A Room Without Feathers

A young friend asked me a couple of weeks ago if I've been writing over the last two months, if I've been stockpiling posts and had a plan in mind for my spectacular return to blogging. An even greater sadness quickly permeated my already hurting heart as I looked into the young man's kind and gentle eyes and said, "No, my friend ... I haven't written at all." He smiled softly as he replied, "People need you to write, Terrie ... I need you to write ... the world needs you to write ... you need you to write." I tried desperately to blink back my tears as I shook my head and said, "I don't think so, friend ... I think I'm done." Later that evening, I wept for what I didn't tell him ... that over the last weeks I have tried again and again to write ... that I've spent night after night staring at the blank screen before me ... that I was certain my days of writing were over ...that I was convinced I had nothing more to offer anyone. I wept for what I knew but could not say ... that my confidence was gone ... that my spirit was broken ... that I was afraid to write again.

A few days later my very first guest blogger told me she was spending Christmas in the same place where she penned her first guest post ... her first blog post ever in fact. I published her post on December 31, 2012 ... and what a powerful post it was. I suggested she write another guest post to close out 2014 since I knew I wouldn't be writing one myself. She quickly suggested we write a post together, and I quickly replied that she should write alone. That night sleep eluded me as I thought about her words, her suggestion that we write a joint post, her thoughts for possible topics, her not-so-subtle attempt to get me to write again. But even more ... so much more ... I thought about the impact her words have had upon so many of you. I read back through countless emails I've received asking that she guest post more often, telling me of the difference her words and her insight have made in the lives of so many of you. And that's when I knew ... that's when I knew I had to try again ... for you ... for her ... maybe even for me. So settle in and read for a while … though I’m not at all sure about my own words, I am certain beyond any doubt that the words of my friend are well worth reading.


Writing isn't the only thing I've abandoned over the last couple of months ... perhaps the most telling, the most frightening, the most significant of all the things I've abandoned have been my nightly walks with my wiener dog Ollie. As is so often true when the darkness of depression envelops me, I only saw my own sadness and felt my own loss ... I didn't even consider what Ollie was feeling or what he needed. Until my sweet little wiener dog did something he's never ever done before ... until he let me know in no uncertain terms that not going for a walk each evening was absolutely, completely and totally unacceptable in wiener dog land. It was a Friday evening and upon arriving home from work, I flipped on the light in my bedroom to let Ollie out of his kennel. I stood in silence as I looked around my room ... there were feathers everywhere ... feathers on the carpet, feathers on the bed, feathers on the furniture, feathers on the clothes I had tossed on the floor, feathers on the ceiling ... there were feathers everywhere. As I stood there wondering if a flock of chickens had somehow made their way into my room and subsequently exploded, Ollie started barking ... and with each "Mom, you're home ... let me out!!" bark he barked, more and more feathers flew out of his kennel. As I peered at my tail-wagging, feather-covered little hound, I realized what had happened ... Ollie had completely shredded the oversize feather pillow that had been his bed for more than a year. I've been unable to get Ollie's pillow-shredding feather tantrum out of my mind, but only partly because I'm still finding feathers even though I've vacuumed a gazillion times. I can't get the feather episode out of my mind because I can't get the meaning of it ... the deep and powerful meaning of it … out of my heart.

When Terrie first told me about Ollie and the feather incident, the first thing that came to mind is Terrie’s video, “Ears Wide Open?” But because little Ollie can’t talk, this was more of an “Eyes Wide Open” moment. And maybe even an “Eyes and Heart Wide Open” moment. Terrie talks about while in a depressed state, it’s hard to see anything beyond her own sadness. I think that Terrie isn’t alone in this. When many of us go through difficult or troubling times, it’s hard for any of us to see what others are going through. Actually, sometimes it doesn’t even take a difficult or troubling time, there are just times that we’re more focused on ourselves than others.  

It’s hard to admit, but I’ve often been surprised to learn about others’ struggles, as I bet we all have. I’m guilty of interacting with people who I think have it all – thinking that maybe they aren’t dealing with as much, they aren’t as stressed, they don’t have to worry about things to the degree others might. Then, with ears, eyes and heart open, we learn more about others. We learn they are dealing with a lot of worry. It could be that their son has health problems, their aging mom needs daily assistance which is taxing the family, their job isn’t what they hoped, their spouse or partner isn’t being supportive, they found a lump, their partner is out of work, they lost a friend due to a disagreement and so on and so on and so on.

Personally, when I learn of these things, I’m maybe a little embarrassed. Embarrassed that I first thought that they had it all. That they didn’t have things to worry about. Embarrassed that I didn’t take more time to get to know them, to talk, to listen. And then it comes down to, for me anyway – exercising real empathy. Real understanding that everyone has stuff they are dealing with. Because that is a fact:

Everyone has stuff.

I think maybe it’s true that all things happen for a reason, that perhaps there are no coincidences in life. My endeavor to remove the feathers from my physical dwelling place has caused me to think an awful lot about the feathers that reside inside of me … feathers of shame and doubt and guilt and sadness and despair and loneliness and fear and isolation. Just as it seems I will never be able to rid my room of all the feathers left behind by Ollie’s shredding event, it so often seems I will never be able to rid my mind, my heart and my soul of all the feathers left behind from the times when events or words or circumstances tried so desperately to shred my sense of self-worth or belonging or inner peace. My first reaction when I walked into my room that evening and saw the massive feather chaos was anger … my first thought was “This is going to take forever to clean up … this is going to be an impossible task.” I didn’t see the humor in what Ollie had done … I didn’t see the opportunity for some much-needed deep cleaning in my room … I didn’t see that Ollie was trying to help get me back to the trail. When I walked into my room that evening, I only saw chaos … I only saw lots and lots of hard work ahead … I only saw what seemed to me an impossible obstacle to overcome.

Impossible? Or simply the next big challenge in life? Hard work, indeed, but the question is, is it worth it? Is it worth it to feel better, to grow, to become the person you want to be? It is tough, really tough. But worth it for sure. As we face 2015, I’ve been thinking about that impossible task for me. Or maybe it’s a couple of impossible tasks. It’s different for all of us. It could be that yours is to run a marathon, to de-clutter (yikes, that seems impossible for me!), to spend less time thinking about work and more time thinking about how to raise the most incredible little humans. Is it to overcome a fear of public speaking? To lead without reservations? To be confident in decisions that affect your family? Or decisions that affect your work family? To stand up to someone who hasn’t been supportive? To finally speak your mind, even if you know you might lose some support or even friends.

My goal is to think about the impossible task for 2015 – and see if I can make it more possible through a different focus, a different approach, a different point of view. How would my best friend approach it? My dad? My daughter? I can guarantee those would be three very different approaches. What is your impossible? And how can you reframe the situation?

