Epic Fail

Blogging is addictive.  When I first started this blog, I was faithful to post every day.  During the 2008 presidential election it served as my soap box.  It's where I posted pictures of the grandchildren and talked about my family, and recorded my trips down memory lane.  I'm afraid the blog suffered a little when Steve and I started dating, as I preferred spending time with my sweetheart over sitting at the computer.  Imagine that!!  Blogging also serves as a diary, of sorts, and with my failing memory these days, I like that events and feelings are documented somewhere, and though Whitney calls me narcissistic, I enjoy going back and reading about what was happening, and what I was feeling over the past few years.  


A little bit after the time I started this blog, I created a more private one to document my many attempts at weight loss.  I found other weight-loss blogs, and became cyber-friends with lots of other folks doing the same thing.  Reading their blogs was very motivational to me, and became an important part of my day.  Strangely enough, knowing that I would be posting about my day would often help me make better choices.  I had determined to always be truthful and never cover up or justify "failures".  I specifically remember one day wanting to eat a particularly yummy and sinful treat, but stopped myself, because I knew I would have to report it to my blogger friends.  And the feeling of victory that I had over the moment tasted sweeter than the treat would have!!  


My real-life friends have watched my struggles and have seen me go through multiple dress sizes over the past couple of years.  Up, down, and then up again.  It was easy to post to my blog when things were going well, but as it seemed everything was out of control, I simply stopped posting to that blog altogether.  It is part of the purging process that sometimes helps, but can be very discouraging when the only thing I can say is that I'm failing miserably.  The holidays are coming, and while one side of me defiantly says I'm not denying myself the enjoyment of all the delicious foods of the season, the other side of me (maybe my butt-side???) is shouting "Danger!!"  At any rate, the struggle continues.  For me it is a mind-over-matter thing, and part of the process is addressing the issue. A couple of months ago I posted to the other blog, and then this week I posted the following. 


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Monday, November 7, 2011


I close my eyes for just a second... and two months whiz by with lightning speed.  Another two months have passed, and nothing has changed.  Nothing, that is, except my frustration level is a bit higher than it was two months ago at my last post.  While shopping the other night, my sweet husband bought me a gorgeous pair of boots.  I had wanted some for a while.  I love the look of skinny girls with their jeans tucked into their knee-high boots.  I hadn't committed to buying any for myself, though, because I'm so short and dumpy, I know that I'll probably just look like a Weeble.  At any rate, my sweetheart had me trying on boots at Belk, and we found a pair that we both loved, (and they were 40% off!!!), so I brought them home.  I fully intended to wear them to church on Sunday, but only have one dress that I could get away with wearing brown.  (Most everything I own is black.)  I was doubtful that the dress would fit, since my mom bought it for me when I was at my lowest weight after (failed) lap-band surgery.  Oh. My. Goodness.  I donned the obligatory suck-me-up panties, the pantyhose, the half slip, and slid the dress over my head.  I got my arms through, and it sort of got stuck on my chest.  I wiggled and squirmed, trying to pull it on down.  The dress has a jacket, so I was hoping that the jacket would be able to cover a multitude of lumps and bumps.  However, I only got the hem of the dress below my butt cheeks... and I got stuck.  Couldn't go down, couldn't go up.  I was mortified.  My husband was out of town for the day.  My stepson and his children were visiting, but I was too ashamed to ask for help.  So I put the wiggle in reverse, and somehow got the dress back over my head.  And felt pretty discouraged.  Not only was I irritated at myself, because the dress no longer fit, I didn't get to wear my new boots.  ....sigh....  

If I had the time and the money, I think I would benefit more from a psychologist or a shrink than a dietitian or a gym membership.  It is all in my head.  Always has been.  On the way home from the mall, we stopped at the Krispy Kreme to get donuts for the grandchildren.  My husband asked me if I remembered the time that I was on a healthy eating kick and I rode for 30 minutes with a box of hot KK donuts on my lap and never touched a one.  He said "I don't know how you did it!"  I did it because I was mentally prepared, and had my mind made up that eating healthy was more important than indulging in my in-the-moment desire to eat hot donuts.  Where does that go?  How do I lose it?  

I don't blog here often because I have nothing positive to say.  I find myself gravitating to the blogs of people who are successful, rather than ones who whine all the time and never seem to get their act together and actually work the program.  So rather than be one of those whiners, I just don't blog at all.  Sad.  And more often than not, I don't even take the time to read the blogs that do inspire me.  Fail.  [end]

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It makes me sad to read that.  But there it is, for all it's pitiful truth.  Say a prayer for me, and for all your friends who struggle with this.  They may never admit it, but I'd venture to say more of your friends struggle with this issue than you realize.  Unlike alcohol or drugs, we can't just quit food cold-turkey.  We must eat.  And the mentality of "just one more bite" is as dangerous for us as "just one tiny drink" is for an alcoholic.  It is a mental problem on so many levels.  A real head game.  Psyching myself up and getting the motivational part of my brain on the same page as my intellectual brain is key.  But then when things don't go well, looking in the mirror, or trying on clothes, the brain screams "Failure!" and "You'll never be able to do it, so don't even bother to try!".  It's not pretty.  

So if you're one of the people who has overcome your struggle and now make healthy eating choices, or if you are one of the blessed who never had a problem with it, take the time today to encourage someone you know who is struggling.  We need to hear it.  We need to hear that we are worth the effort.  We need to know that someone believes in us, and thinks we are strong enough to do it.  

Don't look at us condescendingly when we choose fries instead of apple wedges.  In fact, don't say anything at all in the presence of food.  It's too late then.  Encourage and inspire us outside the kitchen or the restaurant. Then maybe we'll make better choices.  If you try to do this after I've already fixed my plate, it just reinforces the fact that I am a failure, and instead of stopping when I'm full, I'll clean my plate and go back for seconds.  After all, I'm a failure, doomed to be fat, so I might as well enjoy it. 

I miss my weight-loss blogger friends, and today I'm making a vow to go back and catch up with them.  See how they are doing.  And maybe, just maybe, I'll get motivated again to start making better choices.  Yes, the holidays are coming, and one of the great things about the season is the once-a-year delicious food.  I'm not going to be so silly as to claim I'll be abstaining.  But I am going to make a conscious effort to reduce the portion sizes of my favorite holiday foods. 

After all.  I've got new boots and a brown dress that I want to wear.  :-)

Thirty Days of Thanks

During the month of November, many of my Facebook friends list each day something for which they are thankful.  I love reading these posts!!  I thought about participating, but I'm already three days behind.  I did the same thing last year.  Instead, I listed a month's worth of Thankful Things on my blog, and decided to do the same thing this year.  Most all of us will list, first and foremost, our obvious blessings:  Faith, Family, Friends, Employment.  Those are the big ticket items, and I am most assuredly thankful for all of those.  I can't imagine life without them.  I'm going to try to dig a little deeper, and find more specific things that I consider blessings. Some are silly, some are serious.  But all are things that make my life what it is, and for these things, I am thankful.

1. Falling in love and getting married in my 50s when I said I'd never do it again.

2. Sweet little grand baby faces that light up when they see Greemaw.

3. Parents who are healthy enough to enjoy the great-grandchildren, and love babysitting them!

4. My heated keyboard.

5. A husband who can fix things. And build things.

6. The ability to listen objectively to both sides. 

7. Spell Check.

8. Google.

9. Facebook. 

10. Forgiveness.

11. Music.

12. Creativity.

13. Take out food. 

14. The best co-workers ever.

15. The love of reading.

16. The love of writing.

17. Calculators (No love for math!)

18. Knowing who has my back (and who doesn't)

19. Working from home.

20. Early detection. 

21. Growing up in a small town.

22. A grateful heart.

23. Opportunities to do good. 

24. Girl time. 

25. A sense of humor (which sometimes only Whitney "gets")

26. Digital photography.

27. Salad.

28. Reading glasses at the $1.00 store. (I buy them 10 at a time)

29. The American soldier. 

30. School teachers, policemen, and firemen. 

The Lord Is My Shepherd

A Sunday School teacher decided to have her young class memorize one of the most quoted passages in the Bible; Psalm 23. She gave the youngsters a month to learn the chapter. Little Rick was excited about the task -- but, he just couldn't remember the Psalm. After much practice, he could barely get past the first line. On the day that the kids were scheduled to recite the 23rd Psalm in front of the congregation, Ricky was so nervous when it was his turn, he stepped up to the microphone and said proudly, 'The Lord is my Shepherd, and that's all I need to know.'

