tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68384234362117515302024-02-18T23:18:37.842-08:00We Did Not Fall From GraceAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-48074656362895932772016-12-06T23:35:00.001-08:002016-12-06T23:35:38.964-08:00Christmas Letter #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometimes you just need to write another Christmas Letter.<br />
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I've been protected all my life. Protected from abuse and anxiety and ugliness. <br />
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I think that's just being lucky. <br />
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I have friends who have not been so lucky and it's a bit difficult to get a grip on how God passes that around. <br />
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Christmas is more than lights and jingle and joy. It, for me, is a time to think about stuff, reflect, A time to remember and plan for the future magic that the season can bring. A time to believe that there is an Almighty God who gives a rip. <br />
<br />
But, keeping spirits high in the midst of pain and anxiety? I know too many people who are struggling. Struggling with children, struggling with memories, with health, tragic loss of friends, with finances and relationships. These people are good and loving people. Where does Christmas come in with them? How can I jingle, jingle, jingle when there's so much pain? How can I spout my belief in the promise of Baby Jesus when I see so much that brings me to disbelief? <br />
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My teacher friend always asks me to help with her children's Christmas program. I practice with them a few times and then we perform. They always do more for me than I for them. Their sweet faces and grand efforts at doing what I ask to make their performance great always touches me. <br />
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It's somewhere between living life daily and the magic that comes with moments with children that the light comes on. Moments with children. Here we go again,,,that does it for me. <br />
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It's the kids. We do it for the kids. And. when we do it for the kids, we do it for ourselves. So, get around some kids and make some magic for them. Music, gifts, kindness. Make some joy. You will find yourself full. Full of joy and full of gratitude that life has promise and you can be a part of making that happen. <br />
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We are the modern Magi. We are the ones who bring the gifts to the Christ Child. And the Christ Child is everywhere; the homeless, the helpless, the needy, the challenged, the grieving and the protected. Even the protected need the Christ Child for without the promise of something better, where would we be?<br />
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-69490543355542381502016-12-02T22:15:00.000-08:002016-12-02T22:15:22.961-08:00My Christmas Letter <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is my Christmas letter. Today I sold a nativity set at the shop. She also bought a Santa. Sweet woman. She shopped carefully for a Santa that was smiling.<br />
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We have no idea how our actions affect the ones around us. This shopper made an impact on me. I carefully wrapped each piece of the nativity making sure not to break the fine fingers of the porcelain figures, and gently placed baby Jesus on the very top. We both agreed that was where He belonged. And then she left with her bag. Almost gone, she turned around and said, "I would like that Santa. He's smiling." Once again, I wrapped her purchase carefully and she tucked him in her nativity bag. <br />
That's it for me. Carefully selected, carefully wrapped and tucked in with a smiling Santa. It just does it for me. Get God first, make sure He's protected in your heart and then gather whimsy and joy and make merry. <br />
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Dad would go out in the pasture and chop down a small cedar, bring it in the house and we'd call it Christmas. How simple life once was. A little ole pasture tree, some home strung popcorn and a few songs on the piano. But, just like the bag that walked out of the shop today, along with it was Baby Jesus and a smiling Santa. <br />
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I need to remind myself daily, hourly, moment by moment, that life is as good and as simple as I choose to make it. Reflecting on my blessings I almost burst. Looking at my dreams, I almost explode, and believing that I can tuck it all away in a small red bag with a smiling Santa nestled in with the Almighty God Himself just makes me melt in a puddle of Christmas joy. <br />
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I have friends in great need, struggling to make sense of burdens put upon them, I myself am struggling with major decisions, the stuff of life has piled high in places I would never have believed, but as I go through this next phase of the life I have been given, I will remind my self that I can make it simple for myself and those I love. Joy comes when I least expect it, with the Almighty God always with me, a smile and a simple pasture tree. Christmas is in the knowing.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-40411245072968662252016-11-22T22:31:00.002-08:002016-11-22T22:31:28.192-08:00Thanksgiving 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Thanksgiving 2016<br />
<br />
Thanksgiving is my holiday. It was Thanksgiving when my dying mother sat up and had dinner with the family while we all cautiously put utensil to mouth in disbelief that she sat at the table and acted normal. It was Thanksgiving when my brothers and I brought out families to the farm and wallowed in the comfort that it was there and we were who we are. It was Thanksgiving when we hunted pheasants in the draws and loaded our shotguns with self made bullets. It was Thanksgiving when we loaded our families onto a wagon, babies, mothers, grandmothers, and great grandmother, while my dad did his best with the tractor of, "over the river and through the woods...." It was Thanksgiving when all the cousins sat around a galvanized tub and decobbed the corn for hours with conversation and pleasure. It was Thanksgiving when my father borrowed animals from his farmer friend to make sure his "city" grand kids had the farm experience. It was Thanksgiving when we accepted, in our own way, that there would be no more magical Thanksgivings of a family intact. It was Thanksgiving when our mother died. Almost, give a few days. It was Thanksgiving when we knew how unbelievably blessed we were to have lived the lives we lived. <br />
<br />
I'm getting in my truck and driving to my daughter's home because it's Thanksgiving. I have memories to share and memories to make. It's me now. I'm the grandpa with the tractor albeit a grandma in a truck, but I'm the magic maker and I will do my part. <br />
<br />
Thanksgiving. Thank God for a day when we can reflect, remember and do our part. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-71493890400374917052016-10-18T14:54:00.000-07:002016-10-18T14:54:29.923-07:00Vessle of Hope <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How I ended up on a bus in the desert with people from all over the world following their dreams is another story, but there I was, reluctant and unknowing. They just kept coming, And then it was full. Full of stories and determination albiet their canes and grays. It was tagged, The Desert Trip, and I would never have gone were it not for a dear friend who led me along the path. And then, as will happen to plans, her family needed her more than the desert, and she flew away leaving me to experience my own trip. <br />
<br />
I cried as one after another boarded the bus. They came from all parts of the world. They came for this experience. Six great artists who gave us our own history converged on the desert for us to remember, believe in the impossible and breath our future. We all felt the energy of decades, the mistakes, the challenges, the pain and joy. And no one left without newly restored faith in the struggle. It was all in a weekend capsule and decorated with dust, warm wind, the whiff of marijuana, a full moon and sound, beautiful, warm God given sound. <br />
<br />
I heard some young radio announcers making fun of us after we'd all gone home. They were making fun of us..."Oldchella" they called this experience because the artists were all in their 60's and thus so were many of us. But it wasn't like that. It wasn't a bunch of old people. It was 150,000 young, and old dreamers and believers. Some struggled to get there, but they were there. Some had a bit too much joy prep and shouted a bit too loud or danced a bit wild, but they were there. They've lived lives of pauper or power, but they were there. It wasn't a gathering of old people. It was a gathering of believers. Believers that no matter where your journey has taken you, music can gather your soul in a vessle and give it hope. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-89221572358357091972015-10-21T14:55:00.001-07:002015-10-21T14:55:43.646-07:00What Have I Learned? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Everybody says, "I don't know how you've done it, Sherry." And, when I look back, I sometimes wonder too. First Jed's fall into quadriplegia, the financial disaster that brought, years of care taking, sudden realization that cancer would steal Jed, becoming a widow and then getting breast cancer a few months after losing the love of my life. That's enough for a while. Six and a half years of education. Can't say I'm glad it all happened, but I can say I'm a better person for taking the journey.<br />
