sure I was joined by millions of other people as my thoughts returned to Prince William's mother, Princess Diana. I remembered the night the world grieved her death, and I couldn't help but feel sad for the little boy who will never know his grandmother. As those thoughts permeated my mind, I also couldn't help but think about how close my own sweet granddaughter came to never knowing me. And even as I type those words, I can see her precious face ... I can hear her sweet laughter ... I can feel her little hand in mine. If I wrote a million words, I could never begin to communicate the emotion that is sweeping through my heart and soul as I think of my children and C.J. and how close I came to ending my life ... mere words could never express how thankful I am that I chose to live.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in a funk ... you know, one of my funks when all I want to do is sleep for days or watch mindless television or a combination of those two activities. I opted for the television choice since it was mid-afternoon on a Saturday, and I settled on a movie about a college professor. I have no idea what the name of the movie was, and I can't tell you much about the storyline, but there was one scene from the film that made a huge impact on me ... a big enough impact that I've thought about it many times since. The professor gave his students a writing assignment ... each of them had to write a paper with the title, "If I'd Never Been Born." Though the movie didn't go into any real detail concerning how most of the students completed the assignment, it did focus on the responses of two of the students, a young man and a young woman from very differing socioeconomic backgrounds. And as I watched the story unfold, I found myself fascinated by how the young people's feelings of whether or not their lives made a difference to anyone was based on mainly one thing ... how well-loved they perceived themselves to be.

Perhaps it's because of the media attention this week on the new prince or perhaps it's because of the special family time I had with all of my children last week, but I've been thinking a whole, whole, whole lot about the "If I'd Never Been Born" assignment from the movie. And as I've thought about it, I've had to admit to myself that there have been many times in my life when I've uttered the words, "I wish I'd never been born," ... many, many, many times. But when I think about my children ... when I think about my granddaughter ... when I think about the amazing people they are and the even more amazing people they are becoming with every passing day ... not only does it make me grateful for my life, it makes me better understand why God chose to breathe life into me in the beginning.

I'm working on a couple of lists that perhaps I'll share with you at some point ... lists that often cause tears to course down my face as I pen them. One list consists of things that have occurred because I was born, and the other is a list of things that may never have happened had I not ... been born, that is. What I will tell you tonight are the two items that top each list. "My wonderful children and granddaughter are alive" stands regally at the top of my because I was born list. "I never would have experienced love ... not giving it to those whom I love nor receiving it from those who love me," resides quietly at the head of my if I'd never been born list.

So what do you say, friends? What if you'd never been born?

 

The One Thing

I am constantly amazed by the creative talent of the folks at the advertising agency where I work. Every day, they put their minds together (and their hearts as well) to create some truly astounding work for our clients ... work we're all proud to be a part of. Like the old saying, "It takes a village to raise a child," it takes a village to create ads that are unique ... ads that are genuine ... ads that are unsheeplike ... ads that are great. While there are various methods each specific team uses to write, design, develop and produce campaigns for their individual clients, there's one tool that is universal in the process ... the creative brief.

The creative brief is one of the first items that's employed in the creation of a campaign, and some would say it's the most important. The brief is sort of like a guidebook for everyone who is involved in a project ... within the brief rests the direction, the compass, the path our clients wish for us to follow. In short, the creative brief is one super vital tool in the creative process. There are several different sections within each creative brief, but there is one in particular that has always stood out to me more so than the others. It's a section titled, "The One Thing" ... the part of the brief that defines what the core message of the advertising should be. I've been thinking a lot about "The One Thing" since Sunday evening, and many of you have messaged me to ask what our family meeting that night was about. At first, I thought about penning a post titled "It Ain't None of Your Business," but the more I thought about it, the more I realized there's a gigantic lesson that came from our family conversation Sunday night ... a gigantic lesson that perhaps many of you need to absorb as well.

Now before you go toss a bag of popcorn into the microwave and settle in to read what some of you are already thinking is going to be spicy material, I'm not going to share anything my children and I discussed. Sorry to disappoint those of you who were hoping for some dirt or sensationalism of some sort. What I am going to share with you is my "The One Thing" ... the most important thing of all ... what I took away from the open, honest, real sharing that took place in my small living room as my family gathered together for the first time in almost a year. The last time we were all together was when we bid goodbye to my oldest son the day before he left to move to Canada. Yep, you can assume that Sunday was a big deal all the way around ... for me as a mom, of course, but for my children as well.

So my "The One Thing" from my family's Sunday evening talk? Well, actually it's a few things rather than one. Be honest with one another even when it hurts ... appreciate one another for who we are as individuals ... never underestimate the strength of the bond between us ... honor the differences between us with respect and dignity ... forgive one another quickly. And the most important of all ... in the end, all that truly matters is love and that we love one another despite our faults and our failures. All that truly matters is the love we have for one another ... love that withstands any storm ... love that reaches across any distance ... love that remains true and steadfast in any circumstance.

My children are right ... we have an amazingly great family. Thank you for loving me, kiddos, and for standing behind me through the good, the bad and everything in between. I'm behind you, too, and I always will be ... no matter what, no matter when, no matter where. You gals and guys mean the world to me, and I love each one of you so very, very much.

The Power of the Flower

I've decided that it's a good thing I'll never meet the person who originated the phrase, "Tears are good for the soul," because I'm certain I would punch said originator right in the face. Sometimes I wonder how many tears I've cried over the last year or so ... if I were a betting gal, I would bet probably enough to fill a few oceans. I never used to be a weeper, you know ... just the opposite, in fact. It took something big, really, really, really big to make me cry. Just one more example of how much I've changed, I suppose ... now it seems that I'm often fighting to hold back the tears which so quickly spring to my eyes. If tears really are good for the soul, then my soul should be one of the best in the universe.

