Gifts & treasures

 

When I was a child I was never a "baby doll" girl. I think I had one baby doll all my life and she stayed dressed and in a drawer in my dresser. I didn't have much need for her. I did have a Barbie doll however. I loved that Barbie doll with her coifed hair, blue eye shadow painted on and tiny waist. I remember those teeny-tiny high heels that went on her feet and how difficult it was to keep up with them. 
The Christmas I received the Barbie, I also received 2 separate outfits. Mama and daddy were quite conservative in their spending and I knew my having those two extra outfits were likely all daddy. He had a soft spot for his little girl. I'm pretty sure I could almost here my mother saying, "getting the doll is enough, Fat" and he probably talked her into the clothes. 
I played with that doll all the time, I took her to my friends homes and we played Barbies. 
One of my friends, being an only child had several Barbie dolls which I just drooled over. 
Even though I may have coveted her dolls just a smidge, I still loved my doll. 

If you remember those days, the clothing came on a cardboard cutout and it usually had the shoes clipped into the cardboard, maybe a soft drink bottle or handbag with it. It made a complete outfit and suggested a 'day in the life' of Barbie. 
Well, a day in the life of Leisa at ten or eleven was without more clothes for the doll. I believe it was another year before I received the carrying case. It was shiny black plastic, with pink and purple writing on the outside in big swirly letters, saying Barbie. I spent time with sewing scraps from mama, trying to make my own clothes for her. It was primitive at best but did reveal my love for sewing, like my mother, my Aunt Lora and my Mamaw. 

I often went to spend the night at my MaMaws, my daddys mother. I would take my little bag with a change of clothes and my Barbie w/her single hot pink high heels. Mama would warn me to keep up w/her shoes, before I walked out the door. Those darn shoes were so hard to keep up with. They were micro small and locked on her high heel shaped feet but if you bumped them, the slipped off. 

My Mamaw had her sewing machine sitting right in the living room surrounded by this huge sewing table. Well it might not have been huge, it seemed huge to me as a child. Many days or nights she would sit and sew and I would either stand at her side and watch or contently sit in the old squishy couch by the big floor stove and listen the the hum of the machine. It was the old kind with the hand wheel you had to turn to get it going. I can still hear that sound in my head. Mama had a Singer like that too. Mamaw did lots of different kinds of sewing, mostly as I grew she made quilts but she taught me how to embroider. 

She had this quilt square almost as big as the living room, that pulled up to the ceiling, until the ladies came over to sew. Then she would have me drop it down by it's cords and they would gather chairs all around it and begin working on the quilt that was attached to it. I often stood right beside mamaw because I was fascinated by what she could do. She would instruct some ladies, they must have been learning. Others just kept working because they were seasoned quilters. There were world problems solved around that quilt square, prayers, laughter shared and many stories. It was about the only place I heard her tell stories of when she was very young. It was as if the quilts just pulled those memories out for her to display. Then they went away when the sewing stopped. She was a very talented woman and tough as nails, she raised eight children-five boys. She could cook up a storm, she worked hard all the time and she sewed beautifully. 
I would organize her quilt squares for her next quilt. She taught me how to stack them correctly where each quilter could grab her next piece easily and start sewing without worrying if they were in order. She would have them all stop and survey their work on occasion, looking at the entire picture. Mamaw gained perspective on the project by taking in the entire picture. I witnessed many quilts made on that old square. 

It was quite unlike Mamaw to do things after dinner. She usually settled in early and was in bed early but this overnight visit she sat back down at the sewing machine. She had colorful little quilt squares in her hand. Some of those squares were purchased and sometime they were washed and ironed from old hog feed or cow grain sacks with their tiny print flowers on them. She told me to choose a couple pieces of the same color. I picked out two squares that were white with little cutout circles with stitching that created flower shapes. She told me to bring my Barbie to her. I was beside myself with excitement.  
I stood beside her and watched as she took out her soft fabric measuring tape and measured carefully. She cut the fabric I had chosen and in no time she had made me a little dress for my doll. I had never seen her do this kind of "tiny" item work. You know that Barbie waistline was so small but it fit her perfectly. She hand attached little snaps down the back of the dress. I was so proud of that little dress. 
Looking back, I know her arthritis often made her legs and hands ache. I knew she loved me. I had many times watched her heat an old iron on the wood stove, then place a folded towel on her legs and put that hot iron on the towel to ease the pain. She would rub that iron up and down that towel until she got some relief. Making that little dress was likely a whim and she must have felt good that day, no arthritis pain. It was a moment with her I never forgot. 

