Drawing Parallels

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

I looked up this poem and reread it after reading "Matched" by Ally Condie. She mentions the poem in her novel about a dystopian society. I really like this poem. It speaks to the part of me that loves adventure and doing crazy stuff like Tough Mudders and skydiving. The part of me that isn't afraid of dying, just of dying poorly. I only get one chance to experience life on this rock, and I will not live in fear of what might happen.

(So, this was lost in my drafts for a few years. Better late than never!)

Hello again... 2012: a year in review.

Hello, my name is Jennifer.
I have a blog.
I got a little busy and forgot about it, for 13 months.
I am back and will try to do better.

So, what have I been doing? What has been going on that has kept me away from you? Well, let's see:

My job responsibilities went through the roof when our Sports Director at the Y quit to take a full-time teaching job at a local high school. I have been chasing my tail since last summer as we try to stay at least one week ahead of the sports chaos that never ends. Fortunately, I have a great work partner who shares the load handling all of the 'on the field' responsibilities while I handle the office/paper work.

Julia joined the 4H BB team. Learn how to shoot a BB gun, all the parts of the gun and safety & compete at meets. I became a certified coach for this BB team.
This was on top of school, soccer at the Y and joining the Book Club at school which required her to read 20 books and compete in the Helen Ruffin Reading Bowl. (Her team won the county meet and continued on to State! They didn't place, but Julia did take one round all by herself.)

My bestie moved home to Pittsburgh and left me with the title of PTO President (which I never wanted). But she brought me into her circle of friends that she has 'collected' through her travels around the country and now we all laugh and share via Facebook. These ladies are funny, smart, talented & fiercely devoted to family and friends. We share each other's burdens, slap each other out of a funk, ask parenting questions from those with kids older than our's, tell stories about neighbors or co-workers that we can't tell anyone 'local'.

I finished up my PTO responsibilities at Heard Mixon and passed on the baton to the poor suckers that decided to stay.

I turned 35.

We visited our new nephew Philip Wesley Towns III in NC.
That same weekend we saw TFK & Manafest live in concert! (we also discovered Nine Lashes at that concert, good band.)

Summer came and went with it's usual bang, but the kids were old enough this year to hang at the camp some and even work a little in the canteen. They preferred, however, to spend as much time as possible at Grandma's house and play with their cousins.

Julia spent almost as much time away from home as not this summer! Soccer Camp, Church Camp, Wildlife Camp, Camping with Grandparents, long weekend at my sister's.

Connor attended his first Boy Scout Summer Camp - 4 days, 3 nights - by himself.

We made several weekend camping trips with the kids to state parks. We tent camp and cook our own food over the fire. The kids love it! We have been to Fort McAllister, Tallulah Gorge (adult only trip), Tugaloo State Park, Lee State Park (with Leroy and Ryan for the Tough Mudder weekend).

TOUGH MUDDER!!! Russel & I completed our first TM October 27th in South Carolina. If you don't know what this is go to their website and check it out: Tough Mudder  We did a lot of training before the race building up our strength and stamina. It paid off because we did a lot better than we expected to, although I had bruises that didn't go away for about 6 weeks, and Russel had to deal with bruised ribs from falling off a 12 foot Berlin Wall.

Saw our niece Samantha get married.

Sent our nephew Zach off to college. (Julia has had a hard time with this. They are pretty close.)

Welcomed our first great-nephew Edward Clark Lang into the world.

My baby girl started middle school & joined the youth group at church. (this makes me feel old!)

DISNEY CRUISE!!!! This was our family vacation for 2012. Four night cruise aboard the Disney Dream. Amazing. Can't wait to go again!

And I read 23 books, a short story and a poem.

Sad day.

Ever since our dog Dixie died last January (which I didn't write about at the time because it hurt too much and we were dealing with the failing health of my grandparents), our other blue heeler Sassy was just not the same.

We had both dogs for 11 years, and Sassy was full grown when we got her so we guessed that she was at least 13 years old. For a while after Dixie died we just figured she was depressed. Then we passed off her lethargy and not-so-spunkiness as old age finally settling in. But over the last few months or so she really took a turn for the worse.