I cried my heart out when Matt, Becca and C.J. left yesterday to head back to Becca's parents' home. Goodbyes are always difficult for me, but saying goodbye to my sweet granddaughter yesterday was the most difficult farewell I've ever experienced. Just like I didn't even begin to understand the love grandparents have for their grandchildren until C.J. was born, I never understood how my mom felt each time Matt, Brad and Meghann climbed into our car to leave Tennessee and travel to the faraway land of Kansas until I stood on my driveway yesterday waving goodbye to Matt, Becca and C.J., knowing that on Wednesday morning they will travel back to the far northern reaches of Canada. And I never understood how silent my house really is until I walked inside alone yesterday ... overwhelming, all-encompassing, throbbing, pulsing silence. I cried so much last night that when I finally crawled into my bed for the night, I said aloud to Julie and Ollie, "Surely I don't have any tears left ... surely I'm all done crying." Wrong, wrong, wrong. The moment the words "All done" exited my mouth, I thought of C.J.'s sweet little voice ... "All done, Ghee?"

It took everything in me to get up and go to work today ... all I wanted to do was stay in bed with the covers pulled over my head. I kept telling myself as I got ready for work that I would be fine once I left the house. I told myself that over and over as the tears streamed down my face ... yeah, right. Pulling into a parking place at my office, I wiped the liquid from my eyes, gathered my things, locked my car and walked into the building. When I got to my desk, I was met with a vase filled with beautiful flowers ... sunflowers to be exact ... beautiful sunflowers with a note from my two cubemates. The flowers didn't cause me to stop crying; in fact, I cried off and on all day. The power of those flowers was much more far-reaching than my tears, friends ... the power of those flowers was love. The love I felt from my co-workers today was incredibly powerful. I still cried ... a lot ... but I knew that my friends in the office loved me, that they have loved me on good days and bad, that they love me now, and that they will always love me. I can't think of a better way to close tonight than with the handwritten words written on a piece of printing paper and taped to the vase containing the flowers. Sleep well, everyone ... sleep well. 

"Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened." --- Dr. Seuss

... and we danced.

I wish I could better recall certain things from the days when my kiddos were babies, but the three of them are close in age and I spent most of my time just trying to keep them all clean, fed, healthy and clothed when they were small. If I could go back in time, there are many things I would do differently ... so many things ... but the biggest of them is that I would have been a better mom. I wouldn't have let the urgent get in the way so often ... instead, I would have savored the moments that mattered most and worried about the other stuff after they were all grown up. Yesterday, as I watched and listened to my children as they ate together, drank together, laughed together and cried together, I was overwhelmed by their spirits, by their strength, by their wisdom, by their compassion, by their love.

Yesterday and today, my little house was alive and bustling with the activity of six amazing young adults, a precious baby girl, two sloppy big dogs and two rambunctious little wiener dogs. From the moment Matt, Becca and Coraline walked in the door yesterday morning until the moment they left this afternoon, my house became a home once again. Even though it was only for a while, the silent walls that now surround me each day resounded with baby giggles and the voices of those who mean more to me than anyone in the world. So often throughout the hours they were here, I found myself wishing I would have better marked the times we had together over the years ... I found myself wishing I could remember every tiny detail of every single moment we shared ... I found myself wishing I could have some do-overs with them ... I found myself wishing for more time to love them the way they deserve to be loved.

I only remember dancing with my sons Matt and Brad a couple of times, and those times involved a wedding ... Matt and Becca's wedding to be precise. And I think I remember dancing with my daughter Meghann a couple of times at my great niece's wedding ... at least I hope there was at least a time or two that I twirled with my daughter. I don't recall dancing with them when they were babies ... I remember bouncing them to get them to stop crying, but I don't remember popping a cassette tape into the old boom box, lifting them in my arms and dancing. I wish I would have danced with them more ... I wish I would have built towers of blocks with them more ... I wish I would have laid on the floor and watched them watch a train roll around the tracks more ... I wish I would have listened to them more.

Even though I wish desperately that I could fix all the things I didn't do right with my children, today I have yesterday. Last night, as we all sat in my living room and talked about some very big and hard life stuff, I listened. I listened as all six of my children poured out their hearts and told me that what they want most from me is that I be their mom ... nothing more, nothing less ... just be their mom and be present in their lives. I listened as my children called me out on some huge mistakes I've made, and told me they forgive me. I listened as my children reaffirmed their love for me and assured me they are not ashamed of who I am. I listened as my children ... all six of them ... told me that we share an extra-special bond that many families don't have and how much it means to them that we communicate openly with one another. There were plenty of tears, yes, but so much more ... so very much more ... there was plenty of love. 

Yesterday ... yesterday, I laid on the floor and watched my granddaughter watch a train roll around the tracks ... yesterday, I built a tower of memories with her ... yesterday, I listened to her sweet little voice as she said, "Uh-oh," and "All done," and "No, no, no," and "Up, Boo," and "More, more," and "Ghee." Yesterday, I popped a CD into the CD player ... yesterday, I lifted my granddaughter into my arms ... and we danced ... and we danced ... and we danced.