<br />
So what have I learned? First and foremost, God is in control. Makes no sense to fight it. Peace may come slowly, but it comes sooner with the realization that you simply are not in charge. Now, that doesn't mean sit around and do nothing. It means take all the energy, anger, sadness, frustration and just plain disbelief and fight against everything of injustice while at the same time realizing it's God that giving you the ability to do it. <br />
<br />
I've learned to accept help; from any and everybody! From the very beginning I simply could not have managed without the hundreds of people who seemed to be there right when I needed them. We were showered with food and carpentry and equipment and care. We had debts forgiven and joy delivered. We spent most of our lives together rather independent of others, but our journey changed all of that for my good. <br />
<br />
I've learned that darkness doesn't hang around forever. In the midst of some of the worst of it, I was sure we could not survive intact. Survive seems the wrong word, since Jed has died, but survive we did, in multi-color. Until cancer took him quickly we lived very joyfully, shockingly joyful. Laughter colored our days and filled our nights with silliness. Even the dark and awful times of missing him have been painted over with lovely memories rather than sharp pain. And, when I was challenged to my core with breast cancer I can now laugh at the fact that my dog used my prosthetic breast as a chew toy. Darkness does not hang around forever, unless, of course you want it too. You do have to be open to the small beam of light sneaking in the deepest, darkest corners of your shock and pain. <br />
<br />
I've learned to really see people. Every day new people walk into my life in the shop; some of them crazy, some of them thieves, some of them pitiful, some in great pain, and some not affected by life's cruel stories. Most are just down to earth honest people spending a little of their time with me. Some know my story and tell me they've been praying, most are just looking for something to brighten their day. But they all like being treated with a bit of kindness and a smile, and they all love to share their story. Just this week I talked with a young girl who was so happy to get a pair of boots that actually worked for her prosthetic foot. She shared her story of the car accident and the pain that she lives with still after many years. She left with a pair of boots that Angie no longer needed and we were both filled with the awareness that it's good to really see people. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
I probably always knew this, being raised a farm girl and all, but it's been reinforced these past few years. It's okay to cuss and cry and drink and scream, even to doubt and hate. It's not all about praise and thankfulness and giving into the spirit. God knows it takes time. <br />
<br />
And so, now what's next? That takes me back to #1, God's in control. Some people say, "you're so strong..." or many forms of that message. Bottom line is, just like the young girl with the new boots said as she told her story, "It's not like I had a choice about it." The only thing I have a choice about is what I take from it. My heart is full. My memories are beautiful, and tomorrow will be better because of what I've learned today, and if I can help someone else on their journey then I was there for them when they needed me. Life is pretty simple. Like my daily prayer, "help me be kind and make good decisions. Amen </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-48682974863792081662015-09-09T23:29:00.000-07:002015-09-09T23:29:04.818-07:00One Year of Cancer <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It was a year ago that my doctor shook me out of my denial by saying, "what you have is real." I was trying to convince him that I just needed to lose some weight and the stress of the past few years had taken it's tole. While both of those are true, I had breast cancer and I now am a one breasted woman. When I look back at this year, all I see is blur. "It wasn't so bad," is what I told my daughter and she reminded me that indeed, mom, it was. Four surgeries. Chemotherapy. Baldness. Prosthetic. Bed, bed, bed. Blur. Foggy memories. Pain. Marijuana to help. But now I feel good. I wish I had my breast, but it's a long scar instead. I wish I had my husband, but that's not to be. I wish, I wish, I wish. But what I have is simple joy. The misery and pain is in the past. Memories of adventures with Jed are warm and fulfilling. My energy is back and the future is there for the living. Decisions are possible. New adventures are too. I can't say that I'm glad I had cancer, but cancer has given me a gift of discernment. Been there. Done that. Moving on with thankfulness. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-43333091126329664832015-02-05T23:39:00.000-08:002015-02-05T23:39:19.840-08:00My Journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"It's my journey, and I'm going to take it!" That's been my power speech for the last few weeks. It gives me some "umph" when I say it. and it makes people laugh, so I think I'll stick with it. Today I got word from the doctor that I am "triple negative." That has nothing to do with my look on life or my general nature. It does, however. tell me that my cancer is aggressive and illusive and must be treated with respect. It indeed has a life of it's own and is taking hold in my body. Correction, wants to take hold in my body. I, however, have power over those little shitty cells and the war begins. <br />
<br />
The fence jumping, hog feeding farm girl in me tends to believe that everything can be managed by just being a bit more tough, but I think this one got me straddled over the fence. My journey has left the farm and moved on to the simple drips of the poison that will soon flow through my veins in a barbaric attempt to kill the bad stuff. Chemotherapy lurks in my journey's future. <br />
<br />
So how do I put this into some kind on sense? Best I can come up with is, "there is no sense, and that's that." Struggle as I might with why, and all the mind meanderings of who, why, where, what and when, I come up only with, "because."<br />
<br />
I'm a little more than a month past my mastectomy, and was prepared to hear the doctor say, "Looks like we got it all," when I get the news of my new journey. My faith is no less strong. My eyes are a little bit more open. So, "It's my journey, and I'm going to take it!," seems to be working for me. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-19802338875287579252014-12-09T17:04:00.000-08:002014-12-09T17:04:08.454-08:00It's Not Fair<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So today I got the news that I will most likely have a mastectemy in the very near future. Basically, all I can say is, "That really sucks." I recently had a friend tell me that, "It's not fair," when asking me about my cancer. Well now that has a dissonant ring I never expected to say, "My cancer." It is what it is. Back to the fairness issue. <br />
<br />
Really, what does fairness have to do with anything except how we treat people? My cancer has nothing to do with fairness. It is, however and eye opener. What does it have to do with? Is it toxisity we breath and eat? Is it stress? Is it just chance? What I'm sure it isn't is punishment or unfairness.<br />
<br />
What my friend was referring to was my year...or maybe my several years...but she's just plain wrong. Yeah, I would call this year, 2014, one of my less favorite years, especially the starting and ending parts. My husband dying in Januaury, and me with breast cancer in December does seem to wrap up the year with some pretty raw wire, but here I am thinking about the fun times this year has brought me, from a girlfriend road trip cross country, to lovely fun trips to see my family, and a warm and comfortable home surrounded by constant activity and friends. And, as I ponder this year's mix of rainbow and rain I am filled with the knowledge that, it's good. All of it. Like another friend recently said, "It's God's tree, and I'm just sitting in it." <br />
<br />
And it's a lovely tree indeed, God's tree. It's not one that deals in fairness, it's one that just is. My theology is really simple: God is. That's it. I don't get it complicated with behavior or punishment or fairness. <br />
<br />
So, even though I would like to fall into crying and sadness, the closest thing I can get is shock. Just didn't expect this one. <br />
<br />
