Well...Slap Me Silly!!

I look out my kitchen window and even through the cloudy, rainy weather everything seems brighter and more beautiful than ever.  I watch our cats, Jasper and Chocolate, hover near the back door, wanting warm shelter and more food and I laugh at how funny they are instead of feeling agitated.  The distant sound of the train traveling through Gurley is comforting where before, it would make me feel a bit sad and melancholy.  I'm excited to do the laundry and to catch up on some emails and planning that I've put off for several days.  My heart and mind feel as light as a feather and I want to do everything at once.  My interest in getting our home ready for my baby brother and his family who will visit for Thanksgiving comes back full force and I make plans to get the upstairs' bedrooms prepared and decorate the porch with pumpkins and mums. I crave birthday cake and a spicy chicken buffalo griller from Taco Bell~

You see, Monday afternoon the doctor told me I would need a breast biopsy.  What she saw on my film was something that couldn't be diagnosed without further investigation...hence, the biopsy.  There was a 90% chance that it was all good and she said if she were a betting person, she'd lay down money that it was nothing.  But, women, albeit a minority, with similar breast pictures had gotten a scary report.  Something that begins with a "c".  So, I had to pay attention to that 10% chance and be prepared...just in case.

I pretty much held my breath until today at 12:45.  But, let me back up for a minute.  Yesterday morning at 9:00, I was taken into a room and was asked to remove my top.  I was given a warm blanket and was told to lay on my stomach.  My right arm was to be down by my side, my left arm was bent in a comfortable position, my head was turned to the left on some semblance of a pillow and the weirdest thing of all was that my right breast was dropped through an opening in the table.  I was instructed to get still and remain still for the entire procedure. 

The table made noise as it elevated enough for the doctor to sit under it and after several pictures were taken (I forgot to tell them that my breast doesn't know how to pose!), the pain began.  It wasn't terrible and I was warned each time by a 1...2...3...stick!  This happened about 5 to 6 times.  It was definitely not a party and you'd have to pay me A LOT of cold, hard cash before I'd volunteer to do it again.  After the "b" was sufficiently numbed, other "instruments"? were stuck, pricked, pushed and prodded inside the "b" only to pull the suspicious tissue out.  Why they would not hide these tissue-filled samples from me is baffling...the nurse actually dropped them into a jar full of some sort of liquid, RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!.  Folks, that's why I'm not in the medical field...I don't vomit easily, but I'm a dry heave waiting to happen.

Finally, as I was just about on my last leg (not really, but it's an expression that means you don't think you can take anymore), I was massaged, squeezed, pressurized, sterilized, bandaged and wrapped like a sausage burrito before I was told that I could go home.  After the at-home instructions from my wonderful doctor, which included fun words like ...bruising, profuse bleeding, pain, soreness, infection, fever, etc., I was allowed to leave.  "Hey, don't forget that you can't use your arms for 24 hours!"  WHAT??  Sorry, but I have to lift my hash browns and diet Coke up to my mouth on the way home.  Eric ain't gonna do it for me...besides, he's driving!  And, there are other necessary activities I'll need my arms for today, people...you medical people.

So...now we're back to today.  I get dressed, begrudgingly, and Eric comes home early from work bearing gold (fried chicken and biscuits), frankincense (potatoes and gravy) and myrrh (slaw).  I surprise myself by eating a small helping of everything and 10 minutes later my phone rings. 

I saw that the number was from my doctor and it took every bit of my will to answer.  But, I had to answer...I had to...there was no way out...I needed to know.  I said "hello" and heard the sweetest words coming from a sweet doctor that said she had great news!!  NO CANCER!!  I don't think I need to explain my first paragraph, except to say that when you are worried about your future, the present looks different and your world seems to stop for a few days.  Then, in one short moment, your world is back on it's axis and you just love everyone and everything. 

