Winter Wonderland

It is the Sunday morning after Christmas, and I find myself on the sofa as usual. Except my sofa is in Hoffman Estates, IL this particular morning and I have just spent a lovely holiday with my family. Instead of a four hour plane ride home, it was a three hour drive. Instead of tearful goodbyes, there were hugs and kisses knowing that we would be seeing each other very soon again. (God willing).

I am looking out the patio door and seeing a beautiful, winter scene, with the snow lying heavy on the evergreen branches, realizing how much I have missed an honest to God winter. Most of you will say that I am crazy, (my husband will be first in line for that one) but there is something about the silence of a snowfall. It is very peaceful to me and takes me back to my childhood where we had a lot of fun ice skating on Wall Lake, and sledding down Bever's mountain every winter.

Last weekend we drove back to Kalamazoo and pulled in our Son's drive just in time to see the Grandkid's sledding down their hill. They had built a ramp of sorts and the joy on their faces made my heart skip a beat. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The joy of being closer to home for me is something I have longed for and is finally a reality. I thank God every day for answering my prayers and I am going to make the most of this opportunity, for we never know what tomorrow will bring.

"So Long, Farewell,,Auf Weidersehn, Goodbye"

Well here it is, the time I have been anxiously awaiting practically since the day I got here. Everything has fallen into line and our move is imminent. So why, pray tell am I a little reticent to leave? If you know me at all, you are aware that I don't handle change well. Not only am I swapping time zones again, I have to say goodbye to my friends out here. Friends it took me a long time to find, but friends that I will have forever.

To my dear friend Mary D. From the moment we met in our first creative writing class, I knew you were special and we have shared our secrets and dreams for the future. Your book will be a best-seller.

To Marg, who has been asked to endure more than any one person should. You are perhaps the strongest woman I know and you are in my thoughts and prayers daily. I will never forget your kindness when I first moved to this city and you will always be my friend.

To Sandy my choir mentor/ coffee buddy and so much more. You are always there to lean on and give an encouraging word when needed. My faith is stronger because of you.

To Lisa my writing protege. Your accomplishments are too numerous to mention here, but suffice it to say I am impressed. You are an artist in everything you do. Even though we have political differences we are still friends, and that somewhat amazes me. I will miss our weekly coffee at Starbucks.

To the girls at "The Barn". OMG you guys are the BEST! You wormed your way into my heart and hopefully I did the same with yours. I miss you so much already (not to mention the 40% discount). PLEASE come visit me anytime you are in the windy city!

To Anna, Kathleen, and Kate my neighborhood friends. I will miss, walking and talking with you, and Kate you were a life-saver for us, helping out with the dogs when we had to go house hunting. I wish God would have brought you all into my life a little sooner.

And finally to my writing coach Christi. You gave me permission to be a writer. Even if it's not the great American novel, I will continue to try and publish some of my work. You are an angel and I will forever be grateful for your encouraging words.

I have learned much about myself in these past five years. I believe I have grown as a person and seen that there is life west of the Mississippi (albeit a little stranger than what I was used to).

Everyone I have met has enriched my life in one way or another and I would not have missed this "adventure" for anything.

My goodbye is bittersweet, as it is hard to leave you all, but there is joy on the other side as I will be able to see my family much more often. As I've said many times in the past, "lay in the beer, I'm coming home".

We Give Thanks

It is early Saturday morning, the sun has yet to rise and I am in my familiar position on the couch in front of my computer. After lying in bed for an hour I get up and make my way to the bathroom being careful not to trip over Sophie (or is that a pillow? My eyes ain't what they used to be) make a pot of coffee and take what will probably be one of the last quiet moments here to write.

Thanksgiving is upon us (again I ask, "Where does the time go?")and I am mindful of how appropriate the season is this year. Sam and I are getting ready to embark on yet another adventure (that is how we refer to change now) although we have been praying for it for the past few years. We are going home, more or less, to Chicago where the people are more recognizable, the weather is seasonal, and our Grand kids are closer. We can see our family more than twice a year. Instead of a grueling four hour plane ride, we can make it to Kalamazoo in about two and a half hours by car.

Getting to this place in our lives has not been easy. We have been pulled from the brink of financial ruin through the grace of God and the short-sale of our house. It has been a long and hard road, littered with daily calls to both financial institutions, whining and crying, and various other means of getting their attention. After what will be four long months when it is all over we will have reached the point where we can finally breathe.

Why am I telling you all this?(my Mother will be horrified)and after all we could just say it was a job relocation. But it is so much more. It is divine intervention. I know some of you out there (you know who you are, Steve) are rolling your eyes right now. But you tell me, is it just dumb luck? I think not. "For every time, there is a season" as scripture goes "and a time to every purpose, unto heaven". (Or something to that effect.) Please feel free to correct me. Really, I mean it.

We have been given a second chance, albeit late in life, to right our financial wrongs, get out of debt and quit living like the Jones family. We are taking it and running. This is just one of the things for which I am thankful.

I am thankful to the Lord and Leigh Anne for giving Sam a new kidney six years ago, so we could get to this stage in our life. I am thankful for the life-long friends I have made out here, and the beauty that is the Northwest. (How many of you thought I would ever say that?) The last five years have been a God given time-out for me. Lessons have been learned, tears have been shed, and joy has been immense.

This year at our table of Thanksgiving, the food will smell a little better, the laughter will be a little heartier, the love will be much deeper, and the gratitude for all we have been given will be infinite.

Confessions Of An Aging Blogger

When I first started my blog, I wanted an outlet from which I could comment on things I saw going on around me. Inane infomercials, current events, causes that were important to me, etc. I wanted to draw my readers in and generate conversation.

It is still a work in progress, as I wait to be inspired by what is going on around me or what is on in my head. It really is quite an intimate look at me. If you read my blog, you pretty much know who I am.

Some of my postings may be redundant, although never the same, there will probably be a thread that runs through it from another post. That thread is spiritual. Trying to
tie God into what I write. Not all the time, but it does seem to pop up in a lot of my writing.

So here is what I am getting at. If you read my blog, even if you do not agree with what I say, comment on it. I do not know you are reading it, if I don't hear from you. Click on the comment button and say something. Anything. Tell me of a similar thing that may have happened to you or how you see the situation I am commenting on. The world would be a very boring place if we all had the same opinion. Try not to be rude, but if you must you must.....Thank you for your support.

Ghosts Of Halloween Past

Halloween has changed so much through the years. Not the concept, but definitely the treats and sometimes the tricks. I woke up last Saturday morning to find that half of our yard (the neighbor's half) had been "forked". About 200 white plastic forks were sticking up in the yard. Forget the toilet paper, we got forks!

