She was usually right.

 December 21st, 2025.

Today would be the day. She would have called me by now and after we chatted a minute or two, she would remind me today is the shortest day of the year. After today they begin getting longer. You won't really notice it before about mid-January. She would have called each of her children on this morning. She hated dark, loved the sunshine. 

Every morning she woke at home, she walked through the house opening curtains to let the sun in. When you were sick, she opened the curtains around you, "this will help your feelings", she would say. 
She was right. It makes sense that in her state of dementia, she was a "sundowner". She began to get agitated and nervous. We tried to counter that feeling with every light in the house on as a distraction. Sometime it worked, sometime not. 

I love this photo I snapped on my phone after Don finished the fireplace project. The sun streaming in from the back. 

It is no wonder I love the sunshine so much. I do the same thing with the curtains, I do not close them until dark. I don't know what it is but it feels like my soul doesn't breathe until the sun is streaming in around me. I miss those days when the phone rang, my mother on the other end of the line "why don't we run to Bright Star and have lunch?" After I minute or two it became apparent despite all I needed to do that day, I was going to lunch with my mama. It was futile to try and reason about all my duties for the day. All those things will wait, she would say. She was right again. The clothes waited, the messy closet waited, so did the dishwasher. Just waiting until I returned. I'm so glad I listened and spent that time with her.  Mama was a happy person. Usually smiling, and in a good mood but on those dreary days, she needed help. She would call and simply say, "I have the mulle grubs, where we going?"

An hour or two with her daughter usually did it. (although, it probably would have been the same with one of the boys) Most often I got to be the one. 

The older I get the more things I find, she was right about. Taking the time to sift the flour three times in the pound cake, makes it high and light. She was right. Sometime, just listening and not arguing your point when in a disagreement with a loved one- just listen, don't get offended so easily. "Hush, you may learn something and you will definitely defuse the anger aimed at you." 
From the time I was a child, not everyone is going to like you, and that's perfectly okay. She was right and it is okay. 

I miss her at Christmas more than any other time, I think. Our childhood home at Christmas always smelled of something fabulous. Usually a German Chocolate Cake was made and she hustled to make everything wonderful for her children, for all the people she loved. I guess it's her joy I miss the most. Joy in her salvation, she never worried about her life ending. Joy in the choices she made along the way, she trusted and lived in her decisions. Joy in her station in life, never regretting where she came from or why they had so little. She was not perfect as none of us are but she was amazing and kind, loving and true. You could trust her with your life. 
This time of year, she wanted all her people around her. If she had a busy day, she would say, "dinner is just beans, cornbread and slaw, but I need you here with me." She only wanted her people around her to be happy. She was right. It's all that matters. 

So, today we rest and renew. We were blessed with time with family and friends over the last few days. I'll be watching & waiting for the longer sunshine days. Like my mother I feel it to my soul. 

Sometime, you just need a little sugar.

Sometime the most random things pop in my head. I believe they are referred to as "core memories" today. 

I am always struck by the fact I have lived much longer than my daddy. Daddy died at 53 years old, far too young. I am also amazed at how much guiding, love, discipline and living he left with me. He was a smart man, could do about anything with his hands and was one heck of a brick mason. He didn't get to finish high school, simply by virtue of the times he grew up in. Despite his interrupted education, after a stint in World War II in the Navy, he landed a good job. He was one of the hardest working people I ever knew. He didn't need much sleep and loved to hunt and fish. He fiercely loved his people too. 

I am the youngest sibling and the only girl. I was a daddys girl. Not that my mama didn't love me and I loved her, it was just different with daddy and I. Maybe because we were more similar in personality (which we now know is a smidge of ADHD.)
Sidenote: I am sure I nearly drove my mother to drink at times. I never shut up, was never still, always wanted to know how to do things and she was so very patient with me. I remember her saying to my brother Crant, "just take her outside and keep her busy for just a few minutes." Which he did, where she could catch her breath. Bless her. 

