Daddy was never...

...not ever a man given to prayer.




...at least not that I knew of, but of course, he did serve in WWII...and you know what they say, "You never find an atheist in a foxhole".




However, that didn't mean my dad never called upon his Maker.  It wasn't unusual to hear him cry out to Him when he smashed his finger in a tractor hitch or dropped a gallon of freshly opened paint...or when you ran out of gas on the way home from Dodge and he had to come find you, because there were no cell phones then (I know, really shocking, and yes, I am THAT old).






If you had been there, you would know what I mean...




...you would have thought the Almighty was standing right there.




My mother, on the other hand, grew up a member of the Christian Church of Fowler, KS.  I went there once with my two uncles.  It's a small, quaint building, but they still managed to squeeze several very large stained glass windows into the walls.  It's really very beautiful in a really small town way.




I heard on several occasions my uncles and my mom laughing about the time Uncle Harold put marbles in the baptistery. That may be the most my family every got involved in any one church.




...which makes it all the more interesting that I got involved in the LDS church.




I'm a Mormon. 




There it is in black and white.  I joined a church that requires everything I have to give, except they didn't shave my head and make me wear a habit(is that how you spell the head cloth nuns wear?).  However, my boys did cut their hair very short and wore black name tags while on their missions.




...and now you are wondering where this blog is headed?




...me too...




...but somehow I'm going to tie in a text Matthew received from his best childhood friend, Uncle Clay.


Matthew sent a text out to everyone in his phone last night at 5:10 to tell them the news.  This morning Clay responded with a wonderful thought. 



Matt,


I've been thinking of Marie much of the night.  I don't know if the realization of the truthfulness of the gospel comes immediately or not.  My guess is no.  But, she must feel the warmth and love you've taught her would be there...and her husband, having been taught much more by now, must be laying it all our for her.  And in due time you will be able to perform those sacred ordinances for her to help make it complete.  What blessings.  Her heart must also go out to both of you for the love and caring you gave her.  Well done! There will be a void and a loss, but how great is our blessing to know where she is and what she is doing --without the physical limitations.  My best to both of you.  


Clay


...and Clay's text was a confirmation of what our family has been feeling.  Just minutes after mother was gone, I was kneeling by the bed holding her hand and Michael came in, hugged me and reminded me that she was finally back with daddy.  




..so while daddy was not a man given to prayer, his heart was pure as gold and he was there ready to receive her into Paradise.


There is just no way I can be unhappy with that knowledge planted in my soul.




It makes me smile to think of it...




...mother and daddy, hand in hand, dancing their way through Paradise.

In my...

..in box today was a letter from my cousin, Sheri.

......

My mother's baby brother, Fred (baby brother...that's really a funny way to think of him, because he towers over everyone with his 6' 6" frame), has a daughter, well, actually he has 3, and though I didn't live close to them, their dad kept my mom informed of their lives, so I heard of them often.




...so today, I found this lovely email from his daughter, Sheri, in my in box(I hope she doesn't mind me going public with a private letter, but it meant a lot to me, so I'm going to share it and apologize later, or now, sorry Sheri...)

.......

Hello Kaylee and all,

I am sorry for the loss of your mother.  There was a sweetness to your mother that was unforgettable.  I was so happy to read your blog and I felt such a connection to what you were experiencing with her.  I felt your feelings were beautiful and thoughtful.  Thank you for sharing such a deep and personal experience with us.  I don't think dying is ever really easy.  There are losses and pain along the way and I felt you really touch on the humanness of dying as well as the loving grace that surrounded your mother at the end (and always).

It made me weep and be grateful that as souls we are allowed to love so deeply and I think above all else your lovely blog held the truth of that love.  I appreciate it and genuinely, thank you.

I hope this time of loss you are surrounded and reminded of all the love that you have in your life.

I will be thinking of you and my family sends you love.

Sheri

P.S.  Mandala and I went to get groceries this morning and as we were cruising by the Deli, I felt compelled to buy a wonderful smelling piece of Fried Chicken and Mandala and I shared it as we finished our shopping.

"Here's to Aunt Maire."  I said to her as I took a bite.

""Yummy!" Mandala said as she chewed happily on her chicken.

