A Wet Knot Never Comes Untied

With our daughter's wedding day fast approaching, we'd been keeping a close eye on the weather

forecast. First it looked really promising. Blue skies and Spring-like temps were predicted for the weekend. "Perfect," I thought. But not so fast! A few days later, the forecast was changing. The blue skies had been replaced by a promise of grey, overcast weather.

By the time we arrived in Baltimore later in the week, the extended forecast was now calling for an 80% chance of rain. Not perfect weather for a wedding but at least everything was happening inside so it wasn't like we had to worry about an outdoor reception being washed away. However, by now we were noticing ominous rumblings on the Weather Channel about a huge storm system coming across the nation, up the midsection of the country and over to the northern states. It looked like some of the states to the west of us and the north of us were going to get clobbered. But Maryland and PA were just going to get rain.

In the meantime, our son Jason and his new bride, Laura had made it home after a grueling trip all the way from Indonesia which involved a 20-hour layover at the airport in Singapore, another 10-hour layover in another airport, changes in Vancouver, and a final arrival in Baltimore. By the time they got to our house, they were beyond exhausted. Laura had been fighting a bout with something while in Indonesia and was still not 100% up to par. Now Jason was experiencing headaches and waves of nausea. I had visions of Jason, who was to be one of the groomsmen, passing out during the vows or perhaps worse, passing on some tropical disease to the assembled guests.

Friday night's rehearsal went well and then it was time to head off to a wonderful Italian restaurant where the groom's parents had arranged a fantastic buffet in a private dining room. Along with the buffet, Jason's mom (this being Jason, the groom) had a little surprise up her sleeve........a slide show of pictures of both the bride and groom from their early years up to the present time.


Now, in my own defense, let me make this perfectly clear. I did NOT instigate this. I wanted a slide show really bad for the reception but Laura (this being Laura, the bride) had put her foot down and told me "Absolutely NO slide show at the reception." Naturally, I was delighted when Mary, Jason's mom, had said that she wanted to do a slide show at the rehearsal dinner. So I contributed pictures of Laura with a clear conscience, knowing that I had stayed within Laura's "rules."

When the projector was set up and the first photo shone on the wall, Laura gave me "the eye" and said, "Mom, you promised me you wouldn't do a slide show for the reception!"

"Honey," I protested in wide-eyed innocence, "I didn't do a slide show. Mary did. And it's not the reception. It's the rehearsal dinner. Never give a mother a loophole!"

The slideshow was an outstanding success!

Friday evening, as we rode the elevator back up to our hotel room, I noticed the weather forecast posted on the wall. It had now degenerated to "Heavy rain, gale-force winds, flood warnings, chance of thunderstorms."

The morning of Laura's wedding dawned wet and soggy. The wind drove the rain against the hotel walls in sheets of moisture but we stayed warm and dry, initially. Laura had woken her bridesmaids at 6:30 a.m. by jumping up and down on the bed, yelling "Time to get up!" They were all in various stages of being made up and getting hair done now. My brother and his family had flown out of Detroit ahead of the snow and were getting ready at their hotel a block away. I was ironing Laura's veil, shuttling between the rooms to see what else might be needed, and steaming away wrinkles. By the time the limo arrived at the front door, we had all assembled downstairs for a few last minute pictures before the bride's mad dash under a gauntlet of umbrellas into the limo.

I half expected to see a rowboat waiting at the church to ferry us down the steps to the main entrance but instead we hiked up our skirts or pant legs and tiptoed through the puddles and on into the church where we mingled with family and friends until it was time for the ceremony to begin. But wait, ......Mary's sister and family hadn't arrived yet. She gave them a quick call and I heard her say, "Well, are you in Maryland yet?" "Oh, oh," I thought. "This doesn't sound good." Turned out that the groom's aunt missed the ceremony completely because they were stuck in traffic somewhere between Philly and Baltimore due to the terrible rains. They did arrive just as we were finishing up the pictures after the wedding and before the reception, thank goodness.

The wedding itself was lovely despite a few surprises. The biggest surprise was when we realized that the pastor wasn't there. Instead Brother Morales officiated. It seems the pastor had gotten stranded out of state when his flight was cancelled due to the weather. But Brother Morales did a wonderful job and it was extra special because he was Laura and Jason's Sunday School teacher when they had lived up in the Baltimore area. The next surprise was that Laura's dad got a voicemail just as he was getting ready to walk her down the aisle. It was from her Uncle John Porterfield, saying he was not able to come from Texas for the wedding. Next I got a voicemail message just as the ceremony started (luckily my phone was on vibrate) from the nursing home saying that Laura's grandmother had just been diagnosed again with another upper respiratory infection and was running a fever so she was being put on another course of antibiotics and nebulizer breathing treatments. And to cap off an exciting turn of events, Laura received a message on her cell phone just as she was leaving the reception to go on her honeymoon from a close friend who was expecting her first baby and who had NOT shown up for the wedding. It was to tell her that the baby had arrived THAT DAY!

Laura was absolutely beautiful as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. Just as she got up even with the front pew, I realized that she was crying. Wow! My dear daughter, who likes to have you think that she is not emotional at all and very no nonsense, matter-of-fact was crying sentimental tears of joy. Ah ha! I knew that deep down she was a big softie. Jason came down off the platform to claim his bride and together they walked up to meet the minister. Laura was still crying and continued for the rest of the ceremony. Her maid of honor kept pushing tissues into her hands. Laura did get her vows out though, despite the emotions. And when the minister pronounced them man and wife and then introduced the new Mr. and Mrs. Jason Sands to the assembled guests, the tears started up all over again. Now that's really love...when you feel such joy that you can't control the tears and you don't care, even if it means that your makeup runs on your big day.

The reception was held at the Towson Golf and Country Club and they did a wonderful job. The food was outstanding. I thought we were all going to OD on crab dip, it was that good. The flowers were breathtaking and the cake was a sight to behold. The frosting was European buttercream, the cake was almond flavored with a raspberry filling and the decorations were sugared fruit. The cake was topped with a marzipan bow and the bride and groom's monogram was put on the side of the cake. Fantastic!

Laura and Jason did a bang-up job of picking the music for the DJ. From cool jazz to easy listening to dance hits of the 80's to one line dance for me (the Electric Slide), it was great. Of course, one of the highlights for us was when Laura danced with her father. She had picked a song by Stevie Wonder that had been playing on the radio when George left the hospital the night she was born. It was "Isn't She Lovely?" That has always been his theme song for Laura ever since. As they danced to that song from 1980, I looked around me. Laura was crying, George had tears in his eyes, and I think most of the rest of us were sniffling, too.

And then it was time for the bride to change out of her gown and the newlyweds to head off on their honeymoon. The day had started out stormy, cleared up temporarily and the sun had peeped out for a bit, then the sky had clouded over again and the wind had picked up.


"It's kind of like life," I thought. "There will be good times, bad times, and so-so times. But through it all, they'll have each other and they'll have God to guide them. They'll also have their family and friends to surround them with love and encouragement."

God bless you, Jason and Laura, as you begin your new life together. And I'll tell you what they told Dad and I on our wedding day, as it rained in Greece in June, which is practically unheard of. "A wet knot never comes untied." Twenty-nine years later, we can say that they were right.


Oh, and by the way, if any wedding guests come down with dengue fever, we know nothing!

Filled to Overflowing Isn't Necessarily a Blessing!

(Caveat: Not for the squeamish)

For the past three nights I've voluntarily banished myself to the guestroom where I've done battle with the sinuses from hell. How so much crud could come out of two little nostrils is beyond me. I should be earning honorary stock in Kleenex by now.....or at least bulk rate purchasing discounts.