I can still see her sitting at the sewing machine working on my Barbie dress. I can see her hands laboring with love over those quilts she made, along with other friends, trusting they knew what was to be done. Her stepping back to survey the whole picture. 

It reminds me that my problems are small, that I only see a small snippet of the problem but God sees the whole picture. It is necessary for me to trust and know He desires the very best for me, he always will. He desires I stay close(obedient) and have confidence(trust) in his care. He brings me joy in ways I could not have imagined, he comforts me when I fall. I am never alone. He uses others to minster to me as he uses me to minister to others. 
He is an amazing Father. Thank you Lord for grandmothers who shaped us. 

Bragging on Jesus today (and medical update)

 

I almost posted this on social media just to let people know their prayers were being answered. Then I decided to have a better record of what happened I would create a blog post instead. 

A little background. Almost twelve years ago I had a knee replacement on my left knee. I had waited almost eighteen months to have it as I was helping my brothers care for our mother. I walked those eighteen months with the help of an unloading brace. I could barely walk without the brace. It was a miraculous piece of lightweight technology. By weeks end, I would be getting to hobble and limp but a quick visit by to see Mr Don Green at DonJoy (he would make adjustments to the brace) and I walked out standing tall again. Finally, three months after mama died I had total replacement on the left. 

Since childhood and through childhood illnesses our doctor used to tell mama we had the strongest central nervous systems he ever saw. Our bodies bounced through illness that made most children gravely ill. Our bodies bounced back from breaks, strains and sprains. We never knew why and I often wonder now if it was simply a praying mother. 
Fast forward to adulthood and we all three seem to have some auto-immunity issues. Some worse than others. Mine seem to be minor but they are there. My doctor explained that even in mild form, it is sometime as if your own body is fighting you. I have joint pain, swollen joints and I choose to keep going because, well. . .  I refuse to take every drug they offer. I have always felt that God supplied every need we have on this planet. The cure for disease is here, we simply have to discover it. Yes, and sometime that may mean medication but not now, not for my symptoms which I would describe as moderate at worst. 

Back to that knee replacement over a decade ago. After surgery it immediately became evident that something wasn't right. It didn't want to bend. (Later I would explain to Don, it felt like someone had gone inside my knee and bound it tight w/tape and rope.) What I would learn with therapy was I had budding scar tissue and adhesions. As my surgery was done, my body felt invaded and began to form adhesions which was causing me problems in bending and extending the leg. An average therapy session meant stretching and manual manipulation of the knee only to get less than a 65 degree bend. This went on for months and months. They tried contraptions on my leg that I slept in, my leg was bent to the highest I could tolerate and then held there. I was supposed to sleep with this thing on my leg. I could not even turn over in bed with it on, without the help of my husband. Then a manipulation under anesthesia (MUA) and they got 114 degrees. Praise God. The manipulation was on Friday and I was sent home w/a machine to bend the leg (CPM) I was on the machine all weekend. By Monday when I went back to therapy, adhesions had already grown back. They were floored! As one therapist after the other tried to manipulate my flexion on the knee, massage it, move the kneecap... they were just amazed. They said, "this can't happen."  "I've never seen anything like this in my life." 
Finally in three or four weeks when we got my leg, through great pain and work to almost 90 degrees, I asked the doctor to release me and let me live my life. He was disappointed and wanted to clean the knee up again and try again. I said no. 
Remember the scene in Sleeping Beauty when Maleficent covers the castle with thorns. That's how I imagined my knee. They grew from Friday to Monday. 

It's been almost sixteen months since I ran from a neighborhood dog and leapt to my porch, tore my meniscus from the bone, had a repair, non-weightbearing for 3 1/2 months. I was bone on bone when we decided in January to do the replacement on the right knee. Here's the difference this time though. 

