Better late than never

 

I finally really get it!

 

I am a crafter, of sorts.  I am making a book out of cards and repurposing them.  There are twenty cards and several steps in decorating them.  I line them up on my side table to dry and count each time to make sure all 20 are there.  On the last step, I counted 19.  I counted and recounted and searched in vain for the lost card.  I HAD to have it.  I couldn’t stop because without it, the book is not going to be complete.

Then I thought of Jesus’s parable of the lost sheep and fireworks went off in my brain!  🎆Without that sheep, the flock was not complete!  The same with the father of the prodigal son.  His family was not complete without both his sons.  (I confess, I have always felt for the other son who did his father’s bidding.  Now I see that the sheep left in the fold were safe.  The other son was safe.  Attention had to be paid to those missing pieces.)

And so it is – our world is not complete when some of our people are lost.  Black lives matter because they have been overlooked.  They are not safe.  Other groups too have not been heard and they also matter.  The white population are the sheep already in the fold.  We need to go get the others now.

 

How did I get this old still being this blind?

 

ps.  I found the missing card.  That, at least, is complete.

Batter up!

This morning I prayed for tonight’s major league baseball game.  Not for the game, per se, but for the atmosphere in Yankee Stadium and the people attending.

I love baseball.  I’ll watch nearly any MLB team, but I’ve been a Yankees fan for nearly 30 years even though I’ve lived my whole life in Texas and don’t see everyone doesn’t.  I joined the fold of the Astros when I first visited Minute Maid park.  For me, it’s the happiest place on earth.  I’ve been fortunate enough to repeat that visit a number of times. 

So, I have two favorite teams.  Big deal.  I have multiple children, multiple dogs and multiple cats.  I love them all.  My Bagwell jersey hangs with my Yankees shirts.  Derek Jeter was my hero.  Alex Bregman is also my hero.  Derek Jeter was his hero.

When the postseason narrowed down to Yankees versus Astros, it was win-win for me.  I thought I’d be happy whoever won, but I did want it to go seven games so I could watch them both.  Until today.  

Until I heard about the despicable behavior of some of the Yankees fans.  Throwing things onto the field is bad.  It is dangerous and unsportsmanlike.  It is stupid.

Taunting someone is unacceptable and unkind.  Taunting someone because of a disorder is beyond comprehension.  And involving his family is totally unconscionable.  True, it was one fan (or at least a small group).  It may also be true of an Astro fan or fans in ballparks around the country.     But it was one too many and it paints the Yankees with his dirty brush.  Indeed, it paints the whole league with it.

Part of me wants the series to return to Minute Maid so we can show them southern hospitality, but part of me is afraid some unkind idiot will try reprisals. 

It is an ugly situation and makes me both mad and sad. 

If you see me out walking, I’ll be the one in the Astros hat and Yankees hoodie.  I’ll be praying for baseball.  I really love the game!

Rocky Mountain High

A collection of unconnected thoughts that may become a story like different colored threads weave a patterned fabric, all the pieces that make memories and weave a life.   Arlington Heights High School, my parents, a hot air balloon ride, faith, family.

Thread 1:  my parents took me on a vacation to Colorado sometime in my youth, Daddy driving us there, non-stop.  They hated Colorado and everything about the trip.

Thread 2:  John Denver.  As John Deutschendorf, his real name, John Denver graduated a few years before me at AHHS.   I loved his folk music in those Peter, Paul and Mary, Three Dog Night, Credence Clearwater Revival years, but it didn’t really connect. 

Thread 3:  my biggest dream and #1 bucket list item has, for a long time, been to ride in a hot air balloon.

Thread 4:  my mother raised me right, to believe and to love God.

Thread 5:  I have the best family in the world, and I love all of them very much.

Now for the weaving.

When Reagan, Diane and Kayla gave me the trip to Colorado for Christmas, I was stunned and excited.  Hot air balloon!  I’d be tickled to ride over Buna, and Colorado, well, okay.  With the travel voucher was a framed photo of the Rocky Mountains, some snow-capped, some green, and a beautiful meadow below.  Cool.  The hot air balloon was all that was on my mind.  When Mother met Jesus, the trip became a reality.  I don’t think she’d mind that.  She loved to travel and didn’t start until she was nearly my age, but she sure didn’t like Colorado. 

And we were off, on a jet plane.  (Thank you, John Denver.  Peter, Paul and Mary sang it, but John wrote it.)   My first glimpse of the mountains was what we surmised to be majestic, snow-capped Pike’s Peak which we later traveled up on a cog railway.  The views were magnificent, trees, mountains, huge rock formations.  Early Thursday morning, the bucket-list dream came true with the balloon ride.  If there are words to describe it, I don’t have them.  Diane said my face told it all.  It was beyond anything I could ever have imagined.  Who needs Paris?  Perfect peace, serenity, soft music playing, looking up and down and all the way around, hanging over the side.  Bliss.  What more could there be?