Not only have I been trying to blow my brains out my nasal cavities, but now my lungs have decided to get into the act as well. I used to think it was bad hearing one of the cats trying to hack up a hairball. Let me tell you, humans sound even worse.

So the doctors give you medicine to "loosen up" your congestion. Then you blow even more and start really coughing up the good stuff which you promptly swallow back down so that you can cough it back up in the next go-round, and don't ask me to explain that logic because it has always escaped me. Oh, I know that you're supposed to somehow spit out the stuff you cough up. Has anyone ever successfully done that? Goodness knows I've tried but the results have been less than spectacular. When the kids were babies, the pediatrician told us to take one of those rubber ear syringes and suction out the gunk from the back of their throats when they had colds. Believe me, if I'd had one of those still around, I might have tried it. As it was, by 3:30 a.m. I was just desperate enough to consider, for a split second, looking for the Dyson. Thankfully I didn't have the strength to haul that sucker bedside.

What I was able to grab was my copy of the "Yarn Harlot: the Secret Life of a Knitter" by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee which has been sustaining me throughout the long nights this week. There's something comforting about knowing that even when you are feeling downright miserable, you can still find enjoyment in the words of a fellow knitter. "Yarn Harlot" has been sitting on my shelf for some time waiting to be read but it took some rather nasty germs to bring us together. So here's to you, Stephanie, my remedy of choice! Now, dad gummit, where's another box of tissues?

Tag! You're Sick!

I'm sick! And I'm sick of being sick! Somehow those nasty cold germs or sinus infection germs or maybe bronchitis germs got to me and here I am, sniffling and hacking away. OK, I couldn't find a picture that shows me REALLY sick because noone wants to get that close to me to take a picture, but you get the idea. Maybe it was those lovely older ladies at my mom's nursing home. If so, then obviously the paper towel to open doors didn't do the trick. Then again, it might have been the "extend the right hand of fellowship" drill at church where half the congregation had to pause to wipe their snot-filled noses before they could shake hands. All I know is that my daughter is getting married in 9 days and right now I sound like someone who has smoked 3 packs of cigarettes and downed a quart of whiskey every day for years. This is NOT a good thing.



On top of that, I've been trying to write about my son's wedding for weeks now and, for some reason, have hit a writer's block on that. Don't ask me why! It was a lovely wedding and I'm so happy that Laura and he are now married. So why can't I seem to get them past the rehearsal dinner? Good grief! I can't even get my own son to the church in a timely manner. If I didn't have that ringing in my ears, I would be able to hear my mother's voice in my ear saying, "Pull yourself up by the bootstraps, girl, and get it done!" OK, OK....how about if I just throw you some little snippets to give you the flavor of the festivities?


Our two children and their fiances spent time together before the ceremony bonding and having fun teasing each other about the upcoming ceremonies. Our Laura is getting married in March of this year so her time is coming up soon. Our daughter's Jason was feeling the Texas vibes almost as soon as he stepped off the plane and looked over that open vista. Yup, he had to go get a steak and a belt buckle. For the rest of their time in Texas, it was a standing joke as we referred to the "power of the belt buckle." We are still daring Laura's Jason to wear it with his wedding ensemble in March.

The photographers took lots of pictures prior to the church service. There was a small chapel off the main sanctuary and that is where we all gathered to take the wedding pictures while the first
service was going on in the main sanctuary. Of course it was fun to watch all the different branches of the families lobbying to get their groups together for pictures. Gotta think of those Christmas cards, you know! Me? I was just enjoying the dynamics of the whole business and especially liking the smiles on the faces of the bride and groom. Since the wedding ceremony was actually part of the second worship service, we had to keep an eye on the clock to make sure we all got into the sanctuary on time and found a place to sit.



The wedding was wonderful. Each of the parents were able to participate by leading special readings that had been picked by Jason and Laura and then the congregation joined in response.
Laura's sister, Andrea played the trumpet at the beginning and at the end. When the vows were said, the immediate familywas able to stand at the front of the church with the couple in support, which was extra meaningful to me. I only started to cry then and George slipped a tissue into my hands. And then, the newlyweds were introduced to the congregation and they proceeded out to the fellowship hall for the reception.
The reception was a hoot. James, Jason's youth pastor from our church, was the emcee. He had the different tables doing things like having to sing the theme from Gilligan's Island in order to head to the buffet line. I'm sure there weren't many there who had ever had to sing for their supper before. And after the food, we got to tell stories about the couple. Hearing the different relatives sharing funny experiences and just things from their hearts was really a blessing. There was even a story from youth camp that James told about Jason that I'd never heard before. The Song of Solomon, Jason? Really!


And then they were heading off on their honeymoon. We all walked back into the reception hall, tired but happy and now faced with the fun of cleaning up afterwards. As shoes were kicked off and work clothes replaced dress suits, suddenly a ripple of laughter could be heard. David, Laura's dad, had just gotten a call on his cellphone from Jason. Apparently our blissful newlyweds had driven off into the Texas sun and only just realized that they didn't know how to get to the ranch where they would be spending their honeymoon.


"Are you heading west?" asked David. "OK, then just keep driving and I'll go find Mom and get the directions."


Two sets of parents looked at each other and we shook our heads. "Kids!" I thought. "They are adults but they're still kids," and my mind flashed back to the day I had wanted to pin Jason's name and the directions back to our house on his shirt when he headed off to kindergarten.


"Lord, they're in your hands now," I prayed and went to find a broom.

Do I LOOK like I belong here?

I must digress from the story of Jason and Laura's wedding for a moment to tell you what happened today. I headed over to the nursing home to visit my mom. They are in the midst of a flu epidemic over there so I was a little nervous about putting myself in the midst of all those germs but I hadn't been there for awhile and I was really missing Mom.

Just as soon as I entered the home, there was a prominent sign warning folks about the presence of "The Flu" and an equally prominent antibacterial soap dispenser on the counter with a sign advising all visitors to wash their hands with this soap before and after their visit.

I dutifully lathered up, grabbed a paper towel and then decided against pitching that towel since it would be useful to open and close doors with. I figured I might be able to avoid actually touching any door knobs that way.

Off I went down the hall to Mom's wing, which just happens to be the dementia ward. As I passed the dining hall I noticed that it was practically empty. "Probably keeping everyone in their rooms," I thought. "Divide and conquer. Makes it easier to control the spread of germs that way."

I found myself creeping along behind an elderly woman who was being given a tour of the facility by one of the staff. When she got to the door into the dementia wing, the staff member told her how the door can be opened by visitors and staff but is rigged to stay locked if one of the residents is within so many feet of the door. The staff member cautioned the lady to be careful whenever she went through those doors because some of the residents living on the dementia wing liked to try to slip through when a visitor came or went.

"Do they do that often," the lady asked.

"You'd be surprised how often they try and you'd also be surprised by how persuasive they can be when they try to talk visitors into letting them go out. Some look quite normal but their minds aren't really all there," she said.

By now, the two ladies had passed through the doors and I slipped in behind them, still trying not to touch anything. The visitor looked up at me, startled and asked the staff member, "Should I have let her through?"

"It's OK," I assured her. "I'm actually one of the ones whose mind is still here."

She looked me up and down rather doubtfully so I continued on, "No, really. It's OK. I'm here to visit my mother. She lives on this wing." At that point the staffer finally jumped in and came to my rescue, assuring the lady that I was indeed a visitor, just like her.

So now I find myself wondering what was it about me that made that lady think I belonged on the dementia wing? Was it the crumpled paper towel I was grasping in my hand? My "Inspector Monk"-like horror as I tried to dodge the door before it could touch me? Maybe it was the spiked hairdo or the dilated pupils which I can directly blame on the allergy medicine I took that morning. In any case, there is a little part of me that would have LOVED to give that lady a real show this morning......to have busted loose and acted crazy as a loon like Jack Nicholson in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." But then again, do I REALLY want to have my mother as a roommate?