It's sort of like when dad's prize bull just dropped dead, before he even had a chance to frolic with the females. Dad had saved all of his money, extended himself beyond his good judgement, brought that fertile fella home and within a few minutes of getting him to the pasture, that darn expensive promise had a heart attact and died. I remember dad's face. I remember his distant stare, his broken spirit. It was shock. Of all the things he thought or knew might go wrong on the farm, his prize winning bull having a heart attack and dying, was the last of his thoughts. <br />
<br />
That's me and breast cancer. Of all the things that I know that can go wrong, I just didn't have breast cancer wired in as a possibility. But, it's God's tree and I'm just sitting in it. I've been blessed with so many amazing tree sitting joys, I'm going to just keep sitting here and take what comes. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-55554922760048170052014-11-18T23:32:00.001-08:002014-11-18T23:32:23.857-08:00Tits<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My family always ate meals together at the table. All three meals. Farm families can do that. Breakfast of pancakes and gravy. Big dinner of roast beef and potatoes at noon, and usually soup for supper. Something to be said about sitting around the table looking at each other that many times a day. At breakfast we always had the radio on to catch the news, usually weather, because that was the only news that really mattered to farmers. At dinner (lunch to most) we would talk about the day, the crops, the weather, the jobs that needed doing, and of course how good the food was. And at supper, we talked about everyone's day. What we did, how we felt and how we could make the next day better. <br />
<br />
My brother, Rod and I sat on a bench by a big glass window. I fell backwards through that window when I was very small, but have no memory of the incident, only a long scar on my thumb. But I do remember that we sat on that bench every meal of every day. for most of my growing up years. <br />
<br />
One dinner meal is vividly picturesque in my mind. As usual, we had gone to Broken Bow (about 40 miles away} on a Sat. morning. I had my piano lessons every Saturday morning while my parents bought the week's groceries. This particular Saturday after piano lessons. my mom took me into the Ben Franklin store and together we bought my first bra. I selected a finely padded bra to give rise to my barely budding breasts. I was so proud. <br />
<br />
We got home in time for our noon meal. I sat on the bench I had always sat on, but now I was voluptuous. I had on my padded bra, and I stuck out like nobodies business. Well, my brothers had a hay day. Needless to say, I was embarrassed. But, I was getting them, tits, and by the reaction of my brothers, it was a pretty big deal. <br />
<br />
Lots of year and lots of tit experiences have come and gone since then. We women learned as children that they were pretty cool and we could flaunt them to get remarkable and often pleasing reactions. <br />
<br />
Not long ago I was wanting to look my best for an important function. I had a dress made especially for the event. "Go get fitted for a real bra," were my instructions from the dress designer. So I went to Nordstroms and spent hours being fitted for the perfect look. I was so convinced that these bras<br />
would make me beautiful, that I bought 3 of them and spent nearly $400. They are painful to wear and I don't think I'm any more or less beautiful with or without them. Point is, tits are problematic. <br />
<br />
And now, I'm at the most problematic point I've been in all my tit time. I have cancer of the tits. I suppose I should be more politically correct and say, I have breast cancer, but that seems to give them too much importance. <br />
<br />
I'm at a place where I may soon choose to no longer have breasts, and I have to decide how I feel about that. I stand in front of the mirror and say to myself, "not bad, even for an old lady like me," while at the same time imagining how I will look without them. <br />
<br />
Self image is critically important. For the young girl sitting across the table from her brothers, self image was everything, and breasts were the magic pill to wonderfulness. As a woman who has lived with those things since those early days of budding, I know there were times when losing them would have been a crisis. <br />
<br />
Now, it doesn't seem important. I so wish to not have to go through all the mess and pain and inconvenience that my breast cancer poses, but whether I have tits to put into my uncomfortable $100 bras or not is not the issue for me now. My issue is Rowan. Rowan and the great grand kids and all the grand kids. They sure won't care if I have tits. They just want to have my music and joy, my laughter and games. They want me healthy and happy. I want that too. <br />
<br />
I've put my tits in the hands of both God and my surgeon. And I will move forward with music and joy and laughter long after their hands have done their duty. Cancer be gone in whatever form that needs to be. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-7245642387681885492014-11-06T23:49:00.000-08:002014-11-06T23:49:09.687-08:00Farewell, Dear Friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As much as I've loved you, and as helpful as you've been to me, I'm going to leave you. I hate to write this, because then I have to act, but I am, I am going to leave you behind. And you've been so comforting. Brandy and Potato Chips. My close friends for many years. My nightly partners in grief and survival. My lover substitutes, my sensual joys. I'm leaving you behind, because I have a new battle to fight and you are not the tools I need for this battle. <br />
<br />
You probably didn't cause it, but my body has taken on a new challenge, breast cancer, and my old friends, Brandy and Potato Chips just have to go. I'm just getting a grip of it's reality as it comes in waves, but somehow I am now in a new place where taking charge has a whole new meaning for me. <br />
All the things that I know are good for me, and all the things that I know are not good for me are swimming around in my head, and the only thing I hear is, duh. Seriously, duh. So it's time to take care of me. <br />
<br />
Breast Cancer. Well that really sucks. But, oh, well, it could be a head on collision when I have no choices and no chances. So this ride will be full of amazement for sure, but what it won't be full of is Brandy and Potato Chips. Ready, Set, Go. I sure don't want to ride this ride, but I'm on it, so I might as well ride it with a clear mind and grease-less fingers. What lies ahead has only one assurance, that I will be lifted up daily by my family and my faith. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-48641381694266455252014-10-28T22:00:00.002-07:002014-10-28T22:00:13.502-07:00It felt really good, until the fall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 28.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It felt really good, until the fall</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 28.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I spent the morning
in the beauty shop hanging out with one of my favorite people, Joey. We
both like to write, but we drag our butts, having them wrapped around our own
belief that, even though we know we're amazing pens, there's the fear that nobody
else gives a rip. After all, lots of people write, you know. What
makes us think we're good anyway? And then it came to us. Such a
novel thought. Hold on! We can appreciate each other's mixture of
words! You know, like dress designers who get together and ooh and ah
over each other's work, or car guys who stare for hours at the other guys slick
and shinny fenders and rims, or crafty people who make stuff and strut around
all proud while others swoon over their creation. I mean, really, we're just as good as
them. We can write and we can share.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> We challenged one another to get off our
butts, or on, as usually I write on mine, well, not on mine, that would be
difficult, but sounds fun...off track. What to write? We decided
something funny. Well shit, that's easy. My life is just one bundle
of tragic laughs. So, here goes, Joey, my friend. I'm on my butt,
I'm writing fast because I really need twenty bucks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So much funny
stuff. Let's start with the salon visit. Seriously it's comic
relief to just walk in, sit and watch. Check out the posters. "keep calm and wrap on," "What is your Eufora Promise?,
"Inner strength creates outer beauty, strong, be inspiring, smooth stylish
bold vibrant refined unique real......"
There's more, but gag me. First
of all, not one person there is trying to be REAL. They're trying to be something they, quite
frankly, are not. Why else do we go to
salons? I can't argue with the inner
strength creates outer beauty message, but there is absolutely nothing that
goes on in that, or any salon, that
develops inner strength. How does that
message get into a bottle of something?
Bottle of brandy, maybe. Now,
what is your Eufora promise anyway?
