I know I've written about tonight's topic in the past, but it's at the top of my mind, so I thought I'd sit down and journal it. Since Mother passed and I don't have her to bounce things off of, putting my thoughts to "paper" always helps me sort things out. The problem is I don't know where to begin.
Do I open with how much I miss our family holiday gatherings? Or do I start with how much I add to my plate year after year?
Everyone, meaning my sisters and their children and me and my family, always went to Mom and Dad's for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. Occasionally Mother would bow to pressure and we'd have the holiday celebration either at my older sister's house or at mine. But no matter where we were, it was fun and we were together. The family is disconnected now. Miles, past arguments, and hurt feelings separate us. However, regardless of what it is that keeps us from being able to come together for the holidays, never more than this time of year do I long for "the old days." Obviously, my parents were the glue that binds, so to speak.
Beginning with the week before Thanksgiving through New Year's Day, I fill all of my time with baking, event planning, going to parties, crafting, attending fundraising events, fulfilling other's dreams, etc. I will do anything to keep from thinking about those "good old days." Anything other than accepting that life brings with it many changes.
Maybe an outsider could have told me this before my own epiphany tonight, but I've realized that the likely reason my calendar, head and heart are so full this time of year is because I'm trying to make up for what's missing -- my parents, my siblings, their children and grandchildren, etc.
Just last weekend, I hosted a dinner party on Friday night, Saturday morning I helped wrap Christmas presents for a local children's agency, Saturday night I went to dinner and the annual Christmas Boat Parade, Sunday morning I helped set up for the annual Toy Run and helped sell event pins to more than 500 bikers, and on Sunday night I went to our office holiday party. In between, I baked cookies for the two cookie exchange parties being held this week. Today I put together our office cookie and gift exchange, and tonight I finished up baking my eighth cookie recipe. While they were baking, I was wrapping gifts for the seniors being served by the Council on Aging. Thursday night I will host our monthly craft night with 18 of us attending. I'll have dinner, two crafts ready to go, gifts for everyone and other fun stuff. Saturday is my husband's civic club's holiday party, and Sunday it's off to Orlando for a late brunch with my younger sister.
In my quest to fill the gap with pleasing others, I've missed some special quiet times with my husband -- something of which I should have been acutely aware, but instead was totally oblivious to.
It's while the cookies were baking and I was wrapping the blankets and jewelry for the senior citizens tonight that I had my mini-breakdown, crying to my husband and saying that I just want the world to stop and let me get off. "Pick me up later," I said. "Much later."
I spread myself so thin that I don't sleep, I don't eat properly, I don't get any exercise, and I don't really care about much of anything; all for the sake of sanity? I don't think so. I think it's actually weighing very heavy on me and taking a toll.
We shared in a wonderful Thanksgiving this year, traveling with our son and his wife to Virginia to spend time with my husband's sister and her family. For me, there's just nothing better than being with our son and daughter-in-law. But there I go again, expecting other's to feel the same way I do, expecting them to place the same importance in being with me that I have placed in being with them.
Life doesn't work that way. Along with still mourning the loss of my mother, I also mourn the loss of what I always considered to be what the holidays were all about -- family togetherness.
I have to find another way to cope with the losses I've encountered as life throws her punches (some of which I will never mention in this journal). I can't continue to spread myself this thin and continue to "be there" for everyone else; ignoring what's really going on inside of me. I have to find balance.
It's too late for this year, but I hope that by this time next year, I've mastered the art of saying no to a few others and the art of saying yes to my husband. Perhaps I can find peace amid the chaos.
I love and miss you Mom and Dad. Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
Thursday, November 10, 2016
A Charmed Life
I've lived what I consider to be a charmed life.
Rich? Absolutely not, but financially secure.
Growing up and still today, we were and remain so very blessed not to have ever worried about where our next meal would come from, where we would sleep, and most important to me - who would share their love with me and help protect me when I'm in need.
In fact, my earliest memory is of someone I love protecting me.
I wasn't even three, yet, when I was walking up the sidewalk of what I remember to be my grandmother's house (but it may have actually been my aunt's), when she came running out with a rolled up newspaper and just as I heard the screen door slam behind her, she smacked me over the head with the paper.
That's all I remember, and, like me, I'm sure you're thinking, "How is that loving, kind and protective?"
Later in life, I shared that memory with my mom, who couldn't believe I actually remembered that incident. Mom said, "Sydney Lea!," and I thought I was in trouble for bringing up some kind of story that had become taboo. But after she stopped laughing, Mom told me that my grandmother wasn't smacking me, she was striking a bee that had landed on my head. She had been standing at the door, watching me waddle my way up the sidewalk and saw the bee land on my head.
My grandmother passed away only a few months later, on my third birthday - as she and I were having a pretend tea party with my new plastic toy tea set. I'm so glad I told my mom about the memory and she cleared things up for me, because my only two memories of this hard-working, single-mother of seven are those two - her hitting me on the head and her passing.
My mother's entire life was dedicated to her family - serving and protecting. She once said to me, "You should have big dreams, but know how to be happy with the simple things, too."
Those simple things included laying on a blanket in the front yard and looking at the clouds as my younger sister and I told her what we saw, building a tent under a folding table and sipping Kool-Aid, naps on the cool terrazzo floor, and coming home from school to find Mother belting out church hymns while ironing.
What brought me to this place today? Writing this particular post?
My memory was jogged last night as I heard the jingle of someone's charm bracelet.
Mom's life of love is reflected in her charm bracelet; among them, a charm for every child and grandchild, a charm showing her faith in Christ, and a family tree. Each charm is a not-so-secret key that unlocks a part of my mother's dreams for each of us. While the charms are simple, their symbolism is grand.
Mother gifted me my charm bracelet when I was 13, and one of the first charms she gave me was of a sewing machine, to help instill a love of sewing. Mom used to talk of how her mother made clothes from gunny sacks. For my sixteenth birthday she gave me a charm of hands folded, telling me that God answers prayer. When I got married, she gave me a charm of our wedding invitation in miniature and then did the same with our son's birth certificate when he was born. Like Mom, the story of what's most important to me still today can be told through the simple charms on a bracelet.
I've accomplished many of the big dreams my mother had for me, including (the best) being a mother, myself. My hope is that I've also passed on to my son an appreciation for the simple things in life; that the jingle of someone's jewelry reminds him of my own charm bracelet of memories from simpler times.
Everyday I love and miss you, Mom -- Thank you for instilling in me an appreciation for the simple things.
Rich? Absolutely not, but financially secure.
Growing up and still today, we were and remain so very blessed not to have ever worried about where our next meal would come from, where we would sleep, and most important to me - who would share their love with me and help protect me when I'm in need.
In fact, my earliest memory is of someone I love protecting me.
I wasn't even three, yet, when I was walking up the sidewalk of what I remember to be my grandmother's house (but it may have actually been my aunt's), when she came running out with a rolled up newspaper and just as I heard the screen door slam behind her, she smacked me over the head with the paper.
That's all I remember, and, like me, I'm sure you're thinking, "How is that loving, kind and protective?"
Later in life, I shared that memory with my mom, who couldn't believe I actually remembered that incident. Mom said, "Sydney Lea!," and I thought I was in trouble for bringing up some kind of story that had become taboo. But after she stopped laughing, Mom told me that my grandmother wasn't smacking me, she was striking a bee that had landed on my head. She had been standing at the door, watching me waddle my way up the sidewalk and saw the bee land on my head.
My grandmother passed away only a few months later, on my third birthday - as she and I were having a pretend tea party with my new plastic toy tea set. I'm so glad I told my mom about the memory and she cleared things up for me, because my only two memories of this hard-working, single-mother of seven are those two - her hitting me on the head and her passing.
My mother's entire life was dedicated to her family - serving and protecting. She once said to me, "You should have big dreams, but know how to be happy with the simple things, too."
Those simple things included laying on a blanket in the front yard and looking at the clouds as my younger sister and I told her what we saw, building a tent under a folding table and sipping Kool-Aid, naps on the cool terrazzo floor, and coming home from school to find Mother belting out church hymns while ironing.
What brought me to this place today? Writing this particular post?
My memory was jogged last night as I heard the jingle of someone's charm bracelet.
Mom's life of love is reflected in her charm bracelet; among them, a charm for every child and grandchild, a charm showing her faith in Christ, and a family tree. Each charm is a not-so-secret key that unlocks a part of my mother's dreams for each of us. While the charms are simple, their symbolism is grand.
Mother gifted me my charm bracelet when I was 13, and one of the first charms she gave me was of a sewing machine, to help instill a love of sewing. Mom used to talk of how her mother made clothes from gunny sacks. For my sixteenth birthday she gave me a charm of hands folded, telling me that God answers prayer. When I got married, she gave me a charm of our wedding invitation in miniature and then did the same with our son's birth certificate when he was born. Like Mom, the story of what's most important to me still today can be told through the simple charms on a bracelet.