Here’s the thing about feathers … they don’t float through the air or move around unless something or someone disturbs them. It’s when the wind blows and the air starts churning around me … it’s when everything presses in on top of me and screams at me to give up … that’s when feathers fly and that’s when feathers get ruffled. And when all those feathers escape from their cozy, comfortable resting place and start flying around all willy-nilly … well … that’s when I am forced to acknowledge that I’ve got a serious feather problem that’s going to require some serious hard work to fix. I’ve learned that when I’m still … when I’m quiet … when I focus on removing one feather at a time and don’t allow myself to become overwhelmed or intimidated by the enormity of the task before me, that’s when I make the most headway. Healing is the same way, you know … healing of my mind … healing of my heart … healing of my soul takes stillness, quiet, time, patience, determination, courage and strength. Healing takes focusing on one feather at a time … healing takes understanding that feathers can be used for good, for growth, for grace.

I love the thought of one feather at a time. What can I do today to make a difference? To start to make that change? What a perfect time to reflect – the beginning of a new year. What will I do differently this year? What will be my goal for the year? What is my impossible task? And where do I want to be on December 31, 2015? If I have a year to get there, what will I do each month? Each week? Every day? How will 2015 be for me? Or better yet, how will I be in 2015? I get to choose. Sure I’ll have feathers to get through throughout the year, but I choose how I am, how I react, how I grow in 2015. I choose to conquer my impossible. 

A few days after I was absolutely sure I had finally found and removed all of the feathers from my room, I discovered how very wrong I was … feathers are still showing up even now in places I would have never expected feathers to be. It would be easy, you know, to just give up and resign myself to the fact that I will never be able to clean up all the feathers. It would be easy to throw in the towel and acknowledge that I will never again have a room without feathers … to stop trying to remove the feathers that continue to appear … to say it’s too difficult, too time-consuming, too humbling, too impossible to ever have a feather-free room. The truth is I really may not be able to completely rid my room or my heart, mind and soul of every single feather … but if I stop trying … if I give up … I let the feathers win. If I allow the feathers to totally invade my heart … if I allow them to completely consume my mind … if I allow them to blatantly overtake my soul ... then I’ve let the feathers do so much more than win. I’ve let them trample my will to go on … I’ve let them crush my desire to keep fighting … I’ve let them suffocate who I am, who I really, really am … I’ve let them bury the real me.

They say that with meditation, the answers come in the silence. If one can spend time ridding the mind of all of the clutter, answers will come, the answers that are right for me, will come. The feathers flutter away and the truth arrives.

Now for me, this is one of my impossible tasks. Meditation. Calming the mind. Allowing the real thoughts to develop and be brought to the surface. To choose the feathers I want, to be reminded by some of those feathers about what is important in life, and to get rid of the feathers that are bringing me down, not allowing me to be the best version of me.

I read recently that it would be a good thing to choose a word for the new year. I have but a few more hours to decide on the word, but for now, for me, my 2015 word is CHOICE. I make the choices to guide my 2015. To achieve what I hope to achieve by making the choices to be who I want to be. I will choose to take time to meditate. I choose how to face the day. I choose which feathers I pay attention to, and which feathers to discard. I choose to take the time for empathy. For listening. For making a difference. I will choose to put down the technology and engage with those I care about. I will also choose this for my teenagers who might not make this choice!

Choosing the gift of time, and more specifically, meditation, will allow me to more clearly focus on those I love. Choosing to take the time to meditate, and not choosing to sleep for 15 more minutes, will allow me to choose the feathers I want, and rid my mind of the ones I don’t. And you can bet there will be some days that I will certainly choose to sleep in.

What will be your word for 2015? Is it patience? Is it persistence? Is it love? Is it to keep on keeping on (this qualifies for one word in my book)? My word may change throughout the year, but for now, my word is choice. I’m choosing to make 2015 spectacular.

There’s a difference in my response to the feathers in my room now as compared to when they first overtook my place of refuge and retreat. When a feather suddenly and unexpectedly makes an appearance now, I smile. Every time I pluck yet another feather from my bed or my clothes or my furniture or my floor, I see my little Ollie … tail wagging, feathers flying … trying so very hard to remind me of what matters most. I see him reminding me not to quit when life gets hard, not to give up during the shredding, not to stop believing in myself. I see my feathered-covered little wiener dog begging me to remember I can choose … I can choose to love … I can choose to laugh …I can choose to live. Even when the feathers are flying, friends … even when it seems as if the feathers will never stop flying … I can choose.

True Colors

Every now and again, I go online and peruse the articles in my old hometown newspaper, The Chattanooga Times Free Press. Even though I haven't lived there for more than 25 years, somehow reading the stories makes me feel like I still have a connection to what's happening back home. Some of the articles spark memories within my mind of events and places and people from my youth ... memories that are often so vivid, it's almost as if I'm being transported back in time to experience them once again. Like the other day when I read a story about a gate failure on one of the locks at the Chickamauga Dam that has caused a significant disruption to the flow of both commercial and recreational traffic on the Tennessee River. I learned some things about the dam and the lock system as I read ... I had no idea they were 75 years old and in need of some serious repair work. I learned that a proposed new fuel tax to fund the repairs has been quite the political issue in Chattanooga over the past few years.

The moment I clicked on the title to read the story, my mind flew back to all those Sunday afternoons when Daddy would take me to the dam to watch the boats go through the locks ... all those Sunday afternoons when he would patiently answer my repeated questions and quietly explain to me over and over again how the lock system worked. To this day, I can't tell you why I was so fascinated by the process of the boats and barges making their way into the channel, the giant gates closing behind them, the water rising or lowering to allow them safe passage to the other side ... but I can tell you this, it was completely and totally mesmerizing to me and it was one of my favorite things to do when I was a kid. 

My dad was a great storyteller ... the best of all time, in my opinion ... and as we watched the vessels in the locks, he would tell me tales of pirates and ships on the open seas. No one could paint a word picture like Daddy ... I could almost smell the sweat of the sailors and hear the roar of the waves as he spoke. In my mind's eye, I could see the great and mighty ships as they made their way from port to port and country to country. I could picture the pirates with their eye patches and wooden legs and the merchant traders with their fancy clothing and golden treasures. It was in the telling of those stories that I first learned what the phrase "showing your true colors" means ... the phrase was originally a maritime reference that over time made its way into general everyday language.

Back in the days of wooden ships and galleons, flags of color were used to identify a ship's nationality and to signal other ships of its intentions. Flags would have different colors, shapes and designs which conveyed different meanings and were used to aid in communication with other vessels at sea. The original purpose for the flags was meant for good ... an outward and visible system that presumed and expected a certain code of honor and integrity among those who sailed the ships. It didn't take long, however, for humans to do what too often seems to be indicative of their nature and develop a way to ... well ... a way to be less than honest with each other. The captains and crews of the ships learned quickly how to pretend ... how to deceive ... how to pillage and steal ... how to inflict the most possible harm. As sad as that truth is, what is even sadder to me is that it was after the battle had begun ... when things got tough and hard and mean and nasty ... that's when the crew would replace the false flag with the true one. Yep, in the heat of battle ... that's when the ship's true colors were shown.

I'm sure by now you're wondering why in the heck I'm writing about dams and locks and ships and flags ... I probably would be too if I were you. So here's the thing ... the really hard thing I've experienced firsthand over the last week or so ... things haven't really changed all that much since the days of those giant wooden ships, at least not when it comes to people hiding their true colors anyway. Even though I would give my life for it to be different, not everyone plays by the rules ... not everyone is honest ... not everyone is trustworthy ... not everyone is loyal ... not everyone has a sense of honor and integrity ... not everyone is kind. Even though I would give my life to make it not be so, there are people who are just not nice ... people who ... nope, I'm not going there ... suffice it to say there are some people who are just not nice at all.