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho...It's Off to Work We Go!

So having made it to Texas safely and having met the Byrne family, we all turned our focus now on preparing for the wedding. Of course, it wasn't all work and no play. We did manage to squeeze in a dinner at an awesome restaurant out at Kemah where we merrily clinked knives to glasses so the couple would kiss.

"This is just not right," bemoaned Papa Byrne. "They aren't married yet."

I don't think anyone heard him or if they did, they didn't let on because the clinking continued....as did the kissing. Afterward, we spilled out of the restaurant and took a walk along the boardwalk. Spying a merry-go-round, some in the group decided to get the lovebirds on it for a ride. Off they went, around and around, and someone called out, "A kiss, a kiss.....give your bride-to-be a kiss."
Easier said than done when you are on a merry-go-round. It's a wonder that any of my pictures were in focus that night because I was laughing so hard as I watched Jason lean in for a kiss that turned into quite a gyration as he found his animal moving up and Laura's steed moving down or vice versa. Even funnier was that they had both been required to put little seatbelts on so twisting and turning wasn't even helping much.

We also had time to eat at a great little Mongolian BBQ place where you got to put whatever you wanted to eat in a bowl and then you handed it to the chef who dumped it out onto a huge metal drum. Just a few swipes with his wooden stirrers and the meal was ready to be slid back into your bowl and delivered into your eager hands. Yum yum! With food like this, it was a wonder I could still fit into my mother-of-the-groom suit.

Meanwhile back at the reception site, Joyce, Laura's mom, had us all working like a well-oiled machine. She had been working on the organization of the wedding and reception and had been gathering supplies for weeks. Faster than you could say "Almost Married", she was quickly transforming the church's gymnasium into a beautiful reception hall. We all rolled up our sleeves and lugged out banquet tables, set up chairs, found the tablecloths, ....but wait! Did I say "set up chairs?" Ah yes! We STARTED to set up chairs but then someone who is more obsessive-compulsive than me decided that all the chairs at a table should match so we began to scramble as we tried to sort the black upholstered chairs from the wine-colored upholstered chairs and then figure out what to do with the sand colored chairs. I could tell that Grandpa Byrne thought this was an exercise in futility and my muscles were inclined to agree with him but soon we had other problems to worry about.

The tablecloths had been folded up and stashed away until the tables were in place. We grabbed the first tablecloth and set it on the table and backed away to see how it looked. It looked wrinkled. Now I figured that once you got the candles on the table and the decorative greenery, let the cloths "rest" on the tables overnight, added 10 people with their place settings, and turned off the main lights, leaving everything in beautiful candlelight.....those wrinkles weren't going to be very prominent. But Joyce thought we should iron the tablecloths. I could see her point. I mean, she had worked hard to find those tablecloths and they were lovely. So someone found an iron and then a place to plug it in, spread the tablecloth on the floor, and began to iron. Ten minutes later and only a few feet finished on the tablecloth, I could see we were going to have to bring our pajamas and spend the night if we kept this pace up. It was then that I had a brainstorm.

I'd been lusting over one of those nifty clothes steamers for several months. Santa hadn't read my mind because one didn't appear under our Christmas tree. This might be just the excuse I needed to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. Certainly a steamer would be a lot faster than trying to iron so many tablecloths with one or two irons. Without hesitation, I volunteered to head off to the nearest store and purchase a steamer to speed things along. Whee! I was going to get a steamer after all. George and I headed off and found a beaut at a nearby Target and soon we were back at the church, unpacking that baby, filling it with water, and setting up a steaming post in a back room.

Once I got the hang of it, I started to crank those tablecloths out. Grandpa Byrne occasionally popped his head in the door to see if I had passed out from the heat but I was doing fine. Even though the windows in the room wouldn't open and the steam was creating a sauna effect in that small enclosed space, I was having a blast. If there is one thing I don't mind, it's a little heat. Besides, maybe I could sweat off a pound or two before the wedding.

By the evening of that first big workday, we had the tables up, tablecloths on, and the candles on the tables.

The men had even finished the flowered arch that was going over the columns above the cake table. The next day would be a cooking day and then the big family dinner that night of Thai food, in lieu of a rehearsal dinner. My mouth was already watering.

The Porterfields Meet the Byrnes - Pre-wedding

Just over a week ago we flew down to Texas for our son's wedding. We headed down early so that we could have a few days to meet Laura's parents and relatives and help out with the wedding preparations.


I have to admit that I was a little nervous as we packed our bags. I had hoped to lose 40 pounds prior to our departure and the wedding to bolster my self-confidence (at heart I'm pretty shy) and to NOT be forever immortalized in the wedding pictures as the "overweight one." What was I thinking? Somehow I managed to forget the fact that we had Thanksgiving and the Christmas season between the engagement and the wedding....always a major "chow-down" challenge for me PLUS I tend to eat when I'm nervous. OK, I tend to eat when I'm happy, too, or sad or worried or glad or....well, you get the point. Just about the only time I don't have a problem with wanting to eat is when I have a case of the stomach flu.

In any case, George and I, in all my chubby glory, flew on down to Houston and stepped off the plane into glorious warmth. We weren't in Kansas anymore, Toto. This was Texas and it didn't feel like winter at all. This was a good start to a happy occasion.

We picked up our rental car and headed over to meet Laura's family. We'd talked to them before on Skype but this would be our first face-to-face meeting. I hoped we would do Jason proud and not embarrass him before his future in-laws. And I hoped we would like Laura's parents. I really shouldn't have worried. After all, we had met Laura and quickly discovered why Jason was head-over-heels in love with her. She was delightful. She had obviously been raised in a loving, nurturing home. The door opened and we were welcomed with open arms. In quick succession we met Laura's parents, her sisters, an aunt and uncle and three cousins, her maternal grandmother, her paternal grandparents, a sister's boyfriend, and one friend from Canada. During the course of the evening, several things became readily apparent.


One, this was an affectionate family. They liked to hug on each other. This was so unlike our backgrounds. I don't think George's family ever showed emotion around each other when he was growing up. In my family, I don't have any recollections of my mother ever cuddling me. I do remember my father picking me up off his lap around age 5 and setting me down on the floor and saying, "You're getting to be a big girl now. I think you're too big to be sitting on my lap." To this day, I remember how crestfallen that made me feel. So when my children were born, I was really looking forward to giving and receiving hugs from them. Unfortunately, my dear daughter was never much of a cuddler and her mantra as she grew older became "don't touch me." Luckily, our son Jason was the cuddler so I had at least one fellow feeler and hugger in the family. Now here we were surrounded by huggers. I was amazed and happy that Jason was gaining such a family and envious, all at the same time.


Two, this family was an active family. They apparently were very good tennis players. Laura, the cousins, and friends participated in a type of sumo wrestling, for wont of a better description. When I first met Grandma and Grandpa Byrne, they mentioned that they had been able to fly out to Texas early because they didn't have to do their ski patrol duties that day because of the unseasonably warm weather. I didn't think I had heard them correctly. I mean, this was an older couple. They almost could have been old enough to be my parents.


"Did you say 'ski patrol'?" I asked confused.


"Yes, we're on the ski patrol," they responded.


"Ski patrol, as in sking down a mountain?" I continued.


"Right, we've been on the ski patrol for awhile now. We really enjoy it.", they assured me.


Wow, I thought. Later I found out that they sail, have scuba dived, and are a lot peppier than I am. They both had amazing energy during all the wedding preparations and Grandma Byrne plays a mean game of Scrabble. But more on that later.