If I could bottle this clarity, this new way of seeing things and could sell it, I'd make a fortune.  No, really...I would give it away and maybe we'd all stop taking our lives for granted.  Next time someone hears me complain about anything or sees me with a "life's rough, I'm so pitiful" attitude, I hope they SLAP.ME.SILLY...SERIOUSLY~

Good Grief

Two years ago, this coming Sunday, my funny, talented, crazy, beloved Mother was scooped up in the arms of Jesus and taken to Heaven...softly, sweetly, painlessly.  Two weeks ago today, her sister, my Aunt Ellen, went the same way...in her sleep, quietly, swiftly. 

Today, I am sad.  I was sad yesterday and last week and I'll be sad off and on for a long while.  Some days, I give in to the voices in my head..."get over it", "move on", "stop crying!"  Then, my head and stomach start to hurt and the pressure builds until tears cascade down my face like a tiny waterfall...wonderful release!

You are not weak if you cry...YOU ARE NOT WEAK IF YOU CRY!!  The tears that come with grief crying have toxins that build up from stress.  Crying cleanses your body of these toxins and there are many more health benefits associated with letting your tears flow.  Not all tears are the same...when you chop an onion, when your eyes water from the sun, laughing hysterically until you cry...none of these produce healing tears. 

I have decided that I will not fight these feelings anymore.  I will not be stoic or try and force myself to hold my feelings inside. I will cry in the car, under my pillow, in the shower, as I walk to the mailbox or stand at my kitchen sink. I will allow myself time to grieve and I will not apologize for it.  Grief does not have to render me useless, so occasionally I can cry and wail and wallow in it and still walk among the living with peace and purpose.

God has been sad...when Adam and Eve hid from Him in the garden...when people wouldn't listen and missed the boat...when Jonah ran away...when Lot's wife looked back...when David couldn't keep his eyes to himself...when Moses had a temper tantrum.  And, the saddest of sadnesses...when God offered to the world the One that was most precious to Him and was forced to turn His back as His Son, who knew no sin, took the blame for every kind of ugliness imaginable.

It's okay to feel sad.  It's a good thing to cry.  Humans are the only creatures who cry emotional tears, though I read that elephants and gorillas might have that in common with us.  Don't let crying scare you, make you feel silly or out of control.  Grown-up people know that crying is a necessary emotion that, in the end, will cause them to feel better.  Cleansing tears keep our hearts open to living authentically. They purge our bodies of toxic stress hormones that run rampant as we experience this crazy life.  Our natural waterworks protect us from depression, heart disease and a slew of other problems.

Here are some lyrics to an old song that might come in handy (you know, for that one time some idiot tells you to "dry it up")

"This is my party and I'll cry if I want to, cry if I want to, cry if I want to.  You would cry, too, if it happened to you!"

Does This Book Make Me Look Smart?

I recently read a book entitled I Still Dream About You, by Fannie Flagg, and it's been a long time since a book made me LOL, a lot, like even in bed at midnight.  I had to ignore a bit of bad language, (don't judge), but other than that, it was a great book.  Not one line, paragraph, page or chapter made me feel guilty.  It was a pure-pleasure read!  I'm a deep thinker and analytical, a little paranoid with a tad of insecurity left over from who knows what, so most self-help books just make me feel like crap. (Excuse the language, but it's all I've got)

Yes, I will continue to challenge myself with books and short stories written by extraordinary writers.  But I am always going to look for books that make me feel understood.  And, yes...I'm going to read everything that Alice Sebold writes and I will not apologize for or try and figure out this dark side of my psyche.

Before I end this post, I must include one more form of the written word that I love...magazines!  I am like a kid when one comes in the mail and for some odd reason, I always look at the last page first. Weird, huh?  Sometimes, I just want to read an article, a snippet, a "how to", a new recipe.  Many magazines are not worth a dime, but there are plenty of good ones to choose from...Oprah, Real Simple, Martha Stewart Living, MORE, Southern Living, HGTV, Food Network Magazine and Better Homes & Gardens.  If you want a Christian commentary on world news, current events, movie and music reviews, etc., then read the magazine, WORLD.

