Mother Nature's Christmas Surprise

Angel from the top of our Seaboard tree 

 Growing up, our Christmas season officially began when I went with my parents out to the farm in search of the perfect Christmas Tree. To qualify as "perfect" there were only a few criteria. It must be a cedar tree. It must be tall enjough that it was challenging to add the angel on top yet not tall enough to touch the ceiling. And it had to be light enough for Dad to carry easily. 

So while our trees weren't majestic, they did fill the house with the sweetest aroma imaginable. One I remember vividly each time I open the small Lane Keepsake box I was given as a high school senior. Or the full size Lane Chest I bought as a young professional because of how much I loved my Lane Keepsake box. Excellent marketing. But I digress. 

We decorated our trees with Shiny Brite glass ornaments and heaped it with tinsel. We strung it with Christmas lights with large multicolorbulbs that likely weighed more than the tree. Underneath went white cotton in which were nestled cardboard houses and a  cardboard church. The small undertree town was contained by a small red and green fence.. Every year was the same and we welcomed our decorations out of their boxes like old friends come to stay a bit. 

Part of our Christmas tradition was hosting my Dad's mother, lovingly call "Mom" by everyone. She was a tiny little thing who could easily walk under my Dad's outstreched arm. She was a beloved part of the family and I was always astonished at her keen ability to crochet and watch soap operas at the same time. 

Mom wiht Zack, 1990 

So a visit from Mom was a clear indicator that it was almost time for a visit from the guy in the red suit.  But I never once thought about what it was like for my mother. Now that I've had my own mother-in-law, I realize that even in the best of circumstances, they can add stress. I'm sure my mother worked diligently to have everything perfect. Christmas tablecloth on the table, Christmas aprons and potholder ready for use, running cedar along the mantelpiece, electric candles in the window and beautifully wrapped gifts beneath the tree. There was a date nut cake in the kitchen, ambrosia in the fridge, and cookies in their tins. It was alot. And Mama did it all.  She wanted to make Daddy proud. 

One winter it was particularly cold and due to the oil and gas crisis, Buck Stove fireplace inserts had become a big thing. We had one installed and our usually chilly front room was so cozy that I often eschewed the promise of TV in the den to read in cozy peace in a room half illuminated by colorful Christmas lights. 

That particular Christmas we gathered as a family in the living room. To my mother's dismay she saw something small and black move in Mom's white wig. A small insect? In December? Soon she spotted another black bug on the white sheer of the window treatment. And then another, and another. I remember looking up at the ceiling and seeing what looked like hundreds of black dots. What on earth? 

The first order of business was to get the bug out of Mom's wig, which was quickly and dutifully done. Only then, with bug in hand, did Mom realize it was a tiny praying mantis! A quick inventory of the inner branches of the tree revealed a small pod shaped nest, which when warmed by the nearby Buck Stove, had begun to hatch. 

To me, it was a curiousity, but to my mother, it must have been a horror. There was her Mother-in-Law in our beauitfully turned out home with a wig full of baby praying mantises! A Christms to remember! 

I don't recall the exact details of the chaos that ensued, but I'm quite sure Mom retired to the guest bedroom while the rest of us  tried to relocate the intruders. Mom's recollection was that we enticed them to leave out our side door, though I'm guessing quiet a few were dispatched in the process. 

Order was restored, Christmas proceeded as planned. No date nut cake was lost. And we had a new story to add to the family canon. Also a bit of a life lesson not to get too hung up on perfection, because sometimes Mother Nature has other plans.

 This story became one of my mother's favorite Christmas stories. I have heard her tell it  many times. If you'd like to hear her brief retelling recorded in 2019, click here and enjoy!

May your Christmas be merry and bright!    And free of all intruders! 

And Counting

This Hand

Has held History, 

For 98 years and Counting.

It has turned a jump rope, shot marbles,  put a worm on a hook.

It has written to a brother stationed around the world and

comforted a mother who lost a son. 

It has written on chalk boards and graded papers.

It has held the hand of a husband,

And rocked babies to sleep.

It has shelled peas on hot summer days,

And built snowmen on cold winter days.

But mostly,

It has touched so many loved ones with gentle love pats and tight embraces. 

This Hand 

Has held the Future 

For 4 days and Counting.

It will build toy creations, pick up rocks, catch firefliess. 

It will tap on keyboards, and hold books. 

It will hold a kayak paddlle  on hot summer days

And build snow forts on cold winter days. 

And if it is lucky,

It will hold the hand of a beloved,

And rock babies to sleep.

 I hope it will reach out to touch the world with wonder and joy.