Feeding the Hungry

It's been a long time since I cooked a meal for all of my children and their significant others. And it's been several decades since I had a baby in my house for more than a couple of hours. I spent two hours at the grocery store this morning trying to decide a) what to feed them, and b) how much of that food I needed to buy. You wouldn't think it would take me 15 minutes to choose a loaf of bread and then try to decide if one loaf will be enough. And now, I'm second-guessing myself and wondering if I need to run to the store and buy another loaf of bread. And some orange juice ... gosh, how could I forget to get juice? I'm sure I have way more food than my kiddos will consume over the next couple of days, but if I didn't learn anything else when they all lived at home, I learned that it's always better to have too much food than not enough. 

Perhaps because I mowed the yard right after I got home from the grocery store, but the words of a Keith Green song that was playing on my iPod struck me in a big way as I struggled to push the mower through the semi-wet grass. I'm tired tonight, and I've got a big day tomorrow (and I need to run to the store ... ugh), so I'm going to close with a few of the lines from the song that really spoke to me. A couple of them in particular have caused me to ask myself some important questions today ... tough questions ... and maybe they will cause you to ask them as well.

Do I point to His promises? Do I believe in what He said? Do I open my house to the world around me? Do I give to the least? Do I show people I care? Do I? Do I point, believe, open, give and show? Do I? Do you?

Go to The Hungry Ones

Go to the hungry ones and fill them with His bread
They’ll leave their darkness as you shine the light He shed
Point to His promises, believe in what He said
And His joy will be manifest in you
And the lost may be found as He works through you.

Is your house open to let strangers enter there?
Give to the least of them, show them someone cares
And you may be entertaining angels unaware
And His joy may be manifest to you
And the lost may be found as He works through you. --- Keith Green

Jimmy the Hitchhiker

Some weeks just feel longer than others, don't they? Even though there are the same number of seconds, minutes, hours and days in every week, some of my weeks feel as though they've hung around for months, years or even lifetimes before they finally end. Other weeks zip by so quickly that I find myself on Sunday evening wondering where the time went and how much I missed as the days roared by with lightning speed. And then there are what I call combo weeks ... part of the week creeps by, and part of it goes by way, way, way too fast. Take this week for example ... I felt as though it was crawling by at a snail's pace on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. But on Thursday as I spent the day with Matt, Becca and Coraline, the moments I had with them sped by so fast that I wanted to shout, "Stop the clock, God ... stop the clock so I can have more time with them." 

I should have known that today was going to be a less than stellar day when Ollie the wiener dog woke me up at 5 a.m. because he was sick again. I groaned as I climbed into the recliner with him and lifted him onto my lap and said, "Ollie buddy, this is not the way to start the day ... something tells me today is going to suck big time." And I was right ... I don't know how many accidents there were on the interstate this morning, but I do know that I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic for an hour and a half. And when I finally did get to work, I had a million things to do and felt like I was playing catch-up for the first several hours of my workday. But ... I also had a new employee orientation meeting with two incredibly sharp young women, and listening to their laughter and seeing their excitement about their new jobs lifted my spirits and made me appreciate anew the special environment that exists at our company.

Remember when I wrote about my friend Jim? You know, the guy who gave his kidney to his brother ... sorry, Jim, but you will forever be known to my readers as my friend who donated his kidney. But Jim is also my friend I talk Subarus with, and he's my friend who was a huge hit with my granddaughter yesterday as he tickled her and chanted some weird phrase that she found simply hilarious. So hilarious that she did the sign for "more" as she said the word, "More! More!" over and over again. And since I know many of you will write and ask, the phrase was something like "Chunk, chunk, chicken monk" ... I know ... a little weird, eh? Must be a Nebraska thing, I suppose ... probably a Huskers nursery rhyme or something. It doesn't surprise me that my little C.J. simply knew somehow that Jim is a great guy with a big heart ... I've known that for a long, long time, and my granddaughter is obviously an excellent judge of character in addition to being a genius.

This morning, I noticed Jim had a suitcase sitting next to his desk along with his backpack. When I saw him in the hallway later in the afternoon, I asked if he was heading out of town for the weekend. He began to explain about plans he had made to ride with another family to St. Louis to meet up with his wife and son, and how those plans had been delayed and he was stuck at the office without a car because he had hitched a ride in this morning with one of our co-workers. I live pretty far south of the downtown area where our office is located, and Jim lives roughly halfway between my house and the office. As he told me about his dilemma, he suddenly got a glimmer in his eye and said, "Would you want to give me a ride home?" And after a few minutes of conversation as to where he lived and how soon we could get out of the office, we shut down our computers and headed to my car so that I could drive my friend Jim to his house.

Jim and I chatted nonstop during the 25-minute or so drive ... about how he's feeling since his surgery, about our children, about Subarus, about the great group of people we work with, about me someday selling my house and moving closer to the office ... gentle, easy, friendly conversation. That's one of the things I love most about Jim ... he's so easy to talk to, so genuine, so real and so down to earth. When we arrived at his house, I climbed out of my car to open the trunk so that Jim could get his bags and he asked me to wait so he could make sure his garage door code pad thingie ... I know, there I go getting all technical on you ... worked and he got in okay. As the door began to rise, Jim gave me a hug and thanked me again for giving him a ride home and I said, "You're more than welcome, Jim ... I'd do just about anything for you, man." And I would ... heck, I think I might even give my friend Jim a kidney if he needed one.

Driving home after I dropped Jim off, I couldn't help but think about the special friends I have at work and how much they have blessed me, especially over the last year. There are people there who mean so very much to me ... people who help to keep me breathing, help to keep me trying, help to keep me hoping, help to keep me smiling. There are people there who hold me accountable, people who love me, people who cherish me ... people who know when I'm sad and go out of their way to say again and again, "I'll see you tomorrow, Terrie ... I will see you tomorrow, friend." So to all of you tonight, I want to say thank you ... tonight, I want you to know how much you matter to me ... tonight, I want you to know how you bless me day in and day out by allowing me to call you my friends.

