Cheap Thrills and Expensive Tastes

Yarn, glorious yarn! Does it get much better than this when it comes to fun things to look forward to? Spring is in the air, my friends, and it's April. That means that May is right around the corner and that means......ta-dah...trumpet voluntare.....crashing of cymbals, please! It's almost time for the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival. I can just about feel that yarn now.

I do mean FEEL it, too. I can't keep my hands off it when I'm there. I have to touch every skein I come into contact with, smoosh it in my hands, rub a strand between my fingers, and sometimes (gasp) I even sniff it. Now some of you non-knitting folks might think this behavior is a little peculiar but au contraire, my friends. I'm not the only one stroking the goods. Look around. Most everyone else is, too. Unless, of course, you were conscripted into service as a driver or navigator and dragged to the event like my daughter was three years running.

Two years ago I was happily petting yarn in a booth while my daughter waited out in the aisle. She refused to come into the booth with me and the other fiber fanatics who were crowded around the tempting display. I don't remember if I purchased anything from that vendor that day but I do remember the grin on Laura's face when I finally re-emerged to join her.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

 
"You are,", she responded. "Hey, see that guy over there? He came up to me while I was standing here and said, 'You're not one of THEM, are you?' and he pointed right at all of you in that booth. "

"One of THEM?" I said, astonished. "What did he mean?"

"I told him 'Nah...I'm here with my mother. She's in there squeezing the yarn' and then he said 'I THOUGHT you were one of the normal ones. I drove my wife here. She's in there doing the same thing.'"

This year my daughter has moved further from the fairgrounds where the festival is held. That means I probably won't be able to coerce her into coming with me. I'll probably be arriving with my husband in tow. This was the case last year and it presented its own set of challenges. It wasn't so much that he minded me handling the merchandise. Oh no, he patiently tagged along and told me to take all the time I wanted to look. But that's the operative word...."look." I didn't WANT to just look. I wanted to BUY. And I wanted to buy without someone with an accountant's knack for keeping a running total standing there looking over my shoulder.

I tried sending him on errands like getting drinks for us or trying to find a manual for the weaving loom I'd received as a gift but he kept coming back like a homing pigeon, only quicker. Finally in desperation I said, "Honey, would you mind sitting down over there?" and I waved vaguely in the direction of a lady giving a demonstration of felting. "I won't be long," I assured him. He looked a little dubious but trotted off nevertheless and found a chair.

Quickly I started grabbing the skeins of alpaca I'd been eyeing and then made a lunge for some fingering weight merino, almost knocking a lady over in my haste to make hay while the cat was away. "Oh, I'm so sorry," I gasped. "I'm just trying to get this yarn bought before my husband comes back and sees what I'm paying."

"Honey, I know exactly what you mean," she chuckled. "Mine's over at the spinning demo. Where's yours?"

"Felting," I replied, as we grinned at each other over our armfuls of yarn.

Mush, You Varmints, Mush!

My first mistake was thinking that the window guy was coming at 1 p.m. to measure the dormer windows upstairs. I had a nagging feeling that I might have made a mistake when I put that time on the calendar last week but my hubby had caught me napping at the computer when he called to inform me of the upcoming appointment. I was still a little groggy when he told me what time the guy would be coming over but I really thought he had said 1.

That left me plenty of time to run to the bank this morning and then on to the post office. From there I decided to take a quick detour over to the grocery store to see if they had my favorite detergent. I successfully sidestepped the donut aisle, got sucked in by the cake table in the back and then made a mad dash to the cash register with a peanut butter frosted cake under one arm and the "prophetically titled" Gain detergent under the other arm.

From there it was just a short hop, skip, and a jump back to the house. My mouth was already salivating over that peanut butter frosting as I drove down our street and toward the house. Horrors! There was a strange car in the driveway and it was only 11:30 a.m. The window guy was already here and waiting.

"Sorry," I breathlessly shouted as I pushed the garage door opener on the fly as I darted out of the car. "I thought you were coming at 1."

"No, I was supposed to be here at noon so I'm actually a little early," he replied, following me into the garage.

"Look, you'll have to stay right here for just a minute while I corral the dogs," I ordered and squeezed in the side door before my canine protector could charge outside.

"Fresca," I shouted in my best command voice, "Come here. Stop that barking! Schatze, get over here."