Happy Fall, Ya'll!!

It's the most wonderful time of the year!
When the sun stops its burning and leaves start their turning
And Autumn is here!!
It's the most wonderful time of the year!!


Autumn. My absolute favorite time of the year! Back in the olden days, before global warming and drought conditions left the southeast such a tinderbox, leaf disposal was a major factor in the atmosphere of our little town. Literally. Every house up and down Broad Street, and all the side streets, had little piles of dried, red, orange, brown, and yellow leaves raked out beside the road. We didn’t have paved sidewalks in those days, just the sweet Georgia dirt, often interrupted by roots of the oak trees that had stood sentinel for decades. Between the dirt sidewalks and the wide lane of the street, the little piles of leaves would sit, awaiting the strike of a match. Late afternoon would find these little mounds of leaves crackling with unseen flames, simmering with acorns, tiny wisps of smoke drifting upward. We didn't worry so much about air pollution in those days, and it was not uncommon to look down the street and notice a light haze floating about tree-top level. And the smell. Oh my goodness. Few things beckon memories of my childhood so vividly as the smell of burning leaves. It is nearly a lost “art” these days, what with air-quality concerns, drought conditions, watering restrictions, and an aging population now unable to rake the yard themselves. The younger generation hires out lawn maintenance services, or at the least, big riding mowers with mulchers so that there is no longer the need to rake one’s yard. Our parents “let” us rake the leaves, (how very clever of them!) only so that we could run wildly into the pile and scatter them all over again. Just so we left the leaves neatly piled beside my dad’s garden. You see, I enjoyed this leaf-burning ritual only as an observer (or sniffer). My dad was a gardener/greenhouse owner, and wouldn’t let us burn the leaves. He used them for mulch. How boring. I believe, though, this personal deprivation allowed me to enjoy the smells of the season even more. The smell would waft into our open windows in the crisp night air, and I remember many evenings sitting on the porch swing at BJ's or Lisa's house, watching the little curls of smoke and enjoying my favorite end-of-summer tradition. Nowadays, it is the rare treasured moment to walk or drive through a patch of air heavy with the scent of smoldering autumn leaves. By chance when it happens, I am a little girl again, taken back in time by the simple delights of home-grown memories.

(originally posted to Cathy B October 6, 2008, and currently appearing in Sweet Tea, The Magazine That Refreshes online issue.)

365 Days

September 18, 2010. Who would have thought that a few words on a social networking site would bring about such a change in my life? It was on this date last year that I received a response to a friend request from someone I had not seen in 35-ish years. I wasn’t even sure he would remember me. How amazing, sometimes, the way things work out.

There is something strange about all this, though. I am quite certain that the circumstance leading to our reconnecting was that he posted a birthday greeting on the wall of his niece, who was a FB friend of mine. Yesterday we were talking about the fact that it had been a year, and I stated I didn’t recall seeing Melissa’s birthday reminder come up on FB. To make sure I didn’t miss her birthday, I pulled up her home page today. Her birthday isn’t until next month. Hmm. My memory fails me more often than I like to admit, but I’ve held every detail about our getting reacquainted very close to my heart. Something’s not right. Either I missed that detail, and it wasn’t a “Happy Birthday” message he wrote to her, or (more likely the case), he just got her birthday wrong. Yes, that’s the explanation, I’m sure of it. I’m not sure FB will let me go back that far to find the exchange between them, but if I knew I could prove my memory hasn’t failed me, I’d probably give it a try.

At any rate, much has transpired within the year since we started “talking”. My new FB friend became my husband, and life is sweet. My family is nearby, my grandchildren grow ever more precious (is that even possible?), and Forever With My Sweetie looks better with each passing day.

Happy Facebook Anniversary, Stevie Jay. I love you!

It's All In A Day's Work

What is a Medical Transcriptionist?  Here's what you'd see if you looked at my Facebook profile: 

Medical Language Specialist. Healthcare Documentation Specialist. I translate the garbled, sometimes incoherent babbling of physicians into decipherable health reports to facilitate cohesive documentation of HIPAA-protected information required to provide patient continuum of care. (I type big, long, medical words all day.)

In this capacity, I've been called lots of things.  Transcriptionist.  Typist.  Secretary.  By far, though, my favorite is Dictationist.  That's what one of the cardiologists calls us.  He thinks we are his own personal transcriptionist.  He'll say "Note to My Dictationist, please go back and change where I said... bla bla bla" 

The industry has changed drastically since the days I learned the job on an old IBM Selectric (the non-correcting kind!) 85-lb electric typewriter.  In those days, there was no "go back and change" anything.  You ripped the paper outta the typewriter and STARTED ALL OVER.   The present-day doctors would be in a world of hurt if they couldn't go back and change 75 things after they were finished.  Well, let me re-phrase that.  I guess we "dictationists" would be the ones in a world of hurt if we didn't have our fancy word-processing programs that allow us to edit so freely. 

One of the questions I'm asked the most, is "how do you understand those foriegn doctors?"  Granted, they can be challenging at times.  Surprisingly, though, it's not just the ESL folks who make us want to shoot our monitors, or throw our headsets into the garbage disposal.  The good old, English-speaking folks can be a real nightmare as well. 

The other day I ran across a document called:  Dictation Guidelines For Physicians.  In the spirit of making life easier for physicians and "dictationists" everwhere, I'd like to submit these Guidelines as required reading for all graduating medical students.  We are confident that the Guidelines will be followed to the letter. 

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Dictation Guidelines for Physicians

Adherence to these guidelines will assure the highest quality transcribed reports in the shortest amount of time.

At the beginning of the dictation, take as deep a breath as you possibly can. Now, try to dictate the entire report before you have to inhale again.

When dictating a particularly difficult word or phrase, please turn your head and speak directly into your armpit.

We charge per character, including periods. An effective way to cut your cost is to dictate your entire report as one sentence.

It is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.

If you have to sneeze or cough suddenly, please remove your head from your armpit and sneeze or cough directly into the microphone.

If you must eat while you dictate, please stay away from foods such as marshmallows, bananas, and pudding. Apples, pretzels, and celery are much better choices.

Please don't stop dictating when you yawn. It throws off our rhythm.

If the patient's name is Alan Ratzlaffenhasenphepherzinsky, please have the courtesy to spell "Alan" - there are several possible spellings, you know. For the last name, simply state "the usual spelling".

It is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.

Please note - the phrase "well-developed, well-nourished white female" is only three syllables.

Cardiologists, it is not necessary to dictate at the rate of your patient's atrial fibrillation.

Do not stop dictating in the event of minor background noise such as an office party, the janitor's vacuum cleaner, a screaming infant, etc. Again, it throws off our rhythm.

Be sure to place the emPHAsis on the CORrect syLLABLE, especially if enGLISH is your SECond lanGUAGE.

It is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.

Talk as fast you possibly can. Fair's fair; after all, we type as fast as we possibly can.

Please speak as quietly as you can.......we want to be able to hear what's going on around you.

If you need to pause for 5 or 10 minutes between words or phrases, pounding the receiver on the desk or repeatedly saying, "still dictating.... still dictating..... still dictating.... still dictating..... still dictating......" reminds us that indeed, you are still dictating.

Just because you need to use the restroom is no reason to stop dictating. Time is money!

Don't dictate so loudly that you disrupt your fellow physicians' football game in the doctors' lounge. In fact, you really should whisper all of your dictation, since the information is confidential.

Similarly, if you are going to watch TV while dictating at home, please watch a war movie with lots of bombing, and be sure to have the volume high enough so everybody in your living room can hear above your talking.

If you need to correct yourself -- sorry, correct an error, please do not rewind the tape -- sorry, do not back up and record over the error -- sorry, wait, the mistake -- just continue with the sentence -- wait -- go back -- with the paragraph and fix the error -- er, the mistake.

Please go back and just delete that last guideline.

When dictating on your cell phone from your car, be sure to go through as many tunnels as possible. This will ensure confidentiality of the information.

You (y-o-u) do not need (n-e-e-d) to spell (s-p-e-l-l) obvious words (w-o-r-d-s) for us (u-s). It is our job (j-o-b) to know (k-n-o-w) how to (t-o) spell words that (t-h-a-t) we learned (l-e-a-r-n-e-d) in third (t-h-i-r-d) grade (g-r-a-d-e).

Never, never dictate a full sentence, as it wastes your time and ours.

Please feel free to carry on a conversation while we wait patiently.

