You'll Miss Me When I'm Gone

The first moment we met, I knew it’d be you,

The one I would marry someday.

And the first date would prove it, the fact that I knew it,

You proposed on an interstate highway.

I was downing the last of the wine that we had,

And the proposal I have to admit

Was not real romantic, in fact I was frantic,

So much so it caused me to spit!

The stain on the ceiling brought all kinds of feelings

Each time I looked up to remember,

To be sure you weren’t kidding, I took 10 months to answer,

Before pledging together forever.

Friends asked, are you sure? Do you know he’s the one?

And my answer – it didn’t take long

There was never a doubt, because I saw in your eyes

That you’ll miss me when I was gone.

The years passed so quickly, routines got disrupted,

And families continued to grow.

But all through the years that we’ve been together,

You’ve confirmed what I always have known.

Of course nothing is perfect, our story’s not fiction

And life isn’t always a song.

But I still can see it, though your eyes are more weary,

You’ll miss me when I am gone.

The same goes for  friends and my loved ones alike,

My children especially so

We may not have said it, each time that we should have,

But love need not be spoken, but shown

The knowledge is there, when I look in their eyes,

Their thoughts are the same as my own.

I know that they love me; I know I’m not wrong,

Because they’ll miss me when I am gone.

Our days here are numbered, and fate sometimes enters

At the most inopportune time.

No need to regret the things left unsaid,

Or the wishes you thought had been mine.

Remember the love and the laughter instead,

Hear me whisper to you every dawn;

“I always have loved you, and always felt loved,

And I’ll miss you all when I’m gone.

Sleeping Giant

                                                

I sit and watch the sunlight dancing on the water, skipping over the tiny ripples made by the warm summer breeze.  Marveling at the beauty of my surroundings, I can not fathom how someone can see what I see, and still doubt the existence of an Almighty Creator.

The intricacies and the complexities of living things are beyond just happenstance.

As we move through our life, we gather what we cherish, holding it close to our heart trying to keep it safe so it will last forever.  Perhaps we acquire too much to hold, or maybe we give too much importance to some of our choices.  Things should not be coveted, but rather appreciated while they last and let go as part of the constantly changing cycles that are meant to occur in nature.  This concept is often the most difficult, to give up something we love, or to let someone we love go.  And so we move silently, desperately holding onto what we hold most dear, knowing full well that nothing is permanent.

 When we were young we’d return home, arms loaded with packages, shoes clutched at the end of our fingertips and tiptoe through the house sneaking past our parents’ room, hoping they won’t hear that you’ve returned after curfew.   Sometimes we try to carry too much and a shoe slips from our grasp and falls silently, tumbling in slow motion through the airspace until it lands with a loud thud on the floor.  We freeze instantly, afraid to breathe, straining to hear a change in the rhythmic breathing coming from behind the door, praying the other shoe won’t follow the first as we move achingly slow down the hall to the safety of our own room

  It is with great reverence that I tiptoe through my daily life knowing that at any time everything could change.  I have been blessed with so much, and sometimes I fear I have accepted and held onto too much; not wanting to lose any of the wonderful things I have been given or attained.  I hold my breath as I move through life trying to create as little disturbance as I can so as not to draw attention to humanity’s Sleeping Giant.  I pray quietly to our Father who blesses us and loves us unconditionally; so much that he allows us this time here to stop and gather what we love, and appreciate what he has given to us. 

We often drop our shoe along the way and like a most forgiving parent, gives us a pass to continue to our room, often without comment.  But in the end, in prayer to our Father who art in heaven, we also say Thy will be done…and we must acknowledge that this is often the unknown curfew that is set, and sooner or later we will have gathered all that we could carry and the other shoe will drop from our grasp and we will be called to our Parent’s room, never to return to the room at the end of the hall.  We approach that door with fear and regret, but it is not because of fear of our Father who is calling us home.  It is because we must leave what we have loved most; to proceed to the second stage of our life.  It is the ones we leave behind that experience the hurt and pain of our departure.  We can only hope that those, whom we held close, will celebrate our life, because we have fulfilled our purpose, and will pick up what was important and carry our memory with them until they are given a curfew of their own.