I don't often mention names in my posts ... well, other than my kids ... but tonight, I want to say an extra-special thank you to a few of the many folks in my office who brighten my days and lift up my spirit. To Ali, for hanging in there with me, for not giving up on me or allowing me to give up on myself, for encouraging me to just be me ... to Lynell, for making sure I know every day how much you care ... to Hilary, for loving me like a sister through thick and thin and everything in between ... to Donna, for reminding me over and over again that out of sight is never out of mind with you ... to Rand, for the confidence you place in me and for making me want to be the best I can be ... to Megan, for teaching me that real friends never leave and are never far away ... to Raven and Sonya, for watching over me, for looking out for me, for putting up with me. And last, but far, far from least ... to Jimmy, my hitchhiking friend ... for teaching me what selfless sacrifice really looks like, for accepting me completely and unconditionally, for making me laugh and wonder and think and care ... for taking my very long day and turning it into a smile of gratitude through the gift of your friendship.

So, here's to friends ... real, true, lasting friends ... here's to hitchhiking along the journey of life together. I'm glad we're sharing the road with one another ... I'm really, really, really glad we're sharing the road. 

    

Those Eyes of Hers

Today was one of those days I will tuck securely away in the folder of my heart labeled "Days I Want to Remember Forever." Today was one of those days I will forever cherish ... one of those days that carries with it a meaning so deep and so lasting that it has already seared itself into the folds of my brain, the corners of my soul and the crevices of my heart. Today was one of those days I will think of when the burdens of life are so tough to bear, and it will cause me to smile through my tears. Today was one of those days that taught me what real, pure, innocent love really is and the power it has to make me want to be a better person. Today was one of those days I will treasure until I draw my final breath. Today was one of those days when my world stood still every single time I gazed into the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.

I've always been an eyes person ... I've never paid much attention to other physical attributes or lack thereof, but I always notice someone's eyes. It doesn't matter if it's the gal in line in front of me at Walmart or someone I meet at church or one of my dearest friends ... I am immediately drawn to the person's eyes. Perhaps it's because our eyes speak volumes about us ... if we are kind or noble or honest or trustworthy or loyal or compassionate ... or if we are dishonest or selfish or rude or hateful or cruel. Sometimes it's hard to see the pain or loneliness that resides deep within the tired eyes of another who is desperately searching for hope and meaning in their life. Sometimes it's exhilarating to gaze deeply into the eyes of someone you care for and see contentment and love after they've overcome seemingly insurmountable odds and found peace. And sometimes ... sometimes it's a feeling like none other on earth when you see only one thing looking back at you from the eyes of another ... real, pure, innocent love. Love that carries with it no conditions, no strings, no labels, no barriers, no judgments ... nothing but real, pure, innocent love.

Today, my son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter came to visit me at work and let me show off my little C.J. to my friends. No one in my office has seen her in person since Matt and Becca moved to Canada only a few months after she was born, so today wasn't only a treat for me but for them as well. My heart pounded with anticipation all morning as I waited for them to arrive, and I announced to my friends who sit near me more than a few times, "There's a baby coming here today!!!" When my friend Hilary called out to let me know they had arrived, I raced around the corner ... and there she was ... smiling as I ran to her and swooped her into my arms and kissed her sweet little face and hugged her tiny little body close to my heart. She was the hit of the joint as I carried her from person to person and introduced her ... she laughed, threw the ball, signed and said, "Thank you," and "Please," chose a stuffed Elsie cow to take back to Canada, gave high-fives and my favorite of all ... said, "All done" time and time again while grinning from ear to ear. I'm pretty sure she enjoyed all of the attention as much as I enjoyed being the proud granny as we walked from desk to desk. After lunch, Matt, Becca and I took her to an aquarium not far from my office where she toddled from tank to tank oohing and ahhing over all the "fishies."

I have blue eyes. My ex-husband has blue eyes. Matt and Meghann have really blue eyes. Brad's eyes are green ... not quite sure how that happened. But C.J.'s eyes ... C.J.'s eyes are the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. They remind me of a crystal blue mountain lake or a cloudless blue sky ... her eyes are simply gorgeous. It was as we were riding in the car on the way back to my office and I was sitting in the back seat with her that I was struck by how my sweet granddaughter looks at me. Several times today, C.J. turned her head and looked directly into my eyes and smiled or giggled, but there were also times when she looked directly into my eyes as if she were studying me or looking straight into my heart. Looking into her enormous blue eyes as Matt drove, I began to feel the pain that will come with having to say goodbye to her next week. I gazed into my granddaughter's blue, blue, blue eyes and wondered if she somehow senses how much I want her to love me, how much I need her to love me, how crushed I would be if she didn't love me.

Today was an eyes day for me ... the eyes of a friend challenging me to complete a seemingly impossible task ... the eyes of my son beaming with love and devotion ... the eyes of two other friends desperately hoping for me to be happy ... the eyes of my granddaughter ... those beautiful blue eyes of my precious little granddaughter ... making me truly understand the power of real, pure, innocent love and the immeasurable gift of being given a second chance.



