Sad, Mad , and Glad

I have long known that the way to impart one's values is at the table; didn't Jesus feed people before speaking the sermon on the mount? I figured that I was a good cook, but I wasn't so sure that my values were worth sharing. This is what I had been taught be my teachers, mother, and other mothers, especially my grandmas. Consequently, I've spent my life providing the feasts, but not otherwise participating in the parties. I'm too old to keep up all the labor, and I'm now faced with the next generation, in the course of casual conversation, asking me what I believe. Dare I impart the impressions I have from my experience with life, love and The Light of The Spirit of Wholeness?

One of my best friends recently insisted the I believe in "God". Whether or not I believe in "God" is a question that hes been posed to me since my children were small. You'd think that I'd have a simple "yes" or "no" answer, but that has never been the case with any questions posed to me. My stock answer then was "Yes, but I don't believe everything people say about God." I've amended that to, "I believe in The Spirit of Wholeness (Holiness): my definition of The Holy Spirit."

I believe that man has, over the ages, described "God" as resembling too closely what man is, the good and the bad of humankind. I believe that The Spirit of Light and Love (Positive Energy) is both the male and the female Energy of Life which manifests Itself in many ways to many people. Naming The Almighty limits the scope of The Entity and discredits the many manifestations of The Infinite Light that have been experienced over the ages. Maybe the Native Americans had it right when they spoke of the Great Spirit. Perhaps the Jews are right in pronouncing this spirit as the breath of life (Yah-weh). Maybe the Muslims are correct in pointing toward the goodness in all of us as being manifestations of The Holy Spirit when they refer to the Almighty as "We".

What I believe is that all of creation that comes from The Almighty is part of the plan for Eternal Life. I believe that all of creation is spun from The Almighty Energy and that all of creation will eventually come back into oneness with The Source. I believe that time and space exist only in our minds, and that in The Eternal's scheme of things all energy will be purified and return to the Infinite Power of the Positive.

I feel blessed to have been exposed to the Judeo-Christian path to Eternity; I think it makes my journey on earth more bearable as, through this value system, I have a sense of the peace that comes with embracing The Positive in this life. It is easy for me to see a way toward The Eternally Peaceful Positive in looking at the the many manifestations of the Positive Power in this history that led to the life, and the life of, Jesus. I believe that this quest to come back to oneness with The Spirit of Wholeness continues today, and that each of us is tasked with using our bits of this Positive Energy to help in the process.

While it seems true that some are blessed with more gifts than others, it is my belief that the greater the gifts, the greater the responsibility to share them wisely. To connect with this wisdom, we must pull back and open ourselves to the inflowing of The Spirit. This Spirit will lead us on the path to Perfection in all we do. There is no end to the Positive Energy into which we can tap. This Energy is absent in all jealousy and hatred. We will be led by this Spirit to understand that which we fear instead of destroying the sources of our fears.

The Prayer of Francis of Assisi states this very well: "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy. O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love. For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

I didn't know until very recently that the Spirit of Holiness was available to me. Being with my loved ones who have known me through all the thrills and tribulations of my life has renewed me. It is true that I can cuss like a sailor, but those words aren't all of me. I don't curse people, simply situations that seem negative to me.If someone is torturing a dog, most of us would step in to save the animal, but we allow the most brutal treatment of human beings without even a word of protest.There are, after all, some things that shouldn't be silently endured, and we can't always walk away.

I was taught that I had it all wrong, so I simply went away sad. I may not always be glad, and sometimes the meanness of people makes me feel quite mad, but knowing that I can sit at the table of The Almighty and be fed whenever I'm hungry for The Light has made me feel quite glad.

Adorable Little Angels

The responsibilities of molding little minds and keeping little bodies alive was a great burden to me when I had my own children. Not so with the children of my children. I'm now sure that I was right about wishing I could have been a grandparent without having to first be a parent. Grandparents get the best of the deal. No matter what stage the grandchildren are in, they turn into the light of life when left alone with grandma -- At least when the day is structured around shopping for their new wardrobes with granny's wallet full of grandpa's hard-earned cash.