Another generation who will always consider Fried Chicken and Potato Salad as comfort food.

..................

...when I read her email, I was struck by the phrase...

It made me weep and be grateful that as souls we are allowed to love so deeply... 

...and it was just the perfect thing to get me through another hour, because I'm learning this is an hour by hour experience...

...and I've been thinking about this "soul" thing and how I believe we are really two beings in one, a spirit that gives us direction, thought and emotion and a body that gives us pleasure...i.e. eating chocolate and allows us to experience things, such as giving birth to our children...and then feel their little heads rest against our shoulder.

...and I've been thinking that my mother has become part of my very soul.  I have, in the past 24 hours, felt her physical presence.  I can't explain it, other than to say it feels like when you just know someone is watching you, you turn and look and sure enough, there they are.  I'm not saying I have seen her, but I have felt a physical presence, a warm blanket around my heart that has kept the chill of loneliness at bay, a physical warmth that has hugged my very soul.

...and there has been a spiritual presence as well.   I have felt an emotional strength that I didn't expect.  My friends say that is normal, but eventually it will hit me.  I know.  I understand.  Eventually this is really going to hit the fan.

...but maybe the Lord in His tender mercy has provided a protection during the dark hours that He knew we would need.  He above all knows what we need.

I know my cousin, Sheri, is a busy mother of a little toddler.  I know she hasn't had a lot of contact with me during my life...




...but I was grateful for her letter...




...in my in box.

Shower crier...

...I've always been a shower crier. 


If I needed to let it out, I would do it in the shower.  Having grown up where I did there was plenty of wide open space to roam and let all your emotions out in private.  But after leaving Kansas and moving to the big city, I found privacy was hard to come by, especially once the children began arriving.


...but the shower was always a place I took the few minutes I had to myself to wrestle with my demons and get all those pent up tears out.


So, loofah in hand, I stepped into the shower today and began scrubbing and talking to myself, to the tile, to the shower nozzle, even to the drain.  I scrubbed and rubbed and talked until my Nivea Smooth as Silk body cleanser was all gone.  When my body was sore from all the exfoliating, I reached out the shower door and grabbed the Lysol cleanser.

...no, silly, I didn't use it on me, I started cleaning the shower.  I toothbrushed every ceramic square, every inch of grout.  I scrubbed until my cuticles were bleeding and the fumes had burned my lungs.


I scrubbed and scrubbed...


...killing every organism known to live in showers...


...I scrubbed till I was pruned...


...till the water ran cold...


...I scrubbed...


...but never cried...


...this may be a bad omen.

Not a sound...

...nothing, just peace...

............

The morning had been a little difficult, her breathing was erratic, congested, labored, but by noon she had calmed down.  We had all been in and out during the day.  One of us would go in and talk to her, then another would come in and the first would leave, trying to give everyone their privacy.


Time to say goodbye.




Then Matthew suggested we give her a priesthood blessing, a simple prayer, to release her.


Send out a message to each of the children, even Andy...especially Andy, I told Matthew.  He's too far away...we need to bring him into this moment.




At 3:00 PM the children, who had left to take care of things in their own homes, and their spouses began arriving.   We met downstairs and talked, laughed and cried.  When it was time, the men gathered around her bed to lay their hands on her head.  I held her hand.




At 4:00 PM, Matthew, with his beautifully powerful voice gently commanded her to go and return to her heavenly home to be reunited with Carl and all the loved ones, who had gone before.




I left the room and the children each took a few minutes to say what they wanted.  I wandered from room to room, child to child, talking but not really communicating.  I lay on the living room floor and wrestled with grandbabies.




Eventually things calmed down and I went to be with her.  Her breathing was slow and gentle, calm.




I sat in her chair pretending to read, but nothing was taking my thoughts away from the miracle that was happening next to me.




At one point, I realized it was very quiet.  I looked over just as there was a slow rise and drop of her chest, a few seconds passed, then another breath...




I moved over into the chair next to her bed and held her hand...




...another breath...




It's OK mother...you can go now, I told her, trying to be brave, not wanting to cry and have her worry.




I promise, it's OK, you can go...daddy's waiting...go now...




...one more breath...




...and she left.




...5:02 PM...


...a moment I will treasure forever.