Dad's Goodbye

Why was grandpa crying?

My children asked one day.

Cause grandpa knows he's dying, 

was all that I could say.

The tears welled up-

a lump was formed so fast

I couldn't breathe.

For it was then I knew

it wont be long before he leaves.

Suddenly, I flashed back,

to a time when I was four

and he'd lift me up to do the dishes,

 while he would  mop the floor.

It was every Sunday morning

 while the others went to pray 

To surprise my mom when she came home 

that was just his subtle way.

I remember well the extra hug

as he set me on the floor

that's the time I cherished most-

when I was only four.

I thought back to his humor, and the twinkle in his eyes.

That twinkle always made us smile

though  back then, 

I knew not why.

His body now was atrophied,

his  mind was trapped inside.

He couldn't  wipe the tear we saw

 slip smoothly from his eye.

"I don't know what he wants to say"

 mom said, when I walked in;

She flipped through cards with words scrawled out

and was looking rather grim.

I looked at dad, and saw the twinkle-

and said "mom look into his eyes"

he's trying to say "I love you" 

and with that he gave a sigh.

He finally made me understand

 why  those twinkles made us smile.

The twinkle said it clearly-

the understanding took a while.

They were saying that he loved us,

he had said it all along-

We thought he hardly noticed us,

but clearly we were wrong.

I told him that I had to leave-

there were  things I had to do ,

but promised I'd return again

 tomorrow around  noon.

He looked hard into my eyes ,

the  twinkle  was there too

and I responded "Yes, I know dad, 

and we all love you too".

The next day I was nearly ready 

to walk out of my front door;

When suddenly I felt his hug,

Just like when I was four.

The phone then rang-

my brother called to say that he had died

Yes I  know, I said,

 he gave me one last hug-

 to say goodbye.

Song of Josephine

My sweet tiny girl...
your debut was not as we had hoped.
The waiting room was clouded with worry and fear
not the sunshine and flowers as we planned.

When I first saw you in the NICU
you were like a tiny marionette, lying broken on stage under lights
tethered to machines and monitors that controlled your life force.
But in those clicks and beeps I heard your secret message
of strength, courage and determination.

When I first held you in my arms
you took my breath away.
And as your tiny hand grabbed and held onto my finger
you became my oxygen and my lungs filled
with the breath of angels.
That's when I first knew you were our blessing from God
and destined for greatness.

My heart aches with love each time I see you or hear your name
It soars like a bird until I see what you must endure, and your illness
pierces my heart like a giant thorn.
And as the pain becomes most severe, I am suddenly stilled by a sound...
A most beautiful song rising a pitch above all others fills the air
and I see it comes from you.

You are the perfect song Josie...
Gods most special blessing to us all
Like the mythical thornbird,
the most beautiful song is brought about through great pain.

You are our song Josephine
the one most beautiful.
And we will hold those thorns to our own breasts because
your song is worth it.