It seems impossible that these shining angels could ever say an unkind word, and they seem to hang on every utterance issuing forth from the wealth of Granny's wisdom. I saw nary an eye roll, nor any attempts to hide the fact that they were with me as we ran into their school friends. This is so different from how it was when I shopped with their parents. Have I changed, or have the little darlings been threatened with death if they upset the granny. Who cares? It works for me to have moments when the babies that I held with such pure joy, again share their most angelic selves with me.

It was quite the day of shopping with my twelve-year-old granddaughter. I was allowed to be her personal assistant as we tore through almost endless racks of deeply discounted attire. I did feel the need to preface announcement of my finds with the disclaimer that I was simply locating the shirts in her size with no judgment as to suitability of style. I felt that this may protect me from too many comments about my taste, or lack thereof. What fun it was to realize that she, like her sister and her cousins, wanted me to stay close by to give my opinion on what she would wear.

All this holiday shopping with grand progeny went so well that I'm looking forward to repeating the adventures with my son's children for their January and February birthdays. Can it be that grandparents are the way to attitude adjustments when things get too hot on the home front? I'd pit a good day with a grandparent against all the antidepressant drugs on the market. At least, grandparents aren't known for being destructively addictive. Well, maybe sometimes...if they bake a lot.

Magical Memories and Meals

This has been the most magical Christmas in my recent memory. Instead of racing around to retailers all by myself, I've been busy expanding Christmas by taking my most special ones shopping or on other outings, one or two at a time. This sort of began when one niece came to stay with us during her sabbatical from teaching and continues even today.

It continued through days and nights with best friends, a few at a time; shopping adventures with my son, his wife and their children; waking with Richard all by ourselves on Christmas morning; dining with and delighting in other nieces and nephews; de-decorating my dear friend's tree with her as we catch up in our pajamas; and languishing in the love of my daughter and her darling girls.

On Sunday, my daughter and I spent the day chatting and seeing a play together; it's the most marvelous thing having an adult child as a friend. Her sixteen-year-old daughter and I spent the next day arm-in-arm, doing about a dozen stores. What fun we had as I watched her pirouette in front of the various mirrors, like she didn't do when she was a toddler; she was much too busy putting things in order. I loved watching her be a fairy princess.

Today, the twelve-year-old and I will hit the mall and a nice Hallmark shop that is going out of business. While her sister is quite the bargain hunter in building a wardrobe, I'm not sure what kind of shopping we'll do today. I do know that this granddaughter loves to peruse gift items for others. She can usually wile away a few hours laughing along with me at the silly and sweet sayings on the cards and cute gift items on the shelves. This is also a more gourmet granddaughter, and much more easily embarrassed by public shows of emotion. I don't expect arm-in-arm camaraderie, but I hope for lots of laughs -- and more than likely a good meal.

Progeny Payback

Our children were almost grown when Richard came into our lives. We have few opportunities to say to our children, "You're getting back what you put us through." But there are some times that we simply have to gloat.

Scott was fifteen when Richard became my man. He was living with his daddy and doing a fine job of teenage triangling. If Dad said, "No," (which didn't happen often) he'd simply ask Mom. This may have been because his grandparents were deceased, so he couldn't ask them. When Scott rescued the third dog from the side of the road, his dad had had enough. This dog was quite the digger, and Scott's dad really loved his backyard retreat. This part-lab puppy just had to go. "But, Mom," Scott pleaded, "if you don't take him, Dad's going to take him to the shelter, and they'll kill him."

Scott's dad tried to convince people that he didn't like children or dogs. His children he called "My Girl" and "My Boy." All dogs were called "Dog." There was "Dog 1", "Dog 2", and he wasn't having "Dog 3." I had spent my life attempting to convince my children that they couldn't drag responsibilities home to me and expect that I would take care of them. Here we were on the horns of a dilemma; I was massively missing my boy. He was begging for a bond to me through this dog. What was a mother to do?