It's often said that a person's true colors come out during times of stress or pressure or when the battle is raging, but I like to hope that my colors are always true no matter what the circumstances of my life may be. I hope when my life is complete, people will be able to say they saw my true colors in good times and bad ... I hope they can say I flew my true colors at all times. I hope with all my heart that those who know me best, that those who love me most, will be able to say they saw my true colors flying high in every moment I live. I pray that my true colors are those of kindness ... those of compassion ... those of honor and integrity ... those of trustworthiness ... those of openness, honesty, realness and transparency. 

Sorry for such a lengthy post this evening ... I'm taking a break from blogging for a time, so maybe that will make my wordiness tonight seem not quite so bad. In keeping with my sailing theme this evening ... I've had the wind knocked out of my sails this week, and it's time to abandon ship for a bit. It's time to step away and lick my wounds ... time to step away and think ... time to step away and make some very difficult decisions. Even though this post is long, I want to close with some song lyrics ... bet you can't guess which song, eh? Until later, friends, please, please, please take care of each other ... be kind to each other ... talk to each other ... listen to each other ... wipe each other's tears ... delight in each other's laughter ... love each other. May those be your true colors, my dear, dear friends ... and may you always fly them high.


"True Colors" by Cyndi Lauper

You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

An Unexpected Guest

Over the weekend, I tackled the daunting task of reading emails and I must say I'm pretty proud of myself ... I read a TON of emails ... a TON. I learned a while back to always bring along some tissues when I plan to spend a significant amount of time attempting to make a dent in reading the multitude of messages I receive, because I know that tears are inevitable. Every now and again, after obtaining permission from the writers,  I share some of the notes I receive in my posts. I knew as soon as I read Sarah's message that I wanted to share her words with all of you with the hope that you will in turn share them with others. When I replied to Sarah with my request to share her message as a guest blog, she asked, "Do you think it will help someone?" I believe with all my heart that your words will help many, many someones, Sarah ... far more someones than you or I will ever know. Grab some tissues, friends ... you'll need them.

"Dear Terrie,

My name is Sarah ---------. I'm not one to comment on blogs or write to people like you but ever since I saw your video for the suicide hotline I keep thinking I need to tell you my story so you will keep telling yours. I stumbled on your video by accident late one night last week and I haven't been able to stop thinking I need to write you. 

Ellie and I were friends for over twenty years, we both worked as nurses at the same hospital and we went to the same church. My husband Jim and I kind of adopted Ellie since she didn't have any family nearby. She was twelve years older than me but nobody ever knew because she had such a youthful heart and spirit about her. Sometimes Jim would tease her about being Mother Hubbard because she had such a way with young people, all the children and even the teenagers loved Ellie. I rarely got to sit with Ellie in church because the high school youth group always begged her to sit with them on Sunday morning. Ellie had an easy laugh, a quick wit, and a big heart. I used to call her duck tape because of the way people would get stuck on her. 

I guess I always knew Ellie was gay even though she didn't tell me until five years ago. There was nothing feminine about her, short hair and I don't ever remember seeing her wear a dress not even to her mother's funeral. Even though we talked about everything and were best friends I never talked to her about her sexuality because it didn't matter to me one way or the other and I figured if she wanted me to know she would tell me. I remember getting so mad when the women at church would speculate if she was gay. I would get mad but I didn't say anything because I didn't want them to talk bad about me for being Ellie's friend. I was happy when Ellie did come out of the closet because I thought it would solve the problem with the church women but it didn't.

After Ellie said she was gay a lot of her friends disowned her even though her family loved her like always. I worried alot about her that first couple of years because she got depressed and had to put up with a lot of hate and unkind things being said to her and leaving the church. She got through all that bad time though because she was a fighter and was the strongest person I knew. She had some rough times after that of course but I thought she was finally coming into her own self and she seemed happy enough. She always talked about wanting to go on a gay cruise but that she wasn't brave enough to go alone. Like I said Ellie was part of our family and so Jim and I decided to give her a cruise for Christmas last year and that I would go with her. We went in May and I had lots of fun getting her dates with women on the cruise and seeing her get to have the freedom of being herself without anyone judgeing her.

On August 14th Ellie went home after eating dinner at our house for her 59th birthday and killed herself with an overdose of sleeping pills. Everyone keeps telling me its only been two months but I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for not seeing that she wasn't ok. I ask myself everyday why I didn't pay more attention to the little things she said and why I didn't ask more questions about how she was doing. I'll never know why she killed herself that night and I replay our last goodbye over and over. We always hugged and said I love you when we said goodbye just like I do with my husband, parents, sons, and sisters. Ellie hugged me longer than usual that night when I said I love you. 

After I found your video I found your blog and have been reading it everyday. You have a special gift in your writing Terrie and I hope you keep doing what you're doing because I know you're helping people. I wish Ellie could have read your blog and seen your video. I know you get lots of messages so you may never read this but if you do I want to say thank you. I'm trying to make sense of Ellie's death and know what to do and I know it may sound strange but I think finding your video and blog are connected somehow to my healing process and helping others who are left behind after suicide.

God bless you Terrie and thank you.

Sarah"

May God bless you, dear Sarah ... may He bless you and comfort you and keep you safe. Thank you for being brave enough to share your story ... you've helped many, many people tonight ... many, many, many people, my sweet friend.

  

The Grouchy-less Camel

The circus ... boy, did I love going to the circus when I was a kid. It's a toss-up as to who was more excited when the circus came to town each year, me or Daddy. He would always stand in line to buy our tickets ahead of time at the Memorial Auditorium box office so that we would get good seats. I know it's hard for you young folks to believe, but there was no such thing as Ticketmaster back then ... you had to physically go to the place where an event was scheduled to be held to buy tickets. Daddy would never admit that he enjoyed going to the circus as much as I did, but I can distinctly remember the extra-special twinkle in his eye when he would come home with the tickets emblazoned with the Ringling Brothers and Barnum & Bailey Circus logo and their famous tag line "The Greatest Show on Earth." He would flash the tickets in front of my eyes and say, "How about me and you go to the circus, Sam?" and I would squeal with excitement. It would be years later before I came to understand that it wasn't Daddy's love for the animals or the clowns or the trapeze artists that caused him to spend his hard-earned money on circus tickets for the two of us ... it was his overwhelming love for me.

I recall on one of our adventures to the circus, Daddy somehow managed to wrangle us a special behind-the-scenes visit, and oh my gosh, was I ever over-the-top excited. I talked about nothing else for two weeks prior to the circus, peppering Daddy with question after question after question about what we would get to see. I was especially focused on the animals, two species in particular ... the elephants and the monkeys. When Daddy told me our backstage tour included a ride on an elephant and a chance to hold a monkey and have my picture taken, I was most certainly the happiest kid on the planet ... until the day arrived and we were actually there. My excitement was immediately replaced with terror ... elephants are really, really, really big and monkeys pull little kids' hair and make them cry. No, really, seriously, totally true story ... I learned quickly that day that elephants are bigger than the biggest skyscrapers and monkeys have a very real fetish for hair-pulling. What began as my dream adventure that day dissolved into me alternating between hiding behind Daddy's legs and clawing my way up into his arms. I wouldn't even look at the animals, and I refuse to talk about what happened when the clowns tried to talk to me ... just trust me when I say that it wasn't at all pretty, and Daddy certainly never took me backstage at the circus again.