Three, they had a lot of relatives and a lot of nicknames for each other. I'd return to the house we were staying at in the evenings and work on a little flow chart that I had drawn up in an attempt to figure out who was related to whom, what their names were and what they were actually being called. I was doing pretty good, too until the night before the wedding when a whole group of new relatives arrived with children in tow. Abandoning the flow chart, I drew back to my second line of defense......smiling and waving.


I think it was the second day we were there that someone mentioned how much the ladies in the family enjoyed playing Scrabble. Jason had told them that I had played Scrabble a lot also, so soon I found myself sitting at the table with a Scrabble board in front of me and some very intense players surrounding me. Now let me just say here that over the years I've played a LOT of Scrabble games with my mother. It was always her game of choice. I usually couldn't come up with a good enough excuse to get out of it so we'd play and the game would sometimes drag on for what seemed like hours. In an attempt to speed things up, we developed our own rules, like playing with 9 tiles instead of 7 and letting players take back and reuse a blank tile if they could substitute the actual letter it was representing. But that wasn't the way we were playing Scrabble here. I racked my brain, trying to remember all those "Q" and "Z" words that Mom had on a list in the old Scrabble box. In the meantime Grandma Byrne was taking every Triple Letter spot that I opened up, Mom Byrne was coming up with obscure words that meant who knew what but actually existed and Aunt Pam was circling helpfully and offering to look up words in the dictionary for us.


I flashed back 40 years and heard my brother say, "Yeah, go ahead and look it up in the dictionary but you'll lose a turn."


"No one looks up a word in the dictionary unless their word is challenged and then they lose a turn if it isn't in there," I heard myself telling the ladies. I still lost, big time! But hey, it was fun. I hadn't played Scrabble since macular degeneration had claimed Mom's eyesight and I'd actually missed it.


That night, back in our temporary quarters, my brother called.


"Well, you've met them. So tell me, who's more normal.....them or us?"


I laughed, thinking of my kooky family growing up. "Well, John, I'd say it's definitely them," I replied.


"Oh, darn," he sighed. "See you on Saturday."


"And John," I continued. "Behave yourself when you get here."


"Don't I always?" he laughed and then I was listening to the dial tone.

The 'Name Game' or...Double Trouble!

A curious thing has happened in the Porterfield household. Our children seem to be multiplying. First it was our daughter who announced that she was engaged, back in September. Then, in that same month, our son started mentioning a young lady who was going to be coming out to Canada for an orientation that he was helping to organize. This young lady's name had been creeping into his conversations more and more since the past spring.

Shortly before she was due to arrive in Canada, Jason informed us that he was hoping to have the opportunity to see how she felt about entering into a committed dating relationship. I was thrilled. I'd been praying for something like this since his college days. But I figured that God was going to have His work cut out for Him, given Jason's unique calling and chosen lifestyle. You see, Jason doesn't believe in materialism, hates shopping, strives to live a simple life, has a burning passion to help the urban poor and outcasts, and wants to live amongst them AS he ministers to and befriends them. There aren't many young women who don't like to shop, don't care about things, and wouldn't mind living in a slum voluntarily. But Jason had managed to find one. Even though I knew hardly anything about her, I DID know that she was alive and breathing, and was filled with the love of the Lord and that was good enough for me.

Two weeks later, Jason called to tell us about his "awesome" girlfriend and how it had come to pass that they were now dating. It was a special story, filled with Divine providence, perhaps an angelic encounter, and a happy ending. I won't go into it here as they really should be the ones to share it. However, the conversation continued that day on the phone.

"So, Mom, since you are always telling me that I don't keep you informed about things, I'm telling you now that we looked over her work schedule at the hospital and really, the best time for a wedding would be in January or August. I'm thinking that January would be better because then that would give me the chance to really spend the first months of our married life in Wichita supporting her during a very stressful time. If I can be supportive during such a stressful time as a doctor's residency, then I figure we can survive anything."
I did something I rarely do. I sat there without saying anything, my mouth open and my mind racing through the mental playback.....grabbing the three main points: wedding, January, Wichita.

"Um, Mom, are you OK? Aren't you going to say something?"

"Son, you've done something that few have ever accomplished. You've left me speechless," I stuttered. But then, all cylinders started firing. "You did say 'wedding,' right? Are you talking January of 2008 or some other year? And are you talking about Wichita, Kansas or some Wichita in Canada?"

"Right, I'm talking about a wedding. I'm planning to ask her to marry me. And it will be this coming January. I'll be moving to Wichita, obviously, because she needs to finish her year of residency," my son continued. "I'm planning to fly down to Kansas in a few weeks and meet her parents and also propose."

"Oh, my goodness. This is fantastic. Congratulations! I'm so excited for you. Wait until I tell your father! Keep us posted and tell Laura congratulations, too."

Yes, you read that right. My son is now engaged to a "Laura." So our daughter Laura is marrying a "Jason" and our son Jason is marrying a "Laura." And that is where the fun begins because now we find ourselves in the middle of the Name Game.

We've already decided that there is no easy way to differentiate between the Jasons. Both of them have been called Jay or Jase at one time or another by family and friends. So we have resorted to prefacing their names with "our" Jason and "your" Jason.

Now we have two Lauras. My husband helpfully pointed out that we wouldn't be in this predicament if we had followed our original idea to have Athena as our Laura's middle name. Since Jason's Laura's last name starts with a "B", we could have simply said Laura "A" and Laura "B". Yeah, well that would have only worked until Laura "B" got married.

"How about Dr. Laura?" my husband suggested. Hmmm, Naw! Sounded too much like a talk-show host or an advice columnist.

Jason's Laura sweetly told us we could call her "Lola", a family nickname. But I was a drama major and English major in college. I immediately thought of the musical "Damn Yankees" and the song "Whatever Lola Wants, Lola Gets." I just couldn't think of my future daughter-in-law as the devil in red fishnet tights.

A good friend of mine was quick to point out that if I entered senility early, I'd at least have a good fighting chance of calling out a name that someone would respond to. Thanks, old friend!

The actress in me slipped through several characters, trying on salutations on the fly. There was the Southern Belle calling out "Honey" or, if I really wanted to lather on the cornpone, I could call them "Honey Chile." How about the British "Luv?" There was even "Little Private Porterfield" from the childhood game I used to play with the children when I'd slip into drill sergeant mode and hold mock inspections in their rooms. There was only one problem with that idea. Neither Laura was little anymore and I wouldn't be inspecting their rooms.

For now, I've just decided to call them both "Laura", both "Daughter" and both blessings from God.

The Bad Hair Blues

Do you ever wish you could just hide your hair under a bonnet and be done with it? Back during one of my several midlife crises, I wanted to take the whole family and run off and join the Amish. Unfortunately, my family put their collective feet down so I was soon firmly back in the 21st century, straggly locks and all.

I tried reasoning with God. "Didn't it make sense," I asked, "for all women born with straight, fine hair to be given just the opposite type of hair when they hit menopause and for those who had been blessed with thick, curly hair to end up with straight, fine hair?" Made sense to me. That way we'd all get a chance to experience both types of hair at some point in our lives. But no answer was forthcoming.

So I tried perms which worked for awhile but also made my fine hair break off at the roots. I tried to just grow my hair out and wear it back in a ponytail but I looked like the back end of the pony. In desperation, I turned to the fancy salons and hair artistes with names like Pierre who flitted about disparaging my previous stylists whilst clipping merrily away. I always looked good going out the door but after the first shampoo at home, it was the same old me looking back in the mirror. I tried steam rollers, foam rollers, soup cans (don't ask) , and finally settled on a 1/2 inch diameter curling iron. I'd work feverishly to get a head of curls and then spray them with the heaviest-duty spray I could find. Three minutes outside and I'd be back to square one - flat and frazzled.