I decided it was time to trust Jesus completely. We all struggle with trust and we leave things in Gods lap, then we take them back (as if we think we can do better), then we leave them again. Not this time. Lord, we've done this once and it didn't work out very well, is what I thought. This time, I'm leaving it in your hands. When someone asked me about my knee and told me they were praying, I asked them to pray specifically for no adhesions and no scar tissue formation. Everyone complied. They didn't all understand why but they said that's what they would pray for. 
I ask my church family to pray for no adhesions or scar tissue. I asked on my social media pages for the same. Friends agreed.
Four weeks ago today I had the right knee done. Yes, it hurt and it continues to hurt. The nerves are refiring and the muscles are so very tight, due to almost a year and a half of not doing anything. It is expected. However, from the very first day there has been no feeling of binding up or tightness that felt anything but normal. I have not felt the tight roped in, bound feeling. For those that may believe the first knee replacement was just a fluke. I have other joints operated on that also formed scar tissue. I have a thumb that is stiff and no longer bends after a cyst was removed. It bent during therapy but in the weeks to come grew tissue. It's almost completely straight. 
God answers prayers all the time and if we come to him with our requests, He does what only God can do. I will not tell you it's been a breeze, that wouldn't be true. (God never said life would be easy, he said we would not be alone, if we trust him.)  It's a tough surgery to recover from. The therapy is grueling but after three weeks of home therapy and last week my first full week of outpatient, I have a 90 degree plus flexion on the knee. They measured it at 95 at one point. I will keep pushing but most of all, I will keep trusting in the God of heaven and earth. Some say, why do you trust a God you cannot see? Because I have felt and experienced Him move in my life. I have felt him close when I thought I could not go on, he has carried me when I could barely breathe. I have experienced his divine protection and I feel his presence with me daily. I rise most days with a song in my heart before my feet hit the floor. That can be nothing but Jesus. Pray without ceasing, we are told in scripture. 
When you say your prayers today, remember he calls us to come boldly to the throne and make our requests known. He desires an intimate, loving relationship with you. Please let him in. 
If you want to talk Jesus, just ask I can tell you over and over how he has blessed me. 

Remembering Christmas past, life is fleeting.

The holidays are approaching. If that thought causes fear and anxiety over getting it all done, why not try a reset this year? I wrote this almost a year ago at Christmas. It's some childhood Christmas memories. What I do not remember of my childhood was constant running and racing to do it all. I'm sure mama and daddy were busy, they worked hard but I can't remember any overscheduling. I don't remember being exhausted as a child until I was in athletics and band. 

Mama and daddy always had time for us. They didn't overload their schedules, they said "no" to extra things often, they chose what was important. In doing that, they taught us what was truly important.
Yes, to Sundays at Mamaws or Uncle Lattie's house or Aunt Lura's for big family dinners and all the cousins. Yes to "window shopping" trips during the holidays and driving downtown to see the Christmas lights at night. They said yes to card & board games, time together walking in the woods, playing outside, fishing from the creek bank, reading together, family visits to Pensacola beach. They said yes to church gatherings, singing in the choir, special services, revival, camps and Bible studies. Down time just doing nothing because sometime your brain needs to do nothing. How long has it been since your family did nothing? 
I wish we could all step back in time for a while. 

Writing from December 2022~~ It's the morning of Christmas Eve, I can't help but think of Christmas' past. I'm sipping coffee at 6 today but my mama would have been up for hours by now. 
My room was directly across from where our Christmas tree stood all my life. It wasn't a big house and there was only one spot for one of those monster trees daddy would cut down in the woods. He would trim it perfectly on the bottom, he and the boys get it into the house into a bucket. (we sometime laughed because he misjudged the size. Out it went again to trim a little more) They wedged bricks and rocks until it was straight, then mama filled the bucket with warm water. Next, it would be expertly decorated. She allowed us kids to hang ornaments but then we left it to her to finish with tinsel. The good stuff- heavy and delicate. I can still see her hand with tinsel separated and draped over it where she spent several evenings in a row getting the tree covered. She would painstakingly lay single pieces over each branch, only about 6 or 7 per branch, (we don't want it to look gaudy) until the entire tree glimmered in the light.
If you stood back and threw tinsel at your tree in wads and left it, she could hardly look at it. (at least I know where my OCD came from) The smell of that tree would fill the house. Each night I would beg for the lights to be left on, despite mama's certainty the house would burn down. I went to sleep with that smell and the tree illuminating the living room. Christmas morning I was the first to see what Santa left. I loved that. 