A lady should always...

...have her nails done for the important times in life, such as going to see her husband again for the first time in 8 years.




Danielle painted her nails today.




Our hands can tell so much about our history.




Where we have been.  What we have done.  What we have suffered.  Scars, wrinkles, freckles, callouses, soft, tender and at the same time strong. 




We put a beautiful, pink satin gown on her and plumped her pillows.




I handed Dani the camera and then I adjusted the pictures a little.  Her fingers are blue from lack of oxygen.  I have a large purple bruise on my hand from what ever thing I bumped.  




I have on mother's ring daddy bought her and she has on the ring I gave her.  




I just needed to have this picture to look back at...



...I want to always remember her hand holding my hand, just as she would have held my hand the day I was born.

I know it's probably over doing it to have several of the same photos, but I loved each of them.

My dear friend...

...Mary Kay was for a number of years an oncology nurse at LDS hospital.  She has been where I am.  She said a phrase yesterday that has been in my mind.  I'm so grateful for the thought she shared with me.




She talked about the miracle of death.




Now I have heard and written about the miracle of birth, but never really thought of death as a miracle.  But I'm beginning to see what she meant.  




Just as when I gave birth to my children, there was a reverence during that time that can never be put into words.  If you have been there to see a new life take that first breath, you know what I mean...a miracle.



...but now at the other end of life, when the body is confused with all the rapid changes...there is a calmness that surrounds her.  A calmness that infiltrates into my very soul.  Though I have a thousand questions and at times I just want to curl up next to her, hold her hand and go along for the ride...this is her time...this is her miracle.







She was there for my first breath...




...and I will be here for her last.



How blessed I am to witness her miracle.

I'm not sure what's harder...

...sitting at her bedside and listening to ragged, drowning breaths or leaving and worrying she will leave and I won't be there?




...and of course there are always the seconds as I sit there and she doesn't breath...




...and I wonder...




...is she gone?

I'm swimming upstream...

...in a river of sorrow.




Every thought of everyday seems to take me back to her room where she lies alone.


I hear a song on the radio and I think of my dad playing his guitar and in turn I think of mother.  An elderly patient calls to make an appointment for next week and half jokingly, half serious says, "I hope I live long enough to come", and I think of her.  I see a woman walking her dog and I think of Max, Lauren's dog that adopted mother when Lauren left home, and then I'm thinking of her again.




I think of the brave people in my life who have lost loved ones and kept a stiff upper lip.  A neighbor lost her son in a tragic accident and she talks about making the choice to  "keep it together" when everyone around her would have been understanding of her "losing it".  Matthew's mom told me not long after her second daughter died of multiple sclerosis that she occasionally stood in the middle of the living room and cried out to God, but I never saw her have anything but the bravest expression on her face.  My own grandmother had lost more loved ones to death than she had alive, but not once did she appear to feel sorry for herself.




...and I marvel at the river of sorrow that flows through lives that I'm unaware of, because people are so very brave.




...brave enough to keep swimming upstream in that river of sorrow.


...because as the movie line goes in Fried Green Tomatoes...




...a heart can be broken, but it keeps right on a beatin' just the same....


...and I will keep on swimming, because with all the love and support from family and friends, there's no way I'm going to drown...

and on a much lighter note,




I'm not the only one enjoying the new kitchen...

(the apron Lauren is wearing is from my former co-worker, also named Lauren...I have on the apron Shay made, but you can't see it in the picture)


PS Lauren is making the best chicken ever...well almost, because nothing is as good as my fried chicken...but this is definitely second.

She fell...

...what, I ask...coming out of a deep sleep.


Kaylee, she just fell, Matthew says it again trying to get me to understand.  Before I know it I'm out of bed searching for her, her bedroom, no, the bathroom, no, wait, there she is in the gray light from the nightlight I can see her legs jutting out of the bathtub reminding me of spaghetti noodles too big for the pan.



She's not crying, nor crying out.  My mind is racing.  A hundred different scenarios flashing through my mind before I even ask if she's OK.  Her mumbled reply reassures me only slightly. 


A barely audible, "I don't know what happened."


"It's OK mother, it's OK", I reassure her.  She's OK I think, reassuring myself, she's OK.