One last thing, it is not necessary to repeat the same sentence multiple times in the same dictation.
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Your Friendly Neighborhood Dictationist

School Days

Leyland's first week of school was a hit!  She loves it!  They are all doing really well with the new morning routine.  Well, except for one morning when she was grumpy because her mommy didn't have time (or hundreds of bobby pins) to put her hair in a ponytail.  She has a fashion sense of her own, and loves choosing her outfits, and I suppose her Wednesday outfit called for a ponytail.  Last Friday she was so brave while getting three booster shots at the office, but the very one required for admission to school was out of stock at the doctor's office.  They called this week saying it had arrived, we we needed to get her back in before they ran out again.  I had already made plans to have lunch with Leyliebug at school on Friday, so just a slight change of plans found her sleeping over on Thursday night, an early morning visit to Dr. Bo, and arrival at school just in time for 10:30 lunch.  I met her teacher, Miss Susie, and visited with her parapro, my scrapbooking friend, Miss Marie.  The children were all so cute, and most of them seemed to have adjusted to school just fine.  One little girl was having a tough time of it, and pretty much cried the entire time I was there.  Another little boy told Miss Susie "Guess what?  My daddy doesn't live with us any more.  He moved out."   She gave him some extra love, and said "That makes you sad, doesn't it!"  He was being so brave, but wanted to cry so badly, and said "Yes.  I wish he would move back home with us."  Very wisely, Miss Susie reminded him that his daddy loves him very much, and so does his mommy. Ripped my heart out.  I was fighting my own tears, and offered to take him into my arms for some hugs, but, of course, he declined.  As well he should... he didn't know me.  But still, being the mom of a little girl who experienced the separation and divorce of her parents, (only 2 years older than this little guy at the time)it hit close to home, and I just wanted to love on him a little bit.  My heart still hurts for him.  The children lined up in their "magic order", and off to the lunchroom we went.  Lunch was a piece of pizza bigger than the faces of some of the little kids, corn, salad, half a pear, and milk.  I didn't sign up for a plate, I just wanted to visit with the munchkin. The pizza wasn't half bad, and I actually did eat her tiny little salad. When it was almost time to clear the table and head back to class, I noticed her sitting a little closer to me, and the casual link of her arm through mine grew tighter and tighter.  She she was starting to sniffle a little bit, and I began dreading the separation process.  She's not one to have separation anxiety, but for some reason, she got really upset, and begged to "go home with you, and lay on your couch."  (She loves to sleep on the sofa at our house with the doggie.)  Miss Susie to the rescue again, and she asked Leyland to come stand with her.  I was afraid she would grab ahold of me and have to be pried away.  Thankfully Leyland went along with it, and I was able to leave.  It sure did hurt to walk away knowing she was softly crying, wanting to go with me.  I didn't dare turn back and look at her, for fear I'd end up being the one bawling.  Once I was out of sight, though, I'm sure she was fine.  She told her mom she had a good day.  Perhaps it was just a tad early to throw lunch visitors into the mix.  I think I'll wait a few weeks before going back. 

Not wanting Mary to feel left out, I had lunch with her as well.  She was so excited.  We sat at a special visitor's table, and she invited her little friend to come along with us.  Fourth graders are something else.  Mary is always lively and has an imagination like you wouldn't believe.  Her little friend trumps her, though.  As we were sitting there, the little girl said to me: "I'm supposed to be 13 years old!"  Me: "Oh, really?  How so?"  She:  "Well, 13 years ago, my mamma thought she was pregnant.  The doctor told her she wasn't, but she didn't believe him.  She was getting fat because she was eating for two people.  So at the end of nine months, she went to the hospital to have me.  But she only had gas."  Good thing I wasn't eating.  I probably would have choked. "But then a few years later, she had me.  But I'm really supposed to be 13 years old."  Me:  "Well, okay, then!"

Don't you know that schoolteachers must hear the funniest things!!  Sometimes sad things, too. 

Corey is continuing to do well at the daycare, but he started having hives, and will be seeing an allergist next week.  Say your prayers for him that all goes well until we can find out what's causing it.  

Spending the day with my sweetie today, watching John Wayne movies, and later we'll check out some movies I rented yesterday.  Homecoming tomorrow at church, then back to work. 

Looking forward to more school lunches, once I'm certain Leyliebug will be okay when it's time for me to leave. 

Date Night!

Yay!  The weekend is here!  Only a few more hours til it's just me and the sweetie to spend a lovely evening together.  We've been enjoying lots of peaches this summer, and he's bringing home more today.  Even though we've been eating healthier and smaller portions, tonight is a night of celebration.  Diet be hanged... Let There Be Cobbler!!

Randomness

What a great weekend it was!! Friday I had lunch with a present co-worker and two former co-workers who I hadn’t seen in years. So much fun to catch up with each other. Of course there were pictures, (well, except for Sandra, who dropped her phone in the pool and lost all her photos) and the usual remarks of “My how he/she has grown!!!” All our kids were so much younger then, and the world was a different place. Joyce and I now have grandkids, and had to show them off. I was the only one with a new husband, though, so I took along a few wedding photos to share. They all thought my Stevie Jay to be quite the handsome gentleman, and assured me that he was lucky indeed to have found me. (They fulfilled their girlfriend obligations very nicely.) I’m sure the sparkle they saw in my eyes proves that I am the lucky one. We sat chatting for probably half an hour before even bothering to visit the salad/pizza bar. Pam’s sweetheart was at home waiting for her to return so they could leave for a weekend adventure in their new camper, so when our plates were clean, the conversation followed us into the aisles of Mazzio’s, and then out the door. It’s always good to see Pam and get one of her special hugs, and wonderful to see my old friends Joyce and Sandra again. We left with the promise to do it again soon.


After lunch, I went to The 409 to pick up Leyliebug for a sleepover. She was so excited to come to Greemaw and Papa Steve’s house “All by myself. All alone. Just me. Not Corey and Mary. Just Leyliebug.” We had such a sweet time. I miss them terribly, and get to spend so little time with them. Corey is a little lovebug too, but with the age difference, he requires a little more, shall we say… “maintenance”, whereas Leyliebug is all about the love, being cute, sharing “secrets”, playing dress up and Knock-Knock jokes. I decided to spend some one-on-one time with them so we could enjoy age-appropriate activities, bedtimes, etc. Besides, I want them to have special memories of time alone with Greemaw, where I can make them all feel as special as they are. Leyland has already declared herself my favorite, so I have to be careful to tell her she is my favorite Leyliebug, Corey is my favorite little man, and Mary is my favorite big girl. How do they get so competitive at such a young age? She told her mom that she is coming back again before Corey or Mary, so she can come two times before they come over even once. She and I had to run to the store to pick up a few things, and she was such a good little girl! She sat in the buggy playing with my phone the entire time. We sang silly songs and shared tight hugs.  I'm sure I was the envy of every grandma in Wal Mart. Not many things are sweeter than a freshly-bathed grandbaby, smelling nice and clean with shiny hair, snuggling in your lap. She soon fell fast asleep on the sofa, with Laddie at her feet and her baby doll at her side.

Saturday was the annual Dunahoo 4th of July gathering at The Lake. Yep, I’m fully aware that the date was July 30, not July 4. That’s just how we roll. Sometime over the years, with all the Snoops traveling about, and someone usually at the beach house for the holiday, we gave up trying to get together for the 4th. One of the Senior Snoops will choose a random date in late July or August. As long as someone chooses the date, the rest will come. Steve has been working 7 days a week since we returned from the beach, but decided to take the day off on Saturday so he could join me. It was wonderful having him with me. He fits right in with the family, and everyone is crazy about him. I’m pretty sure the thing that makes them love him so much is seeing how happy he makes me. Sometimes it’s a crazy family, but they are my crazy family, and I am so blessed.

