Memorial Day

Years ago Memorial Day was known as Decoration Day. This year it became apparent to me how different the two things really are. We generally take the kids to Salina on Memorial Day and visit many relative's graves. This year because Jim wasn't feeling well we opted to stay home. We woke to gray skies and rain and my overall general gloomy mood. I was really feeling bad that I couldn't visit my Dad's grave and take some flowers. The feeling was only made worse when we visited the Riverton cemetary and found a couple of our friend's graves with seeminly no acknowledgement of their memory. I wonderded how people could live so close and not remember their loved ones by decorating their graves. Perhaps these people are just quicker than I am. As we drove back into the driveway, out of the corner of my eye I saw the young oak tree that my neighbors planted in honor of my father while I was away at his funeral. It was almost as if I heard an audible voice say to me, "Analee, you don't have to lay flowers by my headstone to celebrate Memorial Day, you can remember me always." This I suppose I already knew, but then the thoughts really began to fly. I can in effect be a living memorial to the memory of my father. My life, my actions, my feelings and accomplishments can honor him daily. My treatment of others--the grumpy sales clerk, the annoying friend of a child, the hurting stranger; I can show my father that I listened to his words and watched his actions. I can perpetuate his goodness. I could not make it to the Veteran's Cemetary in Phoenix on Monday, but today, tomorrow and forever can be Memorial Day for me. Who's life will your actions be a memorial to today?

Miracles

Just about anyone who know us knows about the challenges Joseph has had. To condense years of problems into one sentence, let us just say that he has had a malignant brain tumor, a non-malignant brain tumor, two brain surgeries, cranio-spinal radiation and a closed-head injury.

Years ago "professionals" tried to tell me that my child would never read, would never learn and would even have great difficulty communicating. On more than one occasion they tried to support their claims by showing me his amened IQ after all the physical insults to his brain. I would always hold my hand up to them and tell them "no thanks, no test can measure what my child can accomplish." At one particular appointment I think it was decided that only seeing the numbers would pull me out of this dream world I was in concering Joseph's future. Before I knew what was happening, there in front of me were the numbers. I stood with tears streaming down my face, ripped the paper in half and threw it down on the table. "Don't you understand," I said, "he can do anything I believe that he can."

Joseph's life has been hard, but from that he has become incredibly strong. Yesterday Joseph was awarded the Eagle of the Quarter award in a school assembly. This is given to only 24 students out of about eighteen hundred. It is nominated by one teacher and voted on by the entire faculty.

Always remember that your children will rise to the level of your expectations. Miracles occur. Never stop believing.

Way to go Joseph--our lives would not be the same without you.

My Mom

Long before I could ever respond my mother caressed my face and
whispered how much she loved me in my ear.
She held me close and calmed my fears.
She loved me deeply and dried my tears.
I was completely dependant.

I jump out of sleepfulness as the airplane touches down on the Phoenix runway--
I have arrived to spend Mother's Day with my mom.
When I come into the house she is eating her lunch.
I kiss her on the head and wipe away her tear as she finishes up.
We go out on the back porch and listen to the birds and the wind in the trees.
She is ready for a nap so I will come back later.
At bedtime I rub her feet and legs with lotion;
I rub her fingers and hands and arms and neck.
I lean over and tell her that I love her,
She says, "I know sweetheart; I love you too."
I am elated. My heart is full and my trip is complete.
These would be the only words my mother would speak directly to me.

Her brilliance is gone.
Her love of reading is gone.
Her extensive vocabulary is gone.
Her painting and designing and crafting is gone.
Her memory is gone.
Her recognition is gone.
Her ability to walk is gone.

I caress her face and whisper how much I love her in her ear.
I hold her close and try to calm her fears.
I love her deeply; I will always dry her tears.
She is completely dependant and I love her.

Happy Mother's Day Mom...and thank you.

