Rambo . . .

For fourteen years you filled our lives with unconditional love, wet kisses, and silly antics.

You never did learn the command of "sit and stay", but you will stay forever in our hearts.

As you scampered across that rainbow bridge, your buddies Bounce and Blitz no doubt waited to welcome you.  Maybe they introduced you to our first schnauzer, Bluff.

I just am not sure how to tell your human best buddy that you will not be here to welcome him home again.

Rest in peace, sweet friend. 

Our home will never be the same.

Remembering in appreciation

Remembering and thanking all Veterans,

past and present;

especially my father.

Missing . . .

My Loss

Heaven's Gain

I thought of you today -- not once,

but oh so many times;

I felt my heart fill up with tears,

and hoped you wouldn't mind.

I struggle with your absence

and wish to see your face,

for now there is a void on earth

that time will not erase.

And yet I hear inside my dreams,

when stars unveil the night,

the angels whispering tenderly

that you are at their side.

And often they remind me

as I go about my day

that all my deepest love for you --

is just a prayer away.

~Deborah Lindsay O'Toole~

Seventeen years ago today, I held my mother's hand for the last time and whispered a final farewell.

I miss her so much.

She always knew what was on my mind and in my heart, even when no words were spoken.

But, it is the hugs and her gentle touch that I miss most.

Someday we will hug again, and never have to let go.

I love you this much and more, Mother.

The Next Chapter

For the past couple of days, this has been parked in our driveway.

Early this morning, I stood in the driveway and watched it disappear down the street

carrying our son and most of his possessions.

He is beginning the next chapter of his life.

I know it is so cliche to say it seems like only yesterday.
Yet, it really does not seem that long ago this time of year simply meant purchasing a new blanket for rest time at  preschool.

Then, there were the years of buying boxes of fresh crayons and markers for kindergarten and elementary school.

He was responsible for making sure the backpack was filled with all the necessary supplies for those first day of classes during high school.

Preparation for college wasn't exactly fun for him, but I was in my glory --

shopping for sheets, towels, comforters and all those nifty storage bins and organizing gizmos and gadgets.

For the next four years, I loved strolling the aisles of favorite stores, selecting special surprises, combining them with homebaked treats, and shipping them off to remind him that he was loved and missed.

Those four years at Wake Forest University were probably his best.  I saw him flourish and come into his own.  He reveled in a campus rich with tradition.  He loved his classes and all that he learned.  He made friendships to last a lifetime.

He decided to return to Texas after graduation.  The last four years have not been the best.

The economy and job market have been tough.

He never found the perfect job or what made his heart sing.

During the last year, his father and I began to sense that change was in the air.

A couple of months ago, the lease on his apartment ended.  He moved home to save money.

I became used to having him here. 

His beloved Schnauzer became accustomed to more head scratches and being coaxed to jump on furniture when Mom was not looking.

Now, the house will be quiet again.

Groceries will last longer, thumps and bumps upstairs will cease, and music will not play into the wee hours of the morning. I will be the one curling up with the dog, as we try not to miss him too much.

His kindergarten teacher always referred to him as a little sponge.  He soaked up all that he could learn, and was always eager to learn more.

He will be a sponge again.

On Monday, he becomes a first year law student at Vanderbilt University in Nashville.

Of all his choices, I am actually quite pleased with this selection.  I know and love the city.  He will be closer to other family members in Tennessee.  He will also be closer to some of those friends from Wake.

It is the first time that I have not known where he is residing, or with whom he is living.  When he calls or emails, I cannot picture in my mind where he is.

He is taking a huge leap of faith, and I must make that leap with him.

For years, he said he did not want to be like his parents.  We grew up in a different time.  We just do not understand.  We march to a different drummer.

We will next see him in October when we attend his father's 30 year law class reunion at Vanderbilt.

Guess being a little like dear old dad is not so bad afterall!

Best of luck to everyone, little or big, heading off to new educational experiences.
Hugs for all of us watching them grow wings and soar.
Maybe I will go buy a fresh box of crayons just to remember the joy!
Happy Back to School!

Thank you for all the healing wishes and thoughts for my foot.  I am still limping along, but without quite as much pain.  It also gave me permission to just supervise the loading of that truck, and not participate in the heavy lifting!

Magnolias for Karen

A few weeks ago, I mentioned my magnolia tree and a special story behind it.

We once lived in a neighborhood with a wonderful tradition.

Each Spring, magnolia trees were presented to residents who had welcomed a new addition or bid farewell to a family member during the previous twelve months.