Daddy was the disciplinarian that could talk to you and make you feel two inches tall. I always cried and swore I would never do whatever it was, ever again. Mama, also a disciplinarian was concerned more about things like our behavior toward others, manners and care of our bodies. Did you bathe? Did you brush your teeth again, you ate raisins. (Yes, I had to brush my teeth after a tiny pack of raisins.) We got sweets only on our birthday or a holiday. However, daddy did not share mama's dedication to eating no sweets. If you ever want to know where I got my "a little bit sneaky", I think I know.  
~~Recently, as my mama would say, "I was dragging". Not go-to-the-doctor sick but not well. I did not stick my head in the studio all week, which is not at all like me. My husband kindly attended to me last week but in my head, I thought "he has no poptarts to offer". What's wrong with him? 

When I was a child, if I was sick daddy would usually stay home with me because he had more seniority at work. It's hard to stay sick when you get the opportunity to stay home with your daddy too. Once mama took my temperature one more time, wrote down directions and kissed me (going over what daddy needed to do for me to survive the day) she was off to work. Daddy was dressed ready for the day, shaved, mustache trimmed, smelling of Old Spice. He would tuck me in on the couch, turn on cartoons or something I liked, while he made breakfast. He came back in the living room with a sly smile on his face. Did I want Poptarts or Fruit Loops to go with my breakfast? Wait, what? (I'm pretty sure daddy was confused because I never saw a box of Fruit Loops in my mama's cabinets, in my life) We aren't allowed that garbage. 
I watched daddy stride out to his truck and return with a box of pre-sweetened cereal and a box of Poptarts. (I can hear my mothers words in my head, "that stuff is pure garbage")
I thought maybe he was afraid of mama, but later realized he simply chose the path of least resistance. (I was probably about 9 when I realized he was much smarter than I gave him credit for being)  Who cares anyway, I have Poptarts. 
I would drag my blanket to daddys chair to share. I piled up in his lap on one knee while he ate cereal and I ate warmed Poptarts while we watched cartoons. His coffee sat on the hearth beside his chair. Can I have another? Sure you can.  
Best sick days of my childhood were the ones spent with daddy. While mama was the one who was always there when fevers ran so high we hallucinated, she bathed our bodies with cool cloths, held our head while we were sick and worried over us healing properly, sat up night after night at the hospital looking over you. Then daddy got the light duty days, but she would have it no other way. 
I'm not sure if he ever told her about the sweets or if she just knew because I'm guessing I ricocheted off the walls after all the sugar. He put the sweets away before she got home. If she knew, she never said a word. 
Those days are long behind us now. Mama and daddy filled all the parts of me to overflowing and gave us the very best childhood we could possibly have had. When society today would have considered us poor. I can't even imagine it being any better. Did they know what a wonderful job they did? Did they know how much we took in and retained to share with our children? Did they know how loved we felt?
I sure hope so because some days you simply need a Poptart.  

Fried pies and growing gardens.

 I watched the dirt fall back from his shoes in clumps, first this way and that, as he pushed the plow through the rich, unturned soil. The mule had done this a time or two, and they moved in unison in our old garden spot. I followed behind every step he took, waiting for instruction. "throw the big rocks to the side we just finished, baby" he would say. We will come back and gather them up later. I could not been more than eight or nine. I would get a five gallon bucket from the garage and gather those big rocks into the bucket, to move from the garden. Daddy watching over me but not doing it for me. 