Some days she would have a very hard time getting her back legs to hold her up. Other days Russel would have to coax her to eat. But this past weekend her face was really swollen and she wouldn't eat at all. We thought, "well, the bees are out now and maybe the goober ate one that was aggravating her and it stung her." (wouldn't have been the first time!) But this morning when Russel tried to feed her again she wouldn't even get up. So we took her to the vet, where she would get up and walk some, but her breathing was pretty labored. (like we had been out running and playing) When the doc examined her, she told us that she had lymphoma (cancer) and all her lymph nodes were very swollen. She said that she would only get worse and that since she was already to the phase of not wanting to eat, it would probably be fast and ugly. So we did the best thing for her and let her go. We got to stay in there with her and talk to her and pet her as she passed. But that really didn't make it any easier.

Even though the old goat was a pain in the rear... She ever liked to stay in the pen and would jump the 5-foot fence just for spite. And when you went inside to get the leash to take her back to the pen, she would stand in the ivy & underbrush just out of reach. Would pee on the porch all the time. Herded you all the way to her food bowl poking her nose into the back of your legs if you walked too slow. Always had to stand behind you. Wouldn't fetch a ball to save her life, but would run out and bark and nip at Dixie every time she was bringing the frisbee/ball/squeaky back to you. Sneezed with me during pollen season. Had the most annoying high-pitched bark for a 45 pound dog. Wouldn't let you pet her without wrapping her front legs around your arm. Usually let her ears droop down so she looked like Yoda. Would shake the fool out of her stump of a tail every time you came home. And just in general wanted to be a part-time free-roaming "How you doin'?" gal -- part-time lap dog. She will be missed.

Confessional

So, back in December I told you all that I was finally coming to terms with my body even though I knew that I was overweight. And then in January I went for my physical, found out my cholesterol was a little high, and challenged myself to run a 5K. Well, in training for that 3.1 mile run, I have dropped a pants size and become noticeably toner. Now, I should say that in my newly enlightened state I am indifferent to this change, but that would be a lie. I am loving it! So there. I confessed.

Love -- it is complex, wonderful, painful, and always worth it.

My man and I were going through all our important papers the other day to figure out what we needed to put in our new fire safe. Aside from the dust bunnies we spooked (and the subsequent sneezing fit that ensued), I found and started looking through our old shoe box of love notes and letters from our five year courtship. The first thing I realized was that I was smitten, completely head-over-heels in love, with the boy who would become the man I married within the first few weeks of our relationship. The second thing I realized was that if the time-space continuum was ever tampered with and I had to relive that 5 years leading up to our wedding day, I would kill myself. They were necessary for personal growth and shaping who we are now, but my memory of that time had been romanticized over the years, and the times of pain and struggle were wiped away. I don't wish they had never happened, but I have no desire to relive them. Ever.

In reading through the journey we traveled, I was reminded of a poem I read and clung to during year four, my freshman year of college (without question the toughest year of them all). I share it here with you and give some new insights that have come with time and age.


A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
by John Donne


As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No;


So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.


Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.


Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.


But we, by a love so much refined
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.


Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion.
Like gold to airy thinness beat.


If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.


And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.


Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

valediction: (noun) an act of bidding farewell or taking leave
Whether separated by distance because of travel; or time because of death; or spirit because of doubt or loss of trust, lovers often have to experience a valediction, and in doing so throw themselves in the refiner's fire to be tested, purified and stretched.

But like a compass, they are joined at the very middle, at the soul, and as such can never truly be separated. For while one may wander, the other is a fixed point that doesn't waver and brings its mate back around to where it began, home. And there too lies the heart and truth of any committed long-term relationship. If you can step away and view it from a different perspective, an overview of the thing in its entirety, you will see that each partner at one point or another trades roles playing the fixed foot or the wanderer / explorer / wayfarer.

The journey may be one of self-discovery, or it could be fueled by anger or guilt. But the most important things to cling to during these times of leaning / stretching / hearkening are trust and hope. Trust that your partner is remaining faithful to you and hope that they will indeed return. In the midst of the stretching that will seem like a big thing to ask of the fixed mark, but really it is no different than what we must do every day. Every morning we kiss our love goodbye as they walk out into the world. Every night we anticipate their return. But you can never know for sure when or if they will walk back through that door.

My biggest reward for pushing through the difficult moments, for trusting and clinging to hope is this: the moment, the long anticipated time in each day when I see that my love has found his way home. My heart still skips a beat when I hear his truck coming up the driveway. My heart melts when I see the joy in his eyes when he realizes I am the one who has walked into his office. I still want to run into his arms when I hear his voice call my name. I find myself sneaking moments to stare at him; drink in my favorite parts of him; wonder what he is thinking.