 

Bucket Listing 101

Several years ago on one of our family vacations in Colorado, I had perhaps the most brilliant idea I've ever had. Actually, I think it was one of the kids who first made the suggestion, but this is my blog and I'm taking full credit for it. We were shopping in the town of Estes Park, following a harrowing drive over Trail Ridge Road ... one of the highest paved roads in the nation ... no guardrails, super high, lots of curves, no guardrails, no guardrails, no guardrails ... harrowing drive for sure. But back to the shopping ... I can't remember the name of the store we wandered into, but I do remember that it was like a Hallmark store on steroids. Besides all the super-cool cards, note pads and stationery, there was this huge wall with beautiful mahogany shelves that held row after row after row of journals ... soft, leather-bound journals. It was as I watched my children perusing first one journal and then another that I made the decision that I would purchase a journal for each of us. Visions of traditions and the leaving of legacies danced in my head as I told each of my kiddos to choose the journal they wanted to be their own. Now that I think about it, when we are all together on Sunday, I need to ask Matt, Brad and Meghann if they have or perhaps even still write in those leather-bound books I bought for them on that crisp, clear Colorado afternoon more than a decade ago.

We were tired that evening after our all-day adventure over the mountains and through the stores, and my three kiddos all fell asleep watching a movie on TV in the cozy living room of the condo where we were staying. I remember sitting in the recliner watching them ... the three of them all cuddled up on one couch together, sleeping peacefully. It was one of those mom moments I'll remember forever, the sight of the three people who mean more to me than anyone in the world as they slept the sleep of children who had played extra hard all day long. I decided that rather than waking them, I would just leave my kids on the couch ... I figured they would eventually wake up and make their way to their respective beds, and I knew they were exhausted. As I climbed into my bed for the night, I noticed my newly purchased journal resting on the nightstand where I had placed it when we returned to the condo. With the thoughts of my children snoozing away in the living room on the other side of the bedroom wall, I picked up a pen and opened the journal. The aroma of leather mixed with the scent of new, untouched paper wafted through the air, and I began to write. I didn't write a story or a poem or a recounting of the day I had spent with my kiddos. Nope ... I began my bucket list ... you know ... a list of all the things I'd like to do before I kick the bucket one day.

Last year when I decided that dying would be better than telling the truth about who I am, I pulled my journal off the bookshelf where it had rested for many, many years. I remember that day well ... I cried buckets ... yes, buckets ... as I read through my list along with some other entries I had written. I cried because I had only checked off a couple of items on the list ... I cried because I knew I wouldn't be checking off the ones that remained. I wrote what I thought would be my final entry to the pages within the leather-bound book. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry, but I just can't live this way anymore." I've since updated my bucket-kicking list in my journal a few times, and I look at it quite often now. Though there are things on my original list that I will never have the opportunity to accomplish, I think it's good ... and perhaps even necessary ... to remind myself how close I came last year to kicking my own bucket for good.

I've written a lot about my job in my posts, and since last fall, I've written a lot about the personal relationships I have with my co-workers. In an all-agency meeting today (a totally awesome meeting that ended with all of us watching a movie together in one of the coolest theaters in town), a couple of folks on our leadership team talked about transformation ... about becoming the best we can be. And though the presentation was about who we are as a company, it was so much more about who we are as people. I've thought a lot about what the senior vice presidents said this morning ... a whole, whole lot. I've thought a lot about the hugs I received from our two managing partners later in the day as I thanked them for their generosity, kindness, support and encouragement to me. I've thought a lot about the feeling of family that resonates among so many of us. I've thought a lot about the words of accountability spoken by a friend who stopped me as I attempted to scoot past her on my way out the door this evening. I've thought a lot about a lot of things today ... a whole, whole lot.

So here's what I think about buckets and lists. I think sometimes buckets have holes in them ... holes that cause all the water to leak out and leave the buckets all dried up on the inside. I think lists, especially the ones for bucket kicking, should be carefully considered and well thought out before they are written in ink. I think my bucket list should only be written in pencil so that when it needs to change ... when it needs to be transformed ... I can just erase the old and write the new. And those buckets with holes in them? I think they can be mended ... I think they can be mended with love.       

Quack of the Bat!

When my son Matt was a little guy, my niece would pass along her son's clothes to Matt when her son Jeremy outgrew them. Yeah, yeah ... I know you're scratching your head and thinking, wait a minute ... your niece had a kid before you did? Well, here's how that happened. My sister was 15 when I was born, and she got married really young ... really, really young. And she had my niece when I was two years old, and my niece got married before I did. And she had a baby before I did. I have nieces and nephews who aren't much younger than me, and I have great nieces and great nephews ranging in age from 30ish down to 10ish. And I have two great, great nephews who are around two years old. Crazy, eh? Well, get this ... my oldest brother Jerry would be in his 70s if he were alive, older than some of my friends' parents. Again, I say, crazy, eh? But back to the clothes my niece handed down to Mattie ... it was a total win-win situation for me for three reasons. Sharon has always had great taste in clothing, whether for herself or her kids; it saved me a ton of money; and getting the clothes from her meant I didn't have to shop ... yep, best reason of all three, no shopping required by Terrie.

I still remember a few of the items of clothing that Matt received from Jeremy's abundant kid wardrobe, but there is one in particular that will forever define a part of the Johnson boys family legacy for Matt, Brad, Meghann and me. It wasn't the most expensive article of clothing by any means, nor was it the most attractive either. It was cheap, and some might even say it was ugly. It was just a t-shirt ... a red t-shirt with an applique of a cartoon character duck holding a baseball bat printed on the front along with the caption "Quack of the bat!" emblazoned beneath the grinning bat-wielding fowl. Matt got the shirt when he was in kindergarten, and though I have no clue as to why, he fell in love with that crazy shirt. So much so that when he outgrew it, he absolutely refused to part with it. In fact, Matt squeezed himself into "Quack of the bat!" for many, many, many years. It wasn't until he was in his early teens that he finally passed the shirt along to his brother Brad. Brad who is now 25 years old and the director of film production for a successful company. Brad who still has "Quack of the bat!" tucked away in his t-shirt drawer, though he doesn't wear it anymore. Yep ... the "Quack of the bat!" t-shirt definitely claimed its place in the Johnson boys family legacy, and I often wonder should one of my sons have a son if I will one day see my grandson wearing "Quack of the bat!"