Daddy always knew when it was time to plow the garden. The smell of the deep, rich soil filled my nostrils as I walked behind. I'm sure mama was relieved to have her house to herself to finish her weekend chores, on those summer Saturdays. My brothers would often be helping in the garden or doing something else daddy requested done. We were all "outdoor" kids but I suppose all kids were back then. 
Daddy and mama would linger over the dinner table in the weeks before plowing, deciding what and how much to plant. Mama knew how much freezer space was available and depending on her obligations, how much time she had to devote to harvest. The boys, bigger than myself would do a lion's share of the tending, while daddy was at work. 
I still remember the lingering scent of his aftershave on his neck when he came home and quickly changed into work clothes. He seemed to hurry a little more in early summer to get into the garden after work. He loved those fresh vegetables and while I never remember doing without anything I needed, I'm sure the garden was a necessity for us. It was for most everyone we knew. Daddy gardened big, even leasing land to farm on. We raised hogs every year as well. You slaughtered in fall every year and we had an abundance of fresh pork, daddy made sausage so lean mama had to add fat to the pan to keep it from sticking. He fished incessantly, he loved it. We always had fish in the freezer. 
There was an abundance of family surrounding us and everyone shared what they had. The closest being Uncle Lattie & Aunt Jim, they had pear, peach and plum trees, cattle for a while and we got eggs from his chickens. Mama and Aunt Jim would have us gather the fruit and make jams and jellies that day. (tackling the other fruit on another day.) Often mama and I would take extra jars and more fruit home to knock some of it out later.  Aunt Jim made delicious fried Peach Pies. (One of my Daddys weaknesses) 

One day Aunt Jim called looking for daddy. She was not very happy, I could hear it in her voice. Seems she had made fresh pies that morning and about five of them disappeared. ? ? When we were kids, no one locked their doors. Kind of hard to even imagine now. 
Daddy would go by Uncle Latties to sit on the porch and drink a cup of coffee. Apparently this particular morning, Aunt Jim made fried pies and they had somewhere to be, early. The pies were cooling on paper bags on the counter. Fresh coffee was made and just sitting there. I believe the story goes, he got himself a cup of coffee and stood there and ate a pie. He said they sure were good. He ate another couple sitting on the porch sipping coffee. Grabbed a second cup and a pie as he walked out the door to go down to Charlie Vines. When he came back by to leave their coffee cup, he ate his fifth pie. 
I can just see her counting those pies and fussing under her breath. I also think it's hilarious that she knew exactly who would have eaten five pies. When the story got back around to my mama, she said "surely not, Jim" "how could he eat 5 pies at one time?" . . . but he did. He admitted it and promised not to do it again, with a smile in his eyes. But he did say, it was kind of her fault for making such good pies. My Aunt Jim loved my daddy but I bet she felt like choking him that day. She never managed to stay mad at him at him for long. 

Life was very simple back then. In summer, we played from sun up to sun down with chores intertwined between. I do not ever remember chores feeling like work. Things were expected of each of us, a particular behavior, depending on your age and gender. (As I was the youngest and not as strong as the boys) The boys cut grass, cleared brush, chopped wood and all the heavy duty things I could not do. We all worked in the garden and everyone learned to cook. Both my brothers are good cooks, thanks to mama & daddy. We hardly watched television at all, but then again we only had three channels. We looked forward to seeing cousins on the weekends and playing in the woods. We fished about any time we wanted and mama and daddy both excelled at nature trivia. They shared their knowledge of how things grew and where they came from. Mama was an avid reader. Daddy worked hard at Hayes International but he also was a brick mason (on the side), could do about any kind of woodworking and he made knives from scraps at work. If you wanted a knife that lasted, you would have one of daddys made from the high grade metals that came off the fighter jet scraps. I still have one of his knives, gifted to me by a cousin. 
It seems so cliche but life was much simpler then. Evenings were spent in the living room together, watching television.. In spring we would shell peas sitting around the table and mama on the couch with a huge bowl in her lap. We played board games and cards too. Daddy raised peanuts and often had a large pan in the oven roasting to eat while we shelled peas.   
I have many memories of time together playing, working and laughing so hard we cried. I learned hard work is worth it, expectations on me, made me work harder and gave me coping skills and love was constant and true. 

Those were the best days of our lives and on my not so great days, that is where my mind goes. 
I've always felt God allows us memories to sustain us until we see them again. In the grand scheme of things, it is but a short separation. 

When you are covered by the blood

 

This post is not a lifestyle post so much as a documentation of an event, for our grandchildren to read one day. This way they have a timeline.