Yes, I am still smitten. Totally. Completely. Passionately.

What doesn't kill us....

I think it is safe to say that 2010 started off pretty crappy and quickly went downhill before finally rebounding in September and ending (soon) on a pretty decent note.

January: my dog died. unexpectedly. violently. and I was the one who found her.

March: my Papa died. expected. peacefully with a romantic twist. but difficult to watch my dad grieve and deal with jerks for family.

May: my Grandma died. expected. peacefully in her sleep. but too soon after I finally began to understand her. relate to her. proud to be like her. and painful because my Daddy was again hit with loss and had to deal with the ugly truth about his brothers.

May through August: Russel is sucked into camp life just as I really need some stability and support. but extended family came to the rescue.

September: the turning point. Skydiving. adrenaline rush. a kick in the "bum" to appreciate life and a reminder that we have to live it. and the libido boost didn't hurt either.

October: realized how much weight I gained over the past year, but not really motivated enough to do something about it.

November: normally by this time of year I am listening to Christmas music and have checked off several names on my shopping list, but I still am not really into it yet (in December).

Now: I can still feel the "funk cloud" around. but I am going to kick its "bum". I have committed to one too many things recently because the idea of them made me excited, but I am determined to see them through. I am more in love with my husband now than ever before. looking forward to our annual anniversary trip. despite knowing that I need to lose weight (mainly for health reasons although my doctors don't seem worried yet) I am becoming more comfortable with my body (for which my husband is very appreciative). and I am still pressing on. determined. confident I will win. 

A Georgia Peach learns how to make Sweet Tea.

I was skipping through the Covington News website when I stumbled upon an article that not only made me laugh, but I identified with. The woman describes herself as "Not from Here" (even though she was raised in Alabama, her momma n' them were from New Jersey) and wasn't raised on our sweet elixir, but confesses that she has fallen in love with our traditional beverage: Sweet Tea.

I, however, was born and raised in Georgia. In fact, I am a 7th generation Georgia Peach on my Daddy's side. But when it came to the cooking in my childhood home, my Momma's Northern ancestors were a strong influence on how we prepared certain things. It wasn't until my sixteenth year, however, that I learned we didn't make real Southern Sweet Tea. (um, what?) It only took one sip of my now mother-in-law's nectar to open my eyes to what real Southern Sweet Tea tasted like. And it wasn't until a few years after that enlightening experience, watching her create that heaven-sent yumminess, that I understood how even the slightest modification to the process could change an elixir fit for the gods into nothing more than a flavored beverage. (I will confess here that we did a lot of steps wrong in the process, as you will see, but for the sake of the metaphor work with me.)

I grew up making "sweet tea" from Lipton Instant Iced Tea (gasps!) and artificial sweetener (the horror!) in cold water (well, I never!). How was I supposed to know that true Southern Sweet Tea could only be made by steeping the tea bags in just boiled water in a pot on the stove, dissolving the sugar in the still hot liquid, and leaving it to sit for a while before serving over a glass of ice?!? That's just not how I was taught. But believe me.... the product is worth the work. I had always wondered why just adding sugar to the "iced tea" (read unsweetened) they served in fancy restaurants never tasted right. It's because the sugar won't dissolve properly in cold water genius!

It was a true moment of revelation!

So, if you are "Not from Here" and are ever in a fancy restaurant that doesn't serve the best beverage that the South has to offer (and believe it or not there are some in the South like this, though for the life of me I don't see how they stay open) do not be surprised if a true Southerner in your party looks aghast. And please, whatever you do... do not tell them to just add some sugar to it. It is not the same. And you will receive a look from them that says either: "Bless your heart, you're not from here are you?" or "The Hell you say!"

Skydive the Farm

I don't think any of us were expecting the scene that unfolded as we arrived at the Farm. . . a large open hangar with couches facing the field and a lot of people from varying walks of life milling about. Kids running around, and dogs roaming looking for a good behind-the-ear scratch. We were all a little taken aback at how mellow and yet professional the staff and instructors were. It was almost like we had stepped into a surf shop that had been transplanted to the foothills of the Appalachian mountains.

The chill atmosphere turns into a hopping, well-oiled machine as the jumpers land. The truck takes off to pick up the students, instructors and videographers. After they unload, they make their way to the hangar where a myriad of people take the parachutes and begin the most important task of the day: repacking. We are hypnotized by the methodical and seemingly mundane routine of it. The instructors, meanwhile, are picking out their next student and giving their spiel of what to expect, and do's and don'ts to wide-eyed "I'm trying hard to not freak out" students.