I've accomplished many of the big dreams my mother had for me, including (the best) being a mother, myself. My hope is that I've also passed on to my son an appreciation for the simple things in life; that the jingle of someone's jewelry reminds him of my own charm bracelet of memories from simpler times.
Everyday I love and miss you, Mom -- Thank you for instilling in me an appreciation for the simple things.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Who Do You Go To To Make Things Better?
I used to talk to my mom about everything.
I've never relied on my husband for that type of relationship; only Mom.
I didn't recognize it until she was gone, but she was definitely my BFF - long before that became trendy to say.
I miss her every day, but most of all when I need her to fix things. Moms always fix things, right?
I'm having one of those Alexander's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day months.
I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin, with an incredibly distressful job, pressures that I can't openly discuss, thyroid levels out of whack, realizing my son doesn't need me anymore, and losing friends whom I thought were lasting - it's beginning to be more than I can bear. I find myself crying all the time.
Mom always made me see things a little more clearly; making me stop and think. Period.
And she always put a different twist to whatever it was I was talking to her about.
I wish I could put my finger on what it was that she was able to do, then I'd be handling this heavy load, instead of whining about it.
Truth is, I've made a decision about something and that decision is definitely going to affect my reputation, which is something I've taken great pride in for many years. I know there are people who will not stand with me.
Then comes the other voice in my head telling me that I'm a whiny bitch and that so many other people out there have it much worse. "Buck UP!"
Well, screw that -- I need my mommy!! Right now!!
I've never relied on my husband for that type of relationship; only Mom.
I didn't recognize it until she was gone, but she was definitely my BFF - long before that became trendy to say.
I miss her every day, but most of all when I need her to fix things. Moms always fix things, right?
I'm having one of those Alexander's Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day months.
I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin, with an incredibly distressful job, pressures that I can't openly discuss, thyroid levels out of whack, realizing my son doesn't need me anymore, and losing friends whom I thought were lasting - it's beginning to be more than I can bear. I find myself crying all the time.
Mom always made me see things a little more clearly; making me stop and think. Period.
And she always put a different twist to whatever it was I was talking to her about.
I wish I could put my finger on what it was that she was able to do, then I'd be handling this heavy load, instead of whining about it.
Truth is, I've made a decision about something and that decision is definitely going to affect my reputation, which is something I've taken great pride in for many years. I know there are people who will not stand with me.
Then comes the other voice in my head telling me that I'm a whiny bitch and that so many other people out there have it much worse. "Buck UP!"
Well, screw that -- I need my mommy!! Right now!!
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Grief and the Burden of Guilt
Four-years ago tonight, I gave Hospice permission to relieve my mother's pain.
That is guilt I live with every single day.
Mother had severe coronary artery spasms, so severe that nitroglycerin was not effective. The heart muscle would basically cramp; twisting and turning - causing extreme pain. In the early weeks of these episodes, the spasms came every couple of days, and nitroglycerin would alleviate the pain. Then they began coming daily, then several times a day. In her finals days, the spasms were nearly hourly. And although my mother was the strongest woman I've known, the pain was too much for her to bear. In all honesty, it was unbearable thing for me and my siblings to watch her go through, as well.
Mom knew she had Hospice nurses caring for her. She also knew she had the last word. Absolutely nothing would be done without her permission. She even explained her fear of becoming addicted to morphine to the doctor. Mother was in charge.
So, you'd think that would be enough to aid in the decision-making process.
Well, I can tell you that - for me - it didn't help.
That night four-years ago, Mom had been very restless for several hours. I sat in the rocking chair next to her bed, holding her hand. She'd sleep for a little while, then wake up in pain. She tried to cope with it, but after several hours, and late into the night, she cried out, "Sydney, please do something. Sydney, please!" over and over. I held her hand, crying - hoping she would change her mind. But she didn't. She began crying and repeated, "Sydney, please."
I turned to the nurse and asked her to take away my mother's pain.
All of the people in the world can tell me that I did the 'right thing,' but it won't take away the guilt I feel. I don't know what will take that pain away for me -- perhaps nothing ever will.
I try to keep in mind that guilt is a normal emotion that goes hand-in-hand with grief.
I also try to always remember that guilt is also an indicator of a person who is loving, caring and compassionate - otherwise why would it bother me so much that I was unable to keep mom out of pain?
I try to remember that if it had not been that night, it would have been another. I was so focused on Mother's crisis, that I didn't see how close to the end she was. And although I was sitting right there next to her, I didn't see it coming.
I try to keep in mind that despite the hole left in my heart and the hearts of my entire family, my mother's end time is not how her life should be defined.
But, of course, I wish I could talk to her one more time to tell her how much I love her, what an honor it was to have her live with us for so many years, and what a wonderful mother and friend she was to me. Face-to-face.
Guilt is a burden.
Caring for Mother was not!
I know I've included this photo in several posts, but one more time won't hurt a thing. This is our last photo taken together, only two weeks before she passed.
I love and miss you, mom.
That is guilt I live with every single day.
Mother had severe coronary artery spasms, so severe that nitroglycerin was not effective. The heart muscle would basically cramp; twisting and turning - causing extreme pain. In the early weeks of these episodes, the spasms came every couple of days, and nitroglycerin would alleviate the pain. Then they began coming daily, then several times a day. In her finals days, the spasms were nearly hourly. And although my mother was the strongest woman I've known, the pain was too much for her to bear. In all honesty, it was unbearable thing for me and my siblings to watch her go through, as well.
Mom knew she had Hospice nurses caring for her. She also knew she had the last word. Absolutely nothing would be done without her permission. She even explained her fear of becoming addicted to morphine to the doctor. Mother was in charge.
So, you'd think that would be enough to aid in the decision-making process.
Well, I can tell you that - for me - it didn't help.
That night four-years ago, Mom had been very restless for several hours. I sat in the rocking chair next to her bed, holding her hand. She'd sleep for a little while, then wake up in pain. She tried to cope with it, but after several hours, and late into the night, she cried out, "Sydney, please do something. Sydney, please!" over and over. I held her hand, crying - hoping she would change her mind. But she didn't. She began crying and repeated, "Sydney, please."
I turned to the nurse and asked her to take away my mother's pain.
All of the people in the world can tell me that I did the 'right thing,' but it won't take away the guilt I feel. I don't know what will take that pain away for me -- perhaps nothing ever will.
I try to keep in mind that guilt is a normal emotion that goes hand-in-hand with grief.
I also try to always remember that guilt is also an indicator of a person who is loving, caring and compassionate - otherwise why would it bother me so much that I was unable to keep mom out of pain?
I try to remember that if it had not been that night, it would have been another. I was so focused on Mother's crisis, that I didn't see how close to the end she was. And although I was sitting right there next to her, I didn't see it coming.
I try to keep in mind that despite the hole left in my heart and the hearts of my entire family, my mother's end time is not how her life should be defined.
But, of course, I wish I could talk to her one more time to tell her how much I love her, what an honor it was to have her live with us for so many years, and what a wonderful mother and friend she was to me. Face-to-face.
Guilt is a burden.
Caring for Mother was not!
I know I've included this photo in several posts, but one more time won't hurt a thing. This is our last photo taken together, only two weeks before she passed.
I love and miss you, mom.
Sunday, August 21, 2016
From Wedding Afghan to Baby Blanket, With Love From Gramma
My mother was so talented, although she never thought so. She would always find fault with the things she made or knitted; sometimes to the point that I would find it so frustrating. Her knitting was beyond compare -- simply beautiful. She even won a blue ribbon at our local county fair one year for one of her afghans and for a sweater she had knitted.
Only weeks before my niece's bridal shower in July of 2012, Mom finished knitting a beautiful afghan that she was so proud of and couldn't wait for her granddaughter to see. Most of our family has afghans knitted by Mom; it was her traditional wedding gift.
Only weeks before my niece's bridal shower in July of 2012, Mom finished knitting a beautiful afghan that she was so proud of and couldn't wait for her granddaughter to see. Most of our family has afghans knitted by Mom; it was her traditional wedding gift.
How gorgeous is this?
And my niece was so excited to receive this beautiful gift made from the heart.
It's so wonderful to have family members who understand the importance of heirlooms.
The timing of the rest of this story is what's important, and it's a difficult story for me to tell, but wonderful things have happened and now it's time to talk about it.
About a week after the bridal shower, which was held in mid-July, Mother asked me to take her shopping for some yarn. We spent the afternoon in and out of craft stores, had lunch together, and just had a good time - as we normally did on Saturdays. Before beginning to knit the bridal shower afghan to give to my niece, she had knitted a baby blanket, booties and a cap and then packed them away to be given to a very special couple whom she hoped would have children in the near future. Then came the bridal afghan, and now she wanted to knit another baby blanket- this one for my niece, her granddaughter.
I asked Mother, "Why now?" My niece wouldn't be marrying her love for another seven-weeks, "Why are you in such a hurry?"