"It's just dark in here", I say.  "It's just dark in here mother and you missed the toilet", trying to help her make sense of why she's sitting in the bathtub and trying to tell myself that there is a perfectly logical reason why my mother is sitting in the bathtub at 5:43 in the morning with her pants around her ankles.


Her pajamas and underwear dangle from her feet.  The floor is wet.  She sits there in the bottom of the tub, like a lump of sad.  Her pajamas bottoms are down around her ankles.  Her pajama bottoms are down around her ankles.  The phrase keeps replaying in my mind as I try to think my way through how to get her out of this situation.  The bathtub faucet jutting awkwardly at a 45 degree angle to the wall. 


It dawns on my that I can't do this alone.  I can't do this alone.  I can't do this alone. And I wonder if I just said that out loud or if I'm just saying that in my mind?  I call for Matthew and he is there before I finish saying his name.  He has obviously been right there the whole time, but, giving her privacy, he has stayed out of sight. 


There's no dignity in getting old and dependent I think to myself.


Matthew steps into the tub and we stand her up and ease her down onto the toilet.  Her pad sloshes down into the water as my toes squish on the urine soaked rug.


As I struggle to pull her panties up I think, no, we need clean ones.  Matthew holds onto her as I run to her room and fumble through her dresser looking for clean underwear, a pad and clean pajama bottoms.  Back in the bathroom I wrestle with getting the wet things off and dry clothes back on, her legs and bottom damp from the whole experience.  I see a large scrape across her lower back already turning an angry purple and red. 


Matthew on one side and me on the other, we half walk, half carry her to bed.  I realize the sheets are soaked with urine as well.  Matthew says to get a towel.  I run to her bathroom and back spreading it under her.  Matthew holding her firmly, helping, always helping.  God, I pray in my mind, thank you for Matthew.


I slide the oxygen back on her nose and behind her ears. 


"It's good to be home, " she says.

It's the rule...

...each minute has 60 seconds.




Perhaps there is nothing that we are all more equal in than time.  Not that we all have the same amount of time, but for everyone, everywhere, 60 seconds is 1 minute.  There's no getting around that.  I understand that some people come into this world with time to only draw one breath, while others may have over a hundred years worth of living given to them.  I guess the thing that makes the difference with what time we are given is what we do with that time.




As a little girl I would ride out to the field with my mother to take dinner to daddy and Dean on the tractor.  It was typical of my mother to fry up a batch of chicken and make a large potato salad along with a mason jar of iced tea for each of us.  The smell of the chicken on a towel covered platter in the back seat made that short drive seem like an eternity.   We would park along side the field they were working, sometimes plowing or undercutting and in the fall, planting, and wait for them to finish their round before stopping, the smell of the chicken becoming more mouth-watering by each of the 60 seconds of each minute. 




When Michael and Lauren ran cross country in high school they would run lap after lap through the neighborhoods around Viewmont.  The purpose of the time was to build up their muscles and train their heart and lungs.  Speed wasn't as important as training, but when they ran a race, the only thing that mattered to the judges was their number of 60 second intervals on the race course.




When Andy and Michael left on 2 year missions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Later-Day Saints, I couldn't imagine how I would ever survive not having them sitting at their allotted spaces at the supper table.  I had a daily sticker chart that showed our progress toward the goal of getting them home.  Each sticker represented 24 hours and with 60 seconds in each of those 60 minutes of each of those 24 hour days...well you get the picture...it was long.  However, towards the end of the 24 months, I couldn't believe how fast it had gone.




When Aubrey had her first ultra-sound of Preston, we were told he might not survive to birth.  Each interval between doctor visits seemed so long, but the few seconds it took to do another ultra-sound as she lay on the table seemed like an eternity until we saw that precious little heart still beating right on cue.




Like Aubrey, when each of our daughters told us they were pregnant, 9 months seemed forever away.  In that nine months a miracle would happen with fingernails and eyelashes in exactly the right place.  Then they would go into labor and in just a few hours, or in some cases minutes, they would bring a new life into the world.  Each one of our 13 miracles was allotted an unknown amount of time with which they would grow, learn and evolve into adults.




In each of the situations I mentioned, time meant something different, but you can't get around the fact that each minute of each period of time I mentioned was just 60 seconds long.