After getting harnessed up, we get on the bus for the scariest part of the day.... the ride to the airport! That driver did not observe the speed limit on the winding mountain road. It was then that an unsettling statistic popped in my head: you are more likely to die in a car crash on the way to the airport than parachuting out of the plane! And then once we were in the plane, I was really glad that Travis was hooked to me with a parachute, because, well..... it was no private jet. I knew it was safe simply because I had seen it fly over us four times already that day, but I had no problems jumping out of it! However, when you take into consideration all the gear strapped to the people, gutted and functional is better than pretty and cushy. There is no way you can have real seats and get hooked up to your "exit buddy" much less walk together to the door to jump.

There is no good way to describe the free fall. It is exhilarating, loud and surreal. The canopy ride is peaceful & serene, with an amazing view. After the canopy deploys and you know it is working properly, you breathe a small sigh of relief and can talk to your instructor. They will let you fly on the way down, teaching you how to turn and showing you where to go, but landing is all them. I loved the rush of the free fall, but I enjoyed the canopy ride better simply because I didn't have to worry about the camera and was free to look around. I would go again tomorrow if I had the money and the time.

Here are our videos:

Yes, I am a Soccer Mom

At the urging of Julia's preschool teachers, we signed her up for ballet when she was three to help her physical development catch up with her intellectual prowess. But, that didn't really stick, so the next year we signed her and her brother up for soccer at the Y. And as they say..... the rest is history.

I have officially joined the Soccer Mom club. We always have folding chairs, a big golf umbrella, and bug spray in the back of our SUV. From time to time there is a soccer ball magnet on the back of my truck, and we have just completed our second summer of soccer camp complete with international coaches. My daughter takes a book and a size 1 (little-bitty training size) soccer ball everywhere she goes. I have been watching the World Cup on ESPN, and can understand most of the penalties that are called in the games. I can even brag and say that Russel and I had the only undefeated team when we coached Connor's under-six team. (that's 4 & 5 year olds) Go Eagles!

Connor no longer plays soccer, choosing instead to play baseball. But Julia has moved up in the soccer world and is now about to start her second year in the Academy league. (Under 13 travel ball for those of you who are outside the soccer world.) She loves it, so we sacrifice two nights a week and most of our weekends in the Fall and Spring. And don't forget the hefty price increase.

And I think that is the true definition of a Soccer Mom. The parent who is willing to sacrifice time, money, sleep & the occasional sun burn to give her child the opportunity to be part of a team playing a sport she loves.

NINE WORDS WOMEN USE

This came to me in an email. It made me laugh out loud!

(1)Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.
(2)Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.
(3)Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.
(4)Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!
(5)Loud Sigh: This is not actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)
(6)That's Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a women can make to a man. That's okay means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.
(7)Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or faint. Just say you're welcome. (I want to add in a clause here - This is true, unless she says 'Thanks a lot' - that is PURE sarcasm and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say 'you're welcome'. that will bring on a 'whatever').
(8)Whatever: Is a woman's way of saying 'Screw You!'
(9)Don't worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking 'What's wrong?' For the woman's response refer to # 3.

Things I didn't learn in kindergarten, or high school, or college for that matter.

We were recently shopping in Macon when I came across a book that got my attention. It's title: "How to Read Literature Like a Professor." I had to have this book. I had to see if I still "have it," you know? Because as much as I hate to admit it, I have been out of school for ten years and my analytical skills are a bit dusty.

But as I was reading this wonderful book that brought back so many memories, something else struck me..... even though I did graduate knowing these things, it was only through my own experience and curiosity.

But why, I wondered, did my professors, who were charged with preparing me to teach literature, not make sure that I knew these things? Why was this not a required class before graduation? And for that matter why was the grammar class optional?! Lucky for me I was good at grammar and had a wonderful teacher in middle school who taught me all I ever needed to know. This enabled me to help the rest of my ill-prepared classmates in my college grammar class and be the one to whom everyone turned for help.

It seems that all the things that are really important for a teacher to know in order to be a competent teacher we were expected to learn by osmosis. They were never directly taught only implied, and yet are some of the basic foundations, must haves, in order to be an effective teacher of literature.