When I was younger, my ultimate alter ego was a thin, pre-Raphaelite beauty with long, curly hair flowing down her back as she ran lightly across a meadow (where there were no bugs). I clutched that alter ego to my expanding midcage for many years until just recently. I have finally faced the fact that I am NOT going to have long, curly hair --- no way, no how! My thin beauty has fallen and landed on a cow pie.

So, welcome to my new and improved alter ego! Now she's an artsy, gutsy woman in a flowing one-of-a-kind garment that she designed and made herself. She's got comfy sandals on, no nylons, and she's probably not wearing a bra (gasp!). She's comfortable in her own body and there's plenty to be comfortable with (think Kathy Bates). And her hair....it's not flowing anywhere. It's not even cascading. Nope, it's spiked. She's cut it short, very short; then runs her hands through some sculpting mud and whisks those capable hands through that hair as if to say, "Take THAT, you darn rollers and THAT, stupid spray, and take THAT, you idiotic curling iron." And she turns without another look at the mirror and runs lightly down the stairs and out the door to the nearest bookstore.

I'm done with singing the bad hair blues. I simply don't have the time or inclination anymore. I'm much too busy creating things, writing, throwing out stuff I no longer need, and hauling up the anchor that's been keeping me in one spot. If you need to reach me, just head over to the nearest bookstore. I'm the spiky-haired lady in the comfy shoes sipping coffee in the cafe section and talking books with the artsy looking crowd.

Yessir! That's my mom!

Mom turned 94 the end of September. She looks pretty good for 94, doesn't she? We celebrated by going over to the Church of God Home after church and having dinner with her in the private dining room. The deBreuil's joined us. Beverly has been such a good friend to Mom over the years, visiting her faithfully and playing games with her. It was nice that Beverly and her husband, "What's His Name?" (as Mom kept calling him) could join us.

Over dinner, we visited and laughed over some of Mom's exploits at the Home. One recent one sticks out in my mind. I came over one day to visit and as I got ready to leave, I told Mom about a church service later in the afternoon.

"You'll have to go to that, Mom," I said.
"Can't," said Mom.

"Why not?" I asked. "Are you grounded?"

"Yup," she replied with a twinkle in her eye.

"Gee, why? Did you kick someone when you were walking down the hall?", I said, only half seriously.

"Guess so," she answered. "Kicked them right in the knees."

"Mom!" I laughed, pretending to be shocked. Just then a nurse walked in with Mom's dietary shake. "I hear my mom's on lock-down," I laughed.

"Well," she said somberly, "We've had to insist that she not leave the wing unless someone is with her because she tends to forget how to get back to her room. We've had to go looking for her several times. Haven't we, Marguerite?"

"Maybe," said Mom, giving me a sly wink.

"And here I thought it was because she was kicking people in the halls," I laughed.

"Oh no, " replied the nurse. "She doesn't do that."

"I threw a shoe at my roommate the other day," Mom proudly announced to the room.

Two pairs of eyes swung in her direction.

"You did WHAT?", I squeaked.

"Well, I woke up in the morning and couldn't hear Rhoda snoring. So I called her name but she didn't answer me so I threw my bedroom slipper at her," said Mom.

"Hit me right in the head," said Rhoda. "I was actually sleeping pretty good, too."

"Why in the world did you do that, Mom?" I asked.

"I thought she was dead," Mom said flatly. "So I threw my shoe at her and that got a rise out of her."

"It's OK," Rhoda assured us. "She didn't hurt me."

"Next time, Mom, just ring for the nurse. Don't throw anything at Rhoda, please."

"Yes, Dear!" answered Mom sweetly.

Yessir! That's my mom!

My Baby is Engaged!

The year was 1980 and we had just brought our newborn daughter home from the hospital. We set up a bassinet in our kitchen sitting area so that I could work on our meals and keep an eye on the baby at the same time. So as the meal would be simmering on the stove or baking in the oven, I often sat next to the bassinet, watching this little marvel sleep.

True confession time! She'd sleep and I'd be sitting there crying. It wasn't post-partum depression. It was because I was picturing this little girl of ours all grown up someday. I cried because I fiercely wanted to protect her from every hurt she would encounter in the future but knew that I was powerless to do so. I'd look at her tiny little face and think of all the milestones we'd be facing together in the years to come and all the memories we'd create. Memories that I'd tuck away in the back of my mind for that day when she'd be on her own and I'd have to be content to just "remember." And, oh my, did I cry as I pictured her walking down the aisle someday to meet the young man who would take our place as the center of her universe.

The year is 2007 and my baby is engaged to be married. The bassinet is long gone, there have been a lot of milestones met and memories made since 1980, and God willing, there will be many more to come. And I'm sitting here looking at my daughter's lovely face and crying as I picture her walking down that aisle. She is marrying a wonderful young man whom we like very much. I'm very excited for both of them. But oh, how those years flew by! And where am I EVER going to tuck all the Kleenex I'll need in my mother-of-the-Bride dress?

The View from the Streets

My son, the minimalist, called several weeks ago and the conversation went something like this.

"Hi, Mom. How are you and Dad doing? How's Grandma?"

"We're doing fine," I replied. "What's up with you?"

"Oh, not much," he casually offered. "Craig and I are going to be homeless next week. What do you hear from Laura?"

"She's doing OK. Working har.........What?" My brain put the brakes on. "What do you mean, 'homeless'?"

"Well, I mean homeless, you know...living on the streets. Nothing to worry about," he nervously laughed.

I know this laugh. I've heard it before, usually right before he tells us things like he's going to drive cross country by himself in a high-mileage car...or he's going to live in the slums of SE Asia somewhere for a month....or he wants to learn to sky-dive.

"And would you like to tell me WHY you are going to be homeless next week?," I probe.

"Well, Craig and I have been praying about this and we think it would be a good thing to voluntarily be homeless for one week and really see how the homeless live, what resources are available for them. It will help us build relationships with them to help minister to them later."

"Mother Teresa didn't go out and get AIDS so she could minister to AIDS victims in India," I point out.

"Did you ever hear of Father Damien?" he asks.

"Does a doctor have to have the disease in order to treat the sickness?" I counter. "Even Jesus slept at the homes of friends."

On his birthday, I couldn't help but wonder how he was going to celebrate. In my mind I pictured him pulling his birthday meal out of a dumpster. It was not a pleasant thought. Nor was it pleasant to realize that there are many mothers' sons and daughters who might be doing just that on their birthdays in slums around the world. The week dragged on with occasional emails from him when he'd get to a library computer.

Finally the week was up and we got another call.

"Hey, I survived," he announced.

"Are you OK," I asked. "You sound a little hoarse."

"Yeah....talk about irony, though. I was fine living on the streets but once I got back into a house, I got sick," he remarked.

The boy needed a review of the life of germs and the course of an illness which I started to give him but then I decided, "what's the use?"

"So, any other special challenges while you were living homeless last week?

"Well," he drawled, "we did discover that grassy parks are not good places to sleep."

"Why? Did you get bit by a tick?" I asked.

"No, but just as we had laid down our pieces of cardboard and had settled down on them to sleep, we heard this 'swishing' sound and suddenly realized that some automatic sprinklers had begun watering the grass. Our cardboard was ruined.....just soaked!" he ruefully laughed.

I thought back to 25 years ago, when I'd stick my head in his nursery to make sure that he was warm, dry, and fed. Don't all mothers wish this for their children?

"I'm glad you're home, Son," I whisper as I send up a prayer for those who don't have a roof over their heads.