I think I've always been a little OCD. Even as a little girl of 7 or 8 years old, Christmas morning I made a quick visual survey of the gifts that arrived during the night and promptly turned the two living room chairs around for mama and daddy. I tidied up around the chairs for pictures mama would not be embarrassed by. It made perfect sense to me to get them comfortable before we began opening gifts. I would run to the bedroom, wake daddy and beg him to come quickly. Mama, up for hours already cooking in the kitchen, something delicious. Daddy would get up and build a fire in the fireplace.. it seemed to take them forever. Crant and Steve would join us and then the opening began. 
We received one large gift from Santa or two smaller gifts. That was the rule. It was all we were allowed to ask for and we were always thrilled with the outcome. There was usually a surprise gift from Santa that we didn't ask for, like new clothes. Then on to our stockings, filled with fruit, hershey kisses and little snack size candy bars- Mr Goodbar, Nestle Crunch and Dark Chocolates. We always gave our dark chocolate to mama, how convenient. She was smarter than I gave her credit at the time. Santa usually left a bowl full of tangerines on the kitchen table. Once I even remember mama being so tired Christmas Eve she didn't clear the table of dishes. Those tangerines were tossed in the bowl the northern beans were in the night before. Santa is so efficient I thought. 

There was the year my brother Crant thought he would be cute. He cut the bottom out of his stocking and put a box under it. Santa frowned on teenagers trying to be cute apparently because it didn't work. Crant had the same goodies dropped thru the stocking (now bottomless) into the box. 
When I was younger I would go to my stocking where I had 3 tangerines or oranges. Strange, how come I have three and hardly any candy when my brothers have no fruit and lots of candy?  I think they both got a scolding that year and my candy miraculously appeared back in my stocking. 

Every year leading up the the holiday a huge box or two would arrive from Pensacola. My Aunt Lora had packed gifts up and sent them. Always sent ahead of schedule to assure we had them on Christmas morning. How long has it been since I thought of something far in advance to provide joy for someone else? (Humbling, isn't it?)
I still remember opening those packing boxes each year to find our individually wrapped Christmas inside to place under the tree. One year she gave me pink fuzzy slippers and a Barbie wallet. I was over the moon. I carried that little wallet until it finally fell apart. I was so very proud of it. She likewise sent things to the boys they loved and always sent mama something fabulous. I still have my mothers Fostoria candle sticks and cake plate from her sister. 

My brother Crant was always creative and gave mama something he carved or whittled at Christmas. He made some very detailed things over the years, many of which he still has. Steve was always practical and knew what mama liked. He usually gave her some act of service he could do that required no money, as none of us had any. He would clean out her car and her side of the garage or something similar. I remember him wiring mama's radio in the kitchen to speakers throughout the house when he was a teenager. She loved having her music on. He did well. There were no wires visible and if memory serves, I believe he wired it into a wall switch too. Steve was always about convenience. He had run wires under the house, in the crawl space or in the walls, it was impressive for a teenager. 

I remember making mama a "soap bar reindeer" one year. (Hey, don't laugh it was a thing back then.) We would make little animals or Santa out of a bar of soap. I added antlers, Crant retrieved little sticks from tree branches and whittle the ends where I wouldn't hurt myself. He gave me a piece of deer hide he had tanned.. I applied it to the reindeer as a skirt I believe. I decorated it and she had that moldy old bar of soap for the remainder of her life in her box of important papers. God love her, she kept everything. 

While we were all playing with our Christmas and mama was cooking, daddy was packing for their hunting trip. Mama wanted us all to enjoy the day, daddy was waiting until he could throw his gear in the truck and head out, without mama being mad at him. They didn't talk about it much. Just the bags packed and hunting gear ready to go. Waiting.. The men in the house got absolutely giddy by mealtime. Mama cooking, daddy and the boys waiting, Christmas music playing, fire in the fireplace, toys . . . does it get any better than that?

While we ate Christmas dinner there was lively conversation around the table, it was a wonderful time. There was laughter and gratitude. Then finally mama would say "Oh go on." That's all it took for the my brothers and daddy to grab their gear and go. They could hardly wait to get in the woods. I remember kisses on mama's cheek and thank yous before they ran out the door. 
Mama would stoke the fire in the fireplace, we would wash dishes together and she would settle in with her latest book from the library. I played with my Christmas treasures snuggled up to her on the couch or in the floor.  We took naps and watched Christmas shows.

There were no cell phones beckoning, no outside world flooding in questioning our time, our beliefs or values. Nothing interfering with this time together. I wonder if children get the same undivided attention from their parents these days? Are they ever unscheduled? 

By New Years mama and I were craving something fabulous to eat. Sometime it might mean a quick hamburger and fries at Mrs Dot Vance cafe, only a few miles from home. Other times it might mean a trip to Birmingham for lunch at Britlings cafeteria and some "after Christmas sale" shopping. One year, I remember heading off to Catfish King to have fried chicken, (I had shrimp) and they served up these amazing apple fritters. They weren't what you see now if you google fritters. They were a delicate hush puppy w/a slight sweet taste, not savory with tiny bits of cooked apple all through, a sprinkle of powdered sugar on top. We talked and ate, laughed and planned gardens, spring dresses and new shoes. Most of all, we shared time together. I loved those days. 