Today, I am reminded of my Halloweens of the past, when I was a young girl. Our costumes were always homemade, well not always, but I remember the homemade ones the best. It was usually mayhem down in the basement laundry room, with my brothers, getting dressed and putting on our faces for a spooky night of Trick or Treating on the streets of Delton, MI. We lived on the edge of town, so it was a veritable gold mine of candy on the way to town. We always walked (even in the rain). One year, I was Cinderella's Fairy God Mother, right down to the magic wand. Somewhere between our house and town I lost the star, which was a cardboard cutout star wrapped in tin foil. I was quite proud of it and equally upset when I noticed it was missing from the wooden dowel it was thumb tacked to. Oh for some Krazy glue.

Then there was the year I dressed up as a Hobo. I borrowed my little brother's striped railroad engineer hat, under protest, wore bib overalls, and put some things in a handkerchief and tied it to a stick. A pretty convincing hobo, I thought. Well that year evidently there were a lot hobo's. When we got to Ila Francisco's house, she accused me of being there before and would not give me any candy. I was heart-broken.

We'd get home and go through our loot. The good stuff was always the candy bars (full size back then), there were always popcorn balls and apples too. That was before we worried about what sickos do nowadays. There would be a candy swap and we would eat a few choice morsels and go to bed.

I remember looking forward to Halloween. There was something almost magical about walking the streets in the dark, under the stars, trying to guess who was who in their costumes.

If this post causes some of you to go down memory lane and talk about those memories with your friends or loved-ones, then I have accomplished my goal. For you see, I don't think any of us do that enough. We are too busy worrying about things that we cannot change or doing mundane tasks that do not make any memories.

'Tis A Gift

Once again, after attending Mass yesterday, I am prompted to write about what the choir sang. Their music adds so much to our liturgy every Sunday at 10:00. They sang a version of "Simple Gifts" based on a song by Elder Joseph Brackett, Jr..

Even though his version was written in 1848, it still rings true today. Perhaps even truer. It's hard to imagine that everything was not simple back then; how often do we long for a simpler life? These days our lives are so complicated. Running around, working, taking the kids to soccer, committee meetings, homework, volunteering and the list goes on. I am not suggesting we go back to the days of life in the mid-19th century, but what I am suggesting is to maybe be a little less materialistic.

Yes, this from the woman who had to have a BMW or Lexus motor vehicle to haul her real estate clients around in. Or a different house every two or three years. (Strictly for investment purposes?!) We could afford the payments, so why not? Well I will tell you why not.

You are not saving for your retirement, not taking time for the important things. Spend, spend, spend. Perhaps things have changed now since the crash of 08. I know they have for us.
But anyway, I digress. Simplicity is a gift from God. "The gift". An ability to be happy with what you have. Thankful for what you have and not constantly competing for more. Free.

These last five years out here in God's country have given me time to think and to shed a lot of material possessions. Going back to Chicago, my load, as well as my heart, will be much lighter.

Sarcasm...It's Whats For Dinner

One definition of sarcasm is "witty language used to convey insults". It is usually reserved for friends and family to demonstrate the strength of the bond between them, knowing they can say it with out hurting the feelings of the other one. Sarcasm is not for the faint of heart. It must be delivered with some jocularity and just the right amount of bite.

How do I know so much about this subject, you might wonder? Well boys and girls, I was raised on sarcasm, it runs rampant in the Stedge family. Not just my immediate family, but my aunts, uncles and cousins. In order to fit in I had to become adept at the art. Some people think I excel at the sport.

From the time I was 12 years old, I endured insults and jabs, mostly at the dinner table, but there were drive-by insults too. For example, I would emerge from my bedroom ready for church in a colorful outfit, and my Dad would comment that I looked like a rainbow, not too bad, but then would say my legs appeared to be "broomsticks with feet", ouch.

Then there were the attacks on my cooking abilities. I used to fix dinner for Dad and my Brothers some nights, because Mom worked afternoons at the Medical Facility in Hastings. One night I made macaroni salad. I cooked way too much macaroni and we ate it til it went bad. From then on I was kidded about having to get the wash tubs out because I was making macaroni salad again. I remember one particular incident as my Dad was coming to the dinner table, he asked me if they" said they were sorry". I asked "who?" He answered," the person who stepped on your face." That had everyone rolling on the floor, including me.

I carried this ability to give and take sarcasm to High School with me. In our Junior year, Bob and Larry and I had what can only be called "slam contests" everyday in Mr. Jones' English class. My best slam by far was telling them both that they were about as "handy as a screen door on a submarine".

Recently, I got together with Larry (after looking for him for forty one years) and was delighted to find that we could pick up right where we left off with the insults. ( His lack of hair and my terminal shortness.) Oh my GAWD that was fun!

So here's the deal, if I am sarcastic with you, it means you are a special friend. It's my way of saying "I love you, man". If you take offense, then" bite me". I'm just sayin'...

We Remember

Today is a bittersweet day for me. For you see it is 9/11, a day forever emblazoned in our memories eight years ago. It is also the day my first grandchild was born 12 years ago.

Sam and I were eating supper when we got the call that Max was coming into the world. We dropped everything and headed to the hospital to await his arrival. It was a small birthing room, so we waited in the (what else?) waiting room. We were periodically updated on everything, including Andrew's near-fainting spells. It, along with the birth of our Granddaughter Addie are among the best days of my life. We met when he was only 5 minutes old and have been fast friends ever since.

I am sure we all remember where we were and what we were doing on that fateful day 8 years ago. The images on our television are still etched in my mind as I watched in horror when the second plane sliced through the South Tower. My mind immediately raced to my Grandchildren and my Son, Andy who was working at a federal installation at the time. Notice the order of concern. If you are a grandparent you totally understand.

For days we watched the terror unfold, as we heard horrific stories of loss. The nation was in shock from being attacked on our home soil. But I am telling you nothing, because we all went through it. The heroes are those who lost their lives by merely going about their daily routines, and those they left behind who must carry on.

So today I will celebrate the life that came into the world 12 years ago, and remember the day that brought us together as a nation 8 years ago.

May the Lord wrap his loving arms around those lost on 9/11 and be with the ones that are left behind. Amen.

I've Looked at Things From Both Sides Now

We all lament getting older. I know that is not a very profound thought, but as I am approaching sixty at supersonic speed, I find myself reflecting on the history that has been made in my lifetime.

I can remember at my Grandma Stedge's funeral at the age of 92, how we marveled at the changes she had seen during her lifetime. From horse and buggies to automobiles to airplanes to putting a man on the moon. Wow, how do you wrap your head around that?

Baby-boomers have seen our share of history and change. As far as change, there are way too many to list here. Digital TV, and Radio, computers, wireless communication, copy machines, fax machines, digital photography are just a few.