After a time of great food, fun, and family, we enjoyed a lazy late afternoon/evening at home. When we returned from The Lake, Jason had cleared all his belongings out of the house, and was settling in to his new apartment, so it was just Stevie Jay, me, and the pup. After a restful evening and a good night’s sleep, Sunday morning crept up on us, and of course, I was late for church. Steve went to Jenny’s to work on her hot water heater, and missed church again. My mom said people are going to wonder if I still have a husband, it’s been so long since he has been able to go. Ha. Those Baptists. As if there’s not enough trouble in the world. And speaking of church, we’re soon going to be in the market for a new pastor, so all ya’ll preachers out there start sending in your resumes. A couple of Sundays ago, our pastor of 14 years announced his retirement beginning in November. It is bittersweet news for yours truly. I am delighted for anyone who is able to retire while young enough to enjoy it, yet I selfishly wonder what in the world I will do about Sunday School. He teaches a class for drifters, misfits, and rejects. At least that’s what I like to call us. He started a class several years ago for folks who weren’t already members of a class. A handful of folks started coming, and the most we had in common was how little in common we had with each other. All different ages, backgrounds, and levels of involvement. It was a diverse group, and we had a blast. Even now, folks just kind of drift in and out, with a few who have stayed the course over the years. I’ve learned a lot in this class… mostly that it’s okay to admit how little I really do know. Nobody is made to feel dumb, and questions are encouraged. That rascal preacher will throw out some trick questions from time to time, and he loves to trip us up. And then laugh at his own cleverness. Regardless of what topic he has prepared to discuss, if another subject comes up that bears attention, well, off we go on that tangent. For the first time ever (at church), I have felt free to express my thoughts and feelings, many of which are not the thoughts of your traditional Southern Baptist churchgoer. And they haven't kicked me out yet. I will miss the camaraderie, and the way we go about learning from each other. But, truly, I am happy for them. And though I will miss my special class of rebels and misfits, it will be a new chapter of church history for us, and I’m hoping God will have something exciting in store for us.

I’m now four days into my work week- tomorrow is my Friday! Leyland will attend Open House at school tomorrow to meet her teacher. As Mama Nay used to say… I’d love to be a fly on the wall to watch her at school. She is so stinkin’ smart! Corey has three days at Helping Hands Daycare under his belt, and so far no biting. Hopefully he won’t get kicked out again.

The weekend ahead is shaping up to be busy as well. I'm spending a few hours with the munchkins friday afternoon at The 409, and I’m hoping to get in a little girl time with DJ on Saturday. Maybe coffee on the deck (if the heat wave doesn’t melt the skin right off our bones), and perhaps a swim. One thing is for sure. It will be gone before I can blink.

Number, please!

I'm not a numbers person.  I hate math.  Give me big long words to spell over a math problem any day.  If I have to do anything beyond basic addition, subtraction or multiplication, there had better be a calculator nearby.  Otherwise my eyes will glaze over and my neck begins to twitch.  I really wish it would come easier for me, but sometime shortly after my last math exam , it seems everything I learned about math theories and algebraic formulas just disappeared - poof - out of my brain.  

If you assume, then, that I also suck at economics, you would be correct.  Normally I'm not bothered by this fact.  I usually don't blog about financial issues.  

Today finds me somewhat regretting my lack of attention in Mr. Summerour's 11th grade economics class.  Perhaps the current crisis facing our nation would be a bit easier to understand if I had listened more closely.  Tonight I find myself with my eyes glazed over and my neck beginning to twitch.  This national debt crisis thing is pretty big stuff, and I'm irritated at myself for not understanding things.  Oh, I get the basic concept:  We're in debt.  More going out than coming in.  That's not so hard to understand.  

I watched the President's speech, and the Speaker's response.  I hope you're sitting down when you read this, because I'm about to say something you won't often hear me say.  I agree with President Obama.  However- I realize that I say that as one who hates anything to do with numbers, and with only a barely-passing grade in economics.  I surely must have misunderstood something he said tonight. 

I know there are those who are blaming the Republicans for stonewalling and refusing to pass a bill that the Democrats want.  While I don't really like either party at this point, given the choice of only these two, I pretty much am NOT a Democrat.  

But could someone tell me what is wrong with the plan that the Democrats have proposed?  Yeah, I know it's all probably based on cheating, lying, and covering their own butts.  It's the stuff that I don't hear that frightens me.  

Absolutely, spending should be cut.  Fraud should be identified and eradicated.  But what I really like is that the rich people and huge corporations should not be privy to all the tax cuts and loopholes, while the little folks carry the financial burden by paying higher taxes.  IMO, he was very effective when he asked (loosely paraphrased) would we rather the budget issues be solved by expecting an elderly person to forfeit Medicare benefits before asking a corporate jet owner or oil tycoon to give up a tax break.  That sounds perfectly reasonable to me.

Maybe we need to look closer at the Fair Tax proposals that some have suggested. 

In the meantime, I'd really love to hear from both sides.  What do you think?

(On the flip side, if you enjoy irony, check out this article that shows how then-Senator Obama reacted when President Bush wanted to raise the debt limit...)

Monday, Monday!

My goodness.  Mondays sure seem to come around quickly these days.  Steve has been working seven days a week since we returned from the beach, and the heat has been brutal.  I'm right in the middle of an eleven-day work week myself.  We both could use some serious down time.  Yet we are thankful for work, and I am especially thankful for an indoor job.  We're counting the days until we return to our favorite spot on the beach, The Treadwell Hilton.  That excursion is a mere 11 weeks away, and with time whizzing by at warp speed, it will be here before we know it.  We're looking forward to my parents traveling with us this time.  Our friends DJ & David, BJ & Chris will be over there as well, so it is shaping up to be another perfect birthday at the beach!!!  I do love the beach in autumn, and it's so nice to have something to look forward to.  Our vacation/honeymoon was absolutely perfect.  It has been so crazy busy since our return that I still haven't posted photos.  And speaking of honeymoons... I highly recommend the "delayed" honeymoon thing.  You may remember that our original wedding date was June 22, with the beach trip immediately following.  We may be old geezers, but when it came to getting married, we were like kids waiting for Christmas, and decided to jump in and just do the thing, but decided to keep the honeymoon as originally scheduled in June.  I'm so glad we did it that way.  No wedding stress/exhaustion to worry with.  I moved my stuff in on Saturday after the wedding, hooked up my computer, and was back to work on Monday.  I did take off Easter Sunday, to enjoy a nice long weekend with the new hubby.  By the time our honeymoon rolled around, we were already accustomed to living together, already knew that we liked being together all the time (haha), and had a couple of months to look forward to and plan for our trip.  Yes.  I highly recommend the delayed honeymoon thing.  Now we can't wait to go back, and look forward to spending time with my parents and the best friends ever. Only eleven more Mondays to go....

Let The Mud Fly!

It’s time to gear up for a new Presidential campaign season. Let the melee begin!! It’s old news to anyone who reads my blog that I’m not a fan of President Obama. Never have been, and it’s pretty safe to say I never will be. Digging a little deeper, I have to say that I’m not a fan of our political system at all. I’ll be the first to admit that what I don’t know about politics could fill all the oceans of the earth, while what I do know could, comparatively, maybe fill my coffee cup. I do try to stay somewhat on top of hot-button issues, and whenever possible listen to the broadcast news, both liberal mainstream and conservative cable networks. As I’ve said before, I think the truth lies somewhere in between the two, though IMO leaning more to the right than the left.

I suppose now it’s time for the mud-slinging to begin in earnest. I listened Monday night to ABC’s storyline on Michelle Bachmann, and how her counseling clinic wants to “pray away the gay”. In my humblest, and admitted-not-so-political-savvy mind, I consider this a smear tactic.  It may be the way their clinic operates, but ... read further ...

At the outset, let me say that I am not a gay basher. I have quite a few gay friends, and I love them no differently than my straight friends. I think I shocked my pastor one Sunday morning in Bible Study when I said that I think there are more serious issues that threaten our nation than the fight over same-sex marriage. I read and hear where some believe gay marriage is going to be the demise of our nation. While that’s another post for another time, I beg to differ- the threat and demise of our nation, IMO, is plain and simple: Greed. But I’ll blog about that later. I’m just saying here that, while some of my Christian friends may disagree with me and consider me “less Christian” because of my views, that’s just the way I see it.

But back to Michelle Bachman. I have not examined her platform very closely at all, (does she even have one yet?) but I do know that she is a Tea Party favorite. Which, in my humble opinion, might serve to hurt rather than help her. The Tea Party [again another post for another time] could have had great potential, but I am sad to see that some of their statements and behaviors have somewhat taken away a bit of the integrity and validity of what could have been a potential positive political force for conservatives. So, to many liberals, the Tea Party association is already one mark against her. However, I do think they see her as a threat, and it appears that she is now feeling the force of the liberal political machine as they are aiming their big guns at her.

Last week there was the report of their counseling clinic’s participation in the Medicaid program. I guess that wasn’t volatile enough.

Monday night was the first I heard of the “pray away the gay” scandal that is now in the news. If you didn’t hear about it, Bachmann and her husband operate a Christian counseling service. In a nutshell, they are coming under fire for offering counsel to gay people that God can change them into a straight person. This, of course, is offensive to gays, and I can understand that.