I just finished a book entitled Silver Star, by Jeannette Walls.  It's the story of two sisters who had to endure life with (and sometimes, without) their disturbed mother.  The spirit, guts and resiliency of these girls was heart-wrenching and inspiring.  I'm melancholy enough to embrace the fictional sadness and creative enough to yearn for inspiration.  I am called a Reader~

Bologna Sliders & Sweet Tea

Recently, I visited a place that reminded me of my childhood, that took me back to a time when the pace was slower and folks sat across from one another to talk...a place with a purpose to feed hungry and hurting people.

The place...Grave's Grocery, a local country store in Lacey's Spring, owned by Pam Graves, single mom of five, lover of God, family and community.  The logo on her shirt reads...

                                             Community Rest Stop
                          A Place To Satisfy Your Hunger And Your Heart


 Yes, indeed!  Pam's store represents that which is simple and good...uncomplicated food, all the sweet tea you can hold and friendly, down-to-earth service.  You will definitely have your hunger satiated in more ways than one and if you stay long enough to get to visit with Pam, consider it an extra treat, no charge!

Pam not only cooks and serves...she shares her life with you.  Where else can you go for a bologna slider and the possibility that the one who made it might just pray with you before you leave?  Pam bought the grocery store as a means to provide for her children, but it's more than that.  You see, I believe Grave's Grocery is like a church and Pam is the minister.  She preaches every day in the way she smiles and speaks and shows an interest in the people who walk through her door, but she also takes every opportunity to let Christ's love emanate through her.  Thing is, Pam's message is palpable whether she's working the cash register or serving up her delectable chicken salad.  She's genuine, unassuming, guileless, humble...a living, breathing sermon!

On Saturday, July 27th, Pam hosted River of Life Market, her first open air event for artisans and vendors selling their wares.  The morning was a success and the pictures below were taken by me, an amateur photographer just trying to capture the essence of this most charming place. When I arrived, the parking lot was full, as was the diner.  I ordered the special of the day: a pulled pork sandwich with hot slaw (it was listed on the menu handwritten on a chalkboard...*sigh).
All the food that is sold at Grave's Grocery is fairly priced and worth every penny.  Plus, you can eat in peace and you.can.not.put.a.price.on.peace~ 

Grave's Grocery is as unique and full of personality as it's owner (and, no, she did not pay me or coerce me in any way to write this post!)  So, if you could use a rest from life's journey, stop in to sit a spell and shoot the breeze...you might get a hankering for Pam's homemade grilled pimento & cheese sandwich, a big glass of sweet tea and of course, a smile and a prayer on the side~

  

                                                              A Wonderful Place

 

                                                                      

                                                                  Open Air Market

                                                            Gotta Love A Front Porch

 

                                                            Come Inside to Shop

                                                    The Community Bulletin Board

 

                                                          

 

                                                           Head Honcho, Pam Graves

                                                                    Her friend, Pat

                                                             

                                                         My mouth-watering lunch

Happy Customers 

 

Kid's Zone

The Art of Losing

The little dog, Dawson, mentioned in the previous post, was found dead today in our pond on the farm.  We think he died on May 27th, the day that Eric took me to the airport.  He returned home thinking that Dawson would come to the house as always, but he never showed up and Eric found him a few days later.

I started to feel attached to the little guy and it was apparent that he felt the same about me.  He followed me everywhere...maybe because I gave him treats and occasionally got down on the floor to play.  I was the main person who kept his food and water bowls full and let him outside to potty.

Life consists of losses, big and small.  A dog annoys you, then you begin to actually care about the dog, adjusting to living together in the same house and BAM!, you lose the dog due to an unfortunate accident.

We lose husbands, fathers, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. Some people lose children...my mind and heart cannot even go there.
These losses are the saddest, hardest, the most significant.  But other things we lose can rock our world in a different way.

Sometimes we lose a friendship, an opportunity, a job, a favorite book or someone's trust.  Other things we might lose: our resolve, our personal identity, our much-needed space or our reputation.