In the Spring of 1998, I received a tree in memory of my sister Karen.

Karen was my only sibling, and two years older.

She was the typical big sister, always teasing me, telling me what to do, and how to do it.

She was always pretty as a picture!

We stood by each other's side as vows were repeated.

We became mothers and watched our children grow.

We were very much alike in some ways, and very different in others.

Those differences became very real as we dealt with and grieved our mother's death from cancer.

Two years later, Karen's diagnosis with cancer would bring us full circle.

We both swallowed our pride and buried our bitterness and differences.

I was by her side when she left us to join Mother.

Only eight months had passed since we first learned of her cancer.

I could not believe that we would not grow old together.

In the months that followed her death, we placed our home on the market and made plans to move to a different part of the metroplex.  The magnolia tree remained in its container and followed us.

It now is planted in our front yard -- a reminder of a special neighborhood and a special sister.

Today would have been her 59th birthday.

I miss her more now than that day we said farewell.

Happy Birthday, Karen!

Passing time can never fade

All the special memories made;

Loved ones never really part

For they live inside your heart.

Watching the Magnolia Bloom

Gee, it has been a little quiet around here lately!

Somewhere in all those boxes I was unpacking last month, I also seemed to unpack a severe case of the blahs.  Hopefully, better days are ahead.

About the only thing I have been doing is watching my magnolia tree bloom.

I love magnolia blooms!

The ones from this tree are very dear and special.

Maybe one day, I will share the story behind this special tree.

The tree is now about thirteen years old.

Each year, I anxiously wait to see if it will bloom.

For the first several years, there was nary a bloom.

The last few years, there have been maybe two or three blooms each Spring.

For unknown reasons, there are now at least twenty four blooms!

I have been bringing some inside and floating them in water.

Their intoxicating scent fill my house.

I am loving them, and they are definitely helping to chase away those pesky blahs.

This is a magnolia bloom created with ribbon and tiny glass seed beads.

It was a project one year at Stitchin' Charleston Style, taught by Laura Jenkins Thompson.

There are folded ribbon roses on the other side, and the whole bouquet was to adorn a black silk evening bag.  A few years ago, I removed the cluster from the purse and nestled it in a bow on a hat worn to a Kentucky Derby party.  I loved them so much on the hat, they never found their way back to the purse!

And here is one more form of magnolia bloom found in our home.

It is a piece of Boehm porcelain, with a special link to the tree that I am watching bloom in our yard!

All part of a special time and people in my life.

And to my friends in Mississippi and Louisiana, where magnolias are usually in great abundance, my prayers and thoughts are with you.  May each of you stay safe from the danger and destruction of floodwaters.

Easter Memories

Between packing, unpacking and a few other activities in our home and lives, Easter seems to have sneaked up on me.  Only a few days ago, I managed to bring out the Easter Egg tree, and surround it with my mother-in-law's much loved Herend bunny collection.

But the much loved sugar eggs from my mother, which I shared here last year, remain safely snuggled in their boxes.  As do the needlepoint bunnies, also shared here last year, and many other favorite Easter decorations.

I know in my heart that Easter is not about the chocolate bunnies, brightly painted eggs, and cute baskets overflowing with colorful paper grass.

But, if I am to be perfectly honest, I do miss seeing all those things around my house this year.

So, I am thinking of Easters past, when those and much more were in great abundance.

My first Easter as a mother.

The thrill of the hunt!

For me, the search for the perfect little appliqued outfit and miniature top siders.

For him, that special egg!

The annual neighborhood Easter Egg Hunt, and a sugar induced high that lasted all afternoon.

No nap for him.  I was the one who needed it more!

Family.

Dearly departed, but never forgotten, family.

Brunch at Memphis Country Club.

I can still taste the cheese blintz with raspberries!

Real bunnies with whiskers that tickle!

No, these are not the things of which Easter really is.

Or, are they in some small way?

Because of a greater love, I have all these blessings.

A tiny hand was placed in mine, and I put my faith in His hands to guide us both, through hunts for hidden eggs and other adventures in life.

The holiday brought family and friends together.  Work and worries ceased for the moment.

There were smiles, hugs and happiness.

There are now special memories etched forever into our hearts and minds.

There is the promise of eternal life, and the glorious reunion with those we miss even more when we gaze at sugar eggs and beloved bunny collections.

I believe that God speaks to us in so many different ways, and holidays can be celebrated and savored in just as many ways, too.