We witnessed the civil rights movement, the war in Vietnam, and Woodstock. We cried at JFK's funeral, were stunned by Martin Luther King, Jr.'s death, maddened by the assassination of Bobby Kennedy, (our last best hope for ending the war), and aired our grievances at places like Kent State and the Chicago Democratic Convention. That was our youth.

Our adult lives have been no less stressful. A war in the Persian Gulf, two foreign terrorist attacks on American soil,(we all remember where we were on 9/11 as we watched in horror the downing of four airliners and the killing of thousands of innocents) and the ensuing war in Iraq and Afghanistan, have all added to the color of our world. Oh, and let us not forget the financial crisis that hit in late 2008 and has affected the entire world.

Today we said goodbye to the last Kennedy brother, Edward. We all watched him bury JFK and Bobby, help their widows in raising his nieces and nephews, try to live up to his father's expectations, be a successful US Senator, and run for President in 1980 only to be derailed by his own poor judgment. He was the only son of Joseph Kennedy not to be cut down in his prime. He had his flaws, but he tried to redeem himself through his tireless efforts. He accomplished more for the poor and the down-trodden than he ever could have as President.

Politically, I think of myself as a moderate, which I don't believe anyone recognizes anymore. To me there is good that can be taken from both sides. (Perhaps I am an Independent.)

At this point in time there are a lot of people suffering. Not just the homeless or the mentally ill, but people like you and me. People that thought they were living the dream. Then the dream evaporated, pretty much over night, they woke up one morning and housing values had dropped, their 401K's were worth half of what they were when they went to bed, and they lost their job. They could use a little help.

So here is what I am trying to get at. If I am asked to help my fellow man while they are going through a rough patch, I am okay with that. I do not mind paying taxes to provide health care to those who have none, or to help those who may be losing their homes, or for programs to provide jobs for those who need them. I don't feel it necessary to blame them for the troubles they are in. If we are truly Christian, we look at them and see Christ. The words of Jesus go something like this: What so ever you do for the least of your brethren, that you do unto me.

Let's try to be more compassionate toward those who are struggling. We will be paying taxes until doomsday, why not quit bitching and start seeing the good that our tax dollars can do. After all, we never know when we will be the beneficiaries of one of the programs.

"Hey You's Guys, We're Moving To Chicago!"

OR
The Power Of Prayer


For darn near the past five years, I have been hoping and praying that somehow we would be able to move back home to Michigan. We found ourselves in the Pacific Northwest in 2004 due to a job change for my Husband, Sam. Telling ourselves that it would be an adventure (yeah, right). We packed up and headed west.

I thought our prayers were answered a year and a half ago, when his company notified us that we were being relocated to their Chicago Office. Praise the Lord, I thought, 150 miles away from home is better than 2300. Well, the economy was starting to go south and the company canceled the relocation. I was devastated. Every time I visited home, it was apparent to me what I was missing out on because I was so far away. My Grandchildren were 3 and 6 years old when we left. Fast forward to today.

Sam and I decided to take a three week vacation back to Michigan in June. We had a ball, visiting people and places we hadn't been in five years. We both realized how much we wanted to be closer to our loved ones, so we formulated a plan.

His company still wanted him in Chicago but hesitated asking us to transfer due to the fact we would take a loss on the house. When Sam returned to work after vacation, he approached his bosses and proposed that if we were willing to short-sell our home, would they transfer us to Chicago? They agreed, giving us the full relo package. Now we are a long way from moving, as there are numerous obstacles to overcome. We have to find a buyer, the bank has to approve the short-sale, etc. but this brings us hope and my mood has improved 100%.

So we are boning up on our driving skills, honking and changing lanes, being aggressive, rude and loud. Living there will also be an adjustment, but at least we can drive to Michigan on weekends and look forward to visits from friends and family, plus attend events at school for our Grandkids.

I am thinking that our last visit sparked a lot of prayers from various people that helped, along with ours, to get us to this end. Prayer is a powerful thing. If we take charge of our lives and not just wait for things to happen, that in tandem with prayer usually gets us to where we need to be.

Like A Prayer

As we headed back west from our visit to Michigan,(after I let go of the car bumper in an effort to keep us there), I decided to make the best of it and pay special attention to the scenery along the way.

By the time I had whipped myself into shape, we were in Iowa. This is America's food belt where life is simple. Huge grain silos tower over family farms, announcing their existence from miles away. Wildflowers grow neatly along the roadside. Iowa seems a proud State. Proud of what they have and what they contribute to our nation.

We had an ambitious schedule for the first day, 1200 miles. (Are these people nuts? The answer is affirmative.) While speeding through Nebraska, I noticed lots of livestock. What I couldn't see, I could smell. Some think the State is boring and flat, but it is green and fertile and the further west we drove it became more rolling and hilly.

Wyoming is where a lot of our energy comes from. The land is barren high desert, but below the earth lie rich pockets of oil and natural gas. The landscape is dotted with pumping stations and towns named after the oil companies. I have to admit every time we passed a Halliburton truck, it gave me an uneasy feeling, and I thought of Dick Cheney and nearly lost my breakfast. At the Bitter Creek rest area we ran into a prairie dog town. I love prairie dogs. They seem to be the clown princes of the animal kingdom.

As we diverted from our route going out, we headed toward Jackson, Wyoming. I fell in love with the forests and mountain streams as we made our way to the Grand Tetons.
Ranches dotted the landscape and made a body wonder how they survived when the harsh winters came. (My guess is snowmobiles). It would be a great place to write.

Without a doubt the highlight of our trip was Grand Teton National Park. The majestic mountains stood like sentries among the lush landscape. Only God and the force of nature could have created this awe inspiring sight. We headed to Yellowstone thinking we would see lots of wildlife, but they must have had the day off as we only saw one Bison, two River Otters, and a couple of Elk. (We did catch a Moose bathing in a lake next to the highway in Montana.)

Our next stop was Old Faithful. The earth seemed a giant boiling pot and the steam made the air hazy and smelled a bit like sulfur. We arrived about an hour early for the eruption, so we went to the Old Faithful Lodge and had a supper of Bison meatloaf, mashed potatoes, etc. and were done in time for the show. I was a bit underwhelmed when the geyser finally went off. I don't really know what I expected, but it was something more than what we got.

Moving on, we drove through Idaho which is gorgeous, (except for where mining has ruined the landscape and polluted the rivers), and into eastern Washington. When we had to make the decision of going home through Oregon or Washington we chose Washington. It is only a two lane road, but the Columbia Gorge is a sight to see, and it is best viewed, we found, traveling WA-14. There are times the road takes you at least 1000 feet above the river and the scenery is spectacular. Lewis and Clark took this route to the Pacific so there is a lot of history here.

When we arrived home we thanked God for a successful trip and for the beauty he arranged for us that, most of the time, everyone takes for granted. It was a spiritual journey that brought us joy and enriched our lives.