Then we went to Estes Park on the edge of Rocky Mountain National Park.  Friday morning we packed a lunch and set off into the park.  A nice ride through the park, sure.  I had ridden the balloon and was mentally still up in it.  Then a little way into the park, after visiting with the ranger in the Smokey-the-Bear hat, I saw IT, the view from my picture.  It all came together and all came alive.  And as we traveled on, there was more, and more and more, all spectacular and we climbed higher and higher.  Aside here: at Vanguard, Dave had us read and discuss this book which had a whole chapter about God vs. science in creation.  Scientists say that it’s all a matter of coincidence in things coming together.  Believers say that it couldn’t have happened without God’s hand.  I don’t think the scientists saw what I saw in that park.  All I could think of was the poem Ronald Reagan read after the Challenger explosion, “I have slipped the surly bonds of earth . . .  . .put out my hand and touched the face of God."   I felt like I could have. 

We had many adventures in the park, picnicked on a table surrounded by snow, (a ham and cheese sandwich never tasted so good), looked for bears and big horn sheep, saw deer, elk, turkeys, the marmots that Thoreau talked about, Chip and Dale, and a MOOSE!  All the while wrapped in the spectacular scenery of the Rocky Mountains.  My camera ran out of memory. 

Saturday morning the terror set in.  White water rafting.  I was afraid of many things:  not being able to get in the boat, not being able to get out of the boat, not paddling right, not leaning right, mortifying myself or my family.  All those fears were unfounded.  The guides were great, and Reagan hauled me in and out, yet again.  We took two trips, and while we saw “swimmers” (people who fell out) and two boats overturned, ours did not.  I slept well.

Sunday morning, we took a last trip to the park.  When I saw “the view” again, it was church.  I love my church and the community of faith, but God was definitely in this place and evidence of His handiwork wrapped around it.  Genesis 1:  “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good --the sixth day.”  It sure was.  My window kept going up and down, my phone clicking away.  At one point I heard Reagan ask Di what I was taking pictures of, and she replied, “the mountain…she wants to make sure she got it.”

Then it was back to Denver, watching the Rockies recede in the distance, and leaving again on the jet plane.  I told Reagan I don’t want to go to Cypress Glen, I want to go to the mountains.  He said “No.”

All the way home in the car, my head swirled with emotions I didn’t know how to express.  It was amazing, awe-inspiring and, just Too Cool.  Then home:  happy puppies, unhappy Emmy, Daniel, Chris mowed the grass, a tropical storm is coming, the Polaris has a broken part.  There definitely is a Rocky Mountain High, John Denver, and I had to come off of it.  But life is good.  I have shirts that say so. 

Reagan, Diane and Kayla gave me the adventure of a lifetime.  Shannon, James, Daniel and Melly kept the safe haven of home safe.  My family is the greatest treasure.  Who needs Paris?

Mother

My mother met Jesus early Thursday morning.  I wasn’t there.  She did that for me.

My mother had been at less than her best for some time.  She had lived with me for the past year.  She had a stroke on November 30 but recovered from it.  However, she had been declining since then and last Saturday night apparently had another.  We moved her to Harbor Hospice House for those last days.  The caregivers there are truly God’s angels on earth.  In those last days she was agitated and restless although heavily medicated.  She was calmer when I left her Wednesday night, and when I saw her again, it was total peace.  She was beautiful.

I was, of course, very sad all day Thursday, and I know I will be again from time to time.  But now there is nothing but joy.  I can picture her in Heaven.  She has found her precious German shepherds: Thunder, Miss Scarlett, Jezebel and Gypsy, and the little dogs: Muffin and Tiffany.  She has gabbed away with Edith and Wylma and Madeline.  She has questioned God about why He waited so long to bring her home, and now she’s telling Him how best to care for me.  And she’s walking FAST all over Heaven.  Of her ailments, the one that pained her most was her degenerated knees.   At 80 years old, she was outpacing me across Lowe’s, try as I might to keep up.  In these last years, her knees gave out, and she had a fleet of walkers.  They aren’t needed now.   

I know my mother is having a ball in Heaven, and that gives me immense joy.  We took her to her earthly home in Fort Worth for the worn-out body to repose.  But there is no resting in peace for Marjorie Nell Erskine Burks; she is enjoying Heaven for all she’s worth. 

People have been so very kind and sorry for our family’s loss, for which I am very grateful.  But I want them to rejoice with us for her new life.  And I’m glad she is my mother.

Ollie Dachshund and Magic Pip

The times, they are a’changing …the more things change, the more they stay the same…change is inevitable…

There are a myriad of platitudes and quotes about change.  Bottom line…change comes and we don’t like it.

This was a week of loss -- one small, one not so small— but both changes I don’t like.

Ollie was a small, brown stuffed dachshund toy.  Because I love dachshunds.  I had wanted one for years, and would have one someday.  Her name was to be Mrs. Miniver.  Due to a lovely set of odd circumstances, I came home from a vacation trip with an adorable dachshund puppy.  Not Mrs. Miniver, but Clementine, a long name for a long dog.  Clemmie.   I adored Clemmie for 16 years.   Therefore, I also have various dachshund momentos:  a doorstop, Christmas ornaments, a beach towel, the Schlitterbahn dachshund “Schatze” who is wearing an innertube, and Ollie, brown curly fabric with black ribbon around his neck and a paper tag reading “Ollie.”  (I also have Maggie and Gretchen, two breathing, barking, puddling dachshunds, the successors to Clemmie.)