Well, if you look carefully at the poster it looks like a marijuana plant. Is there a secret room in this place where we
can smoke a joint or two and share our great euphoric promises? Now, we just might find inner strength,
become smooth, stylish and inspiring if that were the case and believe you me,
I'm sure we would be real. And maybe,
just maybe, I could be calm and wrap on, all at the same time. It's all just a bunch of phony stuff for us
to gobble up so we can feel REAL. Now,
if I were real, I would be as gray as gray gets and I would probably be spewing
stuff at people that I think are so ridiculous. I just love the parade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Lest we not forget the
gorgeous guy who came in with great hair and walked out with none, except a
tuft on top. He was proud. He was
happy and he was nearly bald, on purpose.
What gives. He was still
gorgeous. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And, could she be
anything but a good example of beauty. I mean the strut in the tight
pants and 4 inch boots, the extensions hanging over her over made eyes, her
smirky smile that really is saying," look at me, I'm so dang great."
How I would love to take her aside and teach her how to dress. How did
she get to own that place anyway? I counted 40 times back and forth. He feet must hurt big time at the end of the
day. Nobody can do that for real. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then there's the blond
addict who walked in not looking bad, but by the time the hairdresser took out
all of her extensions she had most of what was on her head laying on the table
next to her and I shuddered at the thought of someone trying to run their
fingers through her hair and either bring out a chunk, or feeling like she had scurvy.
I hope she warns any potential hair fingers partner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I sorta like the blue
haired girl. Perky for sure, but what's with the hat? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm such a bitch. I go there to do exactly what they are all
doing, become a better version on myself, but jez, do they have to be so
weird. Actually it was a kinky way to
start my day. Reality is whatever we can
get away with covering up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So I have breast
cancer. Now this is pretty shitty news
given that fact, well, nobody wants breast cancer, but just how many bad things
are okay in one single year? There's probably
a formula for this. Guess I haven't
maxed out the secret formula which gives great hope to those of you just
smoothing along in your life. Shit is
coming your way. No way to get ready for
it, except of course to make sure you "be calm and wrap on." My first mistake was getting a mammogram. So they found something, went after it, cut
me open big time, and in case you're wondering, it hurts like the devil to have
a two inch gash wrapped around your nipple.
My God, did I use that word, nipple?
On no, that's not the "N" word. Moving on.
Well, what they went after was nothing, but golly gee, they found an
edge of terribleness......cancer, and now, well, of course, they have to go get
that. Another boob bombardment and I'm
in the system now, so......shit I'm going back to the salon to find my real
Eufora Promise and to become REAL. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So the doctor told me
that if I'm going to have breast cancer this is the best breast cancer you can
have. You can't imagine how good that
made me feel. Duh! My son gave me the best medicine possible,
laughter. In a serious talk he asked,
"which breast, mom?"
"Right." "Whew! Thank God, I never liked that one much
anyway." I have been laughing for a
week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My wallet, phone, got stolen
off the counter of the shop last week. I
was a few minutes away from the counter and bam, it disappeared. I didn't even know it was gone. Then I get a call from Ubaldo. A police officer was at the door with my
wallet/phone. They nabbed him within 15
min. of taking it off the counter. So,
if you're gonna get robbed, that's the best robbery you can have. I think that's like my cancer. It's gonna be a pain, but no big deal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stuff has to be funny
or it's just no fun to go through. My
husband died this year. He gave me more
grief than a bean supper, but he was the love of my life. We laughed everyday about the crap, literally,
we had to deal with, and I miss him with an ache that creeps into my
pours. But he would be the first to tell
me, "laugh, baby, this is what we've got!" <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Joey told me today
that he had started riding his bike. I
said, "that must feel good....." and he responded with, "yes it
felt real good until the fall." Well,
shit, Joey. Don't you know how
metaphoric that is? Everything was good until the fall. Even Jed.
Until his fall he was great. And
then he wasn't. So the trick is, to keep
that bike riding feeling going in our lives, that I'm gonna be the best I can
be place, that "what is your Euforic promise place, that inner strength
makes outer beauty place.......anyway, keep it going until you get bad stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 8.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> And then, when you get bad stuff, just
dance. Laugh and know that it wasn't your
plan, or furthermore, a result of anything you did. And
remember that friends, the real ones, the ones who can be calm and wrap on, the
ones who have inner strength to give them outer beauty....the REAL friends will laugh with you, make your hair pink,
smoke a joint with you, and just sit and
stare at others who have no idea that life is funny. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-40816706540227877552014-10-07T22:29:00.000-07:002014-10-07T22:29:22.572-07:00My Old Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can't tell you how much I miss my old life. The other one. The one when Jed was alive. I can't begin to list all the things I miss, but the laughter and arguing, making love, discussing about ideas...and just knowing that whatever I came up with, however weak or strange or needy, whatever idea that stirred in my head, I could share with him. And he would validate me. <br />
<br />
I miss making him dinner and folding his clothes. I miss his snore. <br />
<br />
I've filled my bed with pillows and textiles in an attempt to take his place, but they just clutter up my bed. Actually I've done lots of things to paint over sorrow. I've had the trees trimmed, the deck repaired...lots of stuff to make me well. And I am well. I'm just lonely for him. <br />
<br />
I am remarkably blessed with amazing people and I'm not alone. I'm not even lonely. I'm just lonely for him. We bantered with utmost confidence in one another. We took off and explored places with abandon. We said, "screw it" to convention and did only what we felt like doing. Sometimes that got us in a great deal of trouble and sometimes it took us to amazing places and left us with life long stories to tell. <br />
<br />
I miss how he could tell a story about anything and make it believable. I miss how he sang off tune. I miss his passion for knowledge and his often irreverent way of expressing it. <br />
<br />
And now, I realize how much I miss having him to make decisions about money. I took the road of disagreeing and "I told you so," when things went wrong. What a bitch I was. Someone had to make decisions. And now, it's me. I have to decide what to do about stuff. What to fix, what not to fix. I always held this, "I know what to do" attitude, but then went along with what ever he said. If it went sour, I poured it on. If it went well, somehow I got him to agree that it was my idea. That was a real shitty place to put him. I wonder if he even knew? I'm not sure I did. Not until now, when I have to make decisions with no one to blame.<br />
<br />
Marriage. It's more than it seems and when its a fit, a real fit of two lives, two souls, well, it's pretty near perfect. That's what I miss. We had it perfect. We fought and cried and hated one another at times. We talked about divorce hundreds of times. But it was always, "if that's what you want...." and it was never what either of us wanted. We laughed and loved making love. We touched one another to the core of our beings. How we loved to argue. I can see the twinkle in his eye as he would watch me get red faced and passionate about something. He would listen and beckon me toward him. I would rant louder, but move a little closer.....perhaps this is too personal. I miss my old life. <br />
<br />
My new life is lovely. I don't do anything. It's all done for me. I don't buy groceries, I don't do laundry, I don't make breakfast, I don't make dinner, I don't even clean my toilet. It sounds good, and it is, but it makes me miss my old life with a ache that creeps and crawls around in me till all I can do is go to bed. <br />