Last night, I went to a party ... nope, you didn't misread that statement ... last night, I went to a party. An extremely kind and generous person (who attended the event a couple of weeks ago when I spoke alongside my good friend Nate Phelps) had an extra place at her table and invited me to attend. The theme for the event was Midnight at the Oasis ... black tie creative attire, five-course dinner and a plethora of entertainers who transformed the event space into an oasis any sultan would be proud to call his or her own. Seriously ... there was a snake charmer, a henna tattoo artist, a magician, a fire eater who walked on pieces of glass, belly dancers and ... wait for it ... a real live camel. I'm not kidding ... there was a real live beer-drinking, kiss-stealing, tail-wagging camel at the party. Daddy would have been so overwhelming proud of me because not only did I pet the camel's furry neck, I had my picture taken with the snake charmer dude while he had two freaking gigantic snakes draped across his shoulders.

Now here's the thing ... I had a cruddy few days last week, as you know if you read my previous post. Add my lousy mood to my nervousness about going to the party last night, and you get one really grouchy Terrie. I was so grouchy, in fact, that I snapped at one of my close friends, and anyone who knows me well knows that it's really rare for me to pop off like that at anyone and certainly not at one of dearest friends. Thank God my friend is a loving, caring and forgiving person who immediately accepted my apology with her ever-present style of patience and grace ... followed by a text message a little later that said, "Have fun, relax and be yourself. When you're not grouchy, you're very fun to be around." That's a truly good friend, you know ... one who is quick to forgive me when I behave like a jerk and equally as quick to let me know that grouchiness doesn't look so good on me. And she's right ... she's always right.

I've thought a ton today about the camel from the party ... about how majestic and calm she was, and about how much it made me smile as I watched her drinking beer from someone's glass. I realized something as I was walking with Ollie this evening ... the camel was nice to every single person who approached her, no anxiety, no aggressive behavior, no grouchiness at all. All that camel had to do last night was be kind to everyone she met and lighten their spirits ... well, that and be photographed about a bazillion times. I watched as person after person rubbed the camel's neck and had their picture taken with the camel who loved every single one of them just the same. Actually, she seemed to love the people most who had a glass of beer that they were willing to share. I had a great time at the party, by the way ... the people welcomed me with open arms and open hearts, and I loved hearing their stories about their own journeys.

So here's to generous people who share of their money, their talent and their time ... to honest friends who forgive quickly but don't let me off the hook ... to the healing power of love and laughter ... and to camel fur ... here's to grouchy-less camels and their soft golden fur.

  

I Just Can't Do It Today

Ever have one of those days when the minute you wake up your first thought is, "I just can't do it today"? The "it" in that thought isn't one particular "it," by the way ... it's all the "its" that make life ... well ... life. I'm abundantly thankful that I don't have nearly as many of those days as I used to ... those "I just can't do it today," days ... days when it takes every ounce of strength I can muster to find the want and the will to make it through the day ... days when it would be so much easier to let the beast win ... days when I feel completely invisible and insignificant ... days when that invisibility and insignificance, whether real or imagined, threatens to consume me. While it's frustrating beyond belief that I still have those days from time to time, I'm so very, very, very grateful they aren't every day anymore ... seriously, abundantly, overwhelmingly grateful.

As much as I hate to admit it, today has been one of those days ... all freaking day long ... from the moment I woke up, it's been a "I just can't do it today" day. I spent my workday hiding out in my cube, headphones on, hunkered down at my desk. When I did have to venture out of my safe spot to return work to the project managers, I took the back stairs, kept my head down while I handed them the job jackets and got back to my chair as quickly as I could. I hate these kinds of days, you know ... these days when the tears stand ready to burst forth at any moment ... these days when everything in me screams that I don't belong ... these days when believing there is anything worthy or good or right in me is seemingly impossible ... these days when my mind aches from the incessant beat of hurt and despair. 

I knew I needed to go for a long, silent walk this evening ... I told myself all day that I needed a slow, meandering, completely alone with my dog, thinking walk this evening. When I'm having an "I just can't do it today" day and I don't want to see or talk to anyone, I walk my sidewalk route rather than my trail route. On my sidewalk route, I walk up the sidewalk to the back parking lot of the high school, cross the lot and walk along the drive that leads to a main road, cross the road and walk around behind the parking garage of a large company and eventually end up back on the sidewalk that leads me home. The only people I generally encounter on my sidewalk route are occasional students from the school, and it's rare that the kids ever even notice or acknowledge my presence. My sidewalk route usually provides quite the solitary path for my evening walk, perfect for nights like tonight when I needed to do nothing more than walk and think, and think and walk.

It's not unusual for me to contemplate what I'll write about in my posts while I'm out walking ... in fact, some of my best thoughts come to me while Ollie and I are taking our nightly strolls. But tonight, even though I tried desperately to stumble upon some semblance of brilliance to share with you, there was only one thought that returned again and again and again ... "Open. Honest. Real. Transparent." If you've been reading along with me for a while, those words are familiar ones to you ... those words are the foundation of the commitment I made to myself for the writing of this blog, and those words are the defining truths of the person I most desire to be. Open. Honest. Real. Transparent. And to be truly open, honest, real and transparent means writing from my heart ... even when my heart is having one of those "I just can't do it today" days. 

Now that I think about it ... maybe those are the days when being open, honest, real and transparent in what I write is most important of all ... those "I just can't do it today" days ... those days when I feel hopeless, friendless, meaningless, worthless, loveless. Want to know why I think that? Because there are millions of people who feel exactly the same way ... people who need to know they aren't alone in the fight.

Remember that the "I just can't do it today" days won't last forever. So limp if you have to ... crawl if you must ... drag yourself if you need to ... but don't ever quit, friends ... don't you ever, ever, ever quit. 

Watch Out for the Buzz

Some of my best childhood memories revolve around times I spent helping my dad tend to his much-loved vegetable garden. Whether we were tilling or weeding or staking tomato plants or picking the various veggies, Daddy had a way of always making the work seem more like fun than work. I remember how he would whistle and sing, and I'll never forget the stories he told ... he was the best storyteller ever. Yep, I loved, loved, loved being in the garden with Daddy until one fateful day when I was 12 years old ... the day when something happened that left an indelible scar on both of us ... the day when the hurt and pain that occurred forever changed the way we felt about picking okra ... that day ... that fateful day when a gigantic wasp flew out of one of the okra blooms and stung me.