Happy Mother's Day Mom

Rose-Colored Glasses

Everyone always said Anna Mae wore "rose-colored" glasses. I grew up hearing the phrase over and over. One day when I was quite young I asked her what it meant. She chuckled and told me that it was a way of saying that you say everything in a beautiful light. She went to the trouble of finding some pinkish tinted glass for me to look through. "See how soft and beautiful it makes everything look?" she asked. I really could see a difference. It was brighter and warmer.

The older I became the more I realized what the phrase meant and why everyone referred to her when they used it. She was genuine, loving and always found the best in everyone and in every situation. She was one of the most well-read people I have ever known. She said you couldn't understand people unless you understood where they were coming from. She taught me when I was very young to play Pollyanna. That's a game where you take any situation, especially less desirable ones, and you find and name everything you can that is good about it. She told me that there would be times in my life that this would be the best game I could play.

I think we are all born with a pair of "rose-colored" glasses. If you don't agree, take a moment sometime and watch how an infant gazes at his mother or how he watches with wonder as a curtain flutters in the breeze. I believe that at some point in childhood most of us misplace them. Maybe we put them away when we recieve too much criticism or we experience a traumatic event. Some of us even hold onto them until we are little older, but ultimately others convince us that we must live in what the world terms as reality. Perhaps we still carry them around in our pocket, but most of the time we tuck them neatly away in an out-of-the-way drawer.

Maybe we should get them out more often. Complete strangers look more beautiful. Our loved-one's decisions make more sense. Even snow in May becomes a beautiful fantasy. Stars in a night sky become more precious than diamonds. Messy bathrooms are a reminder than people we love live with us. Broken cars remind us that most of the time they aren't broken. Threatening illnesses become opportunities to spend more time together and a wonderful chance to grow in strength.

Yes, she wore "rose-colored" glasses. Her name was Anna Mae Lee and they called her Anna Lee. She was my grandmother. I was named after her and when I grow up I want to be just like her.

Okay, okay. Some of us are busy and we don't work all night. So as for being tagged....

What's his name? Jim
How long did you date? Hmmm, depends on what you call dating. Officially about six months I suppose.
How long have you been married? 28 years in June.
Who is taller? Jim. Isn't everybody?
Who eats more? Do you mean when people are looking or all the time? Jim does.
Who is a better singer? I am. He has some great talents, but desire is the only thing he has in the singing area.
Who does the laundry? I do, but when I let it go too long, he does and this is not a good thing. He washes everything together. Sweaters look really fabulous with towel lint on them.
Who pays the bills? Definitely Jim.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? I do. Does that mean that he gets up on the wrong side of the bed every day?
Who mows the lawn? Joseph the grounds keeper.
Who cooks dinner? Me. Kara does too alot lately. Jim does if he needs to.
Who drives? I assume this means when we are together. Usually Jim unless he wants a nap.
Who is more stubborn? Its a draw, but he is more subtle about it. I am the goat variety.
Who kissed who first? He kissed me; in my car in the Sundance parking lot.
Who asked who out? He asked me out. We went ice-blocking. Didn't know what it was when I went or I probably would have declined. It was really fun even though I had tons of bruises!
Who proposed? Jim did. He was so nervous that I thought he was about to dump me.
Who is more sensitive? It used to be me hands down, but the older we get its a draw.
Who has more siblings? Jim. I have three, he has five.
Who wears the pants? Jim. I would hate to see him in a dress. No really. We share decisions, but he is definitely the head of the house.

So, now that I have accomplished this responsibility, I will now tag Breeana and Alaina, "Tag, you're it!" I have great confidence that you will respond much more rapidly than I.

Some people are blessed enough to have the perfect friend. This is mine. This summer we will celebrate twenty-eight years together. I have contemplated the concept of "becoming one." I believe that when two people come together they each bring their gifts and qualities. When those attributes are perfected and refined and they unite them; they can become one perfect entity. e.e.cummings, one of my favorite poets said,

"one's not half two. It's two are halves of one:" Oh, how true! With desirous hearts two can come together and work toward becomming one. I remember my daughter once asking me, "You do know you have the perfect husband, right Mom?" Is he a perfect person? No. Is he perfect for me? Absolutely.