Let’s think about this, though. I do not subscribe to the Christian Science faith, and find some of their beliefs to be odd, at the least. So, let’s say that I’m pregnant, and looking to take a childbirth class. Would I go to a childbirth class taught by this church? Ummm… no, I don’t think so. I’m all about screaming and drugs when it comes to birthing babies… if that’s what it takes to get the job done. Would I expect to find instructions for baking my Christmas crown roast at a Vegan website or market? No. Would I try to buy a battery for my car at a dentist’s office? Then, why, if I were not a Christian who really felt that it was a sin to be gay, and want to be “delivered from my gayness”, would I seek out a Christian counseling service?

My point is this: If Michelle and Marcus Bachmann are out on the street corners, or going into gay bars bashing patrons, condemning them to hell, and telling them that God can change them, that’s one thing. If, on the other hand, they are running a Christian counseling service, and someone comes to them, of their own free will, for counseling, why is it wrong for them to try to “help” the person? Whether or not being gay is determined at conception, or is a chosen lifestyle will probably be debated until the end of time. Are the Bachmanns wrong to counsel people that they can pray away the gay? I don’t know the answer to that. But wouldn’t you expect that to be their take on it at a Christian counseling service?

During particularly tough times in my life, I have utilized professional counseling myself. One was a Christian counseling service, and one non-Christian. I have no idea if the non-Christian counselor was indeed a Christian in his personal life or not… but his counseling service was not marketed as “Christian”. I cannot make assumptions about his personal life. Just as there are Christian entertainers, and entertainers who are Christians, there are Christian counselors, and counselors who are Christian. Looking back on these counseling sessions, were the counselors “right”? Would another counselor have taken a different approach? Over the years, I have also sought informal counseling from different pastors at different churches I have attended. In doing so, I totally understood, and expected, that their counsel would be from a Christian point of view, with involvement of prayer and Scripture. Duh??  I don’t know if the Bachmanns are “right” in their teaching or not. But does it matter, politically speaking?

As I said, I have quite a few friends who are gay. Without exception, in the lives of these folks, there has been a defined moment in time when they “came out”. This leads me to believe, and most will probably tell you, that there was an internal struggle, perhaps religious, perhaps social. Maybe some did seek counseling, maybe not. If their parents brought them up in church, and they had a relationship with God, then perhaps the struggle was more difficult, and they sought Christian counseling. If such was not the case, I think that would lessen the chances of seeking Christian counseling over non-Christian counseling.

All that to say this. What difference does it make what they teach in their clinic? The Bible is clear in its teaching. I would expect a Christian counseling service to glean it’s teaching from the Bible. Just like I would expect the Christian Science childbirth class to base its teachings on whatever book it is that contains their rules. Or the Vegan website to teach a Vegan style of eating, based on their research and reference materials. So, if a gay person is having trouble with their identity, or their sexuality, and they do not place any credence in the Bible, then don’t go to a Christian counselor! The video that was shot and being played on the news appears to be a setup. It is a politically-motivated act to rile up a large, powerful group of people to rally against a candidate.

Religious affiliation and denominations are for the most part a bunch of legalistic entities that point fingers at other people whose beliefs differ from their own (alas, yet another post for another time..haha..) I belong to a church of the Southern Baptist denomination. More so out of convenience, in that it’s where my family goes, where my friends go, and it’s in my hometown, the church I grew up in, etc. The legalistic stuff of any religion bores me and saddens me. I’m not so sure that some of it doesn’t sadden God as well.

It’s even worse in politics, regardless of party affiliation. Pointing fingers, judging the acts and beliefs of others, cheating, misrepresenting facts, etc. And people of faith are some of their favorite targets. The story isn’t complete yet, and I’m sure there is more to be uncovered in this situation. But you can bet the mainstream media spin will do its best to paint Michelle Bachman in the worst possible light. Is she the best choice for Republican candidate? I wouldn’t even venture a guess at this point. Even if she is the worst possible choice, she doesn’t deserve the media spin. The gay community has thousands of supporters who are not themselves gay. This is not a group of people that you want campaigning against you. The left knows this, and will use it. I suspect other potential candidates will be faced with similar accusations, but this particular “scandal” must surely have caused some serious mouth-foaming over on the left.

Some may consider not voting for her based on this. I remember when Mitt Romney announced his candidacy last time around, there was concern with his being Mormon. I also have quit a few friends who are Mormon. The scrapbook industry (which I support heavily), is made up largely by Mormon vendors and business men and women. Because a part of their faith lends them to an interest in genealogy, besides being fun, scrapbooking provides a way of preserving memories and family records. Even my Mormon friends will tell you that their beliefs, while similar in some respects, are quite different from mainstream protestant or catholic religions. Because Romney has beliefs that are different from mine, does that preclude him from being President, even if he is the best candidate? Of course not. Likewise, If Michelle Bachmann’s religious viewpoints differ from mine or yours, if she is the best candidate, should that make a difference? I’m not sure Superman himself could pull our nation out of the tailspin we’re in, and for certain I haven’t decided who will get my vote at this point. I just wish that for all the people who cry “separation of church and state” (church and government, period!), that the decision to choose a candidate wouldn’t be based on religion.

Hopefully, we will be given the facts with regard to her qualifications for president. From what I see, she seems to lack sufficient experience, but, the same argument wasn’t enough to keep President Obama from being elected…

Now, having said all that, allow me to add: Not for one minute do I think that the GLBT community, nor their supporters, would ever consider voting for Bachmann. Her stand on same-sex marriage, and pro-life is widely known. If that’s your beef with her, then by all means, don’t vote for her. All I’m saying is that it really ticks me off how the media wants to spin the way they practice counseling as an issue. For pro-life folks, and those opposed to same-sex marriage, they already know what she stands for as well. We need to vote for her or not vote for her based on her platform and her experience (or lack thereof….)

Can I just say at this point I’m pretty much dreading all the hoopla (and TV commercials) that go along with an election season. The mudslinging by both parties makes me sick. It makes me tired, and it means I have to start doing my homework in order to make the best decision before casting my vote. And if 2008 is any indication, it also means lots of politically-oriented blog posts. My apologies in advance.  :-)

Independence!!

Time has slipped away from me today, and I didn't get my Independence Day blog post written. I'm going to hijack my post from this date in 2008. The message never grows old, and I simply can't let this day go by without recognizing its significance.

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Independence! (Originally posted to CathyB 07-04-08)

October 11, 2001. The one-month anniversary of one of the darkest days in American history found me boarding a plane, heading to the very airport from which those ill-fated planes originated. I was traveling as a chaperone with a group of 10th grade AP US History students to Boston. Though plans had been made far in advance, because of the uncertainty of air travel, we were not sure we would get to make the trip. Fortunately, we were allowed to fly, and so began one of my favorite trips ever.

Now each year when July 4th comes around, I have a new understanding and appreciation for the holiday. It's way more than fireworks, picnics, and a day off work. So much more. While I expected the trip to Boston to be a nice adventure, I had no idea what was in store for me, and how it would forever change my view of independence. Our tour guide (a descendant of John Pitcairn) was a fascinating man with a passion for Revolutionary War history, and he made it come alive. I am humbled to have walked the very ground where it all happened. It made it real. I went inside the church where Robert Newman hung the two lanterns that signaled to Paul Revere that the British were coming. I saw the window where he escaped arrest, the window that has been blackened out to commemorate his heroic act. One late afternoon I sat in a grassy field in Lexington and listened to our guide describe the small, but significant exchange of gunshots that happened on the very ground where I was sitting. In Concord, I walked across the Old North Bridge, site of "The Shot Heard Round The World". I touched the monuments that give tribute to the men who died there. Though I didn't climb its 294 steps, I visited the monument at Bunker Hill, the site of the bloodiest battle of the war. The American soldiers were short on ammunition, and the British soldiers so many, that General Prescott ordered his men- "Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes!" in order to make sure that every bullet counted. I visited the graves of many brave men who were instrumental in our early history- Paul Revere, Samuel Adams, Peter Faneuil, and John Hancock. I saw the building from which the Declaration of Independence was first read to the public. Wow.

The trip was fascinating, and I asked more questions than the students. Admittedly, history was a subject that I loathed while in school, and I remember very little of what I dutifully memorized in order to pass a test. Here in Boston it came alive to me, and much to my embarrassment, several times I found myself overcome with emotion at the enormity of the sacrifice that our forefathers (and mothers) endured to secure our independence. I have often seen and heard the remark that freedom is not free. It never has been. It never will be.