"I just am," she responded.
So, she decided upon a pattern and some yarn, and we headed home where she immediately began knitting.
Mother had lived with us since my father passed away. For most of those years, I usually came home from work to dinner on the table and a very clean house. She made my life so easy that my husband and I often just couldn't thank her enough. She always joked about 'earning her keep,' but we both knew she wasn't really joking; she felt a desire and obligation to carry her own weight.
After her illness in 2010, she slowed down and was no longer able to stand in the kitchen for any length of time, or to clean up the house, or do any laundry. She hated it, mentioning more than once that she felt as though she had become a burden to us. Needless to say, she was never, ever that, but those were her feelings.
In the coming weeks, I would come home from work and Mom would be in her recliner, sound asleep and her knitting in her lap. I would gently wake her to let her know I was home and she would look down and say, "I don't think I'm going to finish this in time."
I didn't get it. I didn't understand what her hurry was. I wish I knew then what I know now. For now I realize she knew her time on this earth was coming to an end. She knew and she wanted to get the baby blanket finished. She knew -- not me. The funny thing is, though, I didn't realize all of this until only a month ago.
Those are the weeks I wish I could have back. If I knew then what I know now, I would take a leave of absence from work and I would spend all of my time with her. We would laugh, we would love. I would learn more, I would write everything down, and I would hold on and never let go. I would make sure she knew how loved she was, how admired she was, how needed she was. I would take lots and lots of pictures. Absolutely nothing negative would be allowed in. An hour would not go by without me telling her how lucky I was that God gave me her as my mother.
She was tired and could only knit a few rows at a time before giving in to the fatigue. It took her much longer to complete the baby blanket than it had ever taken her to knit anything. But she did finish it; on Sept. 16.
Then on the morning of Sept. 17, she called me at work and asked me to come home, saying she was having chest pain and difficulty breathing. Without going into detail, Mother came home from the hospital emergency room that evening under Hospice care and passed away on Sept. 26 - three days before her granddaughter's wedding.
The finished baby blanket, which Mother folded and wrapped up in a white pillowcase, stayed on the top shelf of her closet - until this past July 9 - when my niece and her husband came to visit only two weeks before the birth of their firstborn. Two years to the date that Mother completed the bridal gift afghan, I was now presenting my niece with the baby blanket especially knitted just for them. It was so wonderful to see how ecstatic she was, how appreciative she was of having something knitted for her firstborn by her grandmother who had been gone for almost four years, and to see her eyes fill with tears of joy.
My niece and her love display the baby blanket knitted by "Grammy."
My great-nephew was born on July 20, and came home from the hospital wrapped up in the blanket his great-grandmother had knitted just for him; her final wish made to me.
Yesterday was my great-nephew's one-month birthday, and I went to Orlando to meet this little bundle of joy for the first time. It's been many years since there's been a birth in my immediate family. He's so tiny and fragile looking. I see my father in his face, and I also see baby boy's own grandfather in his eyes, but most importantly I see love in his life.
Happy birthday, baby boy!
I'm going to have a lot of fun being your great-auntie.
I love you Mom and Daddy. I hope everyone still has their afghans and holds them in high regard.
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Slàinte! - American Scottish Proud
On my mother’s side of the family – namely her father’s side
– I am English, Irish and Scottish. I am a Steele.
On my father’s side of the family – namely his mother’s side – I am Scottish. I am a Buchanan.
My husband and I had the fortune to visit Scotland for a few
days while on a whirlwind cruise of 12 days with 10 ports of call. I was able
to learn a bit about the Buchanan name and what it means to be Scottish.
In the mid-16th century, George Buchanan became an advisor to Mary, Queen of Scots, and later became tutor to her only son, James, the future King James VI. (You can visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Buchanan to read much more about the very interesting George.)
In 1682, the 22nd laird of Buchanan died without
heirs and the estates had to be sold to repay debts. The mansion house of
Buchanan is now owned by their nemesis the Graham Dukes of Montrose.
From this point, the Buchanans began to spread their wings and relocated to other parts of the country and to other countries. James Buchanan, Sr., father of James Buchanan, the 15th president of the United States, emigrated from Donegal, Ireland after his family left Scotland.
In this sense, part of being Scottish for me is that I
am not only Scottish by heritage, but it also makes me a sort of citizen of the world – concerned for
global justice and the good of humankind as a whole. Being true to this
aspect of Scottishness means renouncing narrow-mindedness and prejudice and
embracing universality. But that's who I've always been.
And in loving my own country, the United States of America, and the particularities of its culture, I do not deny the value of others' countries and cultures, but rather affirm it, as I recognize that their countries are to them what the United States of America and now Scotland are to me.
On my father’s side of the family – namely his mother’s side – I am Scottish. I am a Buchanan.
So…
The Scottish clans of the Highlands were gatherings of
families, relatives, allies and neighbors for mutual protection against rivals
or invaders. And there were plenty of invaders – Vikings, Romans, the English,
etc. Who knew about the Romans? I didn’t until this trip. We even visited a
wall built by the Romans in the year AD 142 with the intent of keeping the
native Highland Scots out. To see the “wall” today, you can’t help but wonder
whatever made them think a nine-foot wall with a five-foot ditch would keep
anyone out; especially the big Scottish Highlanders. Visit http://www.antoninewall.org/ to learn
more.
This is the Antonine Wall at Falkirk, just outside of South Queensferry.
See what I mean? How could this keep anyone out? I don't know, but it was 40-miles long!
Anyway, back to the clans. They were formed around tribal
lands in the glens (valleys) and other areas. Scotland became divided into the
Highlands, where they spoke Gaelic, and the Lowlands, where they spoke Scots
and English. The Highland culture was very different, but highly respected for
its rich story-telling, poetry, piping, and more.
The story of Clan Buchanan goes something like this:
“Clarinch,” the battle cry of the Buchanans, comes from the
name of the small island in Loch Lomond, along whose eastern shore is where the
clan’s lands originally clustered, which is about 60-miles northwest of
Edinbrough. Although we were docked in South Queensferry, just outside of
Edinbrough, we didn’t go to Loch Lomond – ‘though I do wish we had had the
opportunity.
Buchanan, or The House of Canon, was first led by Absalom
and then Morris Buchanan was named chief by the Earl of Lennox. The power and
wealth of the Buchanans increased and soon their land included Stirlingshire.
The Buchanans actively fought to make Scotland an independent country, siding
with King Robert the Bruce. As one of Scotland’s most important nobles, Sir
Alexander Buchanan traveled to France in
1421 to lend support to the French in the Auld Alliance and the fight against the
English. Sir Alexander killed the English Duke of Clarence.
Sounds like the Buchanans are some great people, doesn’t it?
Well, don’t get ahead of yourself, because the successor to
Alexander was one Sir William Buchanan, who had a reputation of misconduct and
lawlessness. So much so that he was beheaded in 1425, and at that point, all of
the heirs lost all rights and became disinherited – losing their royal
connections.
Such a shame, too, because they all had a great future in
front of them. Luckily, though, there was only one bad fish and the family was
able to continue to carry a very positive influence over their Stirlingshire
territories – so much so that they earned the title of Kings of Kippen, a town
at the Lake of Menteith just southeast of Loch Lomond. They even enjoyed a
royal visit from King James V.
In the mid-16th century, George Buchanan became an advisor to Mary, Queen of Scots, and later became tutor to her only son, James, the future King James VI. (You can visit https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Buchanan to read much more about the very interesting George.)
From this point, the Buchanans began to spread their wings and relocated to other parts of the country and to other countries. James Buchanan, Sr., father of James Buchanan, the 15th president of the United States, emigrated from Donegal, Ireland after his family left Scotland.
So, what does all of this mean?
It means I found a tiny piece of me that I didn’t know much
about. It means I belong to a country filled with pride; a country of
natural beauty and geological interest; a country that is quite small in area
yet diverse in its landscapes and lengthy in its coastline.
It means belonging to a nation that has been broken and
injured in various ways throughout the centuries - divided between Highlanders and
Lowlanders, and between political and religious factions (much like the US); deprived of many of
its fittest and most enterprising people by the clearances of the 18th and 19th
centuries when it was decided to “clean house” and destroy the Gaelic culture.
But it's the pride and compassion that got to me; that left a lasting impression. It's pride that goes far deeper than what you see in those supporting their country's soccer team; passion that goes hand-in-hand with satisfaction and happiness. That's what I saw in the people of Scotland. They know their history and they talk about it with complete knowledge, clarity and dignity. Do we? Here in America, do we speak with confidence about our history? I don't. It's not because I'm ashamed or anything like that. I just don't talk about American history.
And in loving my own country, the United States of America, and the particularities of its culture, I do not deny the value of others' countries and cultures, but rather affirm it, as I recognize that their countries are to them what the United States of America and now Scotland are to me.