<br />
I'm okay. Most of the time I'm more than okay. Jed's birthday is next week and perhaps that's my maudlin cause. Last year on his birthday we were at the cabin with Steve. But missing something that was so good, well, it takes a bit of time. I asked my father a few months after my mom died if he had any regrets. Whatever made me ask such a question is beyond me, but we were in the truck going over dirt roads and he said, "only that she died." It took my breath away then and still does, because that, too, is my only regret, that he died. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-49751982643075645632014-09-07T22:19:00.000-07:002014-09-07T22:19:39.351-07:00Got Friends? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm a really fortunate person. Lucky. Yep, I'm just plain lucky. Today I was talking with Elizabeth, my employee, about life and the way things are. I just get stumped sometimes. I think young people like her, are looking at me for answers, and I look back at my life and know that I really don't have any. The only one is, that I'm lucky. I was raised by great parents. I lived in a healthy environment most of my life, I had great kids, yadda, yadda, yadda. Deal is, I was, and am, just lucky.<br />
<br />
Had my shares of stress and bad decisions. Had my share of really bad stuff, but it's all been okay. Even the really bad stuff. I am a Christian. I believe in the whole ball of wax. But, even though I believe, I also know that sometimes you just need to be lucky. My luck has been in my peeps, as Jen, my amazing daughter-in-law, would say. My peeps. The people I love and who love me. Forever, I have been lucky with peeps, <br />
<br />
Got friends? Yep. I have friends. Friends to share with, friends to yell at, friends to share space with, have meals with, laugh with and try to solve life problems with. This is God's greatest gift. Luck/God toss a coin. I know that the peeps that make me whole have come to me through family and accident. How was it that I connected with such amazing people? I will thank God every day of my life for the luck He granted me through the people that I gratefully call friends. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-90458018695518648122014-08-26T21:49:00.002-07:002014-08-26T21:49:44.458-07:00Rowan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Tomorrow Rowan will be one. The day one year ago is vivid. "Today's the day!" was the message I got midmorning. Jed said, "go." I hesitated and, Jed said, "GO!" Ubaldo got on the computer while I packed and Jed instructed. I was off. Quick flight, long drive, and into the forest. Home birth in the wild country. The day was long and I kept expecting to hear of his birth. Into the night I drove up the hill through the trees, hoping all was well. And, just as I arrived, so did Rowan. When I walked through the door he was there, beautiful bitty Rowan Oak. Born in a portable tub in a little love nest far north of San Francisco. Little Rowan suckled and nuzzled next to his exhausted parents as the midwives took out the evidence. The next few days I cooked and proudly cared for my new little family. <br />
<br />
Time changes things. As it should be. Now, one year later I have an ache in my heart that Rowan will never know Jed. But, what I do know, is that Jed is looking out for him. Angie shared with me that after Jed died he came to her telling her that he was sorry they didn't have a better relationship, and he told her that he would always take care of Rowan. My God, what a beautiful and powerful message to be given from the other world. Rowan will always be taken care of! I have tears flowing as I think about the power of love. <br />
<br />
So tonight, I've written on tea mugs, "Our Little Honey, Rowan, is 1" I've stuffed the mugs with honey sticks and have packed, or plan to pack, gobs of things to take to his teddy bear picnic party. Ubaldo has planned yet another perfect party and we will go to Oakland on Friday to celebrate Rowan becoming one. <br />
<br />
But, as we plan this adventure, another awaits. I am making plans to "move" to Oakland for an extended time. This was rather spontaneous, but it feels right. Angie and Robyn are under considerable stress and I am able to help. I talk to Jed all the time. I asked him, "so, what do you think of my idea of moving up to Oakland to help Angie, Rob and Rowan for a while." And then I realized, duh, it was his idea in the first place. Jed put the idea in my head because he has committed himself to always taking care of Rowan. <br />
<br />
With the help of Ubaldo, Dylan and Elizabeth, I am getting the shop in order. Soon I will leave it to them to run. I will miss the daily people greeting and affirmation that we have done a great job to make the shop amazing. But, I am looking forward to the new adventures that await me in Oakland. <br />
Life is rich and wonderful. Grandbabies make that more obvious. I choose to hang with joy. His little year has been filled with joy and tears for me. But I rest comfortably in the knowledge that Jed came through the veil of death to vow his constant vigil of care to Rowan. You just can't get much more beautiful than that. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-82871666710765349492014-08-15T23:44:00.001-07:002014-08-15T23:44:53.636-07:00Hawks and Eagles and Things That Fly Through Your Mind<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Jed's been gone from this earth more than six months. The part that wouldn't burn is in a box in my closet. His good friend, Reg called today and we talked briefly about what life is like now. Well, it's not different at all, and yet there's nothing the same. I hear Jed's voice constantly, guiding me and giving me validation to move on. I hear his voice tell me to not doubt myself, to believe in who I am, to be the me that I want to be, that nothing I could do would disappoint him. We had a love. He used to say, "people would kill for what we have, Sherry." How did this beauty come to us? <br />
<br />
However it came, and however it continues, is mystery bound in magic. We had a brief 25 years where we seeped and oozed and made magic and beauty midst prison and ugliness. We lifted without knowing, we made it laughter, and battle and truth and tears. We had a love. <br />
<br />
And now he comes to me on wings. When I need to feel the confidence we gave each other, he is there in a swoop of wings, sometimes a call, always quick. He rested quickly outside a window of anxiety, he swooped low at James's funeral, he often visits while I sit and think drink on the deck. His presence is important. Life without him is pretty much the same as life with him, except it's void of magic. It's void of insight and spontaneous joy. <br />
<br />
I like to believe that Jed can channel his current existence to this one. I like to believe that he has chosen to do that through the hawk. It just makes sense that he would choose the hawk because he was so enamored by their flight beauty. And, he would know that I would know. <br />
<br />
The mind is a mystical place. The faith that there is more than we know is not only mystical, but essential. So, the things that fly though my mind are hawks and eagles and the faith that there is more than we know, and while I live and breathe on this earth, I will watch hawks and eagles with an awareness that there's more to death than gone. There's more to life than here. There's more. Believing makes it so. <br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-7272917931693369382014-07-15T22:29:00.000-07:002014-07-15T22:29:12.600-07:00You Didn't Leave Me Much <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I was studying the final account of my inheritance from Jed, and looked with sadness and concern at the low numbers. I was alone, thank goodness, but I heard myself say, "you didn't leave me much, sweetheart." I was very sincere and a little forlorn thinking of all the financial responsibilities that lie ahead. But then I was instantly shocked into, "what are you talking about, he left you everything!" <br />
<br />
Everything. He left me, me. For 25 years he built me up. He gave me the gift of myself and the knowledge that I have the capacity to accomplish whatever I set out to do. What an amazing gift. The legacy I have from Jed is not financial, it is empowerment. It is forever and cannot be taken away. <br />
<br />
He left me with a home that I can now afford, a business that seems to run despite my inadequacies, a wonderful family including beautiful great grandchildren, a great friend in Ubaldo, and a sense of faith and peace that only he could have given me. <br />
<br />
Ours was a marriage. Ours was laughter and ideas, battles and resolutions, explorations and adventure. Ours was full. Completely full with no room for doubt. <br />
<br />