Schatze is Fresca's best friend and we're dogsitting her while her humans are away on vacation. She's pretty harmless but she's loud. Fresca, on the other hand, is loud AND protective so I don't like to take any chances with that furball.

"Fresca, get downstairs RIGHT NOW!" She flew past me and I managed to head her off at the hallway and funnel her down the basement steps. Schatze took one look at the basement, looked at me as if to say, "Yeah, right" and flew into the living room and my husband's favorite chair, ready to stand lookout. "Divide and conquer," I thought and headed down to the basement where I did my best Dog Whisperer impression and finally manhandled Fresca into the back room and got the door shut. I could tell by the din that she wasn't too pleased but both entrances into the back room were shut so Fresca was safely out of play.

I ran back upstairs and headed over to Schatze who decided this was a new game of Tag, leaping off the chair and between my legs before I could say "Stay" and the chase was on. Little dogs are quick. "Schatze," I thundered, "Get over here. " I pointed to the guestroom door and drew myself up to my full "Mistress of My Domain" height. She looked at me with big eyes and then I swear to you, she stomped her foot and tried to dart past me. She was quick but I was quicker and I had her signed, sealed, and delivered to that bedroom before she could say "Ruff."

I dimly became aware that the phone was ringing and I wearily grabbed it on my way back to the garage door. It was my dear husband calling to tell me that the window guy was going to be there early. At least I think he was telling me that because I could barely hear him with the dogs barking. "Thanks," I snarled. "He's been out in the garage for the past 10 minutes while I've been trying to get the dogs corralled." George knows when to cut and run. "OK, bye!" was all he said.

I finally got the poor window guy into the house and up to the top floor to do the measuring. "You can take off that curtain if you need to," I told him. "It's on a pressure....." Rowwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrr! I suddenly heard a commotion that seemed to be a lot closer than the basement. "Holy cow," I blurted, "I think one of the dogs is out."

I flew out of the room, slamming the door shut on the poor guy. As I headed down the stairs, a white streak was heading up in full voice. Fresca had somehow gotten one of the basement doors open and was on her way to do battle.

"Hold it right there!" I screeched. "You are a BAD GIRL, Fresca Porterfield. Get down here this instant." She reversed direction, still barking up a storm, and flashed past me. "To heck with the basement," I thought, and grabbed her ruff and guided her into the guestroom where she joined her cohort in crime.

I was just heading up the stairs to tell the fellow that the dogs were shut up again when he peeked around the corner. "I'm all done measuring," he said. "I'll send the estimate in the mail. I'll just go back out through the garage, if that's ok?" And he beat a hasty retreat. It was probably the fastest service call I'd ever experienced.

"OK, you varmints, you can come out now," I said as I opened the guestroom door. Two furry bodies streaked past me yapping in soprano and uber-soprano. They raced to the front windows and checked to make sure the offender was gone. He was. Then they calmly walked to their beds and sat down like two little angels. Mission accomplished!

Negotiating the Perfect Vacation

You can blame it on my daughter who took her time deciding on what colors she wanted to feature in her wedding. Because of this, I decided to take matters into my own hands when it came to the mother-of-the-bride dress and I began to frequent Ebay for good deals on fancy dresses. OK, I also shopped the sales at stores here and I must say, I came up with some super outfits -- all of which were bargain priced. I soon had a closet full of "special occasion" dresses in various colors. I was hedging my bets, hoping that at least one would go with the colors she would eventually pick for her bridesmaids' outfits and the wedding flowers.

Eventually we hit the jackpot because she went with a deep eggplant purple and I got to wear one of my favorite outfits from my closet. This was not before several people had made the comment to me that George and I might as well go on a cruise because I now had plenty of outfits to wear onboard a ship. Listen, you don't make comments like that to obsessive-compulsive people! It doesn't take long before a flippant comment takes root in my brain and soon grows into a full-fledged, all-or-nothing, "let's do it" obsession.

So I've been launching opening "cruise" salvos across George's bow for several months now with no discernable effect. He has just continued to sail solidly along on his normal course with no attempt to change direction. Imagine my surprise then when he casually mentioned the fact that we were going to get a tax refund this year and that he thought it might be nice to use it for a cruise. You could have sunk me with a feather! Not to worry though. My natural buoyancy soon had me righted and my mind was off and sailing to at least a hundred ports of call.