...when daddy died suddenly, my mother repeatedly said, just one more minute with him...




...just a few more seconds to tell him one more time that I love him...




...and I wondered what I would say to him if I had just one more minute, just 60 more seconds to tell him how much I treasure him...




...my mother's dad was a barber in the little Mennonite community of Montezuma, KS.  He always wore a pocket watch.  I remember as a little girl watching him pull on the chain and seeing his round watch slide out of his vest pocket.  He would turn the dial on the watch with such a serious face, as if he was counting each turn, knowing it took a gentle hand to wind it precisely so as to not over-wind and break it, knowing if he didn't handle it responsibly it would stop ticking and he would lose track of time.




...knowing he might lose minutes of the day...




...knowing he would lose 60 seconds of each of those minutes.




...and now my mother is winding down like my Grandpa Covey's pocket watch that had to be wound everyday. Only God can know the amount of time she has been given, only He knows when she will take her final breath. But I know I can make a difference in the time my mother has left.  I can ease her pain, cheer her through the difficult times and hold her hand through painful minutes that lay ahead.




...and I wonder with every minute I spend not at her side...




...will I wish later I had just one more minute...




...just 60 more seconds to tell her I love her...




My brother told me I don't have to do this.  We can put her somewhere that others can help her.  I know he's thinking of me and I'm grateful that he is concerned.




...but no, I tell him, I know she'll never leave here...




...I will want her close so I can have just one more minute with her...




...60 more seconds to tell her I love her...

I opened her door...

...just enough to see if she was awake.




She looks at me, but doesn't respond.  I go closer and reach out to wrap her blankets around her feet.




Are you OK, I ask?




I'm cold, she says...




...but I know the cold she is talking about will not be eased away by another layer of blankets.




I lift her comforter and gently slide into bed next to her, spooning my legs around hers.  We lie there together quietly and then she chuckles.



The sound of her being happy makes me smile.



...and I know she is finally warm.

M and M cookies and Super Heroes...

...may not sound like they go together...




...but that's exactly what we did at Emry and Amelia's house Saturday night.  Michael and Erin went to the temple and Emry and Millie Jo offered to babysit me while their mom and dad were gone.




...they are pure entertainment.  We spent the evening moving (actually they were running) from one activity to the next.   Spoon, spoon, where's my spoon, Fancy Nancy tea parties, creating Mother's Day gifts and swimming in the bathtub and baking M & M cookies were just a few of the highlights of the night.  Of course, we had to have chocolate, the food of all super heroes.

OK, I admit we actually ate a lot more cookie dough than cookies.




... of course there is a downside to all that cookie dough...

...and because I have to be a good example, we had a bowl full of chicken noodle soup, to wash down the M & M cookies.  Amelia shared her blanket with us so we could have a picnic together on the family room floor.

...can you get drunk on cookie dough???...you be the judge...

One of the advantages of having a dad who is an engineer is that he can build you a playhouse like no other....

We rode horses all the way through Deerie Lou land...

Super Emry to the rescue...

...feeling goofy...

(we tried to get Amelia's hair to stand up like Emry's, but all those ringlets have a mind of their own...throughout my childhood I was washed, papered, wrapped and solutioned with permanent hair wave, twice a year...when I think about what I went through with the burning eyes and drips running down my back, holding my breath as I cowered under a towel to hide from the fumes that curled my toes, as well as my hair, just so I could look pretty...Amelia has no idea how lucky she is...)

We laughed, talked, sang and danced.  It was a wonderful night and thanks to Emry and Millie Jo...




...I didn't get homesick for Mike and Erin at all, not even once.

"Feel this"...

...my mother said as she rubbed the top of her head.  I finished putting clean sheets on her bed and walked over to where she was sitting in her rocking chair.  I put my hand on top of her head and ask what I'm feeling for.  Before she can answer I feel it.  There's a dent in the top of her head...I feel it again in disbelief.  Don't over react, I think.  I'm confused and suddenly very scared for her.  I struggle to stay calm and ask if it hurts.  No, not really is her reply.




Not knowing what to say, I say nothing and just ask if I can get her anything?  She wants to go to bed, so I help her, tucking her clean blankets around her and situate the oxygen tube to help control the panting and slow her breathing.