Happy Birthday, America! Thank you, soldiers of the Revolutionary War. Thank you, men and women throughout the history of our country who see to it that our Star-Spangled Banner Yet Waves, Ore The Land Of The Free And The Home Of The Brave!

Mr. Bennett

Getting married to Steve has been a wonderful dream come true. We celebrate our two-month wedding anniversary today, and tomorrow we leave for our honeymoon/vacation!  I love being married to him!!  However, a new name is taking a little getting used to. I’ve been Cathy Bennett, or CathyB since 1980. I love my new name, but quite frankly, I don’t have very many occasions that require me to give my name. I work from home in my jammies, minding my own business. Thankfully, my new husband isn’t demanding in that way, and I just haven’t gotten around to doing the legal stuff required to change it. I have the marriage certificate, so it’s just a matter of getting it done. I think I must first go to the DMV for new driver’s license. I probably have to take some kind of mail correspondence to prove my new address. Once I have my new photo ID, I suppose I can then go to the Social Security office, the HR department at work, (and get a new name badge), the pharmacy, call my insurance company, see my retirement plan administrator, call my mortgage company, my utility companies for The 409, and visit my bank to make the changes. And all the other places that I can’t even think of right now.

My license expires on my birthday in October, and cheapskate that I am, I plan on waiting until then to make the change.

I’m really thankful that Steve doesn’t have a problem with this. I usually pay my bills online, or in person if they are local.  He will occasionally take my payments for me, or pick up prescriptions, etc.

Ever the patient and understanding husband, I am sure he will be glad when my birthday rolls around and I get everything changed. He’s probably growing a little weary of hearing “Thank you, Mr. Bennett.”

Broken Roads

Back in December, when I told Whitney that Steve and I were getting married and had chosen a date, she was so happy for us. After a hug and congratulations, she said “Okay, I’m singing at your wedding!!” Such a sweet and beautiful voice she has, and I was honored that she wanted to sing. A few days later, she asked me what song I wanted. At the time, I hadn’t given it too much thought, and nothing really seemed to be coming to mind. She suggested God Bless The Broken Road, a song by Rascal Flatts. She said, “Mom, it is the PERFECT song for you and Steve.” I looked it up on You Tube, and sure enough, it was the perfect song.

*****************************************

I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Now I'm just rolling home
Into my lover's arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

***********************

Steve and I both have traveled some broken roads along the way. We have each had our happy times, and things that we wouldn’t change, but there have been poor choices along those roads as well. Hearts have been broken, former spouses, friends and family have been hurt by some of those choices. In the deepest part of my soul, I believe that everything happens for a reason. While I wish I could take back every ounce of hurt that my choices have caused in the hearts of people I love, I do believe that God takes every piece of the broken road and heals us, and often times leads us to something better than we could have imagined. After a long and bumpy road full of potholes and train wrecks, I was resigned to the fact that having a relationship was simply not in the cards for me. Perhaps it was my punishment for poor choices in the past. I filled my life with my daughter, my grandchildren, my family, my closest friends, and my work. There truly wasn’t time for anything else. And I was happy. At times I would reflect on the broken shards of my life, seemingly scattered about without rhyme or reason. I would wonder how anything beautiful could ever be made from some of the messes I had made. So I shoved them back further and further into the recesses of my mind, where for the most part, they remained quietly in the shadows over the years.

Once Steve and I started dating, and found ourselves crazy in love, the broken pieces started making a little noise, and tried for all their worth to make me feel unworthy and inadequate. The jagged edges tried to pierce into the bubble of happiness that I had found, and tried to remind me that I totally suck at relationships, and that my chance at happily-ever-after had ended long ago. It was frightening, and without DJ reminding me to “Just Breathe”, and without lots of prayer and counsel from a few close friends, I probably would have messed this one up too. And then there was the Sunday morning that I had a sacred epiphany…. And I was finally able to silence those ugly pieces of brokenness for good.

It is true, just like the song says. Every long lost dream, led me to where you are. Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars, pointing me on my way into your loving arms.

We’ve both said, just like the song: “I think about the years I spent just passing through. I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you.” But we know, also, like the song says, “It’s all part of the grander plan, that is coming true.” It was the perfect song for the perfect wedding.

Have you ever seen a mosaic vase? The artist starts with a pile of broken stones or glass. It looks like a mess, sitting on the workbench in disarray. Sharp and rough edges can cut the hands of one who might pick them up for a closer look. However, with a steady and experienced hand, the artist takes each individual piece of brokenness, and lovingly fashions a beautiful work of art. The rough edges are grouted to smoothness. Each stone is still visible, and represents a facet of a once greater object. But bound together and formed by the Master artist, all the parts become a whole. A new vessel, strong and stable, able to be filled, and to hold safely inside its walls whatever the owner chooses to place.

And so it is with the broken roads that Steve and I have traveled. All the pieces have been formed together into a thing of beauty that neither of us could have imagined. Each piece of broken stone or glass represents part of what makes us who we are. Some happy, some sad, some tragic. We are grateful to The Artist Who has brought us together, and for all our jumbled up, brokenness, has made us whole. Aristotle said it best: “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

You may remember that yesterday, June 17, was the original date we chose for our wedding. Yesterday we celebrated our eight-week anniversary, and our decision to move the date up by two months. Today should have found us on the road to Myrtle Beach for our honeymoon. Little did we know, at the time we pushed the date ahead by two months, that Steve’s construction job wouldn’t be finished, and we would have had to postpone the honeymoon. All things work together for good. Everything happens for a reason. From a kidney stone to an incomplete construction job, the timing is perfect. This time NEXT week will find us basking in the sun, enjoying a honeymoon without the exhaustion from a wedding the night before. We will return home and resume our life… already settled in and with our daily routines established. We’ve had eight weeks to look forward to our trip.

We are so happy. And so blessed. Whitney chose the most perfect song ever. For God did truly bless the broken roads that lead us to each other.

Perspective

Why do bad things happen to good people? This has long been a dilemma to mankind. Everyone I know has persevered through dark days, and at times has grown weary from bearing the cross(es) laid upon them. Mostly, we come out on the other side stronger for having born them. There’s a saying that goes like this: God will not lead you where His grace will not keep you. The Bible says it like this: My grace is sufficient. (2 Cor 12:9) Sometimes that belief helps. Sometimes it doesn’t. Suffering and perseverance pretty much sucks. Sometimes, once we get on the other side of it, we can see a reason or a purpose for it. Often, though, we can never reconcile it with any purpose at all, and the reasons may never be clear to us. Those trials are, I think, the hardest of all to bear.


My work is all about sick folks. I sit at a desk all day, and sometimes half the night, transcribing dictated voice files into documents. There are a lot of sick folks who come through the doors of our hospital. Most of them recover enough to leave through those same doors. But some of them don’t. It isn’t quite as difficult to understand when it’s an elderly person, or even someone with a chronic illness. However, it is tragic when someone dies unexpectedly, or as the result of an accident.

Most heartbreaking, though, are the cases of the children. Thankfully there aren’t many of those, since we are not a pediatric-specialty hospital, but occasionally there are children who are lost at our facility. Such a nightmare is unthinkable to me. I watched my dearest friends endure 37 days of neonatal intensive care for their premature daughter, only to lose her to a seemingly preventable staph infection. Then a few years later, they lost a son, also born months too soon. Such loving people with so much to give. Friends and family have struggled for years and years with this, trying to make sense of it. The fact remains there is, to our human minds and hearts, no sense to it at all. It is a pain that only a mother and father who have walked the same path can feel. Friends are there to help, support and grieve alongside them, each trying their best to empathize, but hoping they never have to feel the same pain. Years later, it is still painful and no more understood now than when it happened.

Because of the nature of my work, and perhaps also because of the above experience, I am drawn to stories involving health care, particularly those relating to babies or children. I recently heard the story of an infant sent to hospice care. An infant. The baby had suffered an anoxic brain injury at birth resulting in irreversible medical complications. Less than a year old at the time of referral, the baby was not expected to survive past another few weeks. When I hear a case like this, I think of Samantha and Joshua. Having witnessed the journey of my friends, I can only imagine the pain of the parents of this hospice baby. Parents who loved, cherished, and nursed their baby all those months, and then had to watch it slowly slip away. Wondering each day if every sweet little smile, or every goodnight kiss would be the last. What unthinkable agony.