Here's a short video of our sendoff from Invergordon, Scotland.
I love you Daddy and Mom. I know you were with me in spirit, but I sure wish you had been with me physically. My honey took me on the #tripofalifetime
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Just Walk Beside Me and Be My Friend
My husband and I just spent a most incredible four days in Key West being pampered at a luxury resort, dining at its five-star restaurant, flying to an island that most others access through a 2 1/2-hour very rough boat ride, and enjoying pure and simple, much-needed down time.
We were with two people who afforded us this fabulous opportunity. But they aren't just people. They are two of the kindest and most generous friends I have. (As those of you who read my blog know, I never use names in my posts, and tonight's post will be no different.)
I am a very blessed woman to have the close friends I have.
I don't actually have a best friend. In fact, the last time I can say I had a best friend was in high school and then she shunned me because of my teen pregnancy. I just never had the inclination to have or work towards another best friend -- other than my husband.
Most of us have several circles of friends, right? Here's how I make up my circles:
My inner circle - those I consider to be the closest to me - are the ones I confide in, I trust with my inner most thoughts, I respect, I support and they show support in return (no matter what), we share loyalty, I have know them for a long time, and we have fun together. We have a lot in common, but we don't let our differences cloud up our friendship. We can be each other's shoulder, but we know when space should be allowed. We understand that tag line, "What happens in Vegas STAYS in Vegas."
My middle circle is where most of my friends live. It's made up of people with whom I enjoy spending time, We share some commonalities. I feel a certain level of trust, we laugh and have fun together, and they listen when I need to talk and vice verse.
My outer circle is primarily folks with whom I am getting to know. We haven't had that special opportunity to learn if they can really be trusted, but I enjoy hanging around with them and having fun. More than likely, we have several things in common.
I have an incredible inner circle of friends, yet they are all very different. Some are thin, some not so much. Some are educated, some are not. We are of varying backgrounds when it comes to how we were raised. We don't all agree on political or even religious views. Some have grandchildren and some don't. Some are retired and others are not, while some are financially set for life and others will work forever.
When it comes to my dear friends with whom my husband and I just shared an incredible weekend, what joins us together far outweighs what could divide us. While our political views are at opposite ends of the spectrum, we each respect that living in this great nation gives us the freedom to agree to disagree. None of the four of us are religious, but we are - all four - very spiritual. We raised our children with love and the hope that their lives would be better than ours, but we wonder if we went too far in providing them with their every want - each in our own way. We are nowhere near each other on the financial ladder, but we all share a deep respect for each hard-earned dollar in our pockets. We've shared the responsibility of caring for our parents, and we've each had to let go of loved ones. We laugh about our differing opinions of what the definition of camping is, and we tease about the things we each consider to be fun activities.
This past weekend, I realized (again) that as life gets shorter, it becomes more and more important to surround yourself with those you love, respect, trust and just simply enjoy being around. There's almost nothing more rewarding in life than close relationships, be it with a spouse, children, family members, or friends. One of the things that all of the most cherished and satisfying relationships have in common is memories. The four of us created new and lasting memories these past four days, and my husband and I are forever grateful.
I thought about you a lot this weekend while in the Keys, Daddy. I'm sure I even crossed some of your ocean paths. I love and miss you.
Our morning view from our front porch.
I am a very blessed woman to have the close friends I have.
I don't actually have a best friend. In fact, the last time I can say I had a best friend was in high school and then she shunned me because of my teen pregnancy. I just never had the inclination to have or work towards another best friend -- other than my husband.
Most of us have several circles of friends, right? Here's how I make up my circles:
My inner circle - those I consider to be the closest to me - are the ones I confide in, I trust with my inner most thoughts, I respect, I support and they show support in return (no matter what), we share loyalty, I have know them for a long time, and we have fun together. We have a lot in common, but we don't let our differences cloud up our friendship. We can be each other's shoulder, but we know when space should be allowed. We understand that tag line, "What happens in Vegas STAYS in Vegas."
My middle circle is where most of my friends live. It's made up of people with whom I enjoy spending time, We share some commonalities. I feel a certain level of trust, we laugh and have fun together, and they listen when I need to talk and vice verse.
My outer circle is primarily folks with whom I am getting to know. We haven't had that special opportunity to learn if they can really be trusted, but I enjoy hanging around with them and having fun. More than likely, we have several things in common.
I have an incredible inner circle of friends, yet they are all very different. Some are thin, some not so much. Some are educated, some are not. We are of varying backgrounds when it comes to how we were raised. We don't all agree on political or even religious views. Some have grandchildren and some don't. Some are retired and others are not, while some are financially set for life and others will work forever.
When it comes to my dear friends with whom my husband and I just shared an incredible weekend, what joins us together far outweighs what could divide us. While our political views are at opposite ends of the spectrum, we each respect that living in this great nation gives us the freedom to agree to disagree. None of the four of us are religious, but we are - all four - very spiritual. We raised our children with love and the hope that their lives would be better than ours, but we wonder if we went too far in providing them with their every want - each in our own way. We are nowhere near each other on the financial ladder, but we all share a deep respect for each hard-earned dollar in our pockets. We've shared the responsibility of caring for our parents, and we've each had to let go of loved ones. We laugh about our differing opinions of what the definition of camping is, and we tease about the things we each consider to be fun activities.
This past weekend, I realized (again) that as life gets shorter, it becomes more and more important to surround yourself with those you love, respect, trust and just simply enjoy being around. There's almost nothing more rewarding in life than close relationships, be it with a spouse, children, family members, or friends. One of the things that all of the most cherished and satisfying relationships have in common is memories. The four of us created new and lasting memories these past four days, and my husband and I are forever grateful.
I thought about you a lot this weekend while in the Keys, Daddy. I'm sure I even crossed some of your ocean paths. I love and miss you.
Monday, May 9, 2016
Entangled, trapped and saved
Since Mother's passing in 2012, I seem to prepare for the onslaught of emotions as Mother's Day approaches; missing her and wishing she could have made it to her 100th birthday -- as she often said she hoped to do. (She looked forward to the recognition our local County Commission gives to centenarians. lol)
Mother lived with us for so long and she passed here at home, so I'm grateful to my son and his wife for understanding I prefer not to be home over Mother's Day weekend. This year, they planned a kayaking trip on the Weeki Wachee River on the west coast of Florida.
What an absolutely beautiful day with perfect weather, loving companionship and silly fun.
The current was so strong for most of the 5.5-mile trip that we barely had to paddle. And even though it was a busy day on the water, the experience was relaxing and serene -- until -- somehow I got caught up in a very fast current on my left and suddenly I was entangled in a tree and grapevine. Seriously snared, and with each passing moment it was as if the tree and it's grapevines were entrapping me like a boa grabs its prey. My son and husband made their way back to help me, as I floundered, sort of 'hanging' by my left arm as it was woven into the branches. What a mess! After a while, they were able to maneuver around and get me out of that jumbled weave of branches and grapevine. Thank goodness no photos!
Then it was on to the next adventure in kayaking. We came around a bend and people were jumping into the cold, spring-fed river from tree tops and other, lower platforms. We had to join the fun.
My son jumped in from the tree tops, but I played it safe and jumped from a much lower platform.
I love spending time and being adventurous with my son and his wife. They bring out the energy in me and push me to do more. And, as I've said in previous posts, my daughter-in-law knows all the fun things to do. We're looking forward to more kayaking, and hopefully, some camping with them.
For those of you who have never gone through the loss of a beloved loved one; for those of you who have said to me that you think life just goes on; for those of you who didn't have the type of loving relationship I was blessed to enjoy; and for those of you who need validation as you journey through your own loss, know this: Simply put, missing Mother just sucks.
Just like being sucked in by the tree and its grapevines, it's entangling!
My guess is that if I had just relaxed, my arm would have probably slipped right out of the grip of the tree branches, and I wouldn't have the soreness, scratches and bruises I have today.
Much like that, I find that when I am feeling the emptiness of that gaping hole left behind by the loss of my mother, if I - instead - allow the memories of our time together to flood through my mind, I then begin to feel happiness, contentment, loved, comforted, lifted, blessed, honored, inspired, hopeful, strong, brave, encouraged, empowered, purpose-driven -- I begin to feel like me, again.
When we returned home from our weekend away, I walked into what used to be Mother's bedroom and I immediately was hit with her scent. Whew! It caught me by surprise, but it was wonderful and just what I needed.
So, when you think of your mother, remember that she is constantly guiding you and sending you love when you need it the most. You will feel her hug, you will feel her heart and that is when you will feel brand new. And each and everyday you will realize that you have all of these feelings, because you were lucky enough to call her your mother.
Someone 'accused' me of staying in a state of mourning. To that I say:
Yes, I mourn my loss, but I also celebrate Mother's life, her influence, her strength, her steadfastness, and all things that made her who she was. I love her.
Missing you, Mom.