All my love,
Nana

Treasure Hunt

Growing up as a child, I can remember my mother getting very annoyed with herself when no matter how careful she tried to be, a morsel of food, a drop of sauce or a spatter of dressing inevitably would find its path to the front of her blouse. These small culinary traces were like homing pigeons coming back to roost. We would all snicker, much to her dismay, at the sudden realization that the mystery of what to get her on the next gift giving occasion had simply solved itself!
Call it fate, divine providence or simply genetics, but as I’ve gotten older, I have found myself suffering from the same malady as my mother. I swear to you that if you went into my closet, more than 60% of my blouses would have the telltale signs of those culinary homing pigeons.
I have tried a multitude of stain removal products on the market, but all of them combined have not been able to restore more than 2% of my garments to the point that I can wear them in public.
It isn't that I don't try to eat carefully. In fact, there have been times my menu choices are made by the viscosity of the sauces and the ability of the food to remain on the fork until it is delivered safely behind the toothy cage beyond my lips. There have been times I've accomplished this successfully...that is… until my last forkful. Etiquette dictates that you should leave some food on the plate which signifies to the host that you have been satisfied, but I propose it is more likely a civilized warning that to finish to the last bite is simply testing fate and challenging the odds of successful delivery. I have tested this theory multiple times and indeed, there have been times that I have gotten through nearly the entire dinner feeling quite proud of myself that nothing found its way to my chest. Then it happens-- when I glance down at the plate, feeling so full I don't think I could swallow another bite, my conscience replays Sister Joseph Patrice’s' lecture on the sin of wasting food and visions of starving children in Biafra pass through my mind. I watch helplessly as my hand lifts the fork to impale the last morsel of food on the plate. And as I raise the final bite to my mouth, I detect a barely discernible weight change on the utensil and watch in embarrassment as the tasty little pigeon returns to roost on my chest.
So there it is. The more we try to climb out of the gene pool, the deeper that pool becomes.
Culinary Homing Pigeons are not the only thing I have inherited from my parents. Like my mother, I am overweight and sometimes grapple with a lack of self-esteem. I developed her bad habit of biting dry cuticles until my fingers become raw. I have my father's easy going nature, and like him, it takes a lot to set me off- but I  have a short fuse and once it’s lit,  it should come with a siren to caution anyone in the vicinity to keep clear or suffer the fallout.  Allergies, soft fingernails, and arthritis are among the other not so desirable inherited traits. But I don't believe I only inherited the negative. I think I learned compassion, and understanding, and a fierce sense of loyalty. However, the trait I inherited from both mom and dad that I am most proud of would have to be a sense of humor. Both had a wonderful sense of humor, and if I learned one thing from my mom, it’s how to laugh at myself and how humor can get you through an uncomfortable situation. This humor helped me through an uncomfortable situation last Tuesday.
It has been a very busy couple of months at the campground, and we were running low on some things needed for the upcoming weekend which warranted a trip to Walmart and BJ's. When I got to route 80, I noticed the backup of cars heading west toward the bridge, so I did an immediate U-turn and headed for the Portland Bridge so that I could avoid the traffic and drive up the PA side of the Delaware River. Entering Walmart, I did a quick recon of the department headings and made a beeline for the items on my list. As I backed out of my parking spot, it suddenly hit me that I had not eaten breakfast, and it was already past the lunch hour. I was feeling a little shaky and lightheaded and knew I needed to make a quick detour on my way to BJ’s. Arby's was the closest fast food establishment, and I quickly ordered a roast beef sandwich with bacon.  Pulling away from the drive thru, I hastily unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. The sandwich immediately began to disassemble and pieces of lettuce, bread, beef and bacon were showering down the front of me while I held onto the driver’s wheel.
I quickly ate the remainder of what was left in my hand and shook the debris from my blouse, as I slid into a parking space at BJ’s Wholesale club. I hurried inside with my list in hand and quickly began to go about my shopping when I noticed an elderly couple standing in front of me.  The gentleman had an air of gentility about him, and he was making a discrete attempt at getting my attention.  “Excuse me miss,” he said softly, “you seem to have dropped something” and he shyly pointed at me.
I glanced down and was mortified to see a chunk of bacon wedged in my cleavage! Flicking it out with one quick motion and falling back on my mother’s advice and humor, I rolled my eyes at him and said “what can I say, my husband enjoys treasure hunts, and he loves bacon!”  The man’s wife burst into laughter as did I, and we watched the man turn various shades of red. Even his gray hair seemed to get a tinge of pink.  “I’m sorry,” I chuckled, “but I thought if you were as embarrassed as I, it would help level the playing field.” 
“You certainly accomplished that” his wife said laughing uncontrollably.
I shrugged my shoulders and smiled, “I guess I’ll have to tell him the treasure has already been found,” and turned and wheeled my shopping cart around the corner into the next aisle.
Upon returning home, I told my husband what had happened on my shopping trip.  That night he found a new treasure under his pillow.  It was a bag of bacon flavored jerky.  I winked at him and said “in case you miss me while I’m gone.”  We both laughed as I grabbed my cell phone and walked out the door to spend the night with my granddaughter.