Perspective. It is easier, perhaps, to think of Joshua and Samantha as sweet little cherubs in heaven, than what might have been their fate had they survived. As devastating as it was to lose them, perhaps it was the most merciful thing for everyone involved, though it is really difficult to entertain such a horrendous thought. However, there are worse things than death.

Perspective. Whenever my work day revolves around sick children brought to our facility, I am ever so thankful for my own healthy child, and my healthy grandchildren. One facet of my work involves genetics, and some days I find myself weeping. It is a bitter reminder that the health and development of a healthy child is only one tiny chromosome deletion or variant away from every parent’s nightmare. Today my work involves children with neurological issues. It is days like this that make my job difficult. We become more detached to the normal, routine patients with reflux, gallbladder attacks, and pneumonia. Not so easy with the children. I guess it is the Mom, Greemaw thing, wherein I identify on a deeper level with the peds patients. Sometimes I will Google a particular illness with which I'm not familiar.  And then I wish I hadn't. Yet I am grateful to have even a small part in the provision of their care, behind the scenes though it may be. And though they will never see me, or know that I am doing it, I pray for the children and their parents. Perhaps in some way it will help them. I know it helps me keep things in perspective as to just how blessed I have been.

Perspective. Whatever cross we bear is no less difficult to bear just because someone else got a worse deal than we did. But still, it is good to acknowledge that there are indeed those who do have it worse. And no matter how bad it sucks, it just is what it is. Hopefully we can wake up each morning, and realize that no matter how bad things are, things could always be worse. And hopefully we trust that God’s grace is sufficient to carry us through yet another day.

Say a prayer today for sick children, premature babies, and the parents who care for them. And then sometimes must bear the hardest cross of all, and let them go. 

I Ride My Bike, I Roller Skate, Don't Drive No Car

“I’ve got a brand new pair of roller skates, you’ve got a brand new key. I think that we should get together and try them out, you see.” Does that bring back memories to you like it does to me?


That was a silly song popular the summer before I entered 7th grade. (And now it’s stuck in my head all day. Sorry if it happens to you too!) It wasn’t a particularly favorite song of mine, but the lyrics and tune were quite catchy. What I did like about it was that it made riding a bike pretty cool, and the “person” in the song was probably about the same age as we were that hot summer of 1970. We rode our bikes everywhere. And like the song says, we didn’t go too fast, but we went pretty far. All over Statham, to be exact. The dirt sidewalks laden with centuries-old tree roots were a favorite obstacle course. We’d bounce along, expertly avoiding the roots, or if we felt really brave, we would drive over them, bouncing around like popcorn kernels in a pan of hot oil. The cemetery behind the Baptist Church had one fancy plot that was paved into the shape of an oval, with a cross-like shape inside. We could have joined a circus act, so precise were our patterns and dare-devilishness on this “track”. (Of note, no one was buried there at the time. It would have been disrespectful [and super creepy] to ride there if there had been.) At that time, the streets in Statham were paved, but not with asphalt. I don’t know what it was called, but it was an irregular, gravel-type material, with uneven rocks. I remember this vividly, because the tips of my toes were always getting scraped, and sometimes I’d lose chunks of my big toes to the offending street surface. (Shoes? I never wore shoes in the summertime unless I was going exploring in the woods!!) We knew who lived in every house up and down Broad Street, and even the names of their pets. We’d go as far east as just beyond Miss Nobie’s house, where Broad Street officially ended for us. Our travels west would take us as far as my house. We didn’t often venture further than that, because of the monster hill just beyond my house. And besides, there wasn’t much of interest past that point anyway, just some cows and chicken houses. No need in huffing and puffing up that hill anyway. So back and forth we’d go, up and down the street. Down a few side streets sometimes, but never in the alleys. Everyone knows that bad things happen in the alleyways, and we pretty much stayed clear of those.

Every now and then, we’d spot some cute boys standing out by their cars along the street. We’d try to be so cool and ride our bikes by them with great sophistication, and pretend that they looked at us with the same googly-eyes with which we looked at them. If perchance they actually DID look at us, or catch us looking at them, we’d nearly faint and almost fall off our bikes. (How funny is it that decades later, I have ended up married to one of those cute boys!!)

At some point in our day, we would ride over and visit Mr. Whitlock, owner of “the store” in Statham. We spent many of our pennies and nickels in the candy aisle of his establishment. Banana “Kits” was my favorite candy. The peanut butter ones were pretty good too. He knew us all by name, and better than that, he knew our moms and dads by name too. He had a bubble gum machine with a hand-lettered sign that said “REAL Cigarette Lighters”. Now, none of us smoked cigarettes, but we sure wanted to get us one of those REAL cigarette lighters!! But alas, it was not to be. And to this day, I never heard of anyone who ever got one.

I didn’t learn to ride a bike as early as most kids do. My friends were a year or so ahead of me in that regard. I wanted to do it so badly, but was deathly afraid of crashing. My cousins Sharon and Jeff used to come down every summer for two weeks. The summer before I learned to ride, they brought their bikes. I was torn. I wanted to try. They begged me to try. But I was just too chicken. I was jealous because they would ride all around the yard, and like a pitiful little puppy, I would run along behind them, pretending I was having as much fun as they were. Inside I was heartbroken, and angry at myself for being too afraid to try. For some reason that year, Sharon left her bike at Mama Nay’s house when she returned home to the big city. I would go outside and stare at the bike, lift up the kickstand and walk along beside it, pretending that I could ride. On the rare occasion that a car would come down the road, I made sure that I was walking along beside the bike, happy to think that whoever was in the car would look at me and think “Wow! That girl can ride a bike!” How sad. As vividly as I remember all the bike rides, I’m a little cloudy on the day that I actually did it for the first time. I do remember it was an ugly, old-fashioned, blue bike. It was my dad who ran along behind me, holding onto the back of the bike to keep me from falling, and then finally let go when it seemed like I had the hang of it. I remember thinking that it wasn’t so hard after all. I was so proud! A rite of passage never felt so good. It wasn’t long before I was coasting down Mulberry Street saying “Look, Ma, no hands!!” And then I’d hit one of those stupid rocks, and go tumbling into the ditch. Oh yes, there were many crashes on the bike, and many sudden stops resulting in bruises in places that should never be bruised. Once as I was coasting down the street with no hands, I looked at my handlebars and there sat a praying mantis. Perhaps he was praying for my safety, but it had the opposite effect. Somehow I jumped off the bike while it was in motion, screaming at the top of my lungs. My poor mom thought I was badly injured. Once she was sure I was okay, she threatened to whoop me good for scaring her half to death. Moms are prone to do that, you know.

I remember that I loved riding the bike, but I hated the bike. It was so old-fogey. All my friends were riding the newfangled “banana bikes” with the sleek seats and high-rise handlebars. And I’m still on Old Blue with the wire basket and battery-operated headlight. (Very similar to the picture above, only with an ugly headlight jutting out about 6" on the front looking for all the world like something off the Batmobile.) I longed for a new bike with all my heart. One Sunday afternoon, my brother and I spent the afternoon with Mama Nay and Daddy Bill while Mom and Dad went out riding around. When they returned, they called us out to the car, and made a big production of opening up the trunk to reveal brand new bikes for both of us!!! I almost had a heart attack right on the spot!! I got my snazzy new banana bike with the white wicker basket on front (and no stupid battery-operated headlight). It was hot pink, had a white seat with flowers on it. AND it had pom-poms on the high-rise handlebars. I was speechless. I couldn’t believe that we both had new bikes. I couldn’t wait to show it off to my friends. I don’t expect a teenager with a brand new car could have been more excited than I was with my new bike!!

I would love to know how many miles we logged on the streets of our little town. We all wore out two or three bikes over the years, and would celebrate whenever someone got a new one. We would decorate the wheels with brightly-colored beads that would slide up and down the spokes with every turn of the wheel. Sometimes we’d take playing cards and fasten them on the fork with clothespins. We sounded like a pack of Harleys cruising up and down Broad Street.

Back in those days, the school at Statham went 1st through 8th grade. We always had two classes for each grade. We stayed in the same room all day, and had the same teacher all day. Always female. But as we prepared to enter the 7th grade, we were excited to learn that we would have different teachers throughout the day, and some of them would be MEN!! We were really moving up in the world!! A few weeks before school started, Bobbie Jean and I rode our bikes down to the school house. We went inside to check out the classrooms, and see if we could scope out the new teachers. We went into one of the converted-auditorium classrooms, where we met Mr. Austin. We learned that we would be in his homeroom. He teased us about riding our bikes, and told us we reminded him of the I-Ride-My-Bike,-I-Roller-Skate,-Don’t-Drive-No-Car song. We dutifully informed him that bikes were the preferred mode of transportation for upcoming 7th graders, and we were proud of it. But after that, the bike song was kind of our theme song.