Both Hands,

Old and Young,

Worn and New

Hold a part of my World, 

A twist of my DNA, 

And Forever

A piece of my Heart. 

63 Years and Counting.

EXPLETIVE! PRAISE GOD!

 I woke up on Saturday morning around 4:00 am, already anxious. I snatched my phone off the charger and went straight to WRAL Weather, then checked other weather sights across the internet. All I could glean was that Ophelia was headed our way. It appeared we'd only get the outer bands but still, my almost 98 year old mom and I had appointments for our COVID vaccines and flu shots and I was worried.

Why not just reschedule? Well, I bit my lip and thought hard about it. We had already booked appointments at the local Walgreens on Thursday, only to receive a call the day before telling us they were out of vaccine. That we could try again next week. 

I could totally cancel our appointments. But, then again, Mom has a lung condition that makes her very vulnerable to anything lung-related. We'd nearly lost her after she contracted COVID early in the year in the Duke ED. And by Jove, I wanted to get it done. So I  had found and booked a group apointment at a CVS near the Triangle. 

It's just rain, my husband said. Right? I'd had Mom out in the rain before. We wouldn't melt.

So we had breakfast and I watched the clock nearing our 12:00 pm appointment time.. There was only a light sprinkle of rain and a gentle rain. We got this! 

Except, as I rolled Mom  in her wheelchair to the bathroom for a final stop, the power went out! 

I uttered an expletive that if spoken in my dad's earshot would have  me landed  me promptly in my room. An expletive that I looked up in my dictrionary as a 13 year old becasue I found it in a book. An expletive that in 1973 wasn't even printed in the dictionary because THE HORROR. Its "u" was politely replaced by an asterick. 

It's okay, Husband said, the lift has a battery. My anxiety didn't listen. 

As I headed with Mom back to the garage door, bundled in raincoat and hat, Husband said, "You know, we forgot the power would take the garage door opener out." 

EXPLETIVE! 

So we entered  the darkened garage, experimentally pulled on a dangling red cord, and husband manually lifted the door. Back to plan. I took over the door-holding duty as there is a lip in our garage door that I find impossible to maneuver Mom's wheelchair over.. I felt like Atlas holding up the world. 

But we got her out and tranferred into the car in the gentle rain. Phew! The drive was uneventful and I arrived, wheeled into a handicap spot, transferred Mom into her wheelchair. But,

EXPLETIVE! 

The pin holding her wheelchair handle was gone and the chair crumbled in on itself on one side. I adopted a hunchback stance, holding the arm in one hand and the handle in the other and we trundled into CVS and into towards the pharmacy. 

We checked in and after a brief wait, were each treated towards a COVID vaccine in our left arms and a flu shot in our right. And then I received a text from Husband. Our power was on! I texted back PRAISE GOD! 

After we thanked the pharmacist profusely, we rolled on back to the door and one more time I uttered the EXPLETIVE again, but not as loudly. (There is something positive to be said about Mom's hearing loss.) 

It was raining buckets. Just pouring down. Raindrops in between raindrops and a brisk wind. Umbrella? Sure I had one! In the back of the car! 

But Mama ain't no quitter. She is the epitome of perseverance. One of her sayings was "You just have to push!" and that has helped her see her way to her golden years. And Mama didn't raise no quitter. 

So off we went, in the pouring rain, huddled under raincoats and hats, me pushing a broken wheelchair. 

And when we got to the handicapped spaces? 

EXPLETIVE! 

A river of water ran right underneath our Flex. There was no way around, only through. So I waded in and wrestled Mom back into the car, stowed the wheelchair and jumped in! 

PRAISE GOD!

Despite the monsoon, we headed to the nearest Chik-fil-a, where we found a quickly moving line and cheerful attendents fully embaracing the bad weather. They efficiently took, prepared, and completed our order and soon we were on our way home, windshield wipers set to MAX, Mom clutching a well deserved chocolate milkshake! 

As I pulled into the drive, the garage door opened and Husband appeared to help me get Mom in the house. PRAISE GOD! And as we deployed the wheelchair, we found the missing pin in our driveway. PRAISE GOD! And in no time, Mom was in her room, changed into dry clothes, drinking her milkshake with her feet up. PRAISE GOD.

And me? I prayed  a silent prayer for all the mercies I had been given. And while Mom watched TV, cosy, dry, and happpy as a clam, I finally exhaled deeply, released my anxiety, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep on the spare twin bed in her room. 

PRAISE GOD! 

He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.  Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; 31 but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint. Isaiah 40:29-30.