Mother lived with us for so long and she passed here at home, so I'm grateful to my son and his wife for understanding I prefer not to be home over Mother's Day weekend. This year, they planned a kayaking trip on the Weeki Wachee River on the west coast of Florida.
What an absolutely beautiful day with perfect weather, loving companionship and silly fun.
Then it was on to the next adventure in kayaking. We came around a bend and people were jumping into the cold, spring-fed river from tree tops and other, lower platforms. We had to join the fun.
My son jumped in from the tree tops, but I played it safe and jumped from a much lower platform.
What fun!! (If you look closely, you can see the guy in the kayak on the right laughing at this old lady, but I never saw him take the plunge. Just sayin'.)
I love spending time and being adventurous with my son and his wife. They bring out the energy in me and push me to do more. And, as I've said in previous posts, my daughter-in-law knows all the fun things to do. We're looking forward to more kayaking, and hopefully, some camping with them.
For those of you who have never gone through the loss of a beloved loved one; for those of you who have said to me that you think life just goes on; for those of you who didn't have the type of loving relationship I was blessed to enjoy; and for those of you who need validation as you journey through your own loss, know this: Simply put, missing Mother just sucks.
Just like being sucked in by the tree and its grapevines, it's entangling!
My guess is that if I had just relaxed, my arm would have probably slipped right out of the grip of the tree branches, and I wouldn't have the soreness, scratches and bruises I have today.
Much like that, I find that when I am feeling the emptiness of that gaping hole left behind by the loss of my mother, if I - instead - allow the memories of our time together to flood through my mind, I then begin to feel happiness, contentment, loved, comforted, lifted, blessed, honored, inspired, hopeful, strong, brave, encouraged, empowered, purpose-driven -- I begin to feel like me, again.
When we returned home from our weekend away, I walked into what used to be Mother's bedroom and I immediately was hit with her scent. Whew! It caught me by surprise, but it was wonderful and just what I needed.
So, when you think of your mother, remember that she is constantly guiding you and sending you love when you need it the most. You will feel her hug, you will feel her heart and that is when you will feel brand new. And each and everyday you will realize that you have all of these feelings, because you were lucky enough to call her your mother.
Someone 'accused' me of staying in a state of mourning. To that I say:
Yes, I mourn my loss, but I also celebrate Mother's life, her influence, her strength, her steadfastness, and all things that made her who she was. I love her.
Mother's Day, 1965
Missing you, Mom.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Spring Brings a New Beginning, a Fresh Start, a New Life With my Daughter
There used to be a popular expression a few years ago: "Today is the first day of the rest of your life."
To be honest with you, I used to think, "Of course it is. What else would it be?"
Obviously, back then I didn't get the deeper meaning.
Spring is a miraculous time of new beginnings and new life. Don't you think so? I love this time of year for so many reasons. Everywhere you look there are signs of new life, from budding flowers to greener grass. Birds are singing, squirrels are playing, and the skies are bluer. How amazing is God's creation?
This is the time of year I start itching to learn something new or take up a new hobby or begin redecorating. I actually love coloring and hiding Easter eggs, but my son is grown and he and his wife won't be with us this year.
That being said, I've seen some very interesting ways to color eggs in some recent Facebook posts, but then I whined about how much I miss all the fun and traditional Easter things I did as a child with my Mom and then again with my son as he was growing up. Someone even commented, "Why? Just go ahead and color some eggs."
I thought, "I don't have time this year, but next year, I'm going back to the old traditions."
But tonight, after getting home late from a very busy day, I decided to put the brakes on to color some eggs.
I wanted to try one of the "recipes" I had seen posted on Facebook using Cool Whip, but I couldn't find it, so I Googled it. Luckily for me, I found it and I'm happy to say it is NOT a fail!
I boiled the eggs, let them cool down, and got right to it by following the blog spendwithpennies.com. http://www.spendwithpennies.com/whipped-cream-dyed-eggs-safer-alternative-shaving-cream-eggs/
Since being united, my daughter and I have struggled with our differences.
Today, things are different.
I'm learning who she is and what brought her to this place.
She's learning who I am and what brought me to this place.
Together, we are about to make the rest of our lives the best of our lives. And whatever regrets we have or mistakes we made - they are yesterday. We can have a fresh start today.
I love you Daddy and Mom. I wish you were here to be a part of this special day.
To be honest with you, I used to think, "Of course it is. What else would it be?"
Obviously, back then I didn't get the deeper meaning.
Spring is a miraculous time of new beginnings and new life. Don't you think so? I love this time of year for so many reasons. Everywhere you look there are signs of new life, from budding flowers to greener grass. Birds are singing, squirrels are playing, and the skies are bluer. How amazing is God's creation?
This is the time of year I start itching to learn something new or take up a new hobby or begin redecorating. I actually love coloring and hiding Easter eggs, but my son is grown and he and his wife won't be with us this year.
That being said, I've seen some very interesting ways to color eggs in some recent Facebook posts, but then I whined about how much I miss all the fun and traditional Easter things I did as a child with my Mom and then again with my son as he was growing up. Someone even commented, "Why? Just go ahead and color some eggs."
I thought, "I don't have time this year, but next year, I'm going back to the old traditions."
But tonight, after getting home late from a very busy day, I decided to put the brakes on to color some eggs.
I wanted to try one of the "recipes" I had seen posted on Facebook using Cool Whip, but I couldn't find it, so I Googled it. Luckily for me, I found it and I'm happy to say it is NOT a fail!
I boiled the eggs, let them cool down, and got right to it by following the blog spendwithpennies.com. http://www.spendwithpennies.com/whipped-cream-dyed-eggs-safer-alternative-shaving-cream-eggs/
This is a very different way to color eggs; almost like finger-painting. All it takes is your boiled eggs, a container of Cool Whip, some white vinegar, gel food coloring, and a cookie sheet or baking dish. After you finish reading this, open the link above and follow the instructions.
I think you and your family will enjoy it.
Cute, right? Click on the photo so it enlarges. You can see it much better that way.
Easter represents a time of new beginnings; an opportunity to make the "rest of your life the best of your life." I'm finding this start of Spring to be particularly enlightening as I begin a more accepting relationship with my daughter whom I gave up for adoption in 1971.
Since being united, my daughter and I have struggled with our differences.
Today, things are different.
I'm learning who she is and what brought her to this place.
She's learning who I am and what brought me to this place.
At this time of year, in order for the new growth to begin on our shrubs and trees, we have to get out the pruning shears and snip some of the dead branches off. In some ways and for many years, I have felt as though I needed to be pruned. In order to step into this new life with my daughter, I have to prune back -- let go.
Together, we are about to make the rest of our lives the best of our lives. And whatever regrets we have or mistakes we made - they are yesterday. We can have a fresh start today.
I love you Daddy and Mom. I wish you were here to be a part of this special day.
Saturday, February 6, 2016
The Word Father is Another Word for Love -- Enjoy the Chili
Before my brother arrived here for Thanksgiving, he actually spent several weeks traveling through Southern Illinois, where our parents were born and raised, where my brother and older sister were raised, and where my younger sister and I were born.
Daddy loved Southern Illinois; it was always "home" to him. One of his favorite spots that he'd often mention was The Chocolate Factory in Golconda, Illinois http://thechocolatefactory.net , which was right down the road from Dixon Springs, another very favorite of Dad's. He had a sweet tooth like no other's, and I inherited that trait straight from him. Sometimes I think I don't have a sweet tooth, I have a full set.
Anyway, my brother visited The Chocolate Factory, and lucky for me, brought a box of their delicious chocolates to me just in time for the holidays. But in full disclosure - I really didn't share them much. I think I offered them once to my cousins and then another time to my husband, but that's about it. Last night, I had my last piece of chocolate from Golconda, and it was almost like another goodbye to Daddy. Silly, I know. But true.
So, in honor of Dad, tonight I made another one of his favorites, chili. Since it's about to turn to winter here in Florida and I was feeling nostalgic for my dad, that was the recipe that came to mind.
This is actually the recipe that won about five or six Chili Cookoffs here in our neck of the woods; back in the late 1980s and early 1990s. These are competitions where the winner goes on to compete in a state competition and then beyond, so there are no beans. Regulated chili competitions do not allow beans or spaghetti or rice.
Here's the recipe and I hope you and all of your family and friends (because it makes quite a lot of chili) enjoy it.
INGREDIENTS:
4 lbs. ground beef 1 lb. sausage
2 stalks chopped celery 1 chopped bell pepper
1 chopped yellow pepper 1 chopped red pepper
1 large, chopped onion 15 oz. tomato sauce
24 oz. V-8 juice five 16 oz. cans stewed tomatoes, well chopped
1 1/2 tsp. onion salt 3 tsp. garlic powder
3/4 tsp. basil 4 tsp. cumin
8 tsp. chili powder 1 tsp. oregano
1 tblsp. brown sugar 1 small hot green pepper chopped (optional)
1 bottle of chili sauce salt and pepper to taste
DIRECTIONS:
In a large skillet, brown the beef and sausage. Drain and set aside. In a large pot, saute' celery, peppers and onion. Add meat, tomato sauce, V-8 juice and the bottle of chili sauce. Add finely chopped stewed tomatoes. Stir well. Add all spices, stirring until well blended. Simmer slowly, for approximately 2-hours, stirring often. The longer it simmers, the more you'll be able to taste the heat (spices), so don't add more. But, this is a fairly sweet chili.