The fact that he left me, is a hole deeper than I am, but the fact that he left me strong, and empowered, and complete is way more than much. It is me. I so value what we had, and know that what we had is now within me, looking for a new road to travel. Thank you, Jed, for all that you left me. I will cherish it forever. <br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-14907500362788325842014-07-10T22:20:00.001-07:002014-07-10T22:20:18.883-07:00Alone In The House<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm alone in this old house tonight, and it seems to have been a very long time since this house and I could listen to one another all by our selves. Alone can be very nice. With it comes quiet, and with quiet, memories float like invisible stars. This house has stories to tell. This house has saved lives and mended many. It's been a giving home. <br />
<br />
We've had so many birthday parties on the deck, Jed's 60th, James and Jean's 70th, Ubaldo's 55, Ian's 1st, and the kids, how we've celebrated. And our almost daily times with Reg and Erica will be held as solid validation that life is good. This house has housed quite a few people who needed a place to live for a while, or a place to rest. Mike, Phillip, Matt and the family, Candy, Ubaldo's mom, Elnora. We've had Angie's graduation party, Nate and Jen's wedding reception, Alicia and Mario's Wedding preparation party, and now it's party central for catering. This house has served us well. <br />
<br />
Ah, and the transitions. First the upstairs was for Angie and Nathan, period. They were teenagers and adjusting to a new life. The upstairs gave them space. "Mom, do you mind if I paint my wall?" "No, honey, that would be fine." "Yeow!!!!! Not like that...." It was a dark mother daughter time. "Mom, may I plant a garden?" "Sure, honey, that would be great." "Yeow!!! Don't plant that, I'll go to jail." It was a dark mother son time. Darkness is followed by light. The children finally leave and Jed and I move upstairs. Jed builds an amazing bathroom and shower, installs a Jacuzzi tub and we live happily ever after. <br />
<br />
Well, not ever. After Jed fell, we turned the living room into our bedroom. The upstairs was empty so Ubaldo moved in...it seems this house has opened it's doors to all the options and possibilities and joys and friendships, families and needs of our lives. <br />
<br />
We almost lost this house several times, I think 5 times, to auction. It was a dark, dark time of fear and anguish. I was quite ready to leave. It was just too much. Too much of everything. Too much fixing, too much pain, too much and way too little. I started shopping for another house. Leave it behind was my mantra. But things change. New paint, new modification, new garden, and now the stories float. I can visualize the house breathing deep breaths of appreciation for our not walking away and for recognizing it's importance in so many lives. <br />
<br />
The grandchildren grew up in the back yard, or at least that's my memory, and now the great grand children will, because it has been brought back from it's near death of neglect. I cannot walk into this house or meander it's yards without seeing Jed. His vision for creating the porch and the deck and the bathroom upstairs are so incredible, and I am so grateful for his strength and his work. <br />
<br />
Someday I will leave this house, and it will be okay. But for now, I am happy in the knowledge that not only has it been a wonderful place for us to build and go forward with our lives, it has been a wonderful place for many, many people to feel loved and know they belong to something quite powerful. They belong to the dream that we had, the dream that we realized. Even as Jed lay dying in this house, amidst all the pain and sorrow, it felt right and good, and blessed. <br />
<br />
Being alone in this house is quite a wonderful joy. And with that joy is the knowledge that soon this house will flow with energy and plans and happiness, and being alone does not mean being lonely. <br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-27766927853169899702014-07-01T23:11:00.001-07:002014-07-01T23:11:10.294-07:00Dancing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's primal. Dancing. It's strength gathering cell by cell. It's grief tossing and joy gathering. It's basic and primal and real. Thinking of the deck party brings vivid memories. We danced away grief. We danced away pain. We danced away differences and we danced joy into our hearts. If only for a moment or a few hours, we let grief and pain and worry and fret wash off our skin and we were free of it all. <br />
<br />
How sad for people who don't dance. <br />
<br />
Jed and I would dance silly. Really, silly. We didn't have the great moves, but we moved with great abandon. That's one of the things I loved most about him. He did almost everything with great abandon. He never cared how things were "supposed to be." He just did. He just let himself be free to express or act as he felt. Free. <br />
<br />
It's been 5 months since Jed moved freely into his other world. He sat up with great assurance to tell his daughter that he was not afraid. His comfort with death was beautiful. <br />
<br />
And, I know he wants me to dance, to go with abandon into the next phase of life. I know he is there providing opportunities and encouraging us to be greater than we think we can be. <br />
<br />
Having a dancing fool in heaven who loves you, is quite lovely. I miss him like water. I miss him like air. I miss him like music, but in missing him, I am so reminded how perfectly perfect it was, our time together, and how without it all, the whole sorted package, I would not be the dancing fool that I am, able to capture magic almost everywhere. <br />
<br />
It was a beautiful night full of magic at every turn. The heavens opened up and poured perfection on our night. We are all better for it. Thank you for the music. Thank you for the dance. Thank you, Jed, for making me your dance partner beyond my imagination. <br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-71851805216699542502014-06-30T22:32:00.000-07:002014-06-30T22:32:02.460-07:00We Had A Party<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We had a deck party. It was grand. It was Ubaldo's 55th birthday and a fine excuse to celebrate the deck and life. It was wine and cheese and music and magic. Friends came bearing plant gifts and wine and cheese with messages to Ubaldo. Pat and Julie were there to meet and greet and help at every step. <br />
"Have you lost your mind?" was Ubaldo's first comment when he realized I had hired a band for the event. And, to tell you the truth, I wasn't sure that I hadn't, but as the evening went on it became clear that it was all perfect. Everybody danced. The children, and all of us silly ones. We even had a Congo line, the young and the old...it was just perfect. <br />
<br />
Jed was watching, I know. Ubaldo dreamed that he was dancing on the deck. It's just too short, life. Opportunities to dance don't come often enough. I'm so glad we did. I'm so glad we all did, the newly divorced, the newly widowed, the babies, the cautious, the anniversary celebrants, the special ones, the newly in love, and the lovely. We all danced and let life seep into our bones and bring us joy. <br />
<br />
I can remember when Jed and I were just beginning to form the idea of the deck. He was excited about the job. I was excited about the final product. We talked about the size and the purpose. We wanted to extend our living into the beauty that was outside our back door. So many memories of pouring concrete and placing boards. My dad even helped in the final product and Jed would tell how he just had to finish the railings because my dad shamed him into finishing the job. <br />
<br />
We had many gathering on the deck, but none so grand as this one. For me, it was such a tribute to Jed, honoring his best friend with such a fine party on his amazing deck. It was just all perfect. And, right at sunset, Jed flew by. Slow and careful and proud. Our wonderful hawk, who I have named Jed, was watching it all with great approval. Happy birthday, Ubaldo, and Jed, thank you for not only building the deck, but building us, strong and confident and able to go on without you. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-57195072468549279272014-06-24T23:42:00.000-07:002014-06-24T23:42:41.251-07:00The Buying Trip <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Dad and Mom bought a farm many years ago. My brothers and I grew up on it and have varied connections to it. However we see it's future, we all agree that the heritage from the dirt and grit of that little spot in the middle of Nebraska has given us the strength to be who we are, and the fortitude to move beyond the memories. But now we have a farm, the four of us, and we decided to gather to discuss it's future with us. The gather time was quite wonderful, with opinions shared and aired. What our future with the farm will become is set in motion, and we are comfortable with the power of family. <br />
<br />