Catfish King (formerly a Theater) Ensley, Al 1961

Soon enough everyone was back home, school would start back right on time before she wanted to strangle us. Mama and daddy would be back off to work and normal life resumed. 

My children are grown, I wish I had done more "slowing down"
Have you thought of turning the cell phone off? Scripture urges us not to be self-important. For people to see Christ in us, there must be less of "us" more of Him. 
You are not going to have those precious babies for long, make memories now. Those memories have to last a lifetime. They aren't going to remember your excessive "guilty parent" buying, or how many expensive pairs of shoes you bought them. They will instead remember who had time for them, showed up for them, read to them, sat with them and listened, laughed and loved on them. 

Savor your days, make each one special. Life is short. 

It's always there but so is the Savior.

 I started reading the report and was not only confused but a smidge concerned. I had blood work done the week before and the following week it ends up in my patient portal, for viewing. It has become routine yes, but still holds me hostage until I see the endocrinologist and am assured all is fine. (I love that man. I've shared with him what a blessing he is to us, to me. I pray for him regularly.) 

His calm and reassuring manner is very much the same as my father was and likewise, my husband. He is smart, thorough and always learning more, which I find completely necessary in a doctor. There isn't an arrogant bone in his body. He reads my face each visit, I always ask questions. He innately knows what he needs to explain to me. 
I go every six months to be checked. That blip caused me concern though. It was one of my levels looking really askew and out of range. What does it mean? Can it be something pointing to cancer again? 

I hate to admit it but it kept me from sleeping well the night before. It was after much prayer and meditating on Gods Word that I finally fell asleep before my upcoming office visit. While three hours sleep is no big deal at age 25 or 30, it is huge at my age. I felt I had been run over by a truck.

As usual, he gets me in the exam room in a timely manner. As we pass the pleasantries and greetings, he assures me my cancer markers are completely nil. He starts his physical exam but saw the concern in my eyes and we begin discussing with brief breaks where he can palpate my lymph glands. They feel fabulous, nothing there. Now, my friend.. what is so concerning you today? 

He knows I tend to overthink. His first words are reassuring that my thyroid cancer is gone. Completely gone. Melanoma, which was a death sentence 20 yrs ago (his words), is now at the forefront of new technologies and treatments. I am encouraged not to fret over it too much. Whatever comes along can be managed. Simply continue due diligence in skin checks and concerning spots. 

Now to my concern, he begins explaining with his laptop in front of me, how these tests are executed, how the ratios are figured and completed. It really doesn't give the full picture. I am seeing that the standard ( or "mean") used and the ratio provided really does cause the result to be skewed. He goes on to tell me, how really if you look at my individual numbers they are very good. He did it again. Mrs Crossley, you are good. I leave the office relieved and thankful. 

Just over three years ago I prayed profoundly & consistently for "the right" Surgeon and for the right Endocrinologist and my prayers were answered. He guided me to their doors via friend and family recommendations. I am thankful every day for those recommendations. 

It makes me think. Do we not do the exact same thing in our daily walk in faith? We are faced with dilemmas, catastrophes, physical and mental limitations every day. We overthink sometime and allow the enemy to manipulate us to the point we no longer think logically. Satan is the author of confusion, it's what he does best. He wants us messed up, off kilter and confused. He magnifies every fault and reminds us of every misstep. He wants you to doubt everything you've ever known as true. Do you hear me? He wants you to doubt everything you've ever known as truth.
When you find yourself in a place of chaos, confusion, doubt.. know, it is definitely the enemy. We allow ourselves to believe his lies. Sometime he is so convincing. When Jesus is right there, saying. .  trust me. Trust me to do what your Father said He would do. He has given us a beautiful purpose for our lives. As a follower of Christ, sometime I receive answers that I am comfortable with and sometime things did not turn out the way I thought or would have wished for. I still know, like I know my name, that God is always faithful. 

When something grabs your attention and you feel fear rise in you, reassurance is needed. 

I had thyroid cancer just over three years ago and just under two years later, melanoma. There is never a day again in this life that I wake and do not at least think about it. That's what Satan wants me to dwell on.. the "what if's". He wants me thinking about the cancer lurking just below the surface, ready to attack again at any moment. That is why an active  prayer life and praying friends come in. I love and trust my prayer warriors and know I can call on them anytime, day or night. God said, pray without ceasing. 