Love you, Dad. Thought about you all day today.
Daddy loved Southern Illinois; it was always "home" to him. One of his favorite spots that he'd often mention was The Chocolate Factory in Golconda, Illinois http://thechocolatefactory.net , which was right down the road from Dixon Springs, another very favorite of Dad's. He had a sweet tooth like no other's, and I inherited that trait straight from him. Sometimes I think I don't have a sweet tooth, I have a full set.
Anyway, my brother visited The Chocolate Factory, and lucky for me, brought a box of their delicious chocolates to me just in time for the holidays. But in full disclosure - I really didn't share them much. I think I offered them once to my cousins and then another time to my husband, but that's about it. Last night, I had my last piece of chocolate from Golconda, and it was almost like another goodbye to Daddy. Silly, I know. But true.
If you're ever in the area, stop by and try their chocolate and their friendly hospitality.
There it goes; that last piece of Southern Illinois.
So, in honor of Dad, tonight I made another one of his favorites, chili. Since it's about to turn to winter here in Florida and I was feeling nostalgic for my dad, that was the recipe that came to mind.
This is actually the recipe that won about five or six Chili Cookoffs here in our neck of the woods; back in the late 1980s and early 1990s. These are competitions where the winner goes on to compete in a state competition and then beyond, so there are no beans. Regulated chili competitions do not allow beans or spaghetti or rice.
Here's the recipe and I hope you and all of your family and friends (because it makes quite a lot of chili) enjoy it.
INGREDIENTS:
4 lbs. ground beef 1 lb. sausage
2 stalks chopped celery 1 chopped bell pepper
1 chopped yellow pepper 1 chopped red pepper
1 large, chopped onion 15 oz. tomato sauce
24 oz. V-8 juice five 16 oz. cans stewed tomatoes, well chopped
1 1/2 tsp. onion salt 3 tsp. garlic powder
3/4 tsp. basil 4 tsp. cumin
8 tsp. chili powder 1 tsp. oregano
1 tblsp. brown sugar 1 small hot green pepper chopped (optional)
1 bottle of chili sauce salt and pepper to taste
DIRECTIONS:
In a large skillet, brown the beef and sausage. Drain and set aside. In a large pot, saute' celery, peppers and onion. Add meat, tomato sauce, V-8 juice and the bottle of chili sauce. Add finely chopped stewed tomatoes. Stir well. Add all spices, stirring until well blended. Simmer slowly, for approximately 2-hours, stirring often. The longer it simmers, the more you'll be able to taste the heat (spices), so don't add more. But, this is a fairly sweet chili.
Dad would put a little cheese on top of his and then sop up the juices with either bread or crackers.
Well, enjoy and if you're ever in Southern Illinois, say hello to the area from me. It's sure beautiful up there with its hills and undeveloped land.
Love you, Dad. Thought about you all day today.
Wednesday, January 20, 2016
A Little Legislative Humor -- and Gratefulness
More and more people are having to make the tough decision to pay the rent or buy groceries - or - take care of a health issue.
I work at a free clinic; a clinic that provides free primary healthcare to the uninsured of our community. Unfortunately it's a service that is sorely needed, as one-third of our adult population is uninsured; the working poor.
I've been in Tallahassee advocating for this clinic - actually, I've been inexhaustibly begging for funding by meeting with legislators, legislative staff, and department heads. It's been invigorating, challenging, and educational, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that it's also been exasperating, tiring, and, enlightening.
My parents had much respect for the voting and legislative process and taught me to have that same regard. Although I've never been involved, I do know that the legislative process can be long, tedious, complex and frustrating. Indeed, it is much more difficult to pass a bill than it is to kill one. There are numerous times and places during the legislative process at which a bill can die. Only a very few actually survive to become law.
The same is true for changes or additions to the budget.
In a nutshell:
First you have to find someone from the House to sponsor your request.
Then it's good to try to get someone from the other party to co-sponsor the request.
After you complete all of the paperwork, you submit it to the sponsor.
The sponsor submits it for review.
It's presented to committee, and if you're lucky, it passes that first round.
Then it goes to the Senate for review.
That's where you especially need an advocate on your side.
And if all goes as you planned -- you learn three months later if your budget item has made it through to the end.
I began my morning ready to face the world (okay, a few department heads), and win them over with my positive attitude, my infectious passion, and my vast knowledge. Since it was 25-degrees this morning, and because I feared being late (and getting lost), I stepped into my Jimmy Choos, put on my full-length wool coat and took a cab from the hotel to the Capitol building.
The cab ride is $2.50 then mileage -- my ride was $3.00!
How funny is that?
So, there I was sitting in the waiting room 45-minutes early. Surely I get points for my eagerness. And there I was stuck in high heels carrying my 20-pound coat. Now I lose points for my stupidity.
All good, though, because after my first meeting of the day, I had time to walk back to the hotel, dump the heels and the coat, and switch to flats for the remainder of the day.
For the next five-hours, I met with legislators and aides, hearing their agendas for this new session and talking about my agenda for the future of the clinic.
I don't use other people's names in my blog, but please know how much I appreciate those legislators who are willing to go out on a limb, cross party lines and sponsor the funding request. It will travel a long and bumpy road, but at least it's out of the locked garage and on the move, and for that, I'm forever grateful. If the request makes it all the way through to the final hearing, we won't know anything until April. Patience is definitely a virtue.
I've never imagined doing what I did today. I've never given any thought to going to Tallahassee, our state's capitol, to advocate for the much-needed services provided by the clinic. But then, again, I never thought about facing our local government officials, either -- and I did that, too. (with success)
When I walked back to the hotel this evening in the cool, crisp air, I did it with a huge smile on my face, while thinking, "Ain't nothin' gonna' break my stride."
Hopefully, that's not short-lived, but don't worry, I'm not stupid.
I know the chances of the request surviving aren't great; that it will most likely get beat up from end to end. But I am proud of what I did on this visit to our state's legislature. Folks there now know what the clinic is and how important it is to the overall well-being of our community. If the request hits the cutting room floor, it won't be because the clinic is an unknown blip across Florida's financial radar.
For sure -- my dad and mom would have been proud, too.
Actually, they were both with me all day, so I know they are.
Now we just need to pray the funding comes through.
Wish you were here to talk to!
I work at a free clinic; a clinic that provides free primary healthcare to the uninsured of our community. Unfortunately it's a service that is sorely needed, as one-third of our adult population is uninsured; the working poor.
I've been in Tallahassee advocating for this clinic - actually, I've been inexhaustibly begging for funding by meeting with legislators, legislative staff, and department heads. It's been invigorating, challenging, and educational, and I'd be lying if I didn't say that it's also been exasperating, tiring, and, enlightening.
My parents had much respect for the voting and legislative process and taught me to have that same regard. Although I've never been involved, I do know that the legislative process can be long, tedious, complex and frustrating. Indeed, it is much more difficult to pass a bill than it is to kill one. There are numerous times and places during the legislative process at which a bill can die. Only a very few actually survive to become law.
The same is true for changes or additions to the budget.
In a nutshell:
First you have to find someone from the House to sponsor your request.
Then it's good to try to get someone from the other party to co-sponsor the request.
After you complete all of the paperwork, you submit it to the sponsor.
The sponsor submits it for review.
It's presented to committee, and if you're lucky, it passes that first round.
Then it goes to the Senate for review.
That's where you especially need an advocate on your side.
And if all goes as you planned -- you learn three months later if your budget item has made it through to the end.
I began my morning ready to face the world (okay, a few department heads), and win them over with my positive attitude, my infectious passion, and my vast knowledge. Since it was 25-degrees this morning, and because I feared being late (and getting lost), I stepped into my Jimmy Choos, put on my full-length wool coat and took a cab from the hotel to the Capitol building.
The cab ride is $2.50 then mileage -- my ride was $3.00!
How funny is that?
So, there I was sitting in the waiting room 45-minutes early. Surely I get points for my eagerness. And there I was stuck in high heels carrying my 20-pound coat. Now I lose points for my stupidity.
All good, though, because after my first meeting of the day, I had time to walk back to the hotel, dump the heels and the coat, and switch to flats for the remainder of the day.
Where I DIDN"T stay.
Where I DID stay.
For the next five-hours, I met with legislators and aides, hearing their agendas for this new session and talking about my agenda for the future of the clinic.