Me? I decided to make the trip to Nebraska a "buying trip." So I gathered my tax refund and my two friends. and we made our way back to California in a 17 foot U haul. Why fly when you can buy is my motto. My brothers got into connecting us up and we crawled through basements, barns, and attics. At each place we shook hands and loaded up treasures. We were the real American Pickers for nearly two weeks, and had to hand wash our underwear the last three nights because the truck was too full to risk taking out our suitcases. <br />
<br />
So here's what I learned road tripping. <br />
<ul>
<li>It's a necessity of life to spend time with good friends. </li>
<li>This country of ours is very, very beautiful, and at every turn there is magic. </li>
<li>Buying stuff is easy, picking stuff people want is not. </li>
<li>Buying stuff is way more fun if you sing to the shopkeeper and make him laugh. </li>
<li>Sometimes you have to go down dirt roads for quite a long distance to find a treasure. </li>
<li>You really don't need much luggage. Motels have sinks and clothes dry before morning. </li>
<li>There are delightful people everywhere, all just trying to get by (with a little help from their friends.) </li>
<li>I "ain't gonna be nobody's powder monkey." This I learned in Colorado in a mine tour. The powder moneys were the young kids who had to do all the disgusting work for the miners. So, we made up a song and sang it half the way home. </li>
<li>I miss my parents. </li>
<li>I love my brothers, and my sister in laws just totally rock. </li>
<li>Jed's presence is always with me. </li>
</ul>
Back in California, I find myself wanting to be on the road again, but for now, tending to undone tasks seems a better choice. <br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-67764361025801649622014-06-10T23:02:00.000-07:002014-06-10T23:02:25.512-07:00The Deck<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Jed and I bought a simple little house so many years ago. Salt box looking with a lovely touch of wind and breeze, picket fences and laughter. I was so happy, a dream house, old and needing some love touches. <br />
<br />
And then we built the deck. We, is a bit of a stretch, but I did carry water and find tools. We had a view, and Jed wanted to live in it. We had boards and concrete and nails and every kind of metal building attachment that Home Depot could provide. All this we had for what seemed like years. Jed loved a good job. He just loved working on a project. Jed was never very concerned about finishing a good job. He'd always tell Reg, "You don't want to kill a good job!" They would laugh and drink a beer while studying the next phase of the project and I would cringe. I, naturally, really wanted this "good job" to get finished. Silly me. <br />
<br />
Memories pick and choose. I pick the amazing joy I got from decorating the deck. I would hose it, and clean it, and move furniture and hang plants...oh, what relaxing fun. And, how wonderful that he finally finished the deck and started on the porch and bathroom. Me, I just walked around on the sturdy dream and felt happy. <br />
<br />
Fireworks, friends, children, oh, the children...Oh how the deck became an extension of who we were. We were the ones with the amazing deck with the sky rocketing view. We were the ones who loved to share it with our friends and family. Graduation parties, wedding receptions, good ole beer fests, homemade ice cream on 4th of July...the deck gathered us all for what our hearts needed. <br />
<br />
But then Jed fell. He fell so hard that he broke the spirit of the deck. Years went by and no one even walked on it's boards. It was left to the raccoons and squirrels. The spa grew a foot of crud, the boards warped and creaked. The tree branches threatened a final deck death. <br />
<br />
But, deck death will not be a near future reality. It is being resurrected. The dead boards are gone. New boards assure longevity. And paint. Heavy duty paint, along with hundreds of plants and piles and piles of well placed dirt are singing the happy deck song.<br />
<br />
After Jed died I decided to have a two year plan. Home, business, body. Get them fixed up. So, I'm fixing up the deck. It feels like a memorial to Jed and that is what I need. Of all the things we did together that were so filled with joy, the deck stands out among them all as quite remarkable. There's a lot I cannot do. I cannot bring him back or start over with him. But I can bring the deck back to life and even though it's not totally satisfying, it feels remarkably wonderful. <br />
<br />
Early this morning I took my coffee out to examine the deck in it's resurrection glory. A huge and brave hawk swooped over the deck, made some sounds of either stress or approval and gallantly sat on a close by tree. I knew it was Jed telling me how pleased he was. It was a lovely morning. <br />
Not only is the deck becoming once again a place of joy, but it shines brightly as a tribute to the love of my life for his remarkable vision.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-62746123285286830442014-04-20T23:48:00.001-07:002014-04-20T23:48:55.245-07:00Easter After Jed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today was Easter. I think it's the first Easter in 30 some years that I haven't gone to church. I had a very Easter day, however. I thought about sunrise services of the past. I thought about singing in and directing the choir, oh so many years. I thought about Holy week and the many years of doing and being part of the unit called church. I felt it in my heart, but I just didn't go. <br />
<br />
Instead, today, I slept late, had dinner with two very good friends and one friend's father, saw an amazing movie about heaven, cried as they sang, "Come Thou Fount Of Every Blessing," (because that was Jed's "I get it" song. That song spoke to his heart and thus to mine. And, finished the day off with planting and beginning the process of "bringing Jed's deck back to life." <br />
<br />
Perhaps it's a memorial to him. Perhaps it's just therapy for Ubaldo and myself, or perhaps it's just what we enjoy doing, but whatever it is, it is a resurrection. <br />
<br />
Resurrections come in lots of forms. I believe in the whole thing. I believe in the baby in the manger, the life of preaching, the example, the hatred, the cross, and the resurrection. I believe in the message and the purpose. I believe in it all. <br />
<br />
So, I believe that Jed is in heaven, that he is beside me and is encouraging and looking out for me. I believe in it all. And, even though I believe that Jed is in a very good place, I miss him, and I need a resurrection almost every day. <br />
<br />
And, I get it. Everyday. <br />
<br />
Everyday I get the strength to be happy, the strength to comfort others, the strength to listen and be kind. Easter is not a one day thing. Bunnies and baskets, okay, that's one day deal, but Easter, wow, Easter means we go on. <br />
<br />
We go on with something inside us that comes only from nails. Nails that have no power. Losing Jed is my nail. Wrenching, life draining nail. Resurrection takes away the power of nails. I believe in it all, so I must allow myself to believe in joy. <br />
<br />
Easter after Jed is different than any Easter before. Easter after Jed might just be the most faith testing of all. But, once again, today I got a resurrection, had a joyous day with friends, accepted that the hole in my heart will always be there, and I felt thankful for the God who has given it all to me. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-43970899099826367962014-04-11T01:08:00.000-07:002014-04-11T01:08:16.548-07:00Wendy <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I wrote about friends I forgot about Wendy. That wasn't fair to Wendy or me. Wendy saved my life once, not literally, but in every way other than pulling me out of the drowning waters. I was new in business. So new, that I was casual. Wendy was precise. <br />
<br />
Wendy and I shared stuff...stuff that only the tough share with the tough. Wendy helped me be a business person and I helped her look at life differently. We were good for one another. <br />
<br />
We don't see one another every day like we once did, but we are still there for one another. Wendy cleaned my room and folded my clothes when I was knotted with grief. She brought big pots of comfort food when we ached with unknowingness. Wendy seems to know what to do. I am the luckiest person in the world. No one could have such faithful and remarkable friends as I. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-47118767199312973102014-03-28T00:34:00.001-07:002014-03-28T00:34:34.716-07:00Don't Stop Writing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After we brought Jed home from the hospital, he couldn't talk much. The cancer and the strain of being intubated had taken its tole on his voice. Most conversation was a weak whisper. But, before we knew anything. and he was without all the tubes down his throat, we had wonderful conversations. Little did I know that these were the last we would have. After a great day of hope and family, he and I were alone for the evening before sleep. He talked with me about writing and stories. I read him Rowan's armadillo story. He thought it was beautiful. And then he said his last words to me. "Sherry, I love you. You work too hard for me. Don't stop writing, you have a magical way with words." I had no idea these would be his last words to me. <br />