I run downstairs knowing I have to call Andy.  He doesn't answer his cell.  I try the house.  Porter says he's delivering babies today.  I call his cell again and this time he answers.  The first thing he says is, "Everything OK mom?" as he realizes I have called him twice in just a few minutes.  No, I tell him, nothing is OK, I say to myself.  I know this is bad, but I can't wrap my mind around what is happening.




I try my best to explain there is a gap in Grandma Great's skull from the crown of her head about 3 inches back and a fourth to a half an inch deep.  No breaks in the skin, no redness, just missing bone.  Again, don't over react, I say to myself.


He's getting slammed in labor and delivery, he says he will call back.  I know he is trying to sort through this new information too.




Soon he calls back and we talk.  He says the word that I kept hearing in my own head...cancer...probably bone cancer.  The rest of the discussion is lost to me, but I remember a few words...MRI...dizziness...confusion...pain...not long.




...and then mother is calling for me...




...morphine, please, she asks politely, even when in pain...




...hurry, I think...



...she's hurting...


...I squeeze the dropper full of morphine into her mouth, then tuck her in again...



...Leaving, I shut the door gently behind me and from her room comes the soft answer, "Thank you."

I love it...

...when Matthew picks up the camera, he gets so excited.  I got excited too when I saw what he took a picture of...

...and it got us talking about how moody Mother Nature is.  Last Saturday she had a hot flash, then during the week a surge of hormones shot through the air and it snowed.  This Saturday there was a mixture of blue sky to clouds, dry to rain.  It sent me back to the coat closet several times to switch from light jackets to rain coat and back again to jacket. 




...and what do you do when it's cold and rainy...




Well, I don't know about you, but this is what I do...

(I think this is Peggy Earnshaw's chicken noodle soup recipe, delish!!!)






...so back to the picture...

If you look closely you can see tulip leaves pushing their pointy little heads through the soil.  I planted bright red and bold yellow bulbs last fall and the pay-off is just around the corner in March.






...and it got me to thinking about Cameron's sweet little prayer at dinner the other night.  Jake asked him if he would bless the food and he immediately folded his arms, closed his eyes (and kept them closed the whole time, yes, I was peeking) and bowed his little head.  Matthew and I understood some of what he said.  We could make out the words, "mommy, daddy, food, Jesus" and a couple of other phrases.  No prompting required.  He has obviously done this before.  He didn't need the adults to tell him what to say.






Today, Matthew made the comment that it was so cute to watch him pray and how that is just the beginning of thousands of prayers he will say in his lifetime. 




It's kind of like the tulip bulbs I planted last fall.  Dani and Jake have planted the seed of righteousness by being an example to Cameron by always saying their prayers.  They have taught him to bow his head and be reverent. 




When he offered his prayer Friday night, I'm not sure he understood the significance of what he was saying or doing.  However, in his life, he will continue to grow spiritually in such a way that years from now his life will be blessed and all the lives he touches will be blessed, because he knows how to offer a prayer to Heavenly Father.

Outdoor show highlights...

It was a cold and gray Saturday when Cameron showed up to go to the outdoor hunting show, wearing his orange hat, camo coat, Buzz lightyear blinking shoes and his camo backpack.  I could tell he was ready to go from the serious look on his face.  We were all excited.  Preston and Luke slept over at Gramma and Grampa's, we had Macdonalds for breakfast and then waited for Jake, Cameron, Chris and Quinn to show up.

Cameron brought his hunting buddy along, Jake was gonna be his guide.

The first animal inside the entrance was this massive griz, made everyone stop and admire. 

We all stopped and posed for a few pictures, made me feel like I was back in Fairbanks looking up at the grizzly in the airport.

Chris brought one of the young men from his ward, Quinn's dad died about seven years ago, so he needs a good outing with the guys once in a while.

Quinn was really good with Preston and Luke, I invited him to come elk hunting with us next fall, he can learn to bugle with Preston, it could be a grand outing.

This leopard was impressive.  There are hundreds of animal mounts from every country and continent.  The displays are inspiring.   Luke, Preston and Cameron had to look every one of the taxidermy mounts right in the eye and make sure they weren't blinking or breathing. 