I don't use other people's names in my blog, but please know how much I appreciate those legislators who are willing to go out on a limb, cross party lines and sponsor the funding request. It will travel a long and bumpy road, but at least it's out of the locked garage and on the move, and for that, I'm forever grateful. If the request makes it all the way through to the final hearing, we won't know anything until April. Patience is definitely a virtue.
I've never imagined doing what I did today. I've never given any thought to going to Tallahassee, our state's capitol, to advocate for the much-needed services provided by the clinic. But then, again, I never thought about facing our local government officials, either -- and I did that, too. (with success)
A photo of the old Capitol Building with the gold dome, which is now a museum,
and the new Capitol Building right behind it, which is 22 stories high.
When I walked back to the hotel this evening in the cool, crisp air, I did it with a huge smile on my face, while thinking, "Ain't nothin' gonna' break my stride."
Hopefully, that's not short-lived, but don't worry, I'm not stupid.
I know the chances of the request surviving aren't great; that it will most likely get beat up from end to end. But I am proud of what I did on this visit to our state's legislature. Folks there now know what the clinic is and how important it is to the overall well-being of our community. If the request hits the cutting room floor, it won't be because the clinic is an unknown blip across Florida's financial radar.
Fall comes late to Florida.
For sure -- my dad and mom would have been proud, too.
Actually, they were both with me all day, so I know they are.
Now we just need to pray the funding comes through.
Dad's wedding band and Mother's earrings made into a heart pendant for a necklace.
Wish you were here to talk to!
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Friends are Like a Favorite Pair of Jeans
"Friends" at work are very important to us.
During this past year, many people have asked me what the most difficult thing has been to replace now that I'm no longer working for a large company. My answer has consistently been, "The people."
You spend most of your awake hours with co-workers, so you would naturally think of them as friends.
But sooner or later we learn they were not.
They were merely acquaintances, friends of convenience, and people who helped you make sense of the confusing reality of organizational life. You shared a common experience and provided each other with emotional support. When you met at the coffee pot or in the lunch room you talked about what you had in common - the work, your boss, the organization. Once you left, you learned that was pretty much all you had in common.
It's a very sobering experience.
The exception is the woman and colleague who was my assistant editor.
The joy of working with her was one of the great experiences of my journalism career. We were always on the same page when it came to wanting to right the wrongs pertaining to the social inequities of our community, she provided leadership on our annual Season Preview edition, and she helped develop our public relations expertise into an excellent extension of our publication.
The two of us live very busy and separate lives now, but - thankfully for Facebook - we keep in touch through social media and texting. Last night, though, with spouses in tow, we met for dinner.
And, we picked up exactly where we left off! I'm grateful for our conversation, grateful for her support and grateful to know that it's real and will always be there - as comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans.
And speaking of jeans, I have an easy project using just that - an old pair of jeans and some ribbon.
I have a habit of taking my old jeans and turning them into a pair of shorts before I completely get rid of them, but I've always thrown out the part I cut off. Not any more. Now, with minimal effort, you can turn the legs of the jeans into cute wine or liquor bottle gift bags.
Supplies:
An old pair of jeans
Sewing machine and thread
Scissors
Ribbon
Cut the cut-off pant leg to about a 11.5-inch length.
Turn the cut off legs inside out and stitch up the end that is not the hem of the pants. It's best to use a sewing machine, but hand stitching is fine as long as it's a tight stitch.
Turn right side out and cut a hole or slit through the outside layer of the hem. This will form the casing for the ribbon.
Attach a safety pin to the end of your ribbon and run it through that hole and then all the way around the casing that has been formed by the hem, and then back out.
Put a wine bottle inside and tie it up with a pretty bow.
Viola! Done!
Cute, right?
Of course, you could always make bags out of left over fabrics or from the legs of other pants.
Have fun with it.
I should have done this to take to my friend last night!
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to sew.
During this past year, many people have asked me what the most difficult thing has been to replace now that I'm no longer working for a large company. My answer has consistently been, "The people."
You spend most of your awake hours with co-workers, so you would naturally think of them as friends.
But sooner or later we learn they were not.
They were merely acquaintances, friends of convenience, and people who helped you make sense of the confusing reality of organizational life. You shared a common experience and provided each other with emotional support. When you met at the coffee pot or in the lunch room you talked about what you had in common - the work, your boss, the organization. Once you left, you learned that was pretty much all you had in common.
It's a very sobering experience.
The exception is the woman and colleague who was my assistant editor.
The joy of working with her was one of the great experiences of my journalism career. We were always on the same page when it came to wanting to right the wrongs pertaining to the social inequities of our community, she provided leadership on our annual Season Preview edition, and she helped develop our public relations expertise into an excellent extension of our publication.
The two of us live very busy and separate lives now, but - thankfully for Facebook - we keep in touch through social media and texting. Last night, though, with spouses in tow, we met for dinner.
And, we picked up exactly where we left off! I'm grateful for our conversation, grateful for her support and grateful to know that it's real and will always be there - as comfortable as a favorite pair of jeans.
And speaking of jeans, I have an easy project using just that - an old pair of jeans and some ribbon.
I have a habit of taking my old jeans and turning them into a pair of shorts before I completely get rid of them, but I've always thrown out the part I cut off. Not any more. Now, with minimal effort, you can turn the legs of the jeans into cute wine or liquor bottle gift bags.
Supplies:
An old pair of jeans
Sewing machine and thread
Scissors
Ribbon
Cut the cut-off pant leg to about a 11.5-inch length.
Turn the cut off legs inside out and stitch up the end that is not the hem of the pants. It's best to use a sewing machine, but hand stitching is fine as long as it's a tight stitch.
Put a wine bottle inside and tie it up with a pretty bow.
Cute, right?
Of course, you could always make bags out of left over fabrics or from the legs of other pants.
Have fun with it.
I should have done this to take to my friend last night!
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me to sew.
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
The Institute Cookbook - Economical Recipes Designed to Meet the Needs of the Modern Housekeeper.
I suppose there was a time when I could have been considered a "housekeeper." Perhaps when I was a stay-at-home mom. That was a long, long time ago, but I don't think I'd mind packing up my profession into a neat box and passing it forward to some lucky beneficiary in order for me to be able to stay home and tend to those things that made a woman what she was in 1913. We'll have to see how the biggest most ginormous lottery pans out tomorrow night.
Lately, I've had a hankerin' for some homemade soup, so I started going through my new-to-me "The Institute Cookbook" by Helen Cramp from 1913 and found a recipe for beef soup that sounded delicious.
The problem was, however, that I didn't want to take the time to make my own beef stock. The recipe for beef stock included a trip to the butcher, crushing bones and extracting the gelatin (see below, click on the photo and it will enlarge).
Since crushing bones wasn't in my order of the day and I was missing some of the ingredients, and the above recipe would take two days to complete (seriously) -- I decided to improvise and come up with my own recipe. I made it in the morning before going to work, then finished it when I got home.
Ingredients (all measurements are approximate):
2/3 cup of sliced carrots 1/2 cup diced onion
2 garlic cloves, minced 3 cups fat-free beef broth
1/2 cup cut, fresh green beans 1/2 cup tomato sauce
1/2 tsp. dried basil 1/2 tsp. dried oregano
1/2 cup diced zucchini 3/4 cup diced tomatoes
1/2 to 3/4 cup of cooked ground beef
salt and pepper to taste
Preparation:
In a large saucepan that has been sprayed with non-stick cooking spray, saute' the carrot, onion and garlic over medium heat, until softened, for about 10-15 minutes.
Add the broth, green beans, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, basil, oregano, salt and pepper, and bring to a boil.
Lower heat to simmer, cover and let cook for about 30-minutes.
(Then, at this point, you can turn off the heat and go to work. When you come home, you can re-start.)
Turn the heat on to medium, add the cooked ground beef and the diced zucchini.
Cook for about 20-30 minutes. You don't want the zucchini to get too smooshie.
Serve hot.
The soup, served with a small salad, was perfect for this very chilly Florida night. My husband even went back for seconds.
Day three of my 30-day commitment to ramp up my creative cooking juices is a success.
It's not quite as easy as opening a can of Campbell's, but it's close.
I hope you enjoy it. Let me know how it goes.
Love you, Mom.
Lately, I've had a hankerin' for some homemade soup, so I started going through my new-to-me "The Institute Cookbook" by Helen Cramp from 1913 and found a recipe for beef soup that sounded delicious.
The problem was, however, that I didn't want to take the time to make my own beef stock. The recipe for beef stock included a trip to the butcher, crushing bones and extracting the gelatin (see below, click on the photo and it will enlarge).
My favorite line in the above recipe for Meat Stock, "It's not necessary to remove the scum that rises." See that's the problem with that era, the scum bags weren't removed!
But I digress.
Since crushing bones wasn't in my order of the day and I was missing some of the ingredients, and the above recipe would take two days to complete (seriously) -- I decided to improvise and come up with my own recipe. I made it in the morning before going to work, then finished it when I got home.