Mom and the Bellydancers

Shortly after we left on vacation to the Poconos, we received a call from my mother's assisted living facility telling us that Mom had been found on the floor of her bathroom and had apparently had another mini-stroke. They had called an ambulance and she was at the local hospital. We quickly packed our bags and headed straight back to the hospital.

Mom remained in hospital over the Memorial Day weekend and was then released to a local rehab facility for further rehabilitation. A call to my brother brought quick action and soon he was on his way from Michigan to help me with some crucial decisions while Mom was still in the hospital. It's incredibly nice to have a brother you can count on in a crisis. As you can see from this picture, Mom was happy to see John and was also enjoying her teddy bear, which our daughter had gotten for her during her last visit to the hospital.

After John left to return home, I came over one afternoon to visit Mom and found the staff all excited as I rode up in the elevator. "Did you get a look at them?", one nurse asked another.

"I'm going to see if I can stand in the back of the room to watch the show," replied the other.

I had no idea what they were talking about but did notice that there were several exotic looking people running about the place. "Strange," I thought to myself.

Soon I discovered that Mom wasn't in her room. She was in the breakfast room along with everyone else from her floor, all squeezed in to watch "THE BELLYDANCERS." I saw her up near the front but there wasn't room to get to her so I decided to squeeze my way into a chair along a side wall and watch the show myself and then visit with Mom.

"What's going on?" asked one of the residents to noone in particular.

"Here come some buxom women," observed another unusually astute resident.

"Buxom." I hadn't heard that word in many years. It's an old-fashioned word but it definitely was apropos for the ladies who were making their way to the front of the room. I glanced over towards Mom. She was dozing in her wheelchair. After lunch isn't a particularly good time to try to get Mom to do anything. She likes to nap. But it was hard to see how anyone could nap because by this time the music was blasting and the dancers were snaking out onto the floor, waving scarfs and hips and winking at the residents.

Ah, the dancers. They gave new meaning to the term "bellydancers", if you get my drift. I'd say almost every adult in the group, with the exception of one who was most likely the teacher, had a belly that you'd be hard pressed to miss, even fully clothed. I hadn't seen that many rolls since Easter dinner at my Aunt Maxine's. Mind you, my own stomach looks like the baby is due any minute so it was with a certain amount of admiration that I observed these middle-aged women letting it all hang out. The dancers were certainly enthusiastic, I'll give them that, although their skill levels varied greatly. But there was another surprise in store for us. Mincing out from behind the ice machine came Rashid......a male belly dancer.

Now I've lived in Greece and I've seen some great male Middle Eastern dancers there. They were the type of guys that left no doubt about their virility and you certainly didn't mind being drawn into the circle to dance with them. Rashid was another story. Between the pancake makeup, the curly wig that didn't match his beard and that flew off in the middle of his first dance, and the costume that was androgynous to say the least but failed to hide his expansive middle, he was a sight to behold.

"We have a special gift for all you ladies in the audience," the announcer purred. "Rashid will be performing a dance just for you women."

Rashid grinned at the audience, the music started, and he proceeded to shimmy and gyrate up and down the rows, stopping in front of different women for special effect. "Consider this a belated Mother's Day gift," he said.

"Lord, help me," I groaned to myself. "If he gets all the way back here to me, I'm going to lose it. I'll start laughing and I won't be able to stop."

Rashid slid along and stopped in front of Mom. She was slumped over, still sleeping. He pulled out all the stops, shimmying away, but she snored on. Spotting another hapless lady, he boogeyed on. Mom perked up and looked around. "What did I miss?" she yelled.

Just then Joan, Mom's roommate spotted me in the crowd and gave me "the eye." I knew what was coming.

"Get me out of here!" she mouthed.

"I can't!" I pantomimed back. I gestured toward the crowd. "Too crowded. I can't get to you." I slunk down into my seat and prayed for the show to end. Two and a half hours later, we were finally put out of our misery. I never saw a room clear out so fast which was pretty amazing since three fourths of the people were in wheelchairs.

When I got Mom back to her room, I sunk into a chair and proclaimed, "Well, that was surely something, wasn't it?"

"You know what?" said Mom. "Joan and I are going to take up belly dancing."

"You are?", I exclaimed.

"Yes, we are!" proclaimed Mom. Joan nodded.

"Go for it!", I said. "Heaven help us", I thought.

May's Mystery Scarf Knit-a-Long

I belong to a Scarf and Shawl online knitting group and each month we can participate in a scarf knit-a-long and several shawl knit-a-longs. This is the scarf I knit in May. It was a mystery scarf, which means that we didn't know how it would eventually look. All we got were the instructions given to us, a little bit each day.
I was partway through this scarf when my daughter came home for Mother's Day. I was amazed when she took a look at it and said that she really liked it and wouldn't mind having one just like it for winter. Of course, you know who is getting this particular scarf. She is!

The yarn called Serenade from Artful Yarns and is a 70% pima cotton and 30% angora blend. It was a dream to work with a lots of fun to block, too.

She's Granulated

Yesiree! Our baby girl has granulated, as my mother likes to say, and now has her Masters degree in Biotechnology. We trekked down to Baltimore today for the graduation ceremony at Johns Hopkins University and it was nip or tuck whether or not the rain, snow, or graduation would come first. Luckily the weather cooperated begrudgingly, freezing us all in the process but at least leaving us dry to enjoy the ceremony.

Laura's boyfriend, Jason, was kind enough to grab a blanket out of his car for my mother and she set a new standard for fashion while staying warm. I told her she looked like a cross between Cousin It and a Bolivian mountain woman. At least she won't get pneumonia.

Speaking of fashion, one of the graduates strolled across the stage wearing sparkly ruby red platform shoes, a red tulle scarf tied in a bow around her mortarboard hat, and her graduation stole draped casually over one shoulder.

"What did she graduate with, a Masters in the Absurd?" I whispered to Jason. I was almost right. She had a Masters in Writing.

"Mom", retorted Laura, "she's one of YOUR kind of people."

Ouch, guilty as charged. But I would have worn sensible shoes and probably sung a chorus or two from "There's No Business Like Show Business" as I came down the steps from the platform.

And then it was time to pose for the camera before heading off to Red Lobster for a bite to eat. OK, maybe more than one bite to eat but those cheddar biscuits are dee-lish! From there we headed over to Laura's apartment to offer our congratulations once more and play with Bailey, our grandcat before it was time to head back home.

Yes, it was a rewarding day. If I had an airhorn, I'd blow it for you, Laura. Good job! Working on an advanced degree while you work fulltime isn't easy but you did it AND you did it with distinction. We're proud of you, Honey!

A Mother's Day that Almost Wasn't

Yesterday I picked up my mother for our church's Mother/Daughter Banquet. She was in fine form.

"Are we performing?" she asked eagerly.

"Nope, we weren't asked this year," I replied. "Guess our fans will just have to be disappointed."

You see, the last few such banquets, Mom and I have come up with some silly little routines that we've performed to the general delight of the crowd. Mom can be quite a trooper. Like a horse that smells the hay in the barn and takes off at a gallop, when Mom gets a crowd laughing, she's like that horse with the bit between its teeth. There's no stopping her and she hates to sit down.

We joked together on our way in to church and sang old songs. I'd sing some of the stanzas and then Mom would finish them. "I'm sharp today!" she shouted and I couldn't have agreed more.

We had a great time at the banquet and Mom even got a lovely big pot of geraniums for being the oldest mother in attendance.

This morning, Mother's Day, I drove over to her assisted living facility to pick her up for church. My daughter, Laura, had arrived the evening before so we had decided to surprise Mom and just show up with Laura. Indeed Mom was surprised and delighted to see both her daughter and her grandaughter there to greet her. So off we all drove to church.