The Wind Beneath Our Wings

During our recent trip back and forth across the country there was one sight that struck me with awe every time it came into view. It was not the majesty of the mountains, or the beautiful rock formations or the mighty rivers, it was, the wind turbine.

Why, you may ask, am I so enamored by these giants of the landscape? Their sheer size for one, makes them visible from miles away. To me they are sleek and clean looking and represent the hope of the nation to clean up our environment for future generations. They stand for jobs in this pathetic economy we find ourselves in. Truck drivers hauling each 100 ft. propeller down the highways, construction workers in the fields, and even trickles down to the nearby towns that supply food and lodging to the workers.

I am not unaware of the risk to birds, the damage to farm lands and the fact that a lot of people think them unsightly on our landscape. There are always pros and cons to every issue. What I am concerned about is our country getting off the fence and doing something about global warming and I think this is a good step toward that goal.

The main problem with wind power is that you need a way to get the power to the people (pardon the 60's reference), i.e. a power grid to sell the power. This can be an expensive proposition when there is no grid nearby. T. Boone Pickens ran into this problem recently when he pulled the plug on his Texas Wind Farm, due to his inability to obtain enough money to build a grid facility. It's a pretty sad state of affairs when T. Boone can't get a loan.

So here's to the forward thinkers, the pioneers, if you will of the wind industry, may the wind carry us to new heights in energy production.

The Best Laid Plans.....

We pulled away from my Mom's house at approximately 3:45 am on Monday morning. One would think it would be easier every time I said goodbye, but it is more difficult.

My Grandkids are growing up. Max is a 'tween now, but he still puts up with my hugs and kisses with only an occasional "Oh Grandma...(you know the tone). Addie is my cuddle bunny. She still enjoys unbridled hugs and kisses. We had big plans before we got there. Among them, going to South Haven again for fun and food at Clementine's. A trip to Chicago on the train, maybe a visit to a fair or amusement park, the usual stuff.

Well.....We did go to Craig's Cruisers, where we road on the go-karts, the bumper boats, (film at 11), played video games and air hockey. A good time was had by all. We took everyone to Shipshewana, Indiana for the huge flea market where you can buy just about anything. Sam bought two lovely dress shirts for $3.75 each, I kid you not, as my Dad (and Jack Parr) would say. Then we drove over to Middlebury, Indiana to the Essenhaus for a family style dinner of roast beef, fried chicken, buttered noodles, stuffing, corn, mashed potatoes and gravy and best of all, homemade pie for dessert. Yum, yum....The kids loved it.

Instead of taking the kids to South Haven, Sam and I went with my bff from way back when, Deb and her husband Bob, to Saugatuck, Michigan and strolled the streets, ate outside, and saw how the other half (or three-quarters)live.

We visited Sam's childhood homestead in Gobles with friends who have since bought the property. We walked some of the property, visited the pond where he used to swim with the Smith girls, and took a few rocks from the rock pile he and his Dad made while trying to farm the property. We will use them for bookends and perhaps a door stop or two and think fondly of the place he grew up.

Our final big event was a get-together with my classmates from the class of 1968 to celebrate our homecoming and the fact we were still alive after 41 years. What a rush that was. Most of us went kindergarten through graduation together. We all had a great time laughing and catching up.

Sprinkled in with all this were numerous bbq's at my Son's house with the kids, a family reunion that they love to attend each year, and swimming with Isabelle and Dominick.

I guess what I am trying to say is that as we get older our roles change with our families. The children are older and have friends and activities that don't involve their grandparents, and this is the trip where it hit home.

I consoled myself with plenty of MGD 64 and Plainwell Ice Cream with my family, and lots of visits with old friends and I only gained three pounds!

America The Beautiful

At exactly 3:37 a.m. Saturday morning, June 20th, we pulled out of our driveway and headed east to Michigan for a 4 week vacation. The dogs came along due to the fact that kenneling them would have bankrupted us and we are almost there anyway. So we loaded them in the Jeep and took off for home.

The dogs seemed somewhat confused as they had not gotten a full night's sleep and we were taking off in the dark. They were even more confused when we did not drop them at the kennel or the vet's office. To top it off, we drove for 20 hours the first day, stopping for potty breaks and food, but there was no sign of their house in Washington.

What there were signs of, were the hand prints of God's creation. The high desert of Central Oregon, where with irrigation, they grow some of the finest crops in the west really impressed me. We drove through the Cascade Mountains, formed by volcanoes millions of years ago. We watched the sunrise over them in the Columbia Gorge.

As we headed toward Idaho, we were impressed by the Blue Mountains. We were on the Oregon Trail following the path of Lewis and Clark and the early settlers. It amazed us that the pioneers trekked through the rugged, high mountains and stopped along the way to establish towns with stores to service the gold miners going out to seek their fortune. I am 59 years old and seeing things I read about in history class.

Utah was more beautiful than I thought it would be. The mountains and hills were colorful with a red sandstone. The mountains were formed by tectonics, I am told. Where plates within the earth move and force the terrain up to create awe-inspiring formations. Some looked like they were placed there on purpose to make a certain design.

When we reached Wyoming, there was a lot of history along the way. The pony express route,
Medicine Bow National Forest, Fort Sheridan, buffalo, antelope, and the list goes on. It was awesome to use an over-used word.

What I have realized is if we had not moved across the country, we might not have had the opportunity to take this trip and experience the splendor of our country. So stay tuned for more, I know I have been lax with updates, but I will try to keep you posted.

The Questionable Proposal

"Well there goes another one," my eight year old son exclaimed in a rather here we go again tone. Clearly he was keeping track of my love life and his comment cut me like a knife. I had just told him that Sam and I were taking a break from each in an effort to evaluate our relationship. (Not quite in those words.)

We had been dating for three years and I told Sam the night before that I'm not getting any younger and if he had no intentions of going to the next level, I was moving on. So yes, shit or get off the pot. He said he'd get back to me. Right.

He didn't want me to fall in love with him in the first place, but how do you not love someone who makes you laugh and you can talk to on the phone for five hours and not be bored to tears? He brought a new life to our house. True, he was five years younger than me and his biological clock was not ticking like mine was, but I thought I might have a shot at bullying him to the altar.

When I didn't hear from him the next day, I was disappointed and thought perhaps I was too hard on him. He called that Wednesday night and said he had made a decision and would like to see me Friday night to talk about it. He would pick me up at 5:30, I said okay and we hung up.

Arriving promptly at 5:30, we headed in a northwest direction. Perfect, I thought, we're going to Lake Michigan, he's going to propose to me on the beach at sunset. How romantic. We stopped for gas in Allegan and the sun was already starting to disappear. We continued on, but instead of going toward Saugatuck we turned to go to the Allegan Forest. Hmmm.