I'm not sure why my sons and their affinity and devotion to the infamous, old red "Quack of the bat!" t-shirt has been on my mind for the past few days ... maybe it's because I've been feeling extra sentimental because all of us will be together on Sunday for the first time since Matt and his family moved to Canada last year. Maybe it's because I feel the passing of time more now than I ever have before. Maybe it's because I've been thinking a lot about the mom I was for my kids back then ... the kind of mom I should have been for my kids over the years ... the kind of mom I'd like to be for my kids now. Maybe it's because the events of my life over the last couple of years have caused me to have an appreciation for the importance of memories ... of leaving a legacy ... of love and laughter and life.

It struck me as I drove home after work today that my sons tried to fit into the "Quack of the bat!" t-shirt long after they had outgrown it for reasons only the two of them will ever know. I can make assumptions as to why they wore that shirt for so many years. I can wonder and ponder and question the why of my sons wearing "Quack of the bat!" until I'm blue in the face. The truth is I will never completely understand because I didn't wear the shirt ... I never wore the shirt, so I can't fully comprehend why wearing "Quack of the bat!" for so long was incredibly important to Matt and Brad. What I do get ... what I do fully understand and comprehend ... is that I love my sons. I love my sons, and had they chosen to wear "Quack of the bat!" every single day for the rest of their lives, I would still love them and I would still believe in them. I might secretly wish they would put on a shirt that was a better fit. I might even quietly hope that one day my sons would look in the mirror and say, "I'm not wearing 'Quack of the bat!' any longer ... I'm not wearing this shirt another day," but I would love them even if they had decided to wear the old shirt forever.

I realized a couple of other things this evening as I've mused about the old red "Quack of the bat!" t-shirt. I realized how very happy I am that my sons made the decision to stop wearing the shirt that was worn and faded and way too small for them. I realized how happy I am that they instead choose every single day to wear what fits them best of all ... themselves. And you know what else? I think I'm growing happier every day that I stopped wearing my own "Quack of the bat!" shirt last fall. I think it's good that today ... today, I'm choosing to wear what fits me best of all, too ... myself.

Hitting My Stride

Being awakened at 2 a.m. by a sick dog is never fun, never ever. And it's even less fun when said dog continues to be sick off and on for the remainder of the night and into the next day. Yep, my little wiener dog Ollie was one sick pup, and I spent a good part of the night and today trying to make sure he puked on the papers I put down on the bathroom floor rather than on the carpet or in my bed like he did last night ... yuck, yuck and a million times more yuck. Thankfully, after half a Pepcid pill and unflavored Pedialyte, he's been able to keep down a little cottage cheese and part of a scrambled egg for a couple of hours. Hopefully, he just had a touch of a stomach bug or ate something he shouldn't have while we were walking after dark last night and the worst is over.

When I was sure that Ollie was alright, I decided to go for a walk by myself ... I've had a bad case of the lonelies this weekend, perhaps because I spent Wednesday and Thursday evening with my oldest son and his family (they left yesterday morning to spend a few days in the town they lived in while they were in school; Matt was best man in his friend Jake's wedding). Missing my kiddos, caring for a sick hound dog and having something huge I need to do next weekend looming before me meant that if ever I needed to hit the trail, today was the day. I had only to take a few steps out of my garage before I knew that my walk along my beloved trail was going to be different. It was going to be different because I had decided not to take my iPod so that I could use the quiet of the trail to collect my thoughts. But it was really, really, really going to be different because Ollie wasn't with me to set my pace.

By the time I walked across the street and through the grass and stepped on to the trail, I was already struggling to find my stride. I tried slowing down, but that made me feel as though I was making no progress at all. I tried speeding up, but that made me feel as though I was trying too hard. I tried walking on the edge of the path, but that made me feel off-balance without Ollie trotting along on the other side of me. I tried putting my hands in the pockets of my basketball shorts, but that made me feel like I was leaning too far forward and was in danger of falling on my face. I tried walking in the middle of the trail, but that made me worry that a biker was going to come along and crash into me. For a half-hour, I struggled to find my spot ... my zone ... my place. I fought and warred with myself as I attempted to set my pace and hit my stride.

"This is ridiculous," I said out loud to the air around me. "I can't walk without Ollie ... I might as well quit and go home." No sooner had the words left my mouth than tears filled my eyes as the memory of another walk without a wiener dog by my side flooded my mind. I'll never forget that first walk alone after J.R. passed away ... I sobbed the entire time I was on the trail that day. It took me a long time to find my stride again, to find a way to walk without my little fat buddy ... a really long time. I had made a promise to J.R. the morning I held him in my arms as he slipped away ... I promised him that I would keep walking our trail, lonely though it would be without him ... I promised J.R. that I wouldn't quit walking. Now that I think about it, I don't think I was ever able to really and truly hit my stride as I walked the on trail again after J.R. died ... until Ollie came into my life and joined me on the journey.