The service was flowing along smoothly but as we got to the closing hymn, I noticed that my mother was standing up and rocking slightly back and forth but not singing at all, despite the fact that it was a hymn that she would have known. Plus she just didn't look right. I leaned over and asked her if she felt OK. She looked at me strangely and made a gesture with her hand to her lips similar to what we used to do when we'd tell our kids to "zip their lips." I don't know if she was trying to tell me that her mouth felt strange or that she couldn't talk.

 At that point the hymn was over and we sat down but I noticed that her mouth was slack and hanging open. I leaned over again and asked if she felt ok. She just looked at me. I asked her to smile at me. Again, she just looked at me. I asked her to try to make her mouth into a smile at me. Again, nothing. Her eyes were just vacant. It was then I decided to go out into the foyer and call 911. I figured she was having a stroke.

 Laura stayed with her and another member in the pew in front of us who is a nurse came to sit next to Mom while I was out. As I called, Laura said she tried to get my mom to squeeze her hand but there was no response and spit just ran down Mom's chin. However, by the time the first responders arrived, the service was dismissing and she was already starting to snap out of it and quite confused as to why people were making such a fuss.


The paramedics decided that she should go to the ER to be checked out for what they thought might be a mini-stroke. By the time she arrived at the hospital, she was pretty much back to her old self. She was confused as to why she had to be at the hospital but kidding around with us and making faces at the doctor behind his back. I told her that most folks just nap through a service if they get bored. There was really no need for her to have tried to go out in a blaze of glory (or the back of an ambulance).

She has no recollection of anything that happened while this "attack" was happening. The ER doctor ordered an EKG, Catscan, and bloodwork, all of which came back perfect. He has concluded that she had a TIA, or mini-stroke. She was released to go back to the Woods and I am to call her doctor tomorrow to see if there are any additional tests she wants done. The ER doctor said that Mom is already on the right meds to try to preclude these episodes as best as one can. I'd appreciate your prayers for her. It certainly illustrates how quickly things can change in a period of 24 hours. And as always, it just goes to show that none of us know when we shall be called into the presence of our Maker. Keep the faith and give your mothers (those who still have them living) an extra hug or call tonight.

May Day Memories

I took Mom out for lunch the other day and as we walked down the hall on her floor, I couldn't help but notice all the lovely little paper cones filled with silk flowers hanging from the doorknobs of the individual doors.

"Mom, do you remember what we used to do on May Day?" I asked.

She put on the brakes of her walker and peered at me. "No, I don't believe I do. What did we do?"

"John and I used to pick flowers and then go up on the neighbors' porches and put them on the doormats, ring their doorbells, and then run like crazy to hide so they wouldn't see us," I answered.

"Oh, no. I don't think we did that on May Day. You've got the wrong holiday," she insisted.

"No, really. Don't you remember? We'd put the flowers down and then run so they wouldn't know who gave them the present. Sometimes we'd make little baskets up of woven construction paper and fill them with the flowers. Those we'd hang on their doorknobs. But we'd always ring their doorbells and then run away," I said.

"No, I'm sure you've got the wrong holiday. I think it was a different one," she answered.

"Well, which holiday do YOU think it was?"

"I think it must have been Halloween," she promptly responded.

"Halloween? No way. That's when you ring the doorbells and stay on their porches and then they give YOU a treat."

"Oh dear. I must have it mixed up," she said.

"Well, what did you do on May Day?" I asked her.

"I think we danced around a Maypole. I remember I was quite light on my feet."

"Was there a prize for the child that had the streamer at the very bottom of the Maypole? Or was there some special reward for all the children who danced around the Maypole?" I wondered aloud.

"No, we just went around the pole and danced. That's all we did," she stated.

It all sounded rather pagan to me. I doubted you would have found a good Baptist within a mile of a Maypole. But looking at my mom and seeing that twinkle in her eyes as she remembered a May long past, I suddenly found myself wishing that I could have been there, running barefoot through the prairie grass beside my mom, laughing and light on my feet.

It has been a long time since my daughter has needed my help. So when I discovered that she was going to need knee surgery, wild horses couldn't stop me from volunteering to come down to help her during her initial recovery period.

 Now I'm not the best person in a medical situation. My moments of squeamishness are legendary amongst my children like the time my son had stitches on an arm injury and I ended up on my knees beside his gurney, forehead resting on the gurney's side, babbling on about all the ice cream we were going to eat when it was over. The doctor finally interrupted my monologue to say, "It's over, Mrs. Porterfield. You can stop now."

"It is?", I asked, startled to see how low I had sunk, literally. "Um, I was just trying to distract him," I tried to explain.

"Well, I don't know if you did or not," the doctor said, "but you sure made me hungry."

Or there was the time that I had to interrupt a nurse's instructions after my son had his wisdom teeth removed so that I could leave the recovery room and go sit in the bathroom with my head between my legs. In my defense, I would just like to say that I was doing fine until the heart monitor that Jason was hooked up to suddenly beeped and flatlined. "Oops, guess I'm dead," my son said cheerily, grinning at me with pieces of bloody gauze sticking out of his mouth.

But for arthoscopic surgery, I figured all I would probably have to do would be change bandaids, make tea, drive her back from the hospital, plump pillows, feed her, and offer lots of sympathy. Surely I could do that much. And for the most part, I was right.

Driving in the big city to the hospital was no problem because my daughter did the driving. I just tried to pay attention to the route, in case she was too groggy to navigate me back to her apartment after the surgery.

 Once we checked into the hospital, she was soon called back into the inner sanctum. After about 40 minutes, a nurse came out and paged me. I followed her back into the hushed area where half-pulled curtains surrounded patients on gurneys who were hooked up to various devices. I looked around for Laura and soon spotted her. She was sitting up in bed and looked downright perky. In fact, her coloring was good and she was smiling. "Piece of cake," I thought. "This shouldn't be so bad."


I sat down beside her bed and we talked about various things. I asked if I could do anything to make her knee more comfortable and she declined my offer. While I debated pulling out my knitting, wondering how much longer she would be kept in recovery, a nurse showed up with chart in hand. "Time to start your IV," she said.

"IV?" I was confused. "Why does she need one now? Isn't she finished with the surgery?"

"Heavens, no. She hasn't even had it yet. We're just prepping her," the nurse responded. My daughter rolled her eyes and started to laugh.

And so began the ordeal of the IV which of course went sour with the first attempt. Seems my daughter's veins take after mine, which are miniscule. The big difference is that my daughter is a real trooper and took it all in stride. I, on the other hand, would have been half way out the door, hospital gown or no gown, if it had been my veins that were being assaulted. The look on my face must have reminded Laura of all my past medical shortfalls which she proceeded to tell the nurse.

"You going to be OK?" asked the nurse.

"Sure, don't worry about me. I'm just fine. I'm PUMPED for this," I said.

"She's pumped," the nurse cackled. She seemed to find that pretty funny and she continued to laugh as she pulled out another needle, retightened the tourniquet and started slapping Laura's arm, looking for another vein.

"You know, I always sing when they have to draw blood from me," I told noone in particular.

"I'm not going to sing, Mom!" Laura insisted.

"You going to sing for us?" the nurse asked, looking at me amused. Then a vein caught her attention. Whamp! "Now here's a good one, Honey. We shouldn't have any trouble getting an IV started in this vein."

"Oh, what a beautiful morning! Oh, what a beautiful day. I got a beautiful feeling.....everything's going my way!" I warbled loudly to the amazement of nurses and patients around the room.

Ah yes, there's nothing like a little mother-daughter bonding over the strains of "Oklahoma" in a presurgical suite. And I call that "making memories."