Getting Ready to Meet the Saints

 

I am 12 years into caring for my almost 98 year old mom. Mary Frances, to those who love her, has lived a life of love in service to God and country. She was a hub of our small town of Seaboard: Sunday School Teacher, Girl Scout leader, Eastern Star member, grandmother, great grandmother, confidant, ally, friend and neighbor.  She was always been quick to laugh, quick to help, and certainly quick to love. She was and is  truly everything anyone could want for a mother: wise, compassionate, generous and when needed, straight forward with the truth. Mom hs truly earned her crown(s) in heaven! 

Part of a caregiver's journey is to move from empathy and sympathy to witness. By this I mean that it is easy to get tied up in the emotions that come as our loved one declines. Their strength dwindles, their conversation decreases, their ability to care for themselves drifts away. It can be painful to watch and I felt each loss so sharply and painfully in the early years of caregiving. As I learn and grow I have  shifted my focus to bearing witness to my mom's decline instead. It may sound like a subtle difference but in fact, it is major one. Empathy and sympathy can swamp one in grief. Witnessings is about seeing and accepting the body's decline as a part of life. If anything, Mom taught me about acceptance. It's a tough lesson but one that usually comes with experience and is never really mastered. To put it succintly, I see where we are in Mom's journey. 

Last night, on the first of Mom's bathroom trips, her knees started to buckle and I quickly sat her back on the bed and gave her a few minutes to wake up. She did, but I watched every step like a hawk thereafter. She settled back into her norm but I was aware that we are venturing further into unchartered territory. 

All this is to say that after that experience I woke up with an earworm ,a song unbidden that filled my mind. To explain how I stumbled across this song in the first place takes me back to Dad. 

Jack (or Mr. Jack to some!) was also an upstanding citizen of Seaboard, NC. A banker, a farmer, and a bit of a renaissance man, he was as straightlaced as they come. No drinking, at all. He was a classic, a rule follower, an upright man, a man of God. I remember once when he went on a business trip, he and his associates were out to dinner and the waiter took it upon himself to guess everyone's profession. He guessed my dad was a preacher! 

So with this image of my Dad in mind, I delight in knowing that as a teenager, my dad loved to dance! In fact he did the jitterbug with his sister on the regular. To think of my dad cutting loose and dancing to swing just blows my mind. As a result, I fell in love with swing music. 

Years ago, I happened upon Brian Setzer. If you don't know him he was a member of the Stray Cats in the 80s and moved on to the Brian Setzer Orchestra some years later. The big band  rockabilly and swing sound is my jam and my earworm this morning was from the album The Dirty Boogie. It's a cover of This Ole House and if you don't know it, you should! 

This song harkens back to the 1950s when the author, Stuart Hamblem, was out hunting with his friend John Wayne in the High Sierras.  As told to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel:

 "The story: A friend of mine and myself were hunting up in the High Sierras. We found a little old cabin that had almost been demolished by a wild storm. The only living thing around it was a starving old hound dog. In the back room we found a little old prospector that had cashed in his blue chips.As I surveyed the wreckage of the storm, the friend of mine suggested that I write a song about all of this. About this old house, I said. And then I got the idea. Yes, this old house! Later on, riding down the canyon, with the old hound dog on the pommel of my saddle, taking him in to shelter and to food, I got to thinking.This old house, the ones made of wood and steel, shall all come down. And this old house of mine, made of clay, it's got to go too - but there's a big difference.Although the wooden house, the steel house, or brick house may be scattered in the winds of a wild storm and its debris scattered over the hillside, this clay house in which I live shall be scattered too. But . . . the soul inside shall, in God's own good time, be gathered with the saints. In other words, we're all getting ready to meet the saints." 

Here are the lyrics: 

[Verse 1]
This old house once knew my children
This old house once knew my wife
This old house was home and comfort
As we fought the storms of life
This old house once rang with laughter
This old house heard many shouts
Now she trembles in the darkness
When the lightnin' walks about

[Chorus]
Ain’t gonna need this house no longer
Ain't gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain’t got time to fix the floor
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the window-pane
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
I'm gettin' ready to meet the saints

[Verse 2]
This old house is a-gettin' shaky
This old house is a-gettin' old
This old house lets in the rain
This old house lets in the cold
Oh my knees are gettin' chilly
But I feel no fear or pain
’Cause I see an angel peekin’
Through a broken window-pan

[Chorus]
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
Ain’t gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain't got time to fix the floor
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the window-pane
Ain’t gonna need this house no longer
I'm gettin' ready to meet the saints