What a different world we live in today. I cherish my memories of growing up in Statham, and bike riding is one of my favorites. Every trip down Bike Memory Lane always takes me to that 7th grade classroom, meeting my first male teacher, and I hear that silly song again.

You don’t see much of that any more, even in small towns like ours. Cars travel much too fast, and parents are not willing to let their kids ride bikes outside the safety of their yards at home. It was a simpler time, when we burned more calories than we consumed. Vitamin D deficiency was unheard of back then, as we spent every summer day that wasn’t raining playing outside. We used our imaginations to entertain us, not electronic gadgets. We helped our parents in the yard and in the garden, we picked up twigs to start a fire for the charcoal grill. We cleaned our rooms (well, sometimes…), and took out the garbage. We played in the sandbox with our siblings. We swam at the pool. We played outside in the yard with hula hoops, and built forts in the woods.

But most of all, we rode our bikes.

God Things

When the moon is in the 7th house, and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then peace will guide the planets… and love will steer the stars.

I’ve never been one big on astrology. Astronomy, yes. The stars and heavens have always fascinated me. The whole “What’s your sign?” thing… not so much. On the astrology charts, I fall into the Libra category. I must admit that some of the characteristics descriptive of Libras fit me to a tee. However, I find it impossible that everyone ever born on any given October 13 is going to share the same daily experiences. Should we all just stay in bed because the planetary alignment bodes for a bad day? Are we all going to find true love in the 3rd house of Mercury? Nah.. I don’t think so. I have heard of some folks who seriously plan their day around what their horoscope predicts. Gracious.

Seems to me that how our day goes depends far more on the decisions we make. For Believers, there is the God Factor as well. Without getting into a theological discussion/debate, I’ll just say… we’ll never understand it. I do believe that God orchestrates the universe, and I also believe that He loves me, and He is interested in my life. And I believe He has a plan for my life. I believe that He sees me every day, and He knows my every thought (yikes!) and deed.

Do I believe that he *controls* everything that happens? Well, that’s getting deep, and into murky predestination waters. It’s a hard concept. God set into motion the laws of nature, which quite often dictates events and circumstances. We ask, then, If God controls everything that happens, then why do bad things happen? Why do good people die, and not-so-good people live another day to do evil and harm? Why do tornadoes and hurricanes destroy the property and lives of good people? Why are loving couples unable to conceive, or give birth only to lose their babies? It’s an unending list.

These are age-old questions of believers and non-believers alike. For the believer, I think, it all boils down to faith. We accept the fact that there are issues we’ll never understand, and many circumstances that we do not, or never would choose. Sometimes it just sucks. We don’t claim to have all the answers. If we did, then we would be God. We are taught (and hopefully embrace) that tough times happen in every life. No rhyme or reason. The difference between the believer and non-believer is that our Hope is eternal, and God will carry us through the tough times. We are not immune from trials, heartache, or tragedy. But we have a Comforter who is with us, and will sustain us through it all.

We are not merely puppets, programmed to love God (or not), and to behave or believe in certain ways. Much of what happens to us is the result of choices we make, or choices made by other people. The food we eat, the activity level we choose, the environment, and heredity plays a large part in the state of our health. The educational choices we make often determine our financial future/lifestyle. To bring it on down, the type of car we drive and/or our choice to abide by the traffic laws, contribute to the likelihood of our getting a traffic violation ticket. The choice someone makes to drive while drinking can take the life of an innocent person. Was it that person’s “time to go”? Could God have stopped it? Did God know ahead of time it would happen? In our minds, it doesn’t seem fair.

But not all of our choices result in bad or tragic things. Just as often, our choices bring about good. And sometimes, things will happen for no apparent reason at all.  Not the result of choices we make, but for whatever reason, things just happen. Some call this phenomenon coincidence. I’ve never been much on the coincidence theory. I normally refer to what most people call a coincidence as a “God Thing”. Might be a good thing, might not. Lots of times it’s just crazy. Like the way Steve and I hooked up after all these years. You already know that story. How crazy was that? We both acknowledge that it was a God Thing. Not a coincidence. We’ve wondered about how it would have been if we had gotten together years ago. But we both know that the reason it’s so dang good for us now is because we are who we are. And we were not those people years ago. We each had to travel our own Broken Roads to reach the place that we were finally ready to build a good life together. That rocks. And it’s a God Thing.

After only a few months of being together, we realized that we wanted to be together even more. As in married. You know that story too. So we set about planning our small family-and-a-few-friends ceremony for mid-June. I was scheduled for time off work, the condo at the beach was reserved for us, and we started our weekly coupon-shopping at Michael’s and Hobby Lobby, for my little DIY wedding. The little DIY thing quickly took on a life of its own, and it didn’t take long to become overwhelmed. As you also know, last Friday night we Just Did It. Can’t explain the reason why… but 10 days prior, we both just decided we didn’t want to wait, and after tossing about several possible dates (one of which was today, Sunday, May 1st), we chose Good Friday. No particular reason, other than it seemed to work out best with the schedules of everyone involved. (Except for BJ and Chris… and I’m still sad that they weren’t able to attend.)

The wedding went off without a hitch, and we were so very happy with how it turned out. Except for the BJ and Chris thing, there isn’t one single thing that I would change. It was perfect. Our first weekend together as married folk was fairly typical as most other of our weekends. (Honeymoon will be in June as originally planned.) On Saturday, Steve helped Hayley and Michael move, I was at The 409 packing some things. A typical Saturday, just doing what needed to be done. Sunday was Easter. We picked up Mary and Leyland and headed to church. Afterwards, it was my first official family gathering with Steve’s family, and we enjoyed a fabulous afternoon at his sister Jenny’s house. This was an extra special treat for me, as I normally work on Sundays.

As we were leaving Jenny’s, Steve told me that he had been passing blood in his urine since Friday night. Lots of blood. Typical of his sweetness, he hadn’t wanted to worry me. Though he had experienced slight bleeding a few months prior, and had intermittent occurrences with it, this time it was profuse. Once I saw it with my own eyes, the word *hemorrhage* came to mind. With my background, I immediately began to think the worst. Painless hematuria can be a very bad thing. While I was thankful he wasn’t in any pain, it frightened me more than if he had been. Monday morning found us fighting with a very difficult provider’s office trying to get seen and obtain a urology referral. After 2 ½ days of frustration, finally a referral was made to Dr. Blankenship’s office. Long story short, after radiology procedures, it was determined that my sweetie had a very large, 11 mm (7/16”.. almost half an inch!) kidney stone. The size and location of the stone precluded traditional hydro lithotripsy, and a cystoscopy, ureteroscopy, and laser lithotripsy with stent placement procedure was performed early Friday afternoon. We were happy to go this route, because it meant a good inspection of the bladder, whereas the hydro lithotripsy would not have included this. Thankfully, internal examination of the bladder revealed a clean examination, thus my darkest fears were alleviated. A noon surgery was successful, and by 3:30 we were enjoying garlic-cheese biscuits at Red Lobster.

Now let me tell you why this entire incident qualifies as a God Thing. As a self-employed contractor, Steve has been without health insurance for some time now. (I have often teased him that he only wanted to marry me because of my insurance.) It had already been established through the HR department at work that I would simply need to come down and sign some papers once we were wed, and that coverage would be retroactive to the date of the marriage. As of April 22, the day he started bleeding, and seven days before the surgical event, Steve was insured.

Wow. Does this mean that God had a purpose for us to bump up the wedding date? I don’t know for sure... But it totally ROCKS! Would it have been easier for God simply to have made the stone go away, or kept it from forming in the first place? Yep, probably so. Do I believe He could have done that? Absolutely, I believe it. So how come He didn’t do it like that? I have no clue. Perhaps He just needed to remind us that He Rocks! Because lemme tell you. In my book, this ranks way up there on my list of God Things.

Truthfully, I don’t always like the God Things. Sometimes I cannot see anything good in them at all. But one of my favorite quotes is “Never let me say, when things are going bad, ‘what did I do to deserve this?’ unless I am also willing to say it when things are going good.”

Becoming eligible for insurance on the very day he started profusely bleeding? You may call it a coincidence. I call it a God Thing. And this one was definitely a good thing.