Now there are not too many places in lower Michigan that are more remote than the Allegan Forest. We continued on and turned toward the Allegan Dam. He pulled the car into an empty parking lot deep in the woods. Maybe he knew he couldn't make Saugatuck by sunset, so he opted for this. Maybe if he couldn't have me, no else could either. We both got out of the car and he opened the trunk and pulled out a black gym bag. He led me back even further into the woods and we came out into an opening that was just gorgeous. The sun was setting over Lake Kalamazoo and the trees were breath taking with their vivid orange and red leaves. A nice place to die, I thought.

Sam set the bag on the ground, unzipped it and pulled a blanket out (He would be wrapping me up in),then he went back into the bag. Oh oh, here it comes, the tire iron, and or axe, this is gonna hurt. I shut my eyes.

When I opened my eyes, there he was with a beautiful red rose in his hand, and down on one knee. "Theresa," he said, "I have been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days and if you will have me, I would like you to marry me." With that he offered me a yellow plastic ring from a gumball machine and waited for my answer.

I accepted his proposal and he pulled a bottle of champagne out of the bag along with two glasses and we toasted our future. So I did not end up on an episode of Dateline NBC, I married my best friend.

The Not So Incredible Shrinking Woman

It was mid January of this year, when I finally decided I had enough of being 50 pounds over weight and began a serious attempt to start losing weight. I dusted off the treadmill, broke out the diet entrees, put my head down and started the grueling process. The hardest part is portion control and not thinking about food 24-7. Have you noticed how many commercials there are on TV showing delicious foods? Then the next one is about losing weight on Nutri-system or Jenny Craig, okay, I'm officially confused.

After sixty days of walking the treadmill five to six days a week and watching what I ate I could see little difference, except my shoes were looser. Can you believe it? I was losing weight in my freaking feet. They never looked fat to me! I needed a new plan.

I stepped up my exercise plan, starting to run on the treadmill and doing the Bowflex three times a week. I bought new Nike running shoes, and the Nike+ for my Ipod. I had to give up running outside due to the beating my body took and the desire to pick up the cherry gummy bears lying on the sidewalk.

To aid me in not craving food I sent away for some Acai Berry tablets that supposedly boosted your metabolism. It may have been all in my head but they did work, along with the stepped up exercise, I have managed to lose twenty pounds. Of course I still have to point the weight loss out to people which is disheartening. At this age, I am not dropping 4 dress sizes when I lose 20 lbs. like I see on TV. I have gone from a woman's size 1X to a misses size 14 which by the way still looks huge in the Dress Barn mirror. (I hate that mirror).

The ugly truth about losing weight when you are close to sixty is that it is no picnic. There is the post-menopausal paunch that all the crunches in the world have little to no effect on, the wrinkles that weren't there before you lost weight, the chicken arms flapping in the breeze..

This time I am driven to stick to it, it may take me a year(or more) to lose the 50 pounds, but by god I am going to do it.

I'm sure glad they invented Miller 64 beer. That's one thing I don't have to give up..So lay in the beer, I'm on my way to Michigan!

In The Sweet By and By

I had a visit from my Dad today. Now I know this sounds strange as he has been gone for almost three years. But he was with me, just as sure as I am sitting here typing this tonight.

We were at Mass this morning and sometimes if no one is sitting next to me, I make a space for Dad to sit, just in case he would like to. It was after the homily when the choir started the Offertory hymn, "In The Sweet By and By". As I listened, suddenly Dad came to my mind and we were back home in our house on Orchard Street in Delton. It appeared he had just come home from church and he was clapping his hands and tapping his feet, as he often did when he was happy, to the rhythm of the song. It was his kind of song. He loved the old time hymns like "Peace Is Flowing Like a River", and his absolute favorite was "Just a Closer Walk With Thee."

I will never forget when the choir sang it and I was featured in the beginning. When we were finished, my Dad jumped to his feet and began applauding and the whole congregation followed suit. I was so happy that he approved.

Sometimes I feel so far away from my Dad, but today he was with me, and I will continue to attend Mass in hopes of spending another few minutes with him. I love you Dad.

God Chose Me

I ventured out and attended Mass this past Sunday. It seems I am on an every other week schedule lately. For some reason at times I can't make myself get up and go. (My get up and go, got up and went). Seriously, at times I think, "what's the use?" Obviously these are times I am experiencing depression and deep down looking for excuses not to go.

Growing up Catholic we were raised on guilt, both from our parents and the church. If you don't go to Mass, you're on the highway to hell. We HAD to go every Sunday. That got a little old needless to say and some of us missed the point. One of the points being it enriches our lives....

In discussing this with my fellow Catholic Sandy,I complained that I fight going because I don't seem to get anything out of it and if my attitude is bad, I get even less. She reminded me that it isn't what we get out of it, but what we bring to it. Well that statement made me stop and think. Going to Mass becomes such a habit, a lot of us forget that we participate. I love to sing, that is a gift from God that I return to him.

Sunday we celebrated the Sixth Sunday of Easter and the Readings referenced the greatest command, Love one another as God loves us. We are his friends if we keep his commands. No greater love exists than this, to lay down one's life for a friend.
The next words in the Gospel really got my attention: "For it was not you who chose me, but I who chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit that will remain". So there it is..the mission is clear to me now. It would be much easier for me to attend Mass every Sunday if I still belonged to choir and had a reason to be there, something to make me go, but maybe it is better that I have to make a conscious decision to go, with my friend Sandy's voice always in my mind.

Children Of The Eucharist

Every year around Mothers Day the Catholic Church welcomes its young members to the Body of Christ through First Holy Communion. This was called to my attention this year by my friend Donna back in Kalamazoo, whose Son Dominic, received Holy Communion for the first time on Sunday. He participated in the Presentation of the Gifts, carrying down the wine for consecration. I can see it now, the large decanter of wine, sloshing from side to side, everyone holding their breath, his Mom hoping he would stop and give her a sip...

All of this reminded me of my First Communion. This was all before Vatican II. The Priest said Mass in latin with his back to us, the nuns threatened us if we dared turn around and looked at anyone during Mass, you know, the usual.

I was seven years old and looking forward to it. My Godmother and all my relatives were there from Chicago for Mass. Afterward, both sides of the family would be at my house for the celebration. There was a beautiful cake baked by Steve Scott (who was allergic to flour), but made it as a favor to my Dad.

That Sunday morning was beautiful, I woke up with a horrible case of diarrhea and a fever. Was I too sick to go? Heck no. I remember distinctly how Mom went to the medicine cabinet and got the essence of peppermint out. It worked. I put on the white communion dress and veil that my cousin Mary let me use, my white patent leather shoes and socks and I was ready to go. It was July, Mass was long and it was so hot in the church, but I made it. We were special and got receive communion first. I can still remember the way the host felt when the priest placed it on my tongue. We had to let it dissolve on our tongue, we would go to hell if we chewed it. (Or so it seemed.) Things have changed so much in the church since then. Children are taught the love of God rather than the wrath of God.