I knew that I didn't want a dog, but Richard loved all small, helpless life forms. We were most times busy babysitting this niece and that nephew, so maybe I could bring a puppy into the mix. I agreed to become foster parents to this dog until Scott could find him another home. And the games began.

We renamed the dog "Tuxedo" because of his sleek black coat with a white ruff. He was happy inside, but Richard just couldn't stop obsessing over how lonely the dog was to be locked out of our bedroom away from his "pack." He also never learned to read the silent signals that Tuxedo gave when he needed to go out. I relegated Tuxedo to the back yard. Tuxedo was definitely modeled on Dr. Suess's The Diggingest Dog. The yard soon looked like a mine field, which Richard referred to as the "Meuse-Argonne". Richard filled in the holes and built a kennel in the garage for the dog, but he still needed outside time.

Tuxedo apparently got nervous when he heard other dogs that he couldn't see through the wooden privacy fence. This led him to chew through the strapping on our lawn furniture -- twice. I ordered new strapping, and Richard taught himself the method for boiling it until it became soft enough to stretch across the metal frame. But Tuxedo had only begun his reign of destruction.

As do most air conditioner compressors, our unit made an awful racket when kicking on. Tuxedo must have thought this was some kind of dangerous invader, as he chewed through the wires until that noise was taken care of -- twice. The air conditioner repairman was quite amused when he had to come back the second time. Richard ordered a tooth-proof casing for the wiring, and announced that we had to get rid of "Scott's" dog before he put us into bankruptcy.

I knew that this wouldn't happen once Richard had a night to sleep on other options. His next free week-end, it was off to Home Depot for supplies to build a custom dog run, complete with washdown drain. Only Richard would have spent time making sure that the grains on each fence board were compatible before buying them. Tuxedo now had the nicest dog run in town.

We were foster parents until Scott got to be about nineteen and moved into one of his dad's rental homes with his wife. He and she were sitting at our supper table while Scott expounded on how he and his wife could now reclaim his dog, but he knew Richard had gotten so attached that he would want permanent custody. Richard heard him and immediately went to the garage and gathered up all Tuxedo's toys and other belongings. Within minutes, Scott's dog and all his stuff were in Scott's vehicle. Scott was stunned, but Tuxedo was his responsibility.

Now, Scott is caring for our ninety-six pound fur ball while we look for rental accommodations. When he took me out back to explain to me how Gypsy Woman had dug up his back yard, I couldn't help but secretly smile as I commiserated with him. Richard, on the other hand, upon hearing the story, can't stop roaring with laughter, and that's only when he's not smirking in mirth.

Torn Between Two Places

Tomorrow we sign on the dotted line, to buy the perfect property for my man and me. We'll eventually have a house with three hundred sixty degree views of water: the lake to the front, the marsh to the rear. I'm not sure what could be more perfect.

We're nervous, but also so excited to have found something in the same island subdivision that we enjoyed pre-Katrina. It wasn't our plan to build a house; all I wanted was a plot on which to park an RV. Richard, on the other hand, wants a neighborhood. Our lives never work out quite as we have planned; I never intended to own our present home. Que sera sera; whatever will be will be.

The reality is that our RV needs an engine before it can be moved anywhere, and the coastal area has really clamped down on where one can park a mobile home. RV parks charge several hundred dollars a month, so it wasn't going to be an inexpensive ordeal. In for a penny; in for a pound. We'll be in for several tons.

Richard is absolutely enthralled with his work on the PT boat for the World War II Museum. The Higgins Society project manager has asked him to be an integral part of the organization of the refurbishing of this water craft. With the Higgins PT boat measuring seventy-eight feet long, he'll now have bragging rights to the biggest boat of anyone in either of our neighborhoods. And how many of our friends' boats boast over four thousand horses of power? I'm also pretty sure none of their boats ever took a torpedo hit.