New year resolutions

It’s New Year’s Eve, and as I removed the calendar from the wall and tore off the page marked "December 2012" it suddenly hit me.  This is the 58^th new years eve of my life!  Although as a very young child, I did not know what it meant to make a new year’s resolution, I realized I have probably been making them for nearly half a century.  Although I could not recall any that I succeeded in keeping.  This day brings a chance at a fresh start and a chance of a “do over”; but instead, I can’t help but ask myself "what have I done"?    

I’m suddenly recalling all the New Year resolutions that went unresolved.  Failed diets, changed attitudes, ambitious plans, incomplete projects…….all fell victim to procrastination and buried with resolutions of days gone by. It’s depressing to say the least.

 Still, each year I set myself up for failure as I make a new resolution.  Even as I verbalize it, I brace myself for the disappointment I know will come at the end of December; and I wonder if I might be predisposed to self- flagellation. 

 I ball up the page I’ve just torn off, toss it in the trash, then look back at the wall and there it is.  That fresh clean page of the New Year; January 2013 still uncluttered with appointment and reminders glared at me.  What can I say? Hope springs eternal.  I start to wonder what new goal I should set for myself that won’t damage my psyche too much when it doesn’t come into fruition. Fifty eight…. Who would have thought…?  Looking back on the last couple of years, "Auld Lang Syne" may very well be best if left forgotten.  But here I am again, reviewing the events of the  "Old Long Since”.  Aside from the weight gain, there’s the torn meniscus in one knee, degenerative cartilage in the other, a damaged rotator cup,  vision requiring glasses for both distance and close up and  spots on my lungs which have yet to be diagnosed even after three  surgeries.  My joints tell me each time I have to stand up that  I have not only crested the hill, but am too far down the other side to reverse my course. And who can remember the last time I had a good night’s sleep?  In fact, my memory is so bad that I don’t remember ever having one.  I'm considering changing my religion to one that believes in reincarnation so that I could resolve to take better care of myself in my next life, in the event I live past 50.

Suddenly a decision is made.  I know I can’t stick to a diet, and I have no desire for orthopedic surgery. I have become accustomed to three hours of sleep, and who am I kidding, I probably won’t get the cellar cleaned or the yard landscaped.  With my luck I'll come back as a turtle in my next life, so I don't have much of a choice.  I’ve decided this year’s New Year resolution is try to keep myself in an arrested state of decay.    

Looking on the bright side, with my memory, by end of 2013, I won’t recall enough to make the comparison if I am better or worse than I am now!  I hung the new calendar feeling confident success is finally in sight!

It's all in the bottom right leg of the chromosome

There are countless books and complex theories as to why men and women are so inherently different.     I don’t believe the reason is as complex as scientists and psychologists make it out to be.  Do you remember basic biology when you were told that women were the X chromosome and men are the Y chromosome?  Let’s take a simple look at those two small letters shall we?  The x for example is made up of two equal lines which cross at the center at an angle.  What happens when you snap off the bottom right leg?  That’s right, you have the letter y.  So it stands to reason, that men are not like women because to put it simply, they’re broken.

What happens when the bottom leg is missing?  Let’s consider some of the most common differences by example #1 Why can’t men ask directions?

 I remember shorty after my marriage, before the GPS, we were invited to a wedding in Norfolk Va.  We had the name of the church and the street address. No problem; until we turned onto that street, and became confused because there wasn’t a single building on the road that contained a house number.  Now you wouldn’t think that finding the church would be a problem except that there were churches everywhere.  You know how each town has what they call fast food alley? You pass McDonalds, Burger King, Wendy’s, Pizza Hut, Bo Jangles Kentucky Fried Chicken, and Arby’s  in less than a half mile. It’s like running a fast food gauntlet and dodging the arterial blows till you emerge on the other end of the street where a development houses the local victims, peering out the window dreading the route back to the interstate.

This particular road in Norfolk could have been called the gauntlet of righteousness.  There were churches on both sides of the street. Catholic, Methodist, Presbyterian, Unitarian, Evangelical, Episcopalian, and Baptist along with churches of denomination I had never heard before.  We were running late, and I, being a woman, thought the solution was to just stop and ask a pedestrian. However, my husband, who contained that broken chromosome, decided the better solution was to turn the car around and cruise back and forth like ducks in a shooting gallery, till either we found the church or we were picked off by the righteous indignation of each denomination when we refused to stop at the prospective pearly gates of their parking lots. 