Most anyone that knows us, knows Don is a heart patient. (5X CABG in July 2019) He has done fantastic for almost 6 yrs. Back in February he had random chest pains. (Quite unusual for him, as he had never ever used a single nitroglycerin for anything) He kept having them, every few days. They did not last long, from a couple minutes to 10 minutes was the longest. Off to our cardiologist we went. They did a few blood tests, a physical exam, talked with him and then scheduled a heart cath. (If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck. . .)

Once they got in there, his heart looked great. Like great for any age man, not just an older man. Our cardiologist even had another cardiologist in the cath lab come in and look, in case he had missed something. "Do you see ANYTHING I may not have seen?" He saw nothing and noted Don's heart looked great.
Meanwhile, in the early days of his chest pains I felt a nagging to check something. I discounted it as my brain racing trying to figure out what was wrong. (I'm a classic over-thinker and have a need to figure things out.) Finally after he was home and rested I talked to him about it. Some thirty odd years ago Don was diagnosed with sleep apnea. He went for his sleep study and before he could get home the next morning, they called and said "send him back" he must have a cpap, now! (He stopped breathing over 40 times every 30 minutes) It was severe.

He wore that mask for the next few years while I felt I was sleeping with Darth Vader. (Exactly what it sounded like) He tired of the mask and decided to have the surgery they offered at that time. Which was probably very early 90's.

Treatment for Obstructive Sleep Apnea~ [It was called "Uvulopalatopharyngoplasty" or UPPP.] Quite common surgery at the time, it involved a resection of the uvula, tonsils, & part of the soft palate to enlarge the airway and reduce apnea episodes. It was horrible for him! If you think about them removing skin and tissue from the throat to make more room. I believe he told me about day 10 or 12 post surgery, "I have to get better to die". He had to use liquid tylenol, he ate soup and soft scrambled eggs and his throat completely scabbed over. I nursed him back to health and he all but completely stopped the apnea episodes. We thought we were done. What we could not know is over time, aging, weight gain, muscle laxity, etc could cause you to begin the process over again. Now, it is 2025 and he has been snoring like a freight train coming through the middle of the room. Add chest pains. After his heart cath the cardiologist decided it may just be micro-vessels clogging and gave Don a new medication to help clear them out. Yet, the chest pains continued. They have since stopped and I'm sure the new med helped. Unlike his forty yr old self, he agreed to retest for apnea. So we requested a new sleep study. Gone are the days when you must sleep in a clinic overnight covered in wires all over your chest and neck. They mailed us a pack and he applied it to his chest, a lead on his finger and slept in it for three nights. Then we mailed it back to be diagnosed and he informed me if they wanted to do "that" surgery again, he was not a candidate. He would prefer to go on to Jesus. I assured him they no longer do that surgery and they had other solutions, even the cpap machines are better now. Well, he has severe apnea again. A cpap has been ordered and soon he will be in a newer, sleeker model. Here is the God part, if he had not had chest pains how would we have known? OSA shortens your life, causes blood pressure issues, heart attacks, stroke and can cause the early onset of dementia. No chest pains and we would not have known? I watched his symptoms increase as he slept too much, was tired all the time and was beginning to forget things. I'm watching to make sure all these things get better as his body finally gets what it needs. If you are suffering any of these symptoms or snore badly, please get yourself checked for OSA. It is so easy now to do the sleep study and treatment is much easier. If not for the chest pains and the urging in my spirit, what could have happened?

Psalms 91:4 He shall cover you with His feathers, And under His wings you shall take refuge; His truth shall be your shield and buckler.

There's only 24 hours in a day

 

There are days and dates which seem to make life a little harder. We usually experience a pause for memories, tears and longing. It makes me wonder if that is why God only allowed twenty-four hours in a day. Maybe to keep us moving forward. There is something about the date that haunts us all- the years we will miss, the conversations we no longer have face to face. 
Today it has been forty-seven years since daddys passing. It blows my mind I have lived so much longer than he did. That I am now more than a decade older than he was at the time of his passing, yet I learned so very much from him. He taught me to fish, showed me how to wet a hook, he taught kindness, tolerance for what was different, respect and most of all unconditional love. Almost fifty years later I still retain the belief system he instilled in us. He was not perfect but he was a man of integrity, and fiercely loved his people. I always imagine I will see him first when I get to my heavenly home. I still remember the solid, unwavering tone of his voice. 