Now I'm sure you're wondering how in the world something as minor as a wasp sting could have such a powerful and lasting impact on Daddy and me, and under normal wasp stinging conditions I would understand your questioning of the validity of my claims. But that day was far, far, far from any normal wasp stinging day ... that day, the wasp stung me on the ... well ... the wasp stung me right on the ... ummm ... the wasp stung me right smack dab on the ... well ... right on the end of my breast. You know ... right on the part of my breast that rhymes with the word ripple. And yes, it hurt like nothing had ever hurt in my entire life. And to add overwhelming embarrassment to injury, Mom wasn't home so it was Daddy who had to ... well ... it was Daddy who had to remove the stinger. I'm fairly certain that was the most awkward and embarrassing moment I ever experienced with my dad ... sheesh, my poor dear old Daddy. The things parents do for their children ... sheesh, sheesh, sheesh.

Bet you can never guess what happened to me this past Sunday while I was mowing the yard ... yep, I got stung by a wasp. I'm sure my neighbors thought I really had gone off the deep end from the way I yelped just before I took off running and screaming into my house. And nope, I didn't get stung on my boob this time ... this time, the devilish little creature stung me on the front of my neck, and I think it may have hurt even more than getting stung on the word that rhymes with ripple all those years ago. And of course I have a super fancy event to attend on Friday evening ... of course I do now that I have what looks to be a cross between a hickey and a giant zit on the front of my neck. Seriously awesome, eh? Please allow me to answer that ... ummm ... not freaking hardly awesome in any way, shape, form or fashion.

So here's the thing ... I know I'm probably supposed to find deep hidden meaning or significance to getting stung by the wasp on Sunday, but I've got nothing. Nothing except a sore neck and more than a dollop of embarrassment. Oh wait a sec ... I get it ... my most recent encounter with a wasp is to teach me not to be vain or conceited about my outward appearance, but rather to have an ever-present spirit of humility and to understand that true beauty comes from within. Nope ... not working tonight ... I've got a wasp sting the size of a major metropolitan city right in the middle of my neck and it makes me nauseous when I look in the mirror. Maybe when it's all healed, I'll get the deeply meaningful lesson of the sting, but for now ... for now, I need an ice pack, some anti-itch cream and a good night's sleep.

Watch out for the buzz, friends ... 

Arthur Harold

There were times when my son Matt was young when I seriously wondered if he would ever outgrow his over-the-top, all-consuming, bordering on needing to see a child head doctor obsession with Christmas. I know he was my first kid, which meant I had nothing to compare my son's completely weirded-out year-round Christmas infatuation, but come on ... he plugged and unplugged Christmas candles at my mom's house while he danced around them singing Silent Night. That's enough to send any new parent straight to "there's something seriously wrong with my kid" land for sure. And if you add in my dear Mr. Mattie wearing a makeshift Santa outfit complete with black boots, furry white beard made of cotton balls and red stocking cap all summer long when we lived in South Florida ... and ... if you add in his insistence that his stuffed animals were really reindeer in disguise ... and ... if you add in him listening to Christmas carols on his Fisher Price tape recorder every single day for months on end ... well ... suffice it to say I'm still surprised that he grew up to become a professor instead of a toymaker.

Before my granddaughter C.J. was born, I purchased two Hallmark recordable story books for her ... you know, the ones where you record yourself reading the book. Over the years, Matt's obsession for all things Christmas was replaced by an even more extensive and consuming infatuation for all things Charlie Brown and the Peanuts gang ... yep, he really is a Ph.D. professor now, believe it or not. But back to the recordable books for C.J. ... one of the two I bought and subsequently recorded was "A Charlie Brown Christmas," per Dr. Mattie's request, of course. And guess who listens to her Ghee reading "A Charlie Brown Christmas" every day year-round? Yep, little Boo is most definitely her father's daughter ... she flipping loves that book. I like to believe it's my voice reading the story that keeps her coming back day in and day out to the Charlie Brown gang ... okay ... maybe it's the combination of hearing my voice and being genius enough to combine her dad's love for Christmas and his love for Charlie Brown into one nice neat package. 

A couple of weeks before I went to visit them in Canada, Becca sent me a video clip of C.J. singing ... yep, a Christmas carol. Since Matt no longer listens to Christmas music year-round, he and Becca couldn't figure out where in the world C.J. could have heard the song. It wasn't until she was listening to "A Charlie Brown Christmas" for the millionth time that they put it all together. At the end of the book, the Peanuts gang gathers and sings the first verse of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," and that's where my super intelligent genius granddaughter learned the words to the song ... well ... her version of the words anyway. I cracked up the first time I heard her singing at the top of her lungs ... "Arthur Harold angels sing ..." oh, yes, you can bet I laughed until I cried at her rendition of the old carol. For the rest of my life, I will never again hear that Christmas song without thinking about Arthur and Harold and my adorable granddaughter.

As I mentioned in my previous post, my volume of hate mail has had a huge upswing over the last few days because of what I wrote in the post "Ears to Hear." Though I try really, really, really hard not to let the mean people get to me, I don't always succeed in that endeavor. And before you write in to tell me not to read the hateful and mean messages, I never know they are hateful and mean until I'm already reading them. I've written previously about how there's no way I can ever read all the emails I receive, but I try to read as many as I can. I choose the ones I read at random ... I just click and open and read. I don't have a system or a formula or some kind of high-tech software that chooses for me. It's a completely random process ... just click and open and read. Many of the ones I read are positive, encouraging and supportive while others ... geez ... others are just plain old downright mean, and their intent is to kick me down and hurt me. And quite honestly, some of the things people say to me ... well, I'd never in a gazillion years say them to another human being. Heck, some of those things people say to me I wouldn't say to a bug, much less to a person.

After reading some particularly vicious messages last night, I made a decision ... a decision that is already helping to soothe and comfort that big old kick in the gut that comes from the hate and negativity. I decided that each time I open an email or a private message on Facebook that is not nice, I'm going to sing "Arthur Harold" at the top of my lungs. Yep, that's right ... whenever I open a message that's filled with hate, I'm breaking out the Arthur and the Harold and I'm going to sing my heart out. You see, here's the thing ... when I sing the C.J. version of the song, it reminds me of precious granddaughter. It reminds me that she and her sister will love me ... no matter what ... for the rest of my life. They don't give a rat's rear end about anything other than I'm their Ghee and I love them with all my heart. And when they are old enough to care, they will still not give a rat's rear end about anything other than I'm their Ghee and I love them with all my heart. They really are geniuses, you know, and all the rest of us could learn a whole hell of a lot from them ... you bet your rat's rear end we could ... you bet your rat's rear end we could indeed.

"Arthur Harold angels sing ..."

Knotted Panties

It took only minutes after arriving at Matt and Becca's house in Canada a few weeks ago for me to realize that I had forgotten one of the first rules of talking with a toddler ... they are sponges and will repeat every single word they hear. See here's the thing ... the word crap doesn't sound nearly as bad when I say it as it does when a 2-year-old darling little girl says it. Yep, that's right, I hadn't been there an hour before I said, "Oh, crap, Boo, I dropped my camera!" when it slipped out of my hand and landed on the ground while we were out for a walk. And yep, I was completely and totally mortified when my sweet and innocent little C.J. immediately sat down and pulled off her shoe, threw it on the ground and loudly exclaimed, "Oh, crap, Ghee, I drop my shoe!" As hard as I tried not to laugh ... no, really, I tried super hard not to laugh ... I couldn't help myself ... she was just so stinking cute in her attempt to imitate me. Her cuteness soon turned into sheer panic for me as she said, "Oh, crap, Ghee!" at least a million times as we walked ... okay, maybe she only said it like five times but it felt like a million as I tried to explain that Ghee shouldn't have said that word and neither should Boo. Geez ... I'm so glad I didn't say a different word ... ummm ... not that I ever would mind you, but dropping a camera ... I mean ... not that I ever would say a different word that contains four letters. Sponges, I tell you ... they are sponges ... 'nuff said.