[Verse 3]
Now this old house is afraid of thunder
This old house is afraid of storms
This old house just groans and trembles
When the night wind flings its arms
This old house is a-gettin' feeble
This old house is a-needin' paint
Just like me, it's tuckered out
But I'm gettin' ready to meet the saints

[Chorus]
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
Ain't gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain't got time to fix the floor
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the window-pane
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
I'm gettin' ready to meet the saints

[Verse 4]
Now my old hound dog lies asleepin'
He don't know I'm gonna leave
Else he'd wake up by the fireplace
And he'd sit there and howl and grieve
But my huntin' days are over
Ain't gonna hunt the 'coon no more
Gabriel done brought in my chariot
When the wind blew down the door

[Chorus]
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
Ain't gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain't got time to fix the floor
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the window-pane
Ain't gonna need this house no longer
I'm gettin' ready to meet the saints
(Ready to meet the saints)

 It's easy to see why I love this song! It acknowledges that life has an end, yet holds such promise for what comes next. Yes, our bodies may "go to seed" just like the old house in the song, but it's because our spirit is ready to meet God! 

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen in temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4-18) 

I'm including links to four different versions of this terrific song. There is sure to be an artist you enjoy! Or simply listen to my favorite, The Brian Seltzer Orchestra, and join me in imaginging my dad jitterbugging! 

Brian Setzer Orchestra

Stuart Hamblen (original)

Rosemary Clooney

Johnny Cash and the Statler Brothers

Mom with a BBQ Sandwich, her favorite, from Ralph's BBQ in Weldon, NC

Meanwhile, on another blog...

 To my faithful friends who have followed this blog: 

I've written a couple of new blogs this weekend about my mom and about caregiving for my mom. 

They can be found at 

https://maryfrancesridesshotgun.blogspot.com/2023/05/time-is-elastic.html 

and 

https://maryfrancesridesshotgun.blogspot.com/2023/05/if-you-know-you-know.html 

Thanks for following! 

GET OUT!

 Every family has catch phrases or words that are part of their shared lexicon. To outsiders, a family's dialogue can sound odd, even rude. But to each other, it can just be a playful way to connect. 

When my younger son, Zack, was a teenager, he met me at our door one afternoon. I was delighted to be greeted and have someone open the door for me. Instead, he laughingly said "Mama, get out!" and shut the door in my face. We laughed and he opened the door again, this time for me to enter. And of course I rejoined "You can get out!"  And that was it. The addition of these phrases into our family lexicon. 

To this day, I say it to my sons and they respond in kind, usually via text.  It has now become a sort of call and response. One of us texts OUT and the other responsds  YOU or simply U. It never fails to bring a smile to my face. Silly? Maybe. Joyful? Definitely!

In 2017, my husband, my older son, his wife, and I got to visit Zack in Yokahama when he was living and working there for a telecom company. I was delighted to visit and full of wonder at Japan's beauty and charm. Opon our arrival, we visited his matchbox size apartment and then he took us on a walking tour of the city. 

One stop on our tour was the Yokohama Landmark Tower. This 70 foot skyscraper is the second highest building in Japan and offers a Sky Garden Observatory on the 69th floor with 360 degree views of the city. We crowded on an elevator with other tourists which quickly deposited us at our destination. The city and harbor sprawled around us on all sides and we were able to fully appreciate the size of the city and the architecture of its buildings. An astonishing sight. 

Zack then casually motioned us over to a tower viewer, (mounted binoculars) and suggested we take a look. He said we might be able to find his apartment and then took a turn to find it himself. Once successful, he encouraged me to take a look. And there it was, a sign plastered on his apartment window printed with the words GET OUT!  

I have this phrase on my mind today but for a different reason. Early this morning I stood for a time on my front porch with my mother's overnight caregiver as she waited for her ride home. In the cloudy, quiet  morning, the calls and trills of a sympany of birds could be heard without the intrusive  sounds of traffic or lawnmowers. The air was wet, but cool, a deep breath as refreshing as a draught of cold water. The verdant green was the fulfillment of the promise of spring, a natural antidote for my busy inside life.

I realized in those few moments how much I ignore the beauty right outside my front door.  My  tantalizing look at morning encouraged me to prioritize time outside. Being in nature, even if it's simply your front yard is a gift for our souls, and one we must open daily. 

So this day, I encourage you to just...

GET OUT!

He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. Psalms 23:2

Not A Bad Cold

 My paternal grandmother, Mabel Draper, was a tiny thing. Affectionally called Mom by the whole family, she could walk under my outstretched arm. She was a tough little lady who lived to be 93. She bore three children and was fond of saying that she'd rather have a baby than a bad cold. 