I am thankful we had mama much longer, I hope she knew how much she was loved. She would have been 100 years old Sunday. Both dates were tossed close together by life, intertwined forever in my head. I believe I say this every year, but God has been so gracious to us. After mama's passing beautiful memories flooded my mind. 

After she died, this memory came to mind as I drove home from the hospital. She needed to bake a cake. She was waiting for family driving in for a couple nights & she always did her best to feed them well. I remember the half panic, half laughter on her face when she could not remember if she added the salt or not. It's such a tiny amount of salt, will it be noticed?    But the perfectionist in her could not leave it alone. I tasted the dry flour mixture w/my finger- no salt flavor. She tasted the flour, and we began to giggle. We continued our tasting until we were out of clean fingers and her head dropped back and she laughed so hard she could not catch her breath for a few minutes. We did add that 1/4 teaspoon of salt and she baked that sour cream pound cake. More perfect than the cake everyone enjoyed was what God allowed, those memories of better days. Those years before suffering the ravages of her brain betrayal by dementia. During the last couple years of her life, I feared I would never remember those good days, the wonderful childhood days and adult days with her. Times I had not thought of in decades continued in a constant rotation over the next few weeks, in my head. Is our heavenly Father not completely amazing? He gave us this ability to remember, while often painful it still soothes and sustains us. While all these years later I still miss her terribly, I am forever grateful for the time we had together. 

Then, just the other day this memory came to me. Mama used to say pretty regularly, "you can't have anything nice when you have children", I thought it was a bit contrary at the time. (Then I grew up, had children and knew exactly what she meant) She only meant with children in the house, things just happen. One of her children had a knack for breaking things, more than the other two, but I won't call him out here. He flipped over the end of the couch to show me what he could do and busted her floor lamp. If memory serves he did it twice, to two different lamps. He jumped up (like when he played basketball) and touched the kitchen ceiling and knocked the cover off the light-all over the kitchen floor. There was also the "innocent" cutting down of the hedges bushes, she did not want cut. How did that happen? She used those hedge bushes to whip our behinds. (Save your gasps in disbelief, it was a different time then. If you got the switch to your legs, you likely had earned all of it w/your poor behavior.) 

She also always kept slipcovers on the furniture. These were not the slipcovers you see today. They were absolute perfection made by a wonderful lady, Mrs Higgins, who lived near relatives of ours not far away. You would have thought they were the original fabric because she fit them to your couch with precision, took all the pieces away and in just a few days would call and say, "put your sewing machine out, in case I need to make adjustments." She would come put the covers on. She and mama would critique her work and make any adjustments they needed, most often they were perfect. Mrs Higgins made draperies for the first home Don & I built, she was much older by then but still did amazing work.

Because Mary had three rambunctious children, she threw sheets over the chairs and the couch to protect her investment. Mama was not interested in wasting money, she was very frugal. Yes, those sheets stayed on the furniture most of the time. If a car came rolling up the hill, she would go to comb her hair and que one of us to grab the sheets off the furniture. My daddy hated those sheets. He would complain and argue they would not stay straight and squared when he sat down. They bunched up and it certainly bothered him. (which explains a great deal about my ocd tendencies.) Mostly,  he sat down in his chair mumbling under his breath about the stupid sheet. Once he grabbed that cover off and started to sit down when mama gently stopped him. She simply said "look at it, Fat", she meant the sheet. (Because most all mothers and wives know, our husband & children all say the same thing, "I'm not dirty, I'm perfectly clean".) So, daddy held the sheet out and looked it up one side and down the other. He then gently spread it back on the chair and sat down, without another word. I don't remember him ever complaining about those sheets again. 
Today while thinking of them both, I am reminded this is not our forever home. Thank you Lord! Truth is, I don't remember either mama or daddy complaining about much. They were well satisfied with life. One twenty-four day at a time.