A couple of days ago I wrote a post titled "Ears to Hear" ... a post about the emotions and feelings I had as we filmed Nate Phelps and his brother Mark chatting in front of Westboro Baptist Church. Read that sentence again ... the post was about my own emotions and feelings as I saw Westboro up close and personal for the first time. The post wasn't about being gay or about promoting gay rights or espousing the gay lifestyle. The post wasn't about returning hate for hate. The post wasn't about the Bible or God or anything spiritual for that matter. Again ... the post was about my own emotions and feelings as I saw and felt Westboro up close and personal for the first time. The post was about the horrible, devastating, life-altering effects of child abuse and vitriolic hate. The post was about the strength and courage of Nate and Mark Phelps and how far they have come. The post was about loving ... the post was about listening ... the post was about living.

For reasons I will never understand, that post has stirred up some controversy. I'm not saying controversy is a bad thing ... for me, controversy often forces me to search my own heart as I seek to discover the truth. What bugs me about this particular round of controversy is that it really has nothing to do with what I wrote ... really ... seriously ... nothing to do with the words I wrote. Whether it's the public comments on the post itself or the emails and private messages I've received, I can't for the life of me figure out how or why what I wrote in "Ears to Hear" ended up becoming the basis for yet another round of not very nice commentary concerning my relationship with God and my sexuality. Nope ... I just don't understand that one at all, and I've been trying for the last two days to convince myself not to respond at all. I do that way more than any of you know, by the way ... keep quiet and not respond, that is ... way, way, way more than you will ever, ever know. Obviously, since I'm writing this post, I have failed in my attempt to remain silent this time around ... oh well, it's not the first time, nor will it be the last time, I've been deemed a failure. Again, I say ... oh well. Get ready, cause here it comes ...

To those who hurl Bible verses as if launching a burning arrow with the intent to set me ablaze ... verses which more often than not are taken completely out of context, I might add ... you need to do some more reading. There are a multitude of verses that talk about love and compassion and kindness ... a gigantically hugely staggering multitude of verses that command us to love God and one another ... verses that instruct us to show compassion to every single person we encounter on the journey of life ... verses that dictate that we be kind to our fellow man. There are far, far, far more verses concerning our need to support one another, encourage one another, lift one another up and carry one another's burdens than there are about homosexuality. Before you shoot those verses at me or anyone else, you need to do some more reading, friends ... you need to do a heck of a lot more reading before you get your panties all tied up in the big old gigantic knot of judgment and condemnation. I'll do you one better ... some of you need to be much, much, much more concerned about the knotted, twisted panties of your hearts than you do about my relationship with God or my sexuality. 

Now I'm sure you're wondering what in the world all of this has to do with my sweet little granddaughter being a sponge for everything she sees and hears, so please allow me to explain ...

Children aren't the only ones who soak in what they hear ... they aren't the only ones who try to emulate what they hear ... they aren't the only ones who end up getting punished because they repeated what they heard someone else say. Go ahead ... think about it ... think long and hard about it before you attack, before you spew hate, before you condemn, before you try to use God's Word as a weapon. Why? Because there are sponges all around you every single day of your life ... sponges young and old who are listening to everything you say. 

"Love is very patient and kind, never jealous or envious, never boastful or proud, never haughty or selfish or rude. Love does not demand its own way. It is not irritable or touchy. It does not hold grudges and will hardly even notice when others do it wrong. It is never glad about injustice, but rejoices whenever truth wins out. If you love someone, you will be loyal no matter what the cost. You will always believe in him (or her), always expect the best of him (or her), and always stand your ground in defending him (or her). There are three things that remain - faith, hope and love - and the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7, 13.

Those words are from the Bible, you know ... the very same Bible so many choose to use as a weapon against those whom they judge and condemn. No offense, but I think I prefer the Bible that comes from a place of love rather than hate ... I think I do indeed.

Oh, crap ... are you wearing knotted panties?

Ears to Hear

The ancient Greek philosopher Epictetus said, "We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak." That statement is simply ... well ... it's simply profound. Just think how much better the world would be if more people actually listened more than they speak. My guess is there would be far less hate and much more love if we would all give it a try ... listening more and speaking less, that is. Heck, I'd be willing to bet my last cent that if everyone would commit to trying it for only a month, the changes that would take place would be truly phenomenal.

For my Facebook status last Sunday, I wrote these words ... "Sometimes life really is stranger than fiction. Spending the afternoon with Nate Phelps and his brother Mark as we filmed in front of Westboro Baptist Church and the Equality House definitely qualifies as one of those times." If you would have told me I would have ever in a million years been standing on the street right in front of the place where Fred Phelps first began his campaign of hate, I would have told you that you were seriously in need of finding a life-saving head doctor of your very own. And, as Sunday afternoon proved, I would have owed you a giant apology because you would have been absolutely correct in your prediction.

I had been fretting and stewing and worrying all day about the effect that returning to Westboro could possibly have on Nate and his brother Mark. I was especially concerned for Mark ... it's been 40 years since he stood on that street ... 40 years since he saw the house he grew up in ... 40 years since he and Nate walked the steps they took on Sunday together. When I first met Mark, I was struck by the physical differences between the two brothers ... Nate is a giant of a man (at least to a tiny person like me), while Mark is more diminutive in stature. However, when it comes to the size of their hearts and the goodness contained within them, I'd say they are pretty evenly matched ... they are without question two of the bravest, most courageous, giving, loving, compassionate men I've ever known. I couldn't help but marvel at their strength as they turned and looked at the place where they suffered so much pain, the place where they were severely beaten and abused year after year after year.

For all my fretting and stewing and worrying about Nate and Mark, I never once thought about how being in such close proximity to Westboro for the first time might affect me personally. The moment I stepped out of the car, a feeling of terror swept through me like none I can ever remember ... my palms were sweating, my heart was pounding and my stomach was churning. The guys couldn't see or hear me because they were already moving down the street in step with the camera, but I was whispering, "Please keep us safe ... please keep us safe ... please keep us safe." I didn't need the reinforcement of the vile and shameful signs that were posted in various places to remind me of the vitriolic hatred that resides on the other side of the fence ... I could feel it oozing from the building and crawling across the lawn, its icy tentacles trying desperately to wrap themselves around my heart and soul.