Bad colds. They are no fun, but despite the comfort offered by today's medical establishment, I would rather have a bad cold than a baby. Hands down.  

So when I heard again and again that catching COVID was like a bad cold, I didn't panic when I tested positive two weeks ago. I'm made of stern stuff, I could easily handle it. Look at my grandmother. Toughness is in my genes! Besides, I'd had all vaccines and boosters!

Friends, it was not like a bad cold. Here's why. 

1. WEIRD SYMPTOMS. Mom's doctor told me that odd thing about COVID was that it presented differently in every patient. Despite that, I was blissfully unaware when I developed a super mild tickle in my throat. Then I noticed a sore arm (which turned out to be enlarged lymph nodes.) I also developed a mouthful of tiny canker-like sores. I had not experienced the like since I went through final exams my first semester at UNC. And hoarseness - My voice started sounding like that of a successful phone sex operator, low and husky.

2. FEVER AND CHILLS.   The following day I started feeling off. I tested negative and then positive on the next day. By that afternoon had a fever of 101. By the next day, it had soared to 102.5. I froze, then  roasted, soaking sheets and nightgowns with my sweat. For 48 hours. I was too sick to read, and friends, for me, that's sick. I am sure you could have fried not just an egg, but a steak to go with it on my sweaty head. In desperation, I took to wearing a cold bathcloth on my noggin to cool myself down. I looked like a initiate to a weird religious sect. 

3. DIARRHEA.  I dutifully contacted a virtual care provider after testing positive and they immediately put me on an antiviral. But they chose a less popular antiviral since Paxlovid could interfere with my asthma meds. The side effect, she said, was diarrhea. So I had it. Five days worth. 

4. SNOT. I am not stranger to snot. I suffer from chronic sinusitus. I do nasal rinses twice a day. But the congestion that took over my sinuses was like nothing I'd ever experienced. I am convinced a black hole appeared in my head through which traveled snot from all corners of the universe. First, it was as if someone had left a spigot on. There was a steady stream. I could not move without a fresh rivulet rushing out of my nose.. But then came the snot monsters that stumbled out of my space anomoly. Viscous and green they oozed out of my nostrils in an agonizingly slow ballet.  

    (Aside: Earle caught COVID a day or two after me and followed the same sequence of major symptoms. Between us, we went through 16 boxes of tissues in a week. That's 1,984 individual tissues. Earle said that if not for Puffs Plus Lotion, we'd have no noses left.)

5. COUGH. Once the snot monstors evacuated my sinuses, they simply moved down into my lungs. I developed a cough reminicent of a coal miner who smoked three packs a day and moonlighted in an asbestos mine. Hacking, uterus-rattling coughs that unlodged gunk too disgusting to describe. A cough that lingers in a milder form today, two weeks since the onset of symptoms. 

6. SORE THROAT. I'm also used to mild sore throat from sinus condition. This one felt like I swallowed razor blades. 

7. TASTE. I did temporarily lose most of my sense of taste. In an effort to order something from Instacart that I could taste I selected a bag of Jalapeno and Lime Ruffles. I could faintly taste them and they were delicious. But I forgot about the impact on Symptom #3. 

8. FATIGUE. Too tiring to describe. 

That sums it up. 

I was sick. Really sick.

It wasn't like a bad cold.

And yep, I'd rather have a baby than have COVID again. 

EPILOGUE. 

Mom started developing some mild symptoms so we got her on Paxlovid right away. Turns out she's made of tough stuff too. Here she is while her hairdresser (me) was out of commission. 

And here's my precious grandmother, Mom, with my younger son. She was tiny but mighty. 

Inside Out

 I can see her in her bedroom, in my bedroom. 

The magic of a small camera pointed at her bed sends an image to a screen in my bookcase that

Always tells the truth. 

With knotted fingers she has painstakingly removed her flannel gown and donned a fresh  blue housedress. 

Snap by perilous snap. 

She is ready for her day. 

I join her, 

gently easing her purple bedroom shoes over her swollen feet. 

I comb wayward strands of white hair into submission and

hand her pink eyeglasses.

It is not until her slow trek into the den that I spot the tag of her duster at her neck.

A glance confirms that the inside seams are on the outside.

An error? A mistake? 

It doesn't matter. 

Because the victory is in her ableness. 

to dress and

 to meet the New Year with a smile.

May we, likewise, be given the grace to distinguish the insignificant from the significant

 and

the wisdom to celebrate each victory, no matter how small, with joy.

Amen and Amen.