I've said it before but cancer has been a strange blessing. We think of blessings as those times God answers our prayers in the way we want and His timing matches what we needed. All in a neat little package. That is not life though. We live in a fallen creation and we are all imperfect. I know who my Lord and Savior is but sometime I need reminding. Sometime I need him to say in a calm voice, like Dr V, "let me explain, let me show you" .. and show me He does. I have to remind myself that while the enemy can mess with my head, he can't have me. I belong to another, I have a Savior. He puts people in my path who lift me up, who pray over me. He also removes people I no longer need in my life. Maybe they are not going where I'm going.  

So, today I will choose to trust in God. Trust that He has me in his hand. Life is so much easier when you do. 

Biscuits and house shoes.

Southerners are a traditional people. We take great pride in continuing our traditions and carefully unpacking them in front or our children.
I was probably eight or so when I began standing close in the kitchen when mama cooked. I was fascinated by the things she whipped up. One of my favorites were her biscuits. My mother could whip up a iron skillet of biscuits in less time than it took to butter toast. It was like magic. She had this huge iron skillet daddy made (compliments of Hayes aircraft.) Daddy came home with several prototypes he made until he got it just right. Mama would cook in each one and tell him what needed adjusting- whether it was size, weight, everything browned too quick or too slow. I know he made several because a couple ended up out back behind the shed. When he finally got it right, she loved it. Most of the times she pinched off  "cat head" biscuits but sometime I cut them with a jelly jar. The smell of fresh biscuits permeated the entire house. She would often have a jar of plum jelly from my Aunt Jim and my brothers would get out syrup and butter for theirs. Those biscuits were a feast. I make mine quite the same these days. High and light.

You would be hard pressed to find a southern girl who wasn't trained well by a mother or grandmother and well steeped in tradition and hospitality. Recipes and traditions always make me think of my mother. A woman who grew up during the depression and had very little in the way of material things, her own mother died when she was only five. However, she mothered very well. She had aunts and other strong women, who stood in the gap to make sure she and her older sister grew and learned well.
She was also quirky, intentional and created traditions of her own. One of those would be her house shoes. In other regions of the country they may be called "slippers" or "scuffs" but in rural central Alabama where the summers were stifling and winters cold, they are house shoes.
I can remember summer days seeing three or four pair of freshly cleaned house shoes hanging on the line drying in the sun. As a child they were often a necessity as the house could get drafty in the winter and she wanted to be sure our feet stayed warm. Later on, also for comfort at the end of a long day. Mama would come in from work and slip her heels off and ask me to fetch her a pair of house shoes, fresh off the line. When she slide her feet in this signified indeed she was home. She wore them for a few minutes with her hosed feet as she either started or finished dinner. Later she would emerge from the bathroom with a fresh scrubbed face after her bath, donning her house shoes. She bought extras in varying sizes when on sale, she mended them sometime to get just a little more wear out of them. Sometime after a long shopping day she would pull a pair out from under the seat in the car, slip off her shoes and wear them home. 

I am like my mother in many ways. I slip my shoes off when I walk in the door, slide into a fresh pair of house shoes & make a fresh glass of iced tea. It signifies love and hospitality my mother shared all my life. Sliding into those little pillows of fresh, clean terry cloth felt amazing then and it still does. She kept 3-5 pair on hand in case someone else needed a pair. If you came by to sit a while and talk, she was likely going to force a pair into your hand. No need to resist, she was pretty persistent and very opinionated on the virtue of house shoes. 

She would always ask, "doesn't that feel much better than shoes?"
When in the hospital on several different occasions mama would bring house shoes for me, freshly washed of course, smelling of sunshine. She would pull them out of her purse and lay them by the bed. 
I would say one of my mamas spirituals gifts was hospitality. She wanted everyone to feel comfortable, she thought it would help an awkward or painful stay in the hospital, or give you a respite when you were mentally or physically tired, she was probably right.

As her dementia worsened and she spent more time at her children's homes, I always made sure after her shower she had a fresh pair of house shoes. I helped her prepare for bed and placed clean house shoes on her feet. She always carried on about how heavenly they felt. 

It's those old traditions she created for us, that I miss the most when I think of her. 
I guess there will be a hot pan of biscuits for breakfast in the morning to accompany the pillows of sunshine on my feet. 
Thank you mama.