As I willed my legs to walk, I realized it wasn't the sight of Westboro or the various signs scattered about the property that terrified me, it was the silence of Westboro that caused the terror to engulf me. It was the silence that sliced through my heart like a knife, the silence that often accompanies child abuse. I closed my eyes as I thought about Nate and Mark being hit over and over and over again with the mattock handle their father used to beat them. "Did they scream out in pain?" I wondered. "Did they beg for mercy? Did they plead for their lives or did they pray that death would take them?" My ears pounded with the sounds of hatred that Fred Phelps spewed forth from the pulpit of the church ... my heart ached with the thought of him beating and beating and beating his children.

The ancient Greek philosopher Epictetus said, "We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak." That statement is simply ... well ... it's simply profound, friends ... simply profound indeed.

Eyes to See

The last few days have been filled with non-stop activity, and I do mean non-stop ... in a good way, though, in a very good way. On Saturday, I was honored to speak for the first time with Nate Phelps, son of Fred Phelps who was the former pastor of the Westboro Baptist Church. We spoke at the Center for Spiritual Living for an event called God and Gays. Sunday, I stood in front of Westboro Baptist Church and Equality House in Topeka, Kansas, and watched as my son Brad and producer Jason filmed the incredibly powerful conversations that took place between Nate and his brother Mark as they shared stories of the abuse and terror that occurred within the walls of the "church" that was also their home. Yesterday began with a lengthy meeting with several producers from a television network about our documentary, followed by driving through torrential rain to reach an old abandoned church next to a cemetery where we spent several hours filming interviews with Mark and Nate. All three days were days I would never have imagined I would experience in my lifetime ... all three days gave all new meaning to the word surreal for me.

To try and relate all the poignant and touching moments of the last few days might well be impossible ... in fact, there were so many of those moments, I'm certain it will take my brain a while to process them. I fully intended to write about one of those moments in particular this evening, but ... but ... but ... I just spent the last three hours stretched out on my couch watching the Royals win game three of the ALCS in their seemingly unstoppable march toward the World Series. And now I'm way too tired to write about something so profound ... I'm struggling to keep my eyes open as I type. So tonight I'm going to bed, but I promise I'll write the post tomorrow I had intended to write tonight. But until then, I want to leave you with something you can ponder upon ... something you can mull over ... something you can chew on for a bit.

You can't see with your eyes closed, friends ... not even what's right in front of you.

Hello? Are You There?

It's hard for me to comprehend that so many folks not only read my posts but that so many of you take time from your busy lives to write and ask if I'm okay when I don't post for a few days. I'm truly humbled by your faithful readership and the depth of your concern for my well-being. Those of you who know me well know that quite often my lack of posting is a pretty good indicator that I'm ... fine ... and those of you who know me well know that fine means I'm really not fine at all. However, please let me assure you that's not the case this week ... concerning my lack of posting, that is. I'm speaking tomorrow for the first time with Nate Phelps, and I'm more nervous than I've ever been about speaking. 

If you're in the KC area, come on by if you'd like. Feel free to bring along some sugar-free Jello and Cool Whip or a jar of peanut butter just in case I need a wee bit of nourishment. It may be next week before I have the chance to post again as we're doing a lot of filming over the weekend for the documentary. In the meantime, take care of each other ... smile at each other ... hug each other ... be kind ... be kind ... be kind ... to each other.

Down the Hatch

For those of you who may be in doubt as to the truth of my granddaughter C.J.'s astounding level of intelligence (remember, she's only 2 1/2 years old), I'd like to offer up yet another example which validates my continued assertion that she is indeed a genius. When I visited Matt, Becca and C.J. last Christmas, my then not quite 2-year-old granddaughter became extremely interested in the pills I had to take each day along with the various pill boxes in which I kept them. She quickly associated my daily meds with the vitamin tablet she took each day and deemed my assortment of pills "Ghee's vitamins." Mind you it's been a full nine months since my visit last Christmas, but the first thing C.J. said when I placed my pill containers on the kitchen shelf was, "Ghee, those are your vitamins." The fact that she remembered that nine months later is amazing in and of itself, but it was what she announced to me a couple of days later that completely blew my mind.

Matt and Becca had already finished eating and left the table so it was just the two of us. Each time I opened up the compartment for my breakfast, lunch or dinner meds, C.J. would ask to see my vitamins. And then she counted how many were in the palm of my hand. And then at breakfast on my third day in Canada, she matter of factly said, "Ghee, you not take da bwack pill at breakfast, just da white ones and da lellow one and da blue and white one. You take da bwack pill at wunch and dinner but not at breakfast." Not only had she been counting the number of pills in my hand each time I took them, my granddaughter had noted which pills I take at each meal ... did I mention that she's only 2 1/2? And did I mention that she's a genius? Thinking that perhaps she only knew when I took the black pill because it looks so different from the other meds, I asked her what colors my lunch and dinner pills were ... and she told me. I was completely and utterly blown away ... completely, entirely, totally and utterly blown away. I had no idea that my little grandgal was paying such close attention to my medications ... I had no idea that my little grandgal was paying such close attention to me. 

If you've been reading along with me over the last couple of years, you are well aware of my lack of enthusiasm concerning taking certain medications. For those of you who are new to my blog, please allow me to explain ... I refused to take antidepressants for a long time for far too many reasons to share in tonight's post. And the truth is that I still wrestle from time to time with having to take those particular medications ... again, for far too many reasons to share in tonight's post. But even as I type those words, I can hear the sweet voice of my precious little C.J. say each time we sat down for a meal ... "Ghee, take your vitamins now. Ghee!! It's time a take your vitamins!" Even my 2 1/2-year-old granddaughter recognized that it was important for me to take my meds ... out of the mouths of babes, eh?

Today I was trying my best to get out of doing something ... something I know is important in my journey toward being okay and confident in who I am ... something that often takes every ounce of strength I have within me to do. I was trying my best to get out of doing that particular something when a friend reminded me that doing the something I didn't want to do is part of my prescription for helping me reach the place of "okayness." I'm sure my friend didn't know how deeply profound her words were ... words I haven't been able to shake from my mind since the moment she said them. I'm equally as sure that my little C.J. had no way of knowing that her insistence that I take my vitamins would resonate so strongly with me after I left.

"Ghee, take your vitamins ... Ghee, it's time a take your vitamins."

"It's part of the prescription, so you need to do it."
  
 I think I get the message ... I think I do indeed.

It's Okay

Trying to choose my favorite moment with my granddaughters over the last couple of weeks is like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack ... there were simply too many adorable and funny and touching moments. Cute baby smiles from little Amelie or her tiny head resting on my shoulder or her chubby legs kicking like crazy when I changed her diaper or the sound of her hiccups when her tummy was full of milk ... those moments were so sweet and so precious that I couldn't possibly choose just one to claim as my favorite. Coraline and her hilarious snort laughing when I would tickle her or say something she deemed giggle worthy or the sound of her singing at the top of her lungs or her riding the runner bike or putting me in time out or swiping all my coins for her piggy bank or the feel of her hand in mine as we crossed a street or the smell of her hair when she snuggled close to me as I read book after book after book to her ... there's no way I could ever say one moment with her was better than any other because every second I spent with her was truly amazing.