Preston and Cameron wanted to pose with the deer hiding in the trees.  I think Cameron kept looking at every animal to see if one of them was alive.  Cameron was trying to figure out what taxidermy means.

I took Kaylee out to Farmington bay to see a real live eagle.  It was a clear, cold February blue sky afternoon.  This is about two miles west of our home, there are hundreds of eagles that winter out there. 

Told you so...

...I told you Mother Nature was just playing a trick on us...


REMEMBER????




This is what we woke up to yesterday morning...

In the center of this frame is a bird's nest that has a little family of robins in it every year.  We have lived here long enough that our grandchildren now see the great-great grandchildren's eggs from the robin's nest the first year we moved here.  (Did that make sense?  Let's see, how about saying it this way...Our grandchildren are seeing the eggs of the great-great grandchildren's  from the generation of birds from the first year we moved here...Did that work...I don't know...I can't think right now...I'm trying to figure out how to get grandma to take a shower today and so far...no luck)

I'm hoping to push Marin in this, this summer...Andy, PLEASE!!!

He was really just a big kid...

...at heart.  Daddy loved to make me laugh and he would go to extreme measures to get to me.


On a regular basis I would go to slide my feet into my shoes and feel a lump by my toes.  I never knew what it would be...a marble, a Barbie shoe, a screw, a AAA battery, even a wadded up paper towel.  Though I never knew for sure what I would find, I always knew who put it there...


...daddy.




I loved hearing him laugh.  The feeling was mutual.  As I got older it wasn't as funny, but I pretended it was hilarious.  And then he would pretend he didn't know I was pretending and then we would both laugh even harder.


I would act like it was the funniest joke ever when I found another object in one of my shoes, laughing, slapping my knee and giving him a hug....


...and then he would laugh and I would feel my heart jump in my chest knowing how much he loved me.


Ask anyone who knew him and they will tell you the same thing, my dad loved to make people laugh.  He had a way about him.  Whether it was the checker at the grocery store or his doctor's receptionist, he would spread sunshine throughout the day.


Remember how I mentioned I have wondered if my dad is watching over me and my mom.  Well, I received the answer to that question.




I was in a hurry the other morning to get to work, but when I slid my foot in to my brown loafers, time stopped.  I laughed and cried all at the same time.  It was rings this time, costume jewelry from my mother's jewelry box.  One in each shoe


For just a moment I thought if I turned around he would be standing there with a big Cheshire cat grin.  Then I thought, no, I don't have to see him...I just know he's here.

Here's to fried chicken...

...with mashed potatoes, cream gravy and a side of wilted lettuce.




I just couldn't take it another minute...not one more meal.  Fast food, and sometimes even slow food, is not my favorite thing.  I think everyone occasionally likes to eat out, but several weeks of being forced to eat out means I had to force myself to eat.




I know I've mentioned it before, but it's my blog and I can repeat myself if I want to...




I remember sitting in my grandmother's kitchen many years ago.  She was just taking her iron skillet loaded to the brim with fried potatoes and onions off the fire, potatoes fried up in left-over bacon grease(I know, I know, that's terrible, but she lived to 99, so apparently it wasn't too unhealthy for her).  We talked for awhile about our favorite foods and she talked about how she got rather heavy while living out on the farm and having her own milk cow with fresh cream and butter everyday.  She talked about putting the butter in a dish and then leaving it in a trough where water from the windmill ran over it keeping the butter cool.




I sat there in her modern kitchen, looking at her nice refrigerator and stove and asked what her favorite modern appliance was...




...running water came her reply...




Running water?  I remember laughing and not fully understanding.




...but with all this remodeling and the kitchen being completely disabled, disemboweled, destroyed, I now understand what she was saying.




After months of not having a kitchen sink, last Friday Michael hooked up the water pipes to my new 10" deep, double bowl, black granite composite sink and I was finally back in business.  Back in the business of feeding my family really yummy, really unhealthy fried chicken with mashed potatoes and cream gravy and a side of wilted lettuce salad with bacon dressing.




...so here's to fried chicken...




...and running water.

It was supper time...

...when the phone call came.  It was Aubrey calling to tell Lauren a student in her school had taken his own life.  Stunned silence for a few moments as we all recognized the finality of his decision.