But all this is really irrelevant in light of the fact that I am no longer a teacher and have no plans to return to that profession. Well, c'est la vie!
(ha! I did learn something in French class!)

Boy vs. Water

At the beginning of the summer, my son was afraid of the water. He knew he couldn't swim. So, when we went to the pool during the first week of June, he wouldn't come out of his life vest unless his father or I had a tight grasp on him. And don't even think about the diving board.

But for the past four weeks we have spent every afternoon at the pool at the YMCA taking swim lessons. Everyday I sat there in a little patch of shade trying to avoid sunburn and sweating like an Englishman in the desert.

Every week, my little man's confidence grew along with his skills. Having some free-play time before and after his lessons really helped too. Trying to show up the other kids by doing handstands, flips and cannonballs can boost any kids confidence, you know.

But no matter how hard he tried or how fast he kicked, every time his instructor let go of him, his little bum would sink like the Titanic, and he would end up desperately treading water until he remembered he could touch the bottom.

But one day during the third week of lessons, something clicked. It was his turn to push off the wall and swim to his instructor. He sighed, whined about how far away she was, then the amazing happened. He pushed off, kicked with out bending his knees, and zoom! He was off! He reached his instructor in no time and was very surprised when he looked up and realized what he had done. After that there was no stopping my little buddy. And the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the sundae...... he passed the swim test on his final day of lessons. My little guy swam the entire length of the pool, with no help, without stopping or touching the bottom of the pool. And he proudly wore his orange wristband as he played in the shallow end of the pool with all the confidence of a kid twice his size.

The Secret Life of a Camp Wife

Hi. My name is Jennifer, and I am a Camp Wife.

Hi Jennifer!



Some days I really wish there was a support group for spouses in my position. My husband has a great job that provides us with an amazing place to live and raise our kids, great insurance and benefits, nice perks and wonderful friends, but in the summer I might as well be single.

My husband works from 7:45am to midnight or later from Sunday afternoon to Friday evening. True, we can go to the camp and hang out whenever we want, but we can never have him to ourselves. There is always something happening or someone who needs him for something. He isn't even guaranteed peace to finish a meal some days.

I am very proud that he has worked his way from grass crew to assistant director. I can never brag enough that he has helped double/triple/quadruple the number of people that come to the camp, or that he has helped transform the camp's summer program from an antiquated 1950's style program into a premier leadership camp of the 21st century.

However, because of the time commitment that is required of Russel, the kids and I can very easily feel left out and abandoned. And over the years I have unconsciously created some coping mechanisms....(green are good ones, red....not so much)

emotional distance -- even before the summer starts, I can feel myself pulling away, cocooning myself in preparation for the summer hibernation. I will withdraw into books, TV shows, whatever, to not have to face the fact that the camp will steal my best friend.
overbooking -- during the summer, especially now that the kids are older, I find something for us to do. This summer it was four consecutive weeks of swim lessons, soccer camp, church camp for Julia and camping with the grandparents. For me it is work, work, work. Carpool. Showers Every Night. with no time to go grocery shopping (not that we need a whole lot, but still.... deodorant is important. I can't have my husband smelling gamey at work.)
dry-erase markers -- our new best friends are the dry-erase markers! We discovered a few years ago that (DUH!) you can write on your mirrors with dry-erase markers and it comes right off with no problem. Granted, after a few layers you have to wash with some Windex, but that's not a big deal. Now I can keep my prayer list right in front of my face to help me remember, start a shopping list as items run low, and write love notes to my absent husband and mysteriously get notes back in the morning! (OK, so that was a little melodramatic. Sometimes I am still awake when he gets in and we get to snuggle before I start snoring. And most mornings I have to get up before he leaves to get ready for work.)
the notebook -- one year, before dry-erase markers, we kept a notebook by the bed. If there was something on my mind that I was afraid I would forget to tell him, or knew that I wouldn't get a chance to be alone with him for a while, I would write it in the notebook and leave it on his pillow. Then when he got a chance he would write back. This one wasn't near as effective as the markers, but a good idea. And now that both kids can read, somethings are better left where little eyes can't see.....so, we might be pulling the notebook back out in the future.