<br />
But as it would be, again that night, he was intubated and became non verbal until his last day on earth. <br />
<br />
I've taken his words as power juice. He told me to keep writing. So, I will write. I will write stories, I will write about us, I will write to the greats and the grands. I will write, because it makes me feel powerful and the love of my life made that his last request. I do not know where this writing will take me, but I'm looking forward to mixing and stirring the stuff in my heart with the glob of words I know. Elnora told me, "You lose half your brain when you lose your husband." Well, half, or more, is now gone, but the brain still stirs and the heart still beats, so get ready, I'm going to stick it down on paper and make it something. I miss him so much. It's an ache that takes over where breathing once was. It's a hole. Living with a hole ain't for sissys. So I write. Sometime it will be gobblygook Sometimes sappy. But sometimes, it will be pure and wonderful. I will not know. Jed was my critic. Now he is my guardian angel. He will help me decide. <br />
<br />
It totally sucks, losing not only your best friend and life love, but your brains. How'd he get so smart anyway? I will not stop writing, not only because Jed declared it so, but because it gives me strength. Words mean something and stories can be magical. Thank you, Jed, for giving me direction and all your love. <br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6838423436211751530.post-27604515736355467372014-03-26T22:29:00.000-07:002014-03-26T22:29:06.599-07:00Friends, The Closest Thing To God<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest person on earth. It's not that I haven't had tough times. My share has been ample for a gang. It's the people that surround me. I get filled with awe when I ponder my good fortune. How on God's earth was I so fortunate to be totally surrounded by simply amazing people? One might respond with, "Well, Sherry, you're good to people so they're good to you."<br />
But it's more than that, way, way more than that. It's been ordained, I'm sure. Why me? Let me tell you about just a few of the amazing people who surround me. <br />
<br />
Candy. I've known Candy since 1970. You do the math. She's been there for me at each life changing event. And, this last January, when Jed's condition was getting worse, no questions asked, she hopped on a plane and came here to help out however she could. She ran the shop while I was in the hospital with Jed, and she was by my side on Jed's final night. She was there at the birth of my children, through my divorce and here, lifting me up with her presence when Jed passed. If she was physically able, there was nothing she wouldn't do to help out. And, when we're together, we make each other laugh until we cry. What I love about Candy is her determination that nothing is beyond her reach. Candy Rocks. <br />
<br />
Jean. I met Jean for the first time at a birthday party for James some 26 years ago. Jed brought me, and that was that. Jean has the quickest wit and the sharpest mind of anyone I know. She is so much fun to be with. She was Jed's secretary so many years ago and the two of them could laugh about the memories for hours. What I love about Jean (other that just about everything) is her gentle heart that's wrapped with joy and faith and humor. She's had some real tough times the last many years and has led the way, showing me how a faithful woman lives the life she is given. <br />
<br />
Pat. We met for the first time almost 25 years ago on the campus of Collett where we both worked. We didn't like each other, since we are both a bit snobby. And then, we went to sixth grade camp. It was critical life time for both of us. We shared, we cried, we drank too much, and we have been dear friends since. When Jed fell, she spent the night in the hospital with me. And on his dying night she was right there beside me giving me support and strength. She made cookies, until she ran out of flour, for Jed's service and rallied other teacher friends to do the same. Pat and I have taken some amazing road trips together that no one would believe. What I love about Pat is how easy it is to be with her. Pat Rocks. <br />
<br />
Joey. Joe has been my hairdresser for 25 years, give or take a few years where I couldn't afford it or thought I could do just as good with a $5 bottle of color. I love my time with Joe. We talk. We laugh. Sometimes we even cry. And when I leave, I feel beautiful. He always makes me feel like I'm the only one in the world right then and there. And, Joey has done and is still doing an amazing video of Jed's life. I am so blessed by him and his talent that it takes my breath away. What I love about Joey is how he openly admits his vulnerability and then moves on with a bit of humor and a bit of caution at the same time. Joey Rocks. <br />
<br />
Margaret. I met Margaret about 8 years ago when she came in the shop looking for a space. Little did I know she was, "a legend" as another long timer in the business recently said about her. Tough as she tries to act, she has a loving heart and has always been there for me when I've needed her. She sat with me at the hospital the night Jed fell, has rallied the Old Glory team a variety of times, and has been a real support at the shop. What I love about Margaret is her fighting spirit. Margaret Rocks. <br />
<br />
Cynthia. As friends go, she's one of the new ones. I've known Cynthia about 9 years. What I so love about her is that she doesn't do drama. There's lots of drama in the antique world, and Cynthia just doesn't do it. We've had some great fun shopping trips together and can't wait to have more. She's my real junker friend. It's dangerous to send us shopping with an empty truck. She spent the good portion of a night with Jed at the hospital when all of us were so tired that we just had to sleep. And, she loves concerts. She's so independent and has gone to many. I told her that I've lived a much more sheltered life than her. Her response was, "well, you'll just have to work to catch up." What I love about Cynthia is not only does she not do drama, she is a wild thing not ready to be tamed. Cynthia Rocks. <br />
<br />
Ubaldo. He's the real "new one." I met Ubaldo in the shop about 6 years ago. He was a customer who I found interesting and enjoyed talking with. Once he needed something delivered. Jed delivered it and came back saying, "he sure is a nice man." Not long after, Ubaldo came in the shop saying, "your husband is a real nice man." After Jed fell, I was at a loss, when I looked up from my depressed sidewalk stare, and there was Ubaldo and his mother coming into the shop. The rest is history. I hired him on the spot and that was the best thing I've ever done. He and Jed were a match. Their cussing and laughter mixed with the smells of whatever Ubaldo was cooking, to make our home full of joy. No one could have done more for Jed than Ubaldo. He was perfect for both of us. And now, with Jed gone, Ubaldo and I are learning to live together as wonderful friends, making way for the other to have their space, and yet looking out for one another with loving care. What I love about Ubaldo is that he quickly became Jed's best friend, and the two of them had so much fun just being guys out having a good time. Ubaldo Rocks<br />
<br />
Elnora. Even though she's been my sister in law for 25 years, I never really knew her until after Jed fell. She belongs here. Elnora came down so many times during the 5 years of Jed's fall, and we all just plain had fun. What amazes me about Elnora is how she listens to me. She listens and validates and listens more and validates more. She doesn't judge. She doesn't criticize. We drink wine together and talk about life and the way things are. She and Ubaldo have become great friends as well, and we love her. On Jed's dying night she sat beside him after he passed, and said, "I'm just keeping him company." She understood Jed. She knew his beautiful heart. What I love about Elnora is that she really is a wild and crazy woman just waiting for Ubaldo and me to bring it out. Elnora Rocks. <br />
<br />
I have lots of other friends who come in and out of my life with bits of vigor and joy, but it's these who have been here, steady and faithful. I am the luckiest person on earth. There is a God and He is in the heart of each one of the beautiful people in my life. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12607052096918868575noreply@blogger.com0