...and I thought about how he was someone's little boy, someone's grandson and no matter how troubled he had been, they would miss him. 

There is something special about all children, but little boys can be the gentlest of all creatures.  Maybe we recognize that quality in them, because we know all too soon they will grow up and the world will expect them to be tough.  The world will tell them to be embarrassed for sharing their thoughts, for being emotional and for showing their kinder side.  All too soon, a little boy learns he is expected to fight his way through this world.

I walked into Grandma Great's room Saturday and found Cameron having a quiet moment with her, his capped head lying close to her heart.  Oh, how I would love for this gentle little soul to be protected from the harshness he will eventually encounter when he steps out of his own little Coil/Lawson world.

...if only Cameron can forever remember the moments he has spent with his great grandma...

...I know it will make him a better man.

I fight to wake up...

...most mornings, but this morning I tried hard to stay asleep.  I was in the nicest dream and I didn't want it to end.


Like most of my dreams there were pieces of things here and there that are actual events in my life.  I remember the grass was green, so green it looked like shag carpet.  The sky was robin's egg blue with large fluffy clouds like giant cotton balls drifting through the air.




My brother and I were running along the top of the old sandstone fence that surrounded my hometown's scout house.  Built in the late 1800's the building still stands with the fence on 2 sides forming an "L" shape in the southeast corner.  It was originally built as a meeting place for Boy Scouts, but during my life it served many purposes including city library.


Like many of the old buildings in Southwest Kansas, the sandstone walls are very thick.  Over time the stones are worn away by the wind and weather, but it takes a strong tornado to completely rend apart the heavy rock.




It was a right of passage for the children of Minneola to use a stone that is harder than sandstone, like granite, to chisel their initials into the side of the building.  Sandstone is soft.  All it took was time.  The process was sometimes boring and definitely labor intensive for a 6 year old, but a necessary step in the growing up process for any child who happened to live in Minneola in the 60's.






Last time I checked, about 5 years ago, when I went home for my aunt's funeral, some 40 years after I let my mark, my initials were still there.  Definitely not as easy to read, nevertheless, the "K" and "B" are there on the northwest corner.  I remember as a child searching for the perfect rock that would be strong enough to rub back and forth across the surface of the sandstone.  It had to be  strong enough to sand off lines to create the letters, but pointy enough to not take off too much of the rock...kind of funny when I think about it now, I was a tagger in the 1960's, before it was the popular thing to do.




In my dream, my brother, Dean and I, were both young and strong.  I remember laughing as Dean ran ahead of me on the 3 foot tall fence, his long stride easily carrying him across the gateless entrance to the yard.  It took little effort for his long legs to make the leap, never breaking his stride.  But when I came to the void in the fence, I stopped.  I was scared and knew if I didn't jump hard enough my shins would pay the price.




He stopped, slowly turning around and calling to me.  I can't, I said.  I'm scared.  You can do it, he encouraged, but still I hesitated.




Then he did what every good older brother does, he jumped back, took my hand and together we jumped across the opening.  We both laughed and kept running, his big, strong fingers grasping my little girl hand.


Eight years ago, on Dean's 50th birthday, we sat at my parent's kitchen table and wrote our daddy's obituary.  We were both distraught and every once in awhile one of us would loose it and then the other would too.




He's the biggest, toughest sheriff in southwest Kansas, but he has a soft heart.  His picture is on the wall with Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp in the Ford County Court house in Dodge City.  He's a good guy to have on your side.  We don't talk as often as we should, but when we do we always end with, "love you".  He almost always answers his phone when I call, willing to do whatever is needed to help me.  He has always been there, someone to look up to and someone to look out for me.




I'm not the only one scared about what is happening in our lives, how we are both going to be orphans when mother dies.  He is a busy man as the sheriff and a Federal Marshall he is always having to take care of issues, but he's there for his little sis.




...and just as in my dream, we are in this together.  We don't know when we will get to the point that we will have to jump across a very scary place...

...but just as he was there for me in my dream, I know he is here for me today.


He is there ready to hold my hand and encourage me to make it through the scary times, protecting me from skinned shins,.


(PS: Who's that cute little boy sitting on your lap Debbie?)