As thoughts of J.R. and Ollie washed through my heart, I was struck by the enormity of the lesson contained within my solitary walk today. Struggling to find my pace on the trail was about so much more than walking along the path beneath my feet ... it was about struggling to find my pace in life, about hitting my stride as the woman God desires me to be. I've spent so many years walking too fast or too slow, wandering from the edge of the path to the middle, putting myself in harm's way over and over again ... hands shoved so deeply into my pockets I had no hope of catching myself when I fell. Whoa ... I just thought of something ... something big. If my hands are in my pockets, not only can I not grasp the hands of those who want to walk with me, I can't reach out to help other people either.

Set my pace, God," I whispered quietly. "Help me hit my stride, Lord ... help me to walk with You and hit my stride. Tomorrow and the next day and all the ones that follow ... set my pace, and help me hit my stride."

Let's Shake On It

For all the lessons I learned from my dad, there are a couple that I'm reminded of more frequently than others. The first one is one of the most important ones, I think, the one about keeping my word and being extra careful about saying the words, "I promise." I can almost hear Daddy's voice as he said, "You're only as good as your word, Sam ... always do what you say you will do, and don't make a promise unless you're sure you can honor it." I'm not sure I understood how good Daddy's advice was when I was growing up, but I absolutely understand the importance of keeping my word and honoring my promises now. The second lesson pops into my mind every single time I shake hands with someone ... it may not be quite as emotionally deep as the first I mentioned, but it certainly made a lasting impression on me. Daddy always said you could tell a lot about people by their grip when you shake their hands ... how confident they are, how straightforward they are, how honest they are, how real they are. And the other thing he said about a handshake? That if my handshake is signifying an agreement of some sort, it's the same as making a promise and giving my word to follow through and do my part.

It's been a while since I've mentioned my life-saving head doctor, so to answer the many of you who've asked ... yes, I still see her on a regular basis. In fact, when I left her office this morning, I couldn't help but wonder which will happen first ... her releasing me or me drawing Social Security. There's a reason why I don't often write about what we discuss during our sessions, and that's because we talk about some really, really, really difficult and personal subjects ... duh ... she is a head doctor after all. But tonight, I'd like to share a couple of things we chatted about this morning because I have a feeling someone else may benefit from my life-saving head doctor's wise words, too.

As much of a word person as I am, both in writing and speaking as well, some words are difficult for me to pen and nearly impossible for me to say. When the doctor and I talked about a few of those particular phrases this morning and the importance of me speaking them aloud, she made an interesting point ... one that I'm sure I'll be pondering for a long while to come. When I talked about how afraid I am to verbalize certain words, the good doctor said, "That's because saying them out loud to someone makes it real ... that's why you're afraid." And you know what? She's right ... she's exactly right. I've asked my doctor many, many times if she truly believes I will one day be okay with who I am, and as I stood at her desk as she completed my paperwork this morning, I asked again.

"I know I've asked you before, but do you really believe I will ever be okay with being who I am?

My life-saving head doctor looked directly into my eyes as she replied, "Yes, you will."

"When? How much longer?" I asked quietly.

"You won't like my answer," she stated matter of factly.

"I want to know," I pleaded.

"I can't give you a time or day when you're going to be okay, Terrie. But I can tell you that you will be. In fact, you want to shake on it?" she said as she extended her hand. "Let's shake on it."

As I shook her hand, two thoughts exploded into my brain. "She has a strong grip and a firm handshake," was my first thought. But it was the second one that caught me off guard and brought tears to my eyes as I left her office a few minutes later. "I trust her," I thought ... "I trust her, and I believe her." I trust that she's worked tirelessly to help me, and that she won't stop until I'm okay being me. I believe her when she says I'm going to find my place of okay-ness (that may be my new favorite word, by the way ... okay-ness), perhaps much sooner than I realize. Remember the day I had the meltdown at work and sort of kind of told my friend the truth? That was the day the life-saving head doctor gave me her personal cell phone number. I've never used it, but as I turned to leave this morning, she reminded me that I have her number and told me to use it if I needed to. I said I would, and she said, "Promise?" I'd say she knows me pretty darn well to pull the promise card on me. "I promise," I said, as I nodded my head. "I promise."

Let's shake on it ... let's shake on it indeed.  

Will She Care?

When my three children were young and my mom would come to visit us in Kansas or we would go to visit her in Tennessee, there was always a huge battle over who got to sleep with Granny at night. I never understood why that was such a big deal to my kiddos, especially because Mom snored like a freight train when she slept. Her loudness didn't matter to my children, however ... snuggling in with their little Granny was all that was important to them. Mom wasn't much on reading to my kids, except for 'Twas the Night Before Christmas, but Mom was wonderful about telling them stories. To this day, Matt, Brad and Megs remember those stories ... but even more, they remember that special time with Mom, the time before they drifted off to sleep as they listened to her voice.

I left work a little early yesterday so that I could get to my daughter-in-law's parents' house and spend some time with my granddaughter before her bedtime. Becca had invited several gals she went to high school with over for dinner, and once they all arrived, there were lots of young adults and several babies in the house. C.J. has a molar trying to break through her gum, and she's been a bit out of sorts since they arrived from Canada on Tuesday. She's not eating well because it hurts to chew, and all the extra people and activity last night proved to be too much for a little girl with an achy mouth. Because my son is an amazing husband and father, he tried to soothe his baby girl as much as possible so that Bec could visit with her friends. After dinner, she was just done ... tired, hurting and ready to call it a night. Matt asked if I would like to come upstairs with him as he got C.J. ready for bed ... of course he didn't have to ask me twice on that one. I jumped at the chance to carry my granddaughter up the stairs, tears still on her face from crying.