While Richard is working for "the war effort," I guess I'll be figuring out where we'll live. The house in Coker Creek, when it thaws, may become a vacation rental. Meanwhile, I'll be looking for a temporary house here in Louisiana, as most apartments don't allow dogs the size of small horses to reside in them. Our Great Pyrenees is ninety-six pounds of fur and drool. We don't know if she'll survive a summer as an outside dog, so we may need to include an air-conditioned dog house in our home design.

You may think that living on the water will keep our puppy cool, but eight inch fur isn't conducive to taking a dip in the lake. The one time Gypsy Woman tried following our daughter's dog into our pond, she became so heavy that our daughter had to drag her to shore. Esther Williams she ain't.

I'm still hoping that some miracle will allow us to live part time in two places, with or without two homes. Maybe we'll become summer vacation renters in the beautiful mountains of Tennessee.

The Boonies and the Beach

Looking on the lake for a piece of property
To build a winter home for my man and me.
He loves snow, and I love the sun;
The compromise of two homes, for now, has won.

But as we age, we can plainly see
That our energies aren't what they used to be.
Even our children have aches and pains;
It's for certain we won't be young again.

When we purchased our home, we really thought
That our children would use what we bought.
But reality didn't cooperate;
By the time we knew this, it was too late.

The work on acreage is extensive,
And hiring workers very expensive.
So we're left questioning what to do,
If we can't keep up one, how will we do two?

Do we want to become vacation landlords,
And have our beds slept in by unknown hordes?
We could have small paradises in both places,
In both of which we enjoy friendly faces.

A beach house here, a mountain home there,
We'd be on vacation anywhere.
Granny camp could be such fun,
Both in the snow and in the sun.

I'd like advice on which way to go
From realtors and landlords in the know.
And from friends and family
Who may help us more clearly see.

Before we take the plunge, we hope to get
Information on how to sublet,
And who will visit each of our homes,
As through the country our people roam.

Make your reservations today,
If in the mountains you want to play.
You just never know how or when
Reality may intrude again.

The drive is long, but rewards are great,
Although many still hesitate,
To take the forested mountain roads
To our peaceful Appalachian abode.

A tour bus would be just the thing,
But there isn't one, our guests to bring.
Do you think we should install a heliport
For easy mountain guest transport?

A Crazy Christmas

We woke up alone on Christmas day,
No children or grands with which to play.
All of them were sharing their time
In their own respective family climes.

So much family we could have seen,
But this holiday season has trying been.
Unexpected death and relationship strife
Have caused some stress in our current life.

Now, many of you may be saddened,
But our hearts were truly gladdened;
We slept in without a thought
Of any things that we ought.

We had no ham we had to bake,
No enthusiasms we had to fake.
Our gift was time with each other;
We could cuddle alone under the covers.

A buffet breakfast and a movie show
Were quiet places we could go.
Even on Christmas there are people alone;
These places substitute for their homes.

We weren't without any baby joys;
We shared supper with our niece and her boys
Her husband is one of those who work
While we celebraters enjoy the perks.

So to his place of cooking employment
We took our holiday feasting enjoyment.
The boys were thrilled to see their dad,
And what pride in their family the parents had.

And then to see our son we went;
With their new toys our time was spent.
They had finished their Christmas duties,
And were relaxing with all their holiday booty.

Snuggle time with a granddaughter
Before retiring to our hotel on the water.
Christmas is just beginning for us,
But we won't have to make a fuss.

I'm looking forward to days of shopping,
And also some theatre hopping
With our daughter and her girls
As we give Atlanta a celebration whirl.

Extending Christmas may become a habit,
No more scurrying about like rabbits,
From there to here and here to there,
All the joy in one day to share.

We did, though, miss our package caper:
Yards of ribbon and wrapping paper,
The goodies our kitchen elves had fixed,
And all those gifts specially picked.

What a surprise those things will be
Long after disposal of the Christmas tree.
What is time, after all,
But a trap into which working folk fall?

We're retired and we can decide
By what rules our clocks abide.
This goes for our calendars, too;
Any day may become Merry Christmas to you.