This leads me to example

 #2 why can’t men listen?

 Did I mention that I believe the bottom right leg of the X chromosome must also contain the tonal range that permits hearing?  Because it wasn’t until my voice hit a higher pitch that my husband’s inner ear became receptive and pulled alongside the next group of pedestrians we saw to finally ask directions.  As it happened, it was the bride and her parents, walking to the church.  To his credit, he did receive the telepathic message “I told you so”, from me with little effort. Which leads me to believe telepathy or mind reading, which is often credited to women is in one of the other legs of the X chromosome.

Example #3 Men like to think that women can’t manage without them. 
They want to be the providers. And though they accuse women of keeping score, they do the same.  The difference is the scoring curve.  Men tend to score a gesture or deed much higher than women.  Taking garbage out may be a ten in his eyes, but a 1 in hers, while taking care of the kids and doing laundry is considered menial and scores a one with him while his wife rates her time equivalent in accomplishing these tasks a bit higher than the time it took him to carry a bag from the kitchen to the curb. Consequently, they always seem to think things are off balance. Hmm, ever try to stand up a Y?

Example 4 men don’t talk.
 Men use as few words as possible and speak only when they have to...  Women want to discuss the problem until a solution is reached.  With one exception, when a woman is complimented on her salad, she graciously says thank you, I picked the lettuce fresh from the garden this morning.  But when men are complimented on an accomplishment they stand around beating their chests. It’s the old hunter gatherer stuff.    When a man goes hunting to put meat on the table, and someone takes notice, you are forced to relive the hunt with them.  They will go into excruciating detail from the weather to the type of ammo and on to a minute by minute description of the sights and sounds experienced before pulling the trigger and landing the shot.   I call your attention to the amount of cave drawings, depicting hunts.  I propose it was simply the woman who gave him the piece of charcoal and said “honey, write it down and I’ll read it later after I clean up the dishes and beat your underwear on the rock along the river and hang them to dry after I start the fire.

This leads me example 5, Men cannot multi-task.
Women are capable of rocking the baby, stirring the sauce and talking on the telephone while they supervise  one child doing homework and listening to yet another child reading aloud.  Men on the other hand can only manage one task at a time, with possible exception of performing certain bodily functions while reading.. The world comes to a grinding halt if they have to give so much as a yes or no question when asked during a sports game on the TV.  Oh, they will tell you they are thinking before answering, but must I remind you about the listening skills housed in the bottom right leg of the x chromosome?

Example number 6 -  If there was ever a doubt that God was all-knowing and all-seeing, just look at who he chose to bear the children. 
 Women will endure 36 hours of labor and be back on her feet, within hours of delivery, but if a man pulls a muscle, he’ll whine for sympathy for hours, maybe even days.  And Lord help us if they should get the flu!  You would think they were on their death bed and you begin to wonder if you should first call the priest to administer last rites, or grab the check register to be sure you made the required payment on his life insurance while racking your brain trying to recall where the will was stashed.  Perhaps it’s because they are trying to keep their balance on that one-legged chromosome .

And finally, you realize men have no opinion when it comes to helping you decorate the house or deciding if they like your new dress or your new hairstyle. And the ones who do, are said to be more in touch with their feminine side.  I’d be willing to bet if their genetic structure was examined closely, there would still be part of that lower right leg of the x remaining.  In other words, they’re probably gay!

Still, men blame the wife when they do not get the son they wanted to carry on the name; though basic biology tells you it is the man who determines the sex of the offspring.  The women have only the X chromosome, while the male carries both the x and the y.  So if the broken chromosome happens to swim faster, and produces another broken chromosome, they have no one to blame but themselves.

Some people explain it all as "It's a guy thing.  I maintain that it's a "Y" thing.

Men can be kind of like a cockroach.  Cockroaches have a similar system for determining the sex of an individual. The male cockroaches determine the sex of the offspring. The male cockroach contains only an x chromosome, and thus produce sperm that contain either an x or no chromosome at all.  Wanna guess what sex the no chromosomal sperm produces?