Matt brought her milk, pajamas and cuddle blankie into the bedroom, and I sat C.J. on the bed and began to take off her shoes. I'm not sure why it is that babies love to get their clothes off, but they all do. The minute I got her shoes and bloomers off, my granddaughter started giggling ... a lot ... and so did my son and I. What followed was an hour or so of one of the sweetest times of my life ... you know, one of those times that you don't expect and when it happens, it's almost magical. The three of us laid on the bed as I read several books to C.J. ... Matt smiled as he took in the scene of his mom reading to his daughter, and he said, "Isn't she great, Mom? Isn't she so sweet? Isn't she wonderful?" When C.J. decided it was hilarious to put her foot on the book as I read, Matt and I couldn't help but laugh out loud as she cackled with laughter. We talked about the most important thing he can ever give his daughter ... the gift he gave her before she was born and the gift he will give her as long as he lives ... unconditional love.

Despite her giggles and saying, "More, more, more," C.J.'s enormous blue eyes grew heavy and Matt lifted her in his arms to carry her into the other room and tuck her into bed for the night. There's nothing like a hug and kiss from a sleepy baby, and I managed to sneak a couple of extra ones before Matt placed my sweet granddaughter in the crib for the night. I patted my son on the back as we walked down the stairs, and I said, "She's so perfect, Matt ... so sweet ... and you are such a great father." Always humble, Matt replied, "She is sweet, isn't she, Mom? And perfect." I said my goodbyes to Becca, her friends and her parents, and Matt said, "I'll walk you out, Mom." As my son gave me a long and lingering hug when we reached the car, tears filled my eyes as I asked him to promise me that he would one day tell C.J. about the time the three of us had just spent together. Matt's eyes filled with tears as well when he said, "Tell her yourself, Mom ... one day, you tell her yourself." I hugged my oldest son tightly as I said, "I miss you, Mattie ... I miss you."

By the time I got to the end of the street, I was sobbing so hard I could barely see, and I cried most of the way home. My tears were about more than missing my son ... about more than the tenderness of the time I had just spent with him and my granddaughter. I cried because I never want to embarrass my children or my granddaughter, and I've worried so much about that since I told the truth about who I am. My tears fell like rain as I asked aloud in my car, "Will she care? Will my precious granddaughter care that I'm different from the other grandmas? Will she be ashamed to be seen with me? Will she care ... will she care? Or will she simply love me for me?" And even as those questions filled my mind and my tears dampened my shirt as they dripped from my face, I heard Matt's words ... "Tell her yourself, Mom ... one day, you tell her yourself."

Will she care? My precious granddaughter will care that I'm her Granny ... she will care that I love her ... she will care that I've loved her daddy and her Uncle Brad and Aunt Meghann since before they were born and that I will love them until I draw my last breath. She will care about what matters most ... love. She will care because my wonderful son and daughter-in-law will teach her to care ... they will teach her to care about love in its purest form ... unconditional love that doesn't see skin color or age or economic status or sexuality. They will teach her to care ... they will teach her to care about others in the world around her ... they will teach her to care about me.

I'm Listening

Last night, I spent several hours with the sweetest gal on earth ... my only granddaughter. I've always heard other grandparents talk about how the love they feel for their grandchildren is so special and unique, but I never understood it until C.J. was born. In fact, I would say it's hard to even put into words the way my heart swells when I think of her, and there is no way on earth to describe the feeling I had last night when I first saw her and scooped her into my arms as she giggled. We played hide and seek, and when I would jump out from my hiding place and startle her, she would crack up laughing as she jumped into my arms. She got an extra big kick out of feeding me Cheerios, her little fingers insistent that I eat "more, Ghee, more." I marveled at a pile of rocks with her and held the stones she placed carefully in my hand. I watched as she played in the water during her bath, and I read her a long book before she snuggled in to sleep for the night. For all the fun things I did with her last night, though, the one thought that permeated my mind when I woke up this morning was how it felt as though my heart would simply burst when she would call out my name. Granted, she can't say it very well yet, but that doesn't matter even a little to me ... what matters is that she knows me ... she knows who I am even though she lives in Canada ... she called out my name as we played ... and I listened like I've never listened before.

As I made the 40-minute drive home from my daughter-in-law's parents' house last night, tears filled my eyes ... tears because my son's hugs seemed extra long and loving last night for some reason ... tears because they live so far away and I miss them so much ... tears because I knew that it wasn't only my granddaughter who was calling my name last night. I've spent a whole lot of time trying not to listen, you know ... trying not to listen to other people, trying not to listen to my own heart, trying not to listen to God. The truth is I've spent a lifetime trying not to listen because I've spent a lifetime trying not to be who I am. But last night ... last night, I knew that my days of running and not listening are over. My children love me, and my granddaughter loves me ... they love the real me, not the me I pretended to be for so many years ... and I love them so much that sometimes it feels as though my heart will explode.

It's been an eventful week for me, including being the subject of a column in The New York Times. It's about being the real me and talks about "that kind" of stuff. Also, an extra special guy friend of mine has been updating my speaking website, and it's a huge change ... a huge, gigantic, frightening, terrifying, but necessary change. 

I think I'm beginning to open my ears and listen ... yep, I'm definitely beginning to listen. And maybe even open my eyes a little, too, and see what is truly important in life. Remember when I wrote about how my kids used to stand at the big window in the dining room of the house we lived in when they were young and watch for me to get home? I'll never forget those three sweet little faces pressed against the glass and how happy they were to see me when I turned into the driveway. Last night, my son was watching for me to arrive ... as I climbed out of my car, he came down the driveway ... smiling and happy as he wrapped his arms around me and said, "It's so good to see you, Mom ... I love you."