That was the easy part. Now we are in the negotiating stage. Where will we cruise? When will we cruise? What type of cruise do we want to take? I rather liked the idea of a Canadian/Maritime Provinces cruise. My reasoning was that it would be gorgeous in the fall but more importantly, we wouldn't be too far from any coastline in case of trouble. Hey, I'd see the movie "Perfect Storm" and you don't watch something like that with an imagination like mine without it affecting you. I couldn't even watch the movie "Titanic." I wasn't alone. As a friend of mine says, "Boat sails, boat hits ice, boat sinks, people die. What's to watch?" My sentiments exactly. To put it another way, who wants to invest emotional energy watching people cavorting around knowing that most of them will be dead by the end of the movie? Not me! So I'm a little leery of ships that go out into the really deep water.

When I suggested a Canadian cruise to George, his response was "We've already traveled to the Maritime Provinces. Why would we want to go there again?" I thought about this. To be fair, I don't like reading books or seeing a movie a second time. Maybe this was a similar quirk. OK, a Canadian cruise was out.

I did some sleuthing on the internet and discovered a gem of a cruise. There was going to be a special interest cruise through the Panama Canal with an added land tour in Peru with stops at Machu Picchu. These were places I had learned about in my beloved archaeology classes in college. But even better yet, the cruise was a "knitting cruise." Yup, they would be offering knitting classes onboard and special trips to alpaca farms in Peru. Wow! This was fantastic. What could be better than a 12-day Stitch and Chat session with like-minded knitters? I showed the itinerary to George and waited for his response. It didn't come. I looked over at him and noticed that his eyes seemed to be glazed over. In fact, he looked to be in distress.

"Heartburn, Honey?" I asked.

"I'm NOT going on a ship that's filled with knitters," he sputtered. Scratch that cruise.

A family friend had gone on a Christian music cruise and had loved it. George and I both love gospel music and a theme cruise like that wouldn't be bad. There was only one sticking point. I really wanted a chance to learn some dances on a cruise. Since George doesn't want to dance, I had read that there are usually cruise staff available on ships to partner travelers who wanted to take dancing classes but didn't have a dancing partner. Somehow I didn't think there would be salsa dancing on a gospel music cruise despite the fact that David certainly danced up a storm in the Scriptures even going so far as to throw off his clothes and dance naked. Now I wasn't planning to disrobe while dancing although I have been known to get up and dance on tables in my heyday but I really wanted to learn some moves beyond "stand and shuffle."

Since we seemed to be "dead in the water," (ooh, bad choice of words) I decided today to go over to the local AAA and pick up some cruise brochures. They're sitting on our dining room table right now waiting for the next installment of "pick the perfect vacation." On Sunday, we'll be visiting a big travel show and that should give us some more ideas. Somewhere out there is the perfect vacation for the two of us where George can relax and check his email while sipping his Shirley Temple and watching the waves slide by and I can sit in a quiet lounge area out of the wind and knit to my heart's content.

Feeding My Obsessions

It all started innocently enough. I just wanted my husband to show me how to put a button link on my blog. That led to a decision to redo the format a little.....spruce it up a tad, if you will, which led to further discovering that I had other options of things to add to my blog. I still don't have the button thing down very well but I am enjoying adding links and lists. And this is where my sad little tale of obsession begins.

Have you ever noticed that obsessions are either fattening, frightening, expensive, or a combination of the latter? I don't THINK I have any frightening obsessions but I sure do have fattening and expensive obsessions. I love to eat, I love to read, and I love to knit. Need I say more? Well, since this is my blog....sure! Being the obsessive-compulsive person that I am, I don't do things half-heartedly. When I find something that I enjoy, I throw myself into it 150%.

Imagine my delight when I discovered an entire worldwide virtual community of compulsive knitters and crocheters on Ravelry (see the button link to the right). Here were people just like me--obsessed with fiber and making things out of it. Folks, I was in Nirvana wandering the pages and pages of patterns and projects on Ravelry. Then I discovered that there were "groups" up there that you could join based on common interests. If you liked coffee and knitting, there was a group for you. If you shopped with certain yarn vendors, there was a group for you. Making certain "shawls du jour?" No problem. Join a group of like-minded strugglers. Yarn Harlot groupie? You weren't alone. This was dangerous territory for an obsessive person and my growing stash of yarn reflected it, as did my dusty house.