Fortunately I still have pictures that capture that day. The whole extended family standing under the huge hickory nut tree in our front yard. All the special food and cake, it was my day.

So welcome Dominic, to the most special Sacrament of the church, may God be with you always.

Number Fifty-Nine

It was Tuesday, April 18, 1950, the opening day of Baseball Season when I came into the world at 7:20 in the morning. This could explain my rabid interest in the Detroit Tigers when I was a young girl. I knew all the players, how many kids they had, where they lived, (stalker?) their batting averages, the whole ball of wax.

When I was growing up the only time we went out to dinner was for our Birthday. We all looked forward to it with great anticipation. The place was always Bill Knapps. How I loved the Au Gratin Potatoes. So much so that I don't really remember what I had with them. But that was then and this is now.

I married a man who always has made a big deal of my Birthday. There are lovely, well thought out presents, a lavish dinner at the restaurant of my choice, and always a small party with cake and ice cream and family. When we moved to Washington it turned into a present and dinner. I am not complaining, just stating the facts. Even though I was older every year I still looked forward to my Birthday.

The last few have really been grating on me. I am starting to show my age. Those lines on my arm are not sheet marks because they still are there later in the day. Age spots dot my face, arms and legs. I have the post menopausal paunch that I fight daily with crunches, and the list goes on and on.....

This Birthday is especially troubling for me. Number Fifty nine. Sounds like a train locomotive. Here comes old number fifty nine around the bend. Johnny Cash is singing "The Orange Blossom Special" in the background. "I ain't seen the sunshine, since I don't know when". You get the picture.

In six months I could start to make withdrawals from my 401K, if there was any money left in it. What I am getting at is that I am starting to realize that I am old. Do not give me that "age is not a number it's a state of mind" crap. Age is a number and it is going up. Fewer people know who I am talking about when I mention Glenn Miller, or Howdy Doody. It's a little depressing.

Tonight we are going to the Portland City Grille for a nice dinner, no presents, at my request.

When I got up this morning my card was waiting for me by the coffee pot. On the front was a chubby Shar Pei with posable thumbs holding a pair of large pink granny panties. It read "At our age, thongs are not an option."

Amen, Sister.

Excuse Me Ma'am, Do You Have A Permit For That?

It was January of 1980 when my friend Joyce and I decided to take a self-defense class at the YMCA in Kalamazoo. I was a single Mom working nights at a trucking company, so taking a Judo class sounded like a good idea. Barney Fife came to my mind from the old Andy Griffith Show, when he said he probably would have to register his body as a deadly weapon because he knew Judo.

Walking into the dojo in our judo gees one thing was obvious, we were the only women in the class. So much for the self-defense aspect. Not that we wouldn't learn some great techniques, but these guys were there to wrestle!

Each week we learned a new hold or throw and paired up with someone in the class to practice with. It was a lot of fun, taught us some self-discipline, and to always be aware of what was going on around us. The secret was to get below your opponents center of gravity and throw them or trip them to escape.

One night I was paired with a cute blond guy who appeared to be 6'4" and weighing in around 220. First of all, what is this person doing in a Judo Class? The holds on the floor went okay, had him right where I wanted him. Then came the throws. It was easy for me to get below his center of gravity and he hit the mat like a rock.

Now it was my turn to be thrown. A shiver ran down my spine when I realized I might be sailing over his shoulder at a high rate of speed with a 6 foot plus drop.

There was a 16 inch difference in our heights and he was perplexed as to how he would get beneath my center of gravity. He decided to get on his knees to execute the move. Aah, I thought, this won't be so bad.

When you land from a throw you are supposed to slap the mat to absorb some of the shock.

Okay, I didn't slap the mat. Okay, I couldn't breathe. The fall ended up being more like 4 feet and it knocked the wind out of me.

All of us in the class went on to earn our Green Belts. And the big blond guy?
Well we will be celebrating our 26th Wedding Anniversary in May and I couldn't be happier.

Sometimes God Says No

It seems that over the last five years, I have wanted nothing more than to move back home. Knowing that probably won't happen, I would settle for moving closer, like Chicago, perhaps. Almost made it a year ago.

My husband's Company was transferring us to their Bensenville office (that's near Chicago) so we put our house on the market and made plans to move only to be disappointed when the company canceled the relocation due to the economy.

When I went home for my Summer and Christmas visits I had to tell people that we weren't moving closer, much to our dismay. I told a friend that I keep praying to come home, and she said, "sometimes God says no." I felt especially sad when a few days later her daughter, who we had all been praying for, lost her battle with cancer. God has a plan and sometimes it isn't what we are looking for.

I believe that we are out here for a reason. I don't know if I would have started writing back home, there is a much more creative spirit out here. Sam and I have become a lot closer as it is just he and I now. It has brought me closer with my family. When you live within a 25 mile radius of each other you tend to take each other for granted.

So being out here in the Northwest has brought with it a sense of joy and sorrow for me. I would never have felt the utter joy in seeing my loved ones if I hadn't moved so far away. The reunions are sweeter, the goodbyes are sadder. There is no doubt we appreciate one another more than ever. The hugs are longer, the words more meaningful.

I know we will get back there, it is just a matter of time, God saying it is time to go back home now.

Trying To Keep It Simple

In an attempt to save money I have been examining our monthly outlay for bills and trying to find ways we can cut expenses.

We have all but given up eating out. Now eating out consists of stopping at Subway and getting $5.00 Foot-longs on Friday night. When the lease expired on my BMW, I bought a 1998 Volvo Station wagon with a $158 monthly payment. We keep the heat turned down all winter and watch our water usage. So now what?

It is time to look at the cable TV and broadband. Yikes! For obvious reasons, I am not willing to give up the internet. So what about cable? Basic cable is $12.95 a month, but I can also use an antenna and get the same channels for free. So I am thinking ok this should be simple enough.

Then I start thinking, what about football season? I love College Football on Saturdays. While it is true that there are games on the networks, they don't tend to show Big Ten games out here. We usually get the Ducks (?) and the Beavers. Oh and don't forget about the Huskies. What will I do without ESPN? And then there is the whole PBR Bull riding debacle. I have to spend an extra $20 a month so I can get Versus. So I guess I am not ready to totally simplify my life.

I mean I have given up Starbucks coffee at home,(I now have Maxwell House coffee on my counter.) What more can a girl do? I believe it to be prudent to get rid of the extra $22 a month for Starz and Versus.

So I guess it's adios to the PBR, I can live without it. If any of you know me, you know this is a HUGE step, and so it's one step at a time for now.