I must say there was one thing my little Boo said to me multiple times during my stay that totally melted my heart every single time she said it ... "It's okay, Ghee." Whether I was truly in pain because she had just done a full body slam on my lower back or I was pretending to be hurt when her imaginary dragon Tick had breathed fire on my neck ... whether I really was tearing up from the sadness of knowing my time with her was far too short or I was fake crying when we played princess stuff ... not a word, friends, not one word about me playing princess stuff ... true pain or pretend, real tears or fake, Coraline would pat me and hug me and say, "It's okay, Ghee." Though I am certain that her desire to comfort or console me was genuine, it didn't mean that she stopped jumping on my back or Tick ceased his fire-breathing shenanigans or my sadness of only seeing her for a few days disappeared or I was released from all things princess. What her sweet pats and hugs and "It's okay, Ghee" words did do was make me wish with all my might that my darling Coraline would never have to experience pain or hurt or sadness or loneliness ... it made me wish that she would forever be okay.

By the time I got home last night, I was bone tired; in fact, I was so tired when my flight departed from Edmonton in the early morning hours that I promptly fell asleep after the plane was airborne ... yep, you read that correctly, I slept on the plane and the guy sitting next to me woke me up when we landed. Ollie and Julie were extremely happy to see me, so much so that they were content to hit the sack with me much earlier than we normally do and sleep in way past the time we normally rise. Today was spent doing all the stuff you have to do when you return home after a lengthy time away ... unpacking, mowing the yard, going through a big stack of mail, paying bills and doing laundry. While those aren't things I usually enjoy doing, today I was thankful for things to keep both my body and my mind busy so I didn't spend a good portion of my day crying like I did yesterday. Every time that ache of missing my granddaughters started creeping through my heart, I would whisper the words, "It's okay, Ghee ... it's okay."

Stepping away from the daily routine of life from time to time is good for the soul ... it's often a time of reevaluating what is important and what really matters most, at least it is for me anyway. Sometimes that's a difficult thing to do ... stepping away, reevaluating, taking an honest look at where I am or why I am or who I am or how I am. I've done a lot of thinking and contemplating over the last couple of weeks (when I wasn't swaying and singing to baby Amelie or playing princess stuff with Coraline) ... a whole, whole, whole lot, and I'm sure that some of my ponderings will eventually make their way into a future post or two or twenty. But for tonight ... for tonight, I think I'll just remind myself of the wise words of an extra-special two-year-old ... 

"It's okay, Ghee ... it's okay."

May There Always Be

So I'm sitting in the airport in Edmonton trying my best to stop crying. There is one good thing about being weepy when I go through customs, though ... the agents give me tissues and don't ask me very many questions. I've found that most people are really pretty nice when they know someone's heart is breaking. All I can think about this morning is my little Coraline waking up and wanting to know where her Ghee is and little Amelie missing my singing and swaying when her tummy hurts. Geez ... the older those kiddos get, the harder these goodbyes will be. 

Matt and Becca spend a ton of time reading and singing to their girls, and they have, as many parents of young children do, certain routines they follow when it's naptime or bedtime. I've got a bunch of notes jotted down to help me remember some of the funny, sweet, tender and downright hilarious things I'll share in the coming days, but without question one of my favorites involved Coraline's naptime. 

Just in case I hadn't already picked up on the required things that accompanied her naptime ritual, she filled me in again on the day Matt and Becca went to Calgary and Boo and I spent the day together. Making sure she had her special blanket, her book of choice had been read, she was tucked in the right way, her back was sufficiently scratched, Violet was playing soft music, the ladybug was displaying purple stars, and the song ... the extra special song had been sung. Each time I put her to bed while I was there, I couldn't help but think of her Daddy when he was a little boy ... sniffle, sniffle, sniffle.

The naptime song is May There Always Be Sunshine ... with a whole bunch of additional Coraline-selected May There Always Be ... mom, dad, puppies, blue skies, Amelie .... and Ghee ... she always said, "may there always be Ghee." Someday, when she's all grown up, I'm going to tell my sweet baby girl that Ghee is here because of her ... there is Ghee because there is Coraline.

Time to get on the plane ... tears and all.

For the First Time in Forever

Before you even think it, I'm well aware that my previous entry was about the lesson I learned from the lyrics of a song from the Disney movie Frozen and that the title of this post is also the title of a song from the same movie. I may be old, but I haven't quite lost all my marbles just yet. I have, however, heard my sweet granddaughter C.J. belting out the words to both of those songs several times each day for the last eight days, and I did watch the movie with her (and maybe a few YouTube clips, too), so that's why I've got Frozen and its music stuck inside my brain. And because I'm in Canada ... everyone knows Canada and Frozen just seem to go together ... duh.

I got an email from someone yesterday asking me why I haven't blogged on this trip to Canada like I did during my two previous visits, and I couldn't help but chuckle when I read it. Obviously, the person who wrote to ask me about my lack of blogging over the last eight days has completely forgotten what life in a house with a toddler and 10-week-old baby is like ... busy, busy, busy. As I've helped my son and daughter-in-law feed and bathe and rock and jostle and read to and play with and entertain my two granddaughters since I've been here, I've found myself wondering how in the world I ever managed to take care of my three kiddos on my own. I think perhaps that the parenting of young children is proof that God gives us the strength we need at exactly the time we need it, eh? I've had a ton of "for the first time in forever" moments since I've been here in Canada visiting Matt, Becca, Coraline and Amelie ... moments I can only hope I will remember for as long as I live. But today two of those moments brought memories crashing into my mind and tears welling up in my eyes ... one moment with Coraline and one with Amelie.

Following a morning of train rides and visiting Matt at the university, reading Little Red Riding Hood and taking a long nap (Boo, not me!), Coraline and I went for a chilly late afternoon walk so we could meet Matt as he rode his bike home from work. My eldest granddaughter is absolutely adorable as she pushes her doll stroller down the sidewalk ... the doll stroller which today carried Gigi the stuffed dalmatian I gave her when I arrived. As we walked along, I said, "Boo, I'm sure going to miss you when I have to go back to my house on Saturday." Coraline abruptly stopped pushing the doll stroller to turn and gaze up at me with those piercing blue eyes of hers and said, "I will miss you, Ghee. I not want you to go to your house. I want you to stay wif Boo." 

Sweet baby Amelie is having some stomach problems, and I've spent a significant amount of time over the last few days rocking, singing, swaying and/or jiggling her ... basically anything it takes to soothe her. This evening she was especially fussy, and I walked back and forth through the house singing to her while I patted her rear. I didn't dare move her when she finally fell asleep on my shoulder, and I'm not sure exactly how long I held her. As I walked and patted and sang and walked and patted and sang and walked and patted and sang, I breathed in the scent of her baby hair and marveled at the perfection of her tiny face.

For the first time in forever ... when Boo told me today she would miss me, I understood how difficult it was for my mom to live so far away from my children. For the first time in forever ... I understood how tough it was for my kiddos to be separated by so many miles from my mom. For the first time in forever ... as I patted little Amelie's rear and sang to her, I understood that the countless nights I reached over the crib rail to pat her dad's rear so many years ago was unconditional love in its purest human form. For the first time in forever.

For the first time in forever ... don't waste a single moment, friends ... don't waste a single moment.

"For the first time in forever, there'll be magic, there'll be fun."