And now I'm practically wiggling with excitement because my prospecting on Ravelry has dug up another treasure. There are groups of READERS on Ravelry. Readers.....in groups with names like YarnWords, RaveLibrarians, and Librarything Crafters. Wow, I mean, I can sit here and read about knitting and what books other folks are reading while munching on popcorn thus effectively feeding all three of my obsessions, which doesn't get much better than that unless the popcorn was something chocolate but hey, you can't have everything.

I had forgotten about Librarything for awhile but thanks to being a member now of YarnWords, I went over to Librarything and logged in. The "OC" in me groaned. I had joined it awhile back but hadn't done anything to update my profile nor had I even begun to catalog my books into it. My house would be in cobwebs by the time I got this site up-to-date. But then I spied the CueCat Scanner, a little device that looked like a resting cat in the shape of a stapler. This little beauty plugs into your USB port and you use it to read your book barcodes and then that info goes right into Librarything into your personal library holdings. This should save LOTS of typing time.

 
In the meantime, I'm back to my reading groups on Ravelry and notice that some have attempted to make a list of every book they've ever read in their life. Hmmmm, it's tempting but can I really come up with a list filled with 58 years of reading? Probably not. But this list idea really excites me. I LOVE making lists. What fun to put it up on my blog. And once I catalog my books into Librarything, I can link my library to my blog and......Well, you see where this is going, don't you? It's an obsession, I tell you. One thing feeds off of another and before you know it, your husband has returned from work and you're looking at him like he's an alien because you're still at the keyboard with your feet propped up on the hard drive, a book on your lap, a set of knitting patterns spread out on the computer desk above the keyboard, and a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup wrapper on your mousepad. You are SOOO busted. But it was a good day, wasn't it?

Riding On the Memory Train

I was able to give Mom an early Easter present today, thanks to the miracles of email and cellphones. Let me explain. 


It was some time after Christmas that I ran across the address of Mom's best friend from college. I sent off a Christmas newsletter to her telling about Mom and we were able to start emailing each other. It has been such a treat over these last few months to share memories of Mom with Ruthie, who is one amazing woman herself. Between Ruthie and myself, we've been able to jog some great memories out of Mom. Some of them have been a little "off," like the one where she insisted that she'd been riding in a car with Ruthie along the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and Ruthie had stopped the car, jumped out, dipped her hand in the waters of Lake Michigan and then run back to "baptize" her. Consequently, I'm learning to doublecheck with Ruthie to make sure Mom has her facts straight.


It has been wonderful, though, to see the twinkle back in Mom's eyes as she has thought back to those times in her life with her dear friend. And so, when Ruthie mentioned the possibility of talking to Mom on the phone, I knew that would be just what the doctor ordered for Mom. We coordinated schedules and today at noon, Mom sat in her recliner, I sat on the edge of Mom's bed and I dialed Ruthie's number. She answered right away and soon I passed the cellphone over to Mom and then sat back and watched the years melt away. It was great!


While they talked, I drifted off to my own car on the Memory Train. Mom, my brother, John, and I were crammed into an overloaded Oldsmobile driving through the backroads of Wisconsin. We'd left Marinette, Wisconsin that morning and had a long drive ahead of us to get to Mankato by nightfall. Mom had washed out some of her underwear the night before in the motel and it wasn't dry yet. To my teenage dismay, she simply whipped out some clothesline, tied knots in her bloomers and attached them along a length of rope and then rolled the back window down just enough to stick the whole thing out the window before rolling the window back up to catch the end of the rope. Off we drove with the clothesline and Mom's panties (which were NOT small dainty things) flapping in the wind.


Thank goodness we left the city limits quickly behind us and were soon out in the country. It was an election year that year and Mom was suddenly inspired to do her bit for her beloved Republicans. So there we were, driving through the farmland of Wisconsin and everytime we saw someone out in a yard, Mom would toot the car horn and yell out the window, "Vote Republican." It wasn't long before I'd forgotten my embarrassment and my brother and I had our windows down and were also shouting along with Mom. What in the world those farmers and their families thought, I can only imagine! Somewhere along our route, there's a grandpa saying to his grandchildren, "Did I ever tell you about the time this crazy lady drove a big old car past my farm with a bunch of underwear tied to a rope hanging out the window? Must have been a Republican. Always airing dirty laundry."


Yes, it was a good ride on the Memory Train today. I was rather sad when it pulled into the station and I had to get off.

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.