Ashes to Ashes

The Lenten season is a time for reflection and sacrifice on our part in preparation for the celebration of Easter. Some people give up their favorite foods, or activities for the forty-some days.

I myself gave up ice cream. I love ice cream. I scream for ice cream. Normally it isn't a problem, I just don't buy it. But my husband came home from the store on Sunday with a package of Klondike Heath flavored ice cream bars. I mentioned I had given up ice cream for Lent and he just looked at me blankly, and said "I didn't." So far I have not caved.

In the vein of reflection, I am reading the Bible, deciding to start with Genesis and going right to the end. I have never read the Bible cover to cover. I have made it to Joshua. I am officially a God-fearing woman. Clearly, God does not have a sense of humor, which is not good news for me. (As I type this, I am bobbing and weaving to avoid the lightening bolts.)

How is it, you might ask, that a 58 year old woman has not managed to read the Bible in her life-time? Don't forget that I am of the Catholic persuasion and we are not big Bible-benders. I learned about God from the Baltimore Catechism and filled in the blanks. God is Love they say. The God in the Old Testament is a little harsher than that. Poor Moses led all those people out in the desert, got them to the edge of the Promised Land and lost his job to Joshua over some water issue. Boom, you're dead. Thank you very much. Okay.

The Son of God is more my speed. He is a kinder, gentler, God. I can relate to him. He walked a mile in our shoes and knows about our weaknesses. What is really confusing for me is that he is part of the Trinity, so really they are all the same entity. My head hurts.

But it takes more than just loving the Lord to get to Heaven. As Father Larry Richards tells us, "God is not Barney", you know I love you, you love me. We must accept the fact that he died for our sins and be grateful and live a thankful life. And hopefully he will be a little more understanding than his Father when we fail.

I have to go now, the hand basket for my ride to hell is here.

Drop That Chicken Leg

Back in the day when we were growing up, I remember meal times in particular. Maybe because it was the time we were all together with Dad and Mom or maybe it was something else.

Our parents grew up during the depression and always were mindful of not having enough to eat. We weren't poor, but we didn't spend money needlessly. I think they budgeted their money and always saved a portion of Dad's check. Treats were few and far between. We only drank soda when we had company. There were treats in the house sometimes, but we saved them most for company and Dad's lunch.

We always had meat on the table (if it wasn't Friday) albeit a limited amount. There was an unwritten rule that if there was not enough for everyone to have two pieces, Mom and I only had one piece, so my Dad and Brothers could have an extra piece. If I was still hungry, I filled up on bread and butter and potatoes. (Evidenced now in my large hips.)

When we had chicken, Mom usually fixed two frying chickens for the family. My Dad loved the dark meat. So did us kids and we were constantly being told to save the dark meat for Dad. For those of you who did not know our Father, he would eat until all the food was gone. We used to kid him about having a hollow leg where he put the extra food. So if there was an extra drumstick on the plate, we would have to ask Dad if he wanted it, before we could have it. More often than not he would say he was full and we could have it. To this day, I eat like I am in a race.

On a serious note though, my Mom was the consummate recycler. She never wasted anything. If we had ham, she made soup out of the bone, turkey, yep, soup again. She reused aluminum foil, plastic bags, bread bags, and oh my gosh, tea bags until they would scream for mercy. She wanted Dad to build something out of those "odd pieces of lumber" out in the barn, instead of buying new for a project.

Mom didn't work much outside the home until I was in high school, but she is the reason that they were able to make the money Dad brought home go farther. To this day she refuses to throw anything that has any life left in it away. It always gets donated, or used as a rag. I still remember her going through the dumpster at my house when we were getting ready to move out west and pulling things out that someone else could use.

You gotta love her. Saint Delores, Patron Saint of Recycling. I love you Mom.

Get Your Indulgences Here

I have been going back and forth about writing this article for several weeks and finally decided to go ahead and do it. So here goes.

A few weeks ago I was reading the New York Times when I came across an article about how the Catholic Church is re-emphasizing Indulgences among its members. In an effort to get more of their flock back into confessionals they now are bringing indulgences to the fore front, reminding us that if we are in a state of grace (going to Confession, free of both mortal and venial sin, and receiving Holy Communion) we are eligible for a Plenary Indulgence, if while in this state we do things like recite the Rosary in church with a group of people or as a family in our home.

I also read in our church bulletin that the Pope has granted a Plenary Indulgence for a pious visit to St.Paul's Basilica in Rome during this Year of Saint Paul. If you can't make it to the Eternal City of Rome, you may visit a designated holy place named for St. Paul to fulfill the condition of a pilgrimage.

What is a Plenary Indulgence, you might ask. Well, come to find out, when you go to confession and you are absolved of your sins by the priest, you still face punishment for sins committed. This punishment is done in a place called Purgatory. But..if you receive a Plenary Indulgence and do not sin again before you die, you have a one way ticket to Heaven. Okay...........

Here's where I have a problem. First of all, when you look up the word absolution, it not only means forgiveness, but redemption, you know, "off the hook". I am very confused by this religion I call mine. There are too many levels up there, it's like a video game for Pete's sake. Don't even get me started on Partial Indulgences. That is time off for good deeds done. They don't tell you how much time, because, duh, it's Eternity! Oh and by the way, you have to ask for an indulgence or You Don't Get One!! I thought the whole idea of doing good was not asking for anything in return.

I am officially confused. In the last 58 years we have dropped St. Christopher, said it was okay to eat meat on Friday, okay to miss Sunday Mass (as long as we had a good reason), bid farewell to the Mass in Latin, and countless other things we believed in.

So I practice something called Cafeteria Catholicism. I take what I can stomach and leave the rest. I love the Lord and I was born into this Religion, and quite frankly don't see anything else out there that appeals to me. But every once in a while I have to sound off.

"Let's Write It Up On The Hood"

Back in a former life, I used to sell Real Estate. I spent my last nine years in Kalamazoo, MI selling homes, but as most Realtors know, writing up the sale is the easy part. Before and after present most of the problems and I might add fun.

When I first decided to try real estate, I answered an ad in the paper and interviewed with a fellow who had sold homes for about 100 years. He had come up with a plan where Realtors could keep most of their commission by not having an office to pay for. So you would work from your home. He cautioned me that this was not for someone who needed to stand around the coffee pot and chit chat with others. Well right away I knew that wasn't where I wanted to be.

That decision turned out to be the right one. The office camaraderie energized me. I worked at three different offices met wonderful people, both inside and outside of the office.

I remember house tour when we used to actually go out and tour newly listed homes on the market. It really gave us a feel for the home and neighborhood and was much more effective than photo tour which is used now in most offices. It was a great way to interact with fellow agents.