I've lost many insignificant things...umbrellas, keys, appointment cards, coupons, books, a shoe, jewelry, money, etc.  Most of these losses are easier to accept, although inconvenient and irritating.

Things that I sometimes fear I'm losing are my mind, my respect for certain people, my patience, my ability to show mercy, especially with the ridiculous, my free spirit, my desire to take risks, my voice and my childlike heart.

The aforementioned list may be the result of losing some of the "real" stuff of life, rendering me cynical, skeptical, angry, aloof, anxious, less vulnerable and more fearful.

The thing is...losing the significant and insignificant can make us softer, more resilient, aware, compassionate, forgiving, but only if we surrender to it.  If we just leave our hands open instead of clenching our fists trying to hold on to things, we might learn to accept loss, even lean into it.

This is what I've learned....losing conditions you, trains and prepares you to handle other losses because that is the reality of this earthly life.  But, there's another life, our real life for eternity, where we'll never have to lose another thing precious...be it person or pet or prized possession.

So...let your heart be calm and your trust be in the One who suffered the greatest loss. Ever.  

It's A Dog's Life

Okay...as much as I love being married to Eric, I am still adjusting to farm life and all that encompasses.  So, here's what stands out in my mind as most memorable so far.

One morning before work, I was informed by Eric's mom (she was staying with us for awhile) that Lucy, our huge outside dog, had left Eric a little surprise.  I inquired about it and she told me that the dog had found an intact, dead, frozen deer and had graciously laid it in front of my car door.  I turned on my heel and headed straight to the bedroom where I preceded to request a removal of this item (by Eric) so far away as not to see any evidence of said deer.  My sweet husband granted my request and off to work I went.

Seven hours later, I pulled up to the farmhouse, looked to the left as I was opening my car door and what to my wondering eyes should appear, but the big head and neck of said frozen, dead deer.

I walked inside, choosing the highroad, and went about the rest of my day.  The next morning, as I sat down in my car to leave for school, I looked to the left and in place of the deer head and neck was a thigh and leg.  What could I do?  I needed to be on time and I was not about to move that disgusting thing myself.  So...out of sight, out of mind!

In the days ahead, I would find a bone here, a bone there...you know, body parts, some of which I will not mention.  Much to my chagrin, I realized that Lucy was indeed feasting on the deer and getting fat with each bite.  I swore I would never touch that dog again and she and I would go our separate ways.

However, after a week or so had gone by, I walked into my bedroom after school and low and behold,  a deer hoof was right smack dab in the middle of my carpeted floor.  Black, sharp, disgusting...pretty as you please. Thank you, Dawson!! (our inside dog) Again, I turned on my heel and stayed in the other rooms the rest of the day.  When Eric came home, I asked him to remove that last evidence of carnage, but alas, it wasn't there.  I got busy with dinner, lesson plans, etc. and forgot about it.

That night, as I was calmly and quietly reading in bed (my nightly ritual), I hear Dawson gnawing on something.  (Yes, he sleeps under our bed.)  It suddenly occurred to me that he was going to town on that deer hoof.  But, weariness took over, off went the light and I settled in for a good night's sleep.

Somewhere around 5 a.m., I made my early morning trip to the water closet.  The path is a straight shot from my side of the bed and as I took my first few steps, my right foot landed on something hard.  In my groggy state, I wasn't able to process what had happened until I started back to bed.  To my dismay, I realized that I had stepped on the hoof.

Enough said...

Beginnings

Eric and I got married on a Monday night, December 17th, (my parent's anniversary).  We drove to Asheville, NC the next day and came back on Friday.  Eric kept forgetting to carry me over the threshold (what is that, anyway?) and then too much time passed.  Who cares?  I was home!  I love the way Luther Vandross sings A House Is Not A Home..."a chair is still a chair, even though there's no one sitting there. But, a chair is not a house and a house is not a home when there's no one there to hold you tighter and no one there that you can kiss goodnight."  Eric and I are at home with each other and that's what makes this house truly a home.  Beautiful ceremony, loving family and friends, the best wedding cake, a match made in Heaven...thank you, God~