My Easter Bunny Ran Aground

Easter is a wonderful holiday for a Christian. However, for a dieter, it ain't so hot. I belong to TOPS, which stands for "Take Off Pounds Sensibly." This past week we were challenged to create a special Easter bonnet to wear to our next meeting (which happened to be the day after Easter). To understand the theme of my Easter bonnet, you have to understand how my Eater (Freudian slip) Easter weekend went.

First, my brother arrived for a visit. Friday evening I made ham and broccoli roll-ups with a hashbrown casserole. Saturday morning I made sausage gravy and biscuits, mainly because I know he likes that and my sister-in-law usually doesn't make that for him at home. Saturday noon we went to the Waffle House which he loves to eat at when he is here. I had a waffle with crispy bacon. Saturday night I made chicken tetrazzini which was pretty good if I do say so myself. Sunday morning I attempted to squelch the excess by stuffing down some raisin nut bran cereal. Bran is healthy, right? Sunday dinner was celebrated at Carrabba's with Chicken Marsala and garlic mashed potatoes. Sunday evening we reheated the leftovers and finished those off. Monday I waved goodbye to my brother and kissed my husband as he left for work. I then opened up the pan of cream cheese and chocolate chip brownies that my sister-in-law had sent from Michigan and proceeded to eat the top halves of each one in the pan.

By now, dizzy from all the sugar, I was beginning to panic as I realized that I had to weigh in that evening AND I had to come up with an Easter bonnet. It was then that I had the brainstorm. I got to work and put a small Easter bunny in a glass, stuck a straw in the glass, glued the glass on top of two candy bars (I ate the third candy bar while I was working out the design of the bonnet in my mind) and glued the candy bars to the top of a blue paper plate. I punched holes in the sides of the plate, stuck ribbon in it and made a little sign to hang down from the front. The sign said "My Easter Bunny float ran aground on a candy bar."

Got to my TOPS meeting and weighed in and lo and behold, I had lost a pound. The empty tomb wasn't the only miracle being celebrated this Easter weekend.

Ma, He's Looking at Me!

My brother drove here from Michigan to spend time with us over the Easter weekend. One of the things he really likes to do while here is
bowl and eat at the Waffle House. So after we all went bowling, we headed over to my mom's apartment to pick her up so she could join us for lunch.

My husband loaded her into the front seat which meant that brother John had to get into the back seat with me. Off we sped and I noticed that John was giving me "the look."

"Ma, he's looking at me. Make him stop," I joked.

John gave me a grin and pushed his foot over toward my side of the car. "Ma, he's over on my side now. Make him get over on his side," I complained.

Mom looked out the window and ignored us while she blissfully picked her nose. John leaned forward and said, "Mom, stop picking your nose. Don't you shake hands with that hand? Use a kleenex." He settled back in his seat and farted.

"Ewww, Mom, John just farted. Open the window. I'm dying back here."
"Did not!"
"Did too!"

"What did I miss?," Mom shouted happily. Nothing tickles her more than someone passing gas.

My husband just stared ahead straightfaced, clutching the wheel and wondering for the umpteenth time what he had gotten himself into when he met me.

It's nice to know during these days of global warming, terrorist threats, armed conflicts around the world, and rising gas prices that there are still chances to return to simpler times and just be a kid again.

What's in Mom's purse this Easter Sunday?

It's time for the weekly update on what's in my mom's purse. Yes, I picked up Mom this Sunday for church and went through the usual ritual of emptying the extra stuff out of her purse while loading her into the car.

This time I had some extra help. My brother, John, came out from Michigan and while he was getting her buckled into the front seat, I was busy stuffing the trash from her purse into the garbage bag in the back seat.

Today's haul wasn't too bad. That was because we had gone over to her apartment on Saturday to take her out with us to Waffle House and I had the chance to clean out things then. However, she still had the chance to stuff more things in there between 3 p.m. Saturday and 8 a.m. Sunday. So....here is the inventory list for April 8:

5 dirty table napkins, 2 old church bulletins, one Christmas card, one library book, 8 unopened letters (we saved those and read them to her later), 2 rotten bananas, and 6 half unwrapped Hershey kisses.

What's in Grandma's purse this week?

Well, it's time for my weekly inventory of what I took out of Grandma Loose's purse when I picked her up for church on Sunday. You see, my mom has always been a packrat but since moving to an assisted living facility, she hasn't been able to fill an entire house with "things." So, now she fills her purse with "things."

Each week, I pull up to the front of her facility, load her into the car, load her walker into the back of the car, and put her purse into the back seat where I keep a small garbage bag at the ready. I quickly go through the purse and pull out all the, um, "ripe" and ready-to-be trashed items and then hand her the purse. She is none the wiser.

Once we get to the church, off she goes into the foyer and I follow behind, handing the trash bag to my husband, the head usher who neatly slam-dunks it into the nearest trash can. Getting the rotten banana smell out of the car takes a bit longer. So ---here is what I took out this week:

Six dirty table napkins
Two rotten bananas
One tea bag
One jelly container
One cooky stuffed into a cup partially full of dried punch remnants
A Michigan bulletin from January
Two used and empty envelopes
One library book (this I did NOT throw away....just cleaned it off a little)
One magazine

And that's the inventory for April 1st and I am NOT fooling.

What's Mom up to today?

This week I helped Mom write a Get Well letter to an old friend. I knew we were in trouble when the first words out of her mouth were, "I don't know what to say."

"How about 'I'm sorry to hear about your hip. I hope you're feeling better'," I said.

"OK," she looked at me hopefully. "Now what?"

"Ask her a question," I suggested.

"What is your favorite meal? My dad's favorite meal was pancakes. He always wanted pancakes when he came in from the barn," she offered.

I dutifully wrote this down in the card and then waited. She looked at me and said nothing. This was like pulling teeth. "So how about telling her what Dad's favorite food was?," I suggested again.

"Huh, whose food?", she countered.

"Dad's favorite food."

"Whose dad," she asked.

"MY dad," I said.

"Whose your dad?" she queried.

"Your husband, Bill!" I shouted. "For Pete's sakes, Mom, who else would it be?"

"What time is it," she asked petulantly. "I think I've written a letter long enough."

I couldn't have agreed more.

Joys of a booksale

What a day! We helped out most of the day at the opening day of our college's library booksale. Since I've worked at that library, I've never been there for opening day. I've always helped with the setup the evening before and then just browsed through the books on my lunch hours during the work week. But now that I'm retired, I decided that my hubby and I would be cashiers on opening day.



Let me tell you, when those doors opened, it was a mad dash down the steps and to the sale tables. Book dealers and book afficianados alike were elbowing for space and grasping treasures to their chests (or their boxes). We even had folks with little handheld scanners this year that were scanning books to, I assume, find out what the current market value was of the books. How nifty was that?



It was interesting to see the old school dealers and the "new school dealers", too. The folks I would call "new school dealers" were more like house flippers.....get in, grab books, bag them, do a fast turnaround, make money off of them, and then go out and buy more books. The "old school dealers" were more apt to take their time and have lists with them of books they were keeping an eye out for or be looking for titles that they knew regular customers were wanting.



Then there were students carefully counting out their coins to purchase their treasures. I was apt to find them muttering over copies they had just discovered on a table or crawling under sale tables to view the books that we had stacked on the floor until there was room enough to bring them up onto the tables.



I was particularly delighted to wait on the booklovers who just couldn't stay away from the sale and made two to three trips in to purchase more books today. One wonderful man told us that he was concerned that he might have to reinforce the beams of his home because he had so many books there that he was afraid that the weight was going to overtax the load-bearing abilities of his floors. Now THAT'S a reader!



Tonight I'm footsore and weary but already looking forward to heading back to the sale this week to do some browsing of my own. Who knows what treasures await me?