There were times when for some reason or another, I didn't click with a client, but most of the time I made friends for life with my clients. I remember one particular instance when I took a client out to house hunt. An appointment was made with the listing agent who mentioned that the seller was moving that day, but to go ahead and show it.

When we got there, sure enough, the moving truck was out front and the front door was off, sitting in the yard. We walked in to nothing short of chaos. There was a large bird in a cage and when someone moved the cage the door flew open and the bird flew out the door. That was quite a sight. We continued through the house looking around all the clutter when we reached the kitchen. There was a myriad of doors so in my usual way, I opened the doors to show the buyer what was behind them. We came to a pocket door that I thought might contain the laundry room. When I opened the door there sat one of the movers, a Rastafarian looking gentleman, on a toilet smiling up at us, no embarrassment on his part, just a big grin. Whoa Nellie, I thought I was going to swallow my tongue! I was embarrassed enough for both of us. I was mortified, Donna, my client almost wet herself from laughing hysterically. Needless to say the showing was over. It took me several years to be able to talk about it with anyone other than Donna.

I miss real estate and everything that goes with it. I tried it out here for a while, but it wasn't the same. Mostly I miss my friends, who I visit when I am back home.

If any of you out there have funny real estate stories, please comment and let me know what they are, I would love to hear them.

I wish all my real estate buddies only the best in this horrible economy that we are stuck in. You are all professionals and I am confident you will weather this storm and come out on the other side even better.

Love You to the Max (A letter to my first Grandchild)

The first time I held you in my arms was a magical moment. Only about five minutes old, freshly bathed and wrapped tightly in a receiving blanket and hand knit stocking cap. There wasn't a peep out of you. I think you were happy in my arms. Could you feel the love in my arms and in my heart?

Oh little one, how you transformed me. I didn't realize that I could feel so much love for another human being. I will spend time with you, and watch you grow day by day if I can.

You won't have to call me "Miss Theresa" or GiGi, or even Nana. Grandma will do just fine. I will wear that badge proudly and with honor.

I wonder what it is that evokes so much love for our Grandchildren. Perhaps it is God giving me another chance. I have so much more time to spend with you than I did with your Dad. I was too busy growing up myself when he was a child. But I will spend a minimum of one day a week with you little man. You have captured my heart.

I will never forget the night you were born and holding you in my arms. No one will ever hurt you or they will have me to answer to.

Thank you Son, for giving me this bundle of joy and starting a new chapter in my life.

Time Gone By

Addie, can you see me?
I'm here next to your Mom in the birthing room watching you
come into the world.

Addie, can you hear me?
I am rocking you, singing to you, and telling you how
much I love you already.

Addie, can you feel me?
I am holding you snug in my arms as you feed from your
bottle.

Addie, can you understand why I had to be gone these last four
years of your life?

I can't

Looking at your perfect little freckle-kissed face.
Listening to you read to me about a sunflower that went flop, as we sit under
your Great-Grandma's hickory tree.

So I will cherish this and every moment we have together.
Watching you look at everything with wonder and imagination
through those beautiful lapis blue eyes.

I will hold in my mind the way it feels when you hug me
with your soft, little arms, every "I love you Grandma," or
"What shall we do today, Grandma?"

I have missed so much.....

But believe you me, you are, and always will be

In my heart

Thanks For The Memories

As some of you may know, I am working on a book about my Dad. After he passed I felt it was something I needed to do. I have several chapters done, but have not let my Brothers see them yet. Part of me wants to show them, but then part of me is afraid they won't remember the same man I knew.

There has been a lot of controversy lately about authors and their non-fiction books. Memoirs, in particular. It seems people now feel the need to scrutinize these literary works. These are not biographies or auto-biographies which should be more or less factual. They are memoirs, based on our personal memories of the person. So we have some literary latitude says my writing coach.

One of the quotations I used in my book is "It doesn't matter who my Father was, it is who I remember he was." by Anne Sexton.

I remember my Father as a disciplinarian, a goof-ball, and a hard worker, just to mention a few.

In the disciplinarian vein, I remember an instance when my Brother Doug and I took our little Brother Phil for a wagon ride down the driveway. Phil was all for it until we left him in the wagon at the end of the driveway, right smack dab in the middle of a huge mud puddle. Doug and I took off back to the house just in time to meet Dad coming out of the back door with a hairbrush in his hand. "Oh-oh here it comes" said Doug, as we tried to make a run for it.

That's the way I remember it. I'm sure Phil has a different take on it.

No Fear Zone

I am coming to you today from the "No Fear Zone" and why that is I have yet to realize. It's like one morning recently I awoke and was not worried anymore.

Worried about what? you may ask. Well....losing our house for instance. Or having a financial crisis that would bankrupt us, or moving back closer to home. Or another depression. Or losing our jobs. The list goes on and on and frankly I should be scared shitless. But realistically what can we do about it?

Yes we can budget (which we are doing), but as my husband says,"we are just one Vet bill or medical emergency away from the brink of financial ruin." To sit around and worry about it is an exercise in futility.

I was looking back at how we may have gotten into this mess. First of all we are not alone. There is a little satisfaction in knowing that there are a lot of families in our situation and millions more are in fact losing there homes and much more.

Yes it's true we spent money like drunken sailors in the past. A lot of it spent on toys that we didn't need. But back then we could afford them and had a lot of fun with them. We took vacations that perhaps seemed extravagant to some, but we had the money and made some terrific memories.

We knew we should be saving for the future. For a rainy day as some would say. Well the monsoons are here and we don't even have an umbrella. So the time is here to tighten our belts and pray to God that we get out of this thing alive, which we won't, due to our mortality.

As I reflect back on my life so far, I remember trips to Disney World, Hawaii, presents for our Kids and Grandkids, and the fact that you can't take it with you. The memories we made were worth it and we will get through this just fine.

So bring it on, what are you gonna do? take my house? take my worldly possessions? It just might make our lives a little simpler and easier.

Happy New Year

Over the last week or so I have been greeted by hugs and "Happy New Year" from my friends and family. This year it sounds all very familiar to me but in my heart and in my mind it is very different.

This year I have no expectations, or resolutions. I am asking nothing of the universe. For you see, I already have everything that is needed to be happy. My valuable lesson came over Christmas, when I realized that material things do not make Christmas, but rather being with loved ones and making memories that no one can take away from us is the true meaning.

I am a rich person. My riches don't take up space in a safety deposit box, they are in my heart. Dear friends who take time out of their busy holiday schedules to get together and talk about the "old days" and not so old days, our hopes and dreams, our disappointments. Family who take me along to breakfast and foot the bill because they know things are tight right now for us. (And I will be leaving soon.)

So I will tackle 2009 with my usual humor and look to my friends and family for material. Sorry, but I am a writer.

Happy New Year!