And sometimes, we just all need to indulge in the simple and silly things that make us smile!

If you choose to celebrate Easter,

may you be abundantly blessed as you prepare your home and heart for this sacred day.

National Handwriting Day

In 1977, the Writing Instrument Manufacturer Association declared January 23 as National Handwriting Day.  Their purpose was "to alert the public to the importance of handwriting".

The date is also the birthday of John Hancock, the first to sign the Declaration of Independence.  Mr. Hancock was known for his large and bold signature, and his name has long been associated with signatures of all types on many forms of documents.

In this age of computers and fast paced lifestyles, it seems so much easier to send emails, ecards and evites.  Yet, it is sad to contemplate a world without handwriting.

It is something that is personal and unique to each of us.

Years ago, I was much better at sending handwritten cards and letters.  Owning and running a business, I let that simple act fall by the wayside.  Recently, while undergoing my many surgeries and recoveries, I remembered how very powerful the handwritten note is.

Cards and letters brightened my days.

I could hold them and feel them.

The bright colors were visible even to sore and swollen eyes.

They were my best medicine.

Among my treasures, are cards and letters from those no longer with me.

Mother never knew what an email was.

All of our communication was done via mail or telephone.

I have many letters that she wrote to me through the years.  Their words still hold so much wisdom and love.

When Mother and Daddy would take off on jaunts here and there, the postcards would begin to fill our mailbox.  It seemed as if we were on the journey with them.

After Mother passed away, Daddy continued to travel.

The postcards still arrived.

I also try to send postcards to friends and family as I travel.  However, with each trip, I discover it more difficult to find and purchase postcards.  It makes me sad.

Some of the most cherished, but most difficult to read, handwritten notes are ones received following the deaths of loved ones.

They bring comfort and tears at the same time.

There is also the note written by a cherished niece.

It was still lying on the kitchen counter with other mail when we received the news of her tragic and untimely death.  This small piece of paper, with a cross and heart, speaks almost more than the words of her note.

My sister's handwriting could rival that of Mr. Hancock.

She was also known for her very large and bold handwriting.  It was definitely an extension of her personality.

While he strongly dislikes it, my son's handwriting is the type that warms a mother's heart.

I remember many occupational therapy appointments and hours of exercise to get those little hand muscles to work properly.  It may be a signature that only a mother could love, and this mother definitely loves it.

This is the handwriting of which I will never tire.

I vowed this year that I would do a better job of sending handwritten notes and cards.

I have already fallen behind on writing all my thank you notes for holiday gifts.

So, I will be spending a little time this weekend with these!

Wishing you a happy weekend, and maybe a mailbox full of love.

Return from Rochester

Thank you so much for all the prayers and positive thoughts during our recent journey to Rochester, Minnesota.  We managed to travel both directions safely, and missed most of the snow and bad weather.   It began snowing as we headed back home.  For a couple of hours, we drove through a white winter wonderland.   I now have a new appreciation for the word "cold".  Temperatures were usually between 10 and 20 degrees.  If I ever again complain about cold temperatures in my part of the country, my friends to the north are more than welcome to stuff their mittens and mufflers in my mouth!

Actually, the people in Rochester are quite smart.  The majority of hotels, shops, restaurants and Mayo Clinic buildings are linked by a series of underground tunnels and skywalks.  You really do not need to venture out into the cold much at all.

We were able to dine at the same restaurant where my husband often dined, as a child, with his mother and a beloved aunt.  The restaurant, Michaels, is still owned and operated by the same family 50 years later.  His favorite entree of roasted duck with wild rice is still served.  Our meal was delicious, and the waitress kind enough to listen to my husband's trip down memory lane.  Bless her heart!

We also took a quick detour to Janesville, to catch a quick glimpse of his grandparents' home.  The building which once housed his grandfather's Chevrolet dealership and repair service is still standing, although greatly modified and serving a different purpose.  The grocery store and Dairy Queen, where many nickles and dimes were spent on treats, are still in business.

We also walked down hallways at the Mayo Clinic where his mother and father once might have walked.

It is somehow reassuring to know that some things never change.

The ophthamologist, with whom we met, described my case of thyroid eye disease as one of the most severe and complex he has seen.  Treatment options that might be advantageous to others, will not benefit me.

The best that can be offered is a series of surgeries that will lessen, but not completely reverse the double vision.  He believes the amount of time that I am currently able to align my eyes for normal vision will continue to decrease.  Each day, I seem to notice more deterioriation. 