So, thanks for listening. I'll be back next week.
(polite applause and everyone heads to the snack table)

Rose Colored Glasses

aaaahhhh youth. The bliss that comes from ignorance. No stress. No worries. (Other than who's your favorite New Kid on the Block, and what color scrunchy am I going to wear in my hair?) Growing up means more independence and more responsibility, which are welcomed; but it also comes with the loss of your innocence as knowledge is gained. You have to put your rose-colored glasses on the shelf and see the world in living color.
As children, most of us preferred to see our parents and grandparents as indestructible and all-knowing. They were living encyclopedias and history books, and no matter what, they could and would do anything for us. Time, however, marches on and takes with it the youthful energy of our parents and gives us the ability to see that they are mere mortals who will eventually succumb to the same fate as the rest of humanity. They will grow old. They will get sick. And, eventually, you will be the one changing their diapers and cooking their three meals a day.

Last week I spent my mornings helping my dad. His new full-time job is caretaker, nurse, pharmacists, cook, janitor, accountant, chauffeur, and general "do boy" for his parents. They are 90 and 89 years old and have had to move into my childhood home with my parents after additions and remodeling to make it handicap accessible. My mother was looking forward to retiring soon, but now...... And I have had to watch my parents age faster than they should while shouldering the burden of caring for the frail and dying, the blind and lame, the stubborn and memory impaired.
My sister and I have also been the open ear on which our parents can vent their frustrations, fears, anxieties, and hurts over the past several months. And with this new responsibility we have been introduced to the other side. The side that knows how manipulative, selfish and vindictive some family members are.... The side that is thankful we never had to borrow money from them..... The side that has to try to balance the wishes of both parents although they contradict one another...... The side that is being driven mad by the once-loved quirks of a family member.... The side of life that gives you gray hair and migraines, ulcers and murderous thoughts.
Despite the stress and often raw nerves that come with this type of role reversal, we are treasuring the time we get to spend with my grandparents..... hearing stories that had not been told.... seeing them enjoy my children.... knowing my children are learning valuable lessons about how families take care of each other..... getting a "head's up" on how my dad could possibly turn out.....
I didn't understand until now how people could feel relief after the death of a family member. But after having to take care of my grandparents for only a few hours a day, and being witness to and a victim of the black-hole that is now consuming the lives of my parents, I know our family will feel a huge weight lift after my grandparents pass. We will miss them. We love them. But we will cry "Freedom!" when they go to be with the Father. And that time can be a joyous time because we know we will see them again. There is hardly a day that goes by when I don't think of 'what Grandmother would say' or 'Granddaddy would love to see my kids do that' or 'Aunt Deloris would be so proud of my daughter'..... but I know they see us and are eagerly waiting for us. And I will soon add Grandma and Papa to that group of people who "I wish were here to witness this...." but in the interim we will keep on making coffee, washing soiled linens, wiping bums, and dolling out meds while laughing at funny stories and how many times I can have the same conversation with Grandma:
"Is Russel at work?"
"Yes, Grandma. It's summertime, and the camp is full."
"Ooooh, I bet you love eating down there. The food is so good. And you don't have to cook or clean......"
"Yes, mam. I am spoiled."
(I lean over, look at my mother and mouth "That's one.")

"Dude!"

Why do we use the words & phrases we do? When did I start saying something that now I don't even know where it came from?

This is something I've been thinking about ever since my friend Jennifer started laughing when I said "Dude!" to somebody. She said she always thought of me when she heard some one say that. So, I tried to think of when I first started using that word, and for the life of me I don't have a clue! I've never been to California; don't surf or skateboard; not really one to hang out with the laid-back, pass the special brownies because I'm craving some munchies crowd..... so where did I pick up "Dude!"? Who knows?!

I realize that I call my son "Buddy" because my Papa always called me his "fishing buddy" when I was little. And I sometimes call my daughter "Baby" because my dad's nickname for me was (no, is) "Angel Baby," and he calls my mom "Baby" all the time. But then, there are the other nicknames we have for our kids that, well, I just don't know. "The Boy": my only guess is that we were so used to having a little girl, that when he came along and did something only boys do, the only way to explain it was to say, "It was The Boy." And we've had numerous names for our daughter: "Baby," "Squirt," "Girlie," "Little J" (her name starts with a J too)..... but where they came from? Couldn't tell ya!

And to be completely honest.... I may have been born and raised in the South, but I say "you guys" more often than "y'all." And as a joke I started calling carbonated beverages "sodas" instead of what every true Southerner calls them: "Coke." And now, it has stuck.

So, dude, I'll leave you with this: Grab a soda and a fishing pole and we'll go down to the crick and catch up on what you guys have been doin'.