I have also been known through the years as the crazy cat lady.  I had five cats:  George, Maude, Bernice, Fuzzy, Pearl, Violet, Pippi, Spike, Emma, and Emily.  Yes, I know that’s more than five, but they came and went, leaving a different five at a time.  Each had his or her set of stories…the “remember whens.”  For the last two years, there have been only two, Pippi and Emily.  Pippi and Violet were garage cats.  They had been house cats, but for cat reasons moved into the garage.  They were roomies.  Violet was the feline version of Oscar the Grouch; she lived to be 16.    Pippi was my son’s cat.  He moved out.  She didn’t. 

I lost Pippi this week.  She was almost 18 years old, a striped orange tabby with white feet.  There were 18 years of stories.  The time she caught her tail in the candle and we smelled burning fur.  The time she peed on Melly’s head because she was telling us she was sick.  Pippi breaking out of the cardboard cat carrier during the hurricane evacuation and sitting on top of the other cats in their carriers.   Pippi sitting on top of the brick wall, looking down on us all.  Pippi had her own chair in the garage.  I bought it especially for her at Target.  She watched the world and protected the property.  She had grown old and sick this last year.  It didn’t make it any easier.

The next morning, I found Ollie in the backyard – chewed -- nose and ribbons gone.  Manny struck again.  I also mourned Ollie.  Just a stuffed toy, but memories nonetheless. 

People, dogs, cats and things come into our lives for a reason and a season.   Changes happen, but these things leave marks on our hearts forever.   We don’t welcome change, but we must embrace it and let the memories weave the tapestry of our lives.

“Things change.  And friends leave.  Life doesn't stop for anybody.” 
― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower

Pick your own title. . .

• Choose joy.

• Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.

• We’re all going to hell in a hand basket.

• Ignorance is bliss.

• Tomorrow is another day.

Check any of the above.  They will all fit.

I spend far more time collecting truisms, verses and pithy sayings for my art journaling than I do actually making pages.  (I also spend way too much time and money shopping for supplies than actually using them, but that’s another problem.)   I was “supposed” to have a little private time Sunday to work on my art journal.  Turned out I had not prepped the page so while I was waiting for gesso to dry, I wandered around the internet.  Found a quote I have intended to use:  “today I will choose JOY.”  I love it and it was beautifully presented.  The internet being what it is, I soon found myself shopping for jewelry and other objects that featured the saying. 

Then I needed my paint to dry, so I was reading a book.  Then the doorbell rang.  Several kids from the impromptu basketball league around the corner informed me that my bicycle had been stolen from my garage.  Yes, the doors to the garage were open.  I like them open.  Airs it out and lets the sunshine in and just feels nice.  The bicycle was old and rusty with flat tires and behind a bunch of stuff.  I was completely bewildered as to the motive.  Turns out apparently it was for “the reward” they wanted for giving me this information.  No reward. 

The Beaumont police recovered my bicycle and found the juvenile who took it.  The officers were fast, competent and completely understanding that while it was an old, sad bike, it was mine and in my garage.  One officer sternly advised me to keep the doors down.  I will comply.  I don’t like it, but I have to accept that my neighborhood is not the same one I moved into almost 40 years ago.

 

Now I am nervous.  I don’t have much that would be of value on the open market and certainly nothing for the black market.  But I do have stuff that is precious to me.  And it’s on my property.  The one I pay taxes on and utility bills for.  I am not so much afraid of theft as I am of retribution…garbage can turned over (shuddering here), paint or eggs on the garage doors that are now firmly down, broken windows or other acts of unkindness.  I don’t like living this way.

And I won’t.  Today I will choose joy.  Even with the doors down and precautions taken.  Even knowing what may be around the corner, across town, all over the country.  Today I WILL choose joy!

Thanks, God

God spoke to me today, as I was driving to Wal-Mart.  And I didn’t particularly like what He had to say.

Oh, plenty of times in my life, I have felt Him guiding me, nudging me or knew inside what He was telling me, but this time I heard the words as clearly as if there was someone in the car with me.  Which, of course, there was.

Once before I heard God speak.  That time I had my head in the dryer.  That’s another story.  But back to today.

I was entreating guidance for a situation I find myself in.  I was wrestling with a better way to behave.  I was trying to put the blame on someone else.  Then I heard it.  Clearly.  “Jerre, (God calls me Jerre and that’s okay when He does it) no one can make you do anything.”  Strong emphasis on the “make” part.

Yes, I had been trying to blame my feelings and reactive behavior on others who “made” me feel that way, act that way.   A way I am ashamed of but seem powerless to stop.  Until now.  Now, it is crystal clear that it’s up to me to stop it myself.  I was praying for guidance and God delivered in record time on Folsom Drive right past Crow Road.  And I didn’t much like it.  Puts it on me.  But of course, I knew that.  I just didn’t want to admit it.

I’m not saying that I’ll be able to change my attitude right away.  But with that kind of push, you’d better believe I’m going to try.  And I know God will be there to help.

Thanks, God.