His surgery schedule is currently filled for the next three months.  So, we have time to continue researching, thinking and making decisions.  Should openings in the surgery schedule become available, we will be notified.  Truthfully, at this time, I am not too eager to agree to additional surgeries.

The journey to Mayo Clinic did make one thing clear.

The halls are filled with thousands of people, all searching for their own medical miracle.

While our individual battles may seem insurmountable to each of us, many are fighting wars that may never be won.  They would gladly trade places with me.

The holidays are a time of hope and miracles.

I continue to cling to that promise.

I also continue to pray for grace to accept and make the best of my situation --

what it is now, and what it may become.

Sixty Years Ago

My parents on their wedding day.

November 24, 1950

First Methodist Church   ~   Canadian, Texas

It wasn't so much about a big fluffy white dress in those days!

I do have the necklace and earrings Mother wore that day.

I now sometimes wear her necklace.  It is actually quite similar to ones currently found in popular and trendy stores.  Funny how that happens.

I discovered the beading from her dress, tucked away in one of her dresser drawers.  I recognized it immediately.

She gave me her wedding band shortly before she passed away.  I always wear it on the same finger as my own wedding band.

Growing up, I sometimes felt badly their special day seemed lost in the celebration of Thanksgiving and the beginning of the busy holiday season.

Now, I am so often reminded of my parents, their marriage, our family, my wonderful childhood and their unconditional love at this special time.  Exactly when we should be counting our blessings.

They gave me much.

They taught me well, by word and example.

I am so very thankful.

I miss them more than words can express.

Happy Anniversary, Mother and Daddy!

The Pilgrims Have Landed

at my home!

I love Thanksgiving.  It holds for me some of the most special memories of time with family.

Perhaps it is because most of the day is spent in the kitchen or around the table.  What better places to feel warm and loved?

Schedules do not seem as frantic and shopping lists not as long or materialistic.

It is a wonderful holiday, but too sadly lost between Halloween and Christmas.

As an adult, some very special Thanksgivings were spent at my sister's rustic country home in East Texas.  After stuffing our faces, we would often go hiking to gather pine cones, holly berries and other holiday greenery.  Notice I said this event took place after eating the turkey and dressing and pumpkin pie!  They all deserve their own moment in the spotlight, before turning our attention to the joys of Christmas.

Other memorable Thanksgivings were spent at my dear mother-in-law's home in Tennessee.

They were the complete opposite, as we gathered around a table graced with fine embroidered linens, antique china, crystal, sterling silver, and

the cutest little Pilgrim couple!

I have no idea where my mother-in-law purchased these, but they were obviously handmade.

It appears their bodies are made of glass soda bottles covered with white socks.  Their garments and features are handstitched from simple fabrics and felt.  They are also quite heavy, leading me to believe they may be weighted with plaster of paris.

Looking in the mirror's reflection above, you can see Mrs. Pilgrim's sweet long braid of yarn.  She holds a tiny basket filled with dried flowers.  I think Mr. Pilgram once held a musket, but that seems to have gone missing somewhere along the way!

I am just grateful to have them at all.

After being diagnosed with recurring breast cancer, my mother-in-law opted to leave her beloved home and relocate to a residential facility offering various stages and levels of health care.  Much of her furniture and cherished possessions came to Texas to live with us.  As the boxes were unpacked, I realized one was missing.  A frantic call was made to the company handling the estate sale.  I waited with bated breath, until this sweet little Pilgrim couple was safely in my hands.  A missing musket was the least of my concerns!

They have not missed a year of standing on my mother-in-law's mahogony table, even though the table has traveled to another state and three different homes.

Before Mr. and Mrs. Pilgrim joined my Thanksgiving decorations, I purchased this grouping of Pilgrims and Indians.  We refer to them as the Tall and Skinny Quartet.  They measure almost 20" tall, and obviously had not partaken of too many great feasts.   Carved of wood, with brightly painted details, they are currently displayed on top of a chest in our entry hall.

The smallest and sweetest are these little candles which once belonged to me and my sister.  That would date them from the late 1950's to early 1960's.  Both were lit at one or more times.  You may note the one on the left has a slightly flattened head from being burned.  I am so grateful that my very wise mother did not let us burn these completely, and even more grateful that she lovingly preserved them for so many years.

Even more amazing?  The price and the fact they were made right here in the USA!

The settings of my Thanksgiving memories may differ greatly.

The one constant is each was filled with loving family members, many of whom are no longer with us.  Yet, the memories of them and their love are etched forever on my heart.

For that I give great thanks.