Ingredients (all measurements are approximate):
2/3 cup of sliced carrots 1/2 cup diced onion
2 garlic cloves, minced 3 cups fat-free beef broth
1/2 cup cut, fresh green beans 1/2 cup tomato sauce
1/2 tsp. dried basil 1/2 tsp. dried oregano
1/2 cup diced zucchini 3/4 cup diced tomatoes
1/2 to 3/4 cup of cooked ground beef
salt and pepper to taste
Preparation:
In a large saucepan that has been sprayed with non-stick cooking spray, saute' the carrot, onion and garlic over medium heat, until softened, for about 10-15 minutes.
Add the broth, green beans, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, basil, oregano, salt and pepper, and bring to a boil.
Lower heat to simmer, cover and let cook for about 30-minutes.
(Then, at this point, you can turn off the heat and go to work. When you come home, you can re-start.)
Turn the heat on to medium, add the cooked ground beef and the diced zucchini.
Cook for about 20-30 minutes. You don't want the zucchini to get too smooshie.
Serve hot.
The soup, served with a small salad, was perfect for this very chilly Florida night. My husband even went back for seconds.
Day three of my 30-day commitment to ramp up my creative cooking juices is a success.
It's not quite as easy as opening a can of Campbell's, but it's close.
I hope you enjoy it. Let me know how it goes.
Love you, Mom.
Sunday, January 10, 2016
The Many Shades of Need
When my mother passed away a few years ago, the question of how I would fill the void she left behind, especially during the holidays, set off a profound sense of confusion, sadness and even resentment. The unfamiliar terrain of navigating through the loss was coupled with the realization that the rest of the world keeps moving on.
I wanted the world to stop rotating just long enough for me to step off.
Those first few holiday seasons were made bearable by keeping very close to my son and his wife and by keeping extremely busy -- hosting my own gatherings and going to every party we were invited to.
But this year, everything was different.
After a scrumptious and abundant Thanksgiving celebrated with my family of siblings, cousins, nieces and spouses, Christmas and the days leading up to it were actually the hardest to maneuver through since Mom's passing.
Among what I suppose are many of the reasons for my emptiness were the fact that I had received some extremely heart-breaking news just before the holidays, I had some of my own health issues, and my son and his wife had other plans for both of those holidays. I suddenly found myself drowning. I'm not blaming them; not by a long shot. It's my fault -- totally. It's all my fault for becoming so dependent upon others for my sense of happiness during those times that finding it are the most difficult.
There is a big difference between going to family and friends for love and uplifting and becoming completely dependent upon them for your spirits. The very last thing I ever want to become to my son is a burden.
Codependency has many shades of need.
Upon realizing that, I now know that:
I cannot allow myself to be that dependent in that way.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I must take matters into my own hands.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I must adjust my expectations (in fact, don't have any.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I will also go back to keeping myself busy.
And, I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
Now the holidays are behind me -- all of us. And to that, this year I say, "Thank goodness."
It rained all day today, so it was just one of those days to give in and let go -- and stay in my jammies. I spent most of the day going through my and my mother's cookbooks and recipe cards. I have vowed to reenter my kitchen, the place that used to make me feel the most secure; where my mind was opened and I could really get my creative juices flowing. It's not a New Year's Resolution, but it is a 30-day commitment. They (whomever "they" are) say that it takes 21 repetitions to create a new habit. They also say we can all endure just about anything for 30 days. So, I'm starting with the first 30 day period, and with healthy cooking in mind.
This brings me to a God Wink or perhaps even a miracle that happened this past week -- but to tell you about it, I have to start in 2003, so please stay with me.
1. After moving into this house in which we now live, Mother and I began going through all the magazines we both had been holding on to, all of our cookbooks and the stack of pages torn from magazines at the doctors' and dentists' offices. We had a stack a mile high of things we had decided to get rid of. Some would go in the trash and others would be donated to the hospice thrift store.
Several weeks later, Mother reached for a particular cookbook and it was no where to be found. When I got home from work that day, she was visibly upset. She explained that the cookbook had been given to her by her mother (Ethel) and that it had been given to her by her mother. She used it all the time.
2. I was devastated and immediately got in my car and drove over to the thrift store. I combed their shelves looking for it, although I wasn't even sure what I was looking for. Little did I know that Mom had done the same thing earlier that day. We never found the book.
3. Fast forward to 2016, only says ago: My cousin in California posted a photo of a cookbook, saying it had belonged to our grandmother, but was given to him by his dad (my mother's brother). I recognized the cover of the cookbook (published in 1913) as possibly being the book Mother used to go to so often.
4. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to research and see if I could find any copies of it. It would be fun to have such an old cookbook. Low and behold, I was able to locate three copies of the book, one in Washington DC and two in Oregon. I purchased all three copies, and the first of the three arrived this past week.
5. As soon as I opened the packaging, I knew it was the same cookbook Mom had so often used, but it's what I saw inside the book that had me nearly fainting.
There, on the first page was this inscription:
Just in case you can't read it, it says "To Ethel from Mother."
Seriously!
I don't know if this is my mother's actual book, but even if it isn't -- at the very least it IS a major God Wink. Right?
I have been on Cloud Nine ever since.
I wrote a letter to the company that sent the book to me, located in Washington DC, asking if they have any records indicating where this book may have come from. I hope I hear back from them, but even if I don't, I'm ecstatic.
I did finally take a shower about an hour ago, put clean jammies on and sat down to my computer to try to commit to my blog, again. There's a whole lotta' commitment goin' on. Ha, ha.
Seriously, though. If you're mourning the loss of a loved one, allow yourself to experience all your emotions (anger, longing, fantasy) without judgement. If tears come, let them flow; if joy arises at a happy memory, embrace it.
Remember that the irony of a family member passing is that you had to love them first in order to feel the loss. So, loss can be a reminder of love, grief can and will give way to gratitude, and absence, if you allow it, can be the impetus to create new traditions.
By sharing memories of those we've lost with those we still have, we remind ourselves of the significance people hold in our lives and the Magic of Family.
I love and miss you, Mom and Dad...always will.
I wanted the world to stop rotating just long enough for me to step off.
Those first few holiday seasons were made bearable by keeping very close to my son and his wife and by keeping extremely busy -- hosting my own gatherings and going to every party we were invited to.
But this year, everything was different.
After a scrumptious and abundant Thanksgiving celebrated with my family of siblings, cousins, nieces and spouses, Christmas and the days leading up to it were actually the hardest to maneuver through since Mom's passing.
Among what I suppose are many of the reasons for my emptiness were the fact that I had received some extremely heart-breaking news just before the holidays, I had some of my own health issues, and my son and his wife had other plans for both of those holidays. I suddenly found myself drowning. I'm not blaming them; not by a long shot. It's my fault -- totally. It's all my fault for becoming so dependent upon others for my sense of happiness during those times that finding it are the most difficult.
There is a big difference between going to family and friends for love and uplifting and becoming completely dependent upon them for your spirits. The very last thing I ever want to become to my son is a burden.
Codependency has many shades of need.
Upon realizing that, I now know that:
I cannot allow myself to be that dependent in that way.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I must take matters into my own hands.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I must adjust my expectations (in fact, don't have any.
I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
I will also go back to keeping myself busy.
And, I will be filled with nothing but gratitude.
Now the holidays are behind me -- all of us. And to that, this year I say, "Thank goodness."
It rained all day today, so it was just one of those days to give in and let go -- and stay in my jammies. I spent most of the day going through my and my mother's cookbooks and recipe cards. I have vowed to reenter my kitchen, the place that used to make me feel the most secure; where my mind was opened and I could really get my creative juices flowing. It's not a New Year's Resolution, but it is a 30-day commitment. They (whomever "they" are) say that it takes 21 repetitions to create a new habit. They also say we can all endure just about anything for 30 days. So, I'm starting with the first 30 day period, and with healthy cooking in mind.
This brings me to a God Wink or perhaps even a miracle that happened this past week -- but to tell you about it, I have to start in 2003, so please stay with me.
1. After moving into this house in which we now live, Mother and I began going through all the magazines we both had been holding on to, all of our cookbooks and the stack of pages torn from magazines at the doctors' and dentists' offices. We had a stack a mile high of things we had decided to get rid of. Some would go in the trash and others would be donated to the hospice thrift store.
Several weeks later, Mother reached for a particular cookbook and it was no where to be found. When I got home from work that day, she was visibly upset. She explained that the cookbook had been given to her by her mother (Ethel) and that it had been given to her by her mother. She used it all the time.
2. I was devastated and immediately got in my car and drove over to the thrift store. I combed their shelves looking for it, although I wasn't even sure what I was looking for. Little did I know that Mom had done the same thing earlier that day. We never found the book.
3. Fast forward to 2016, only says ago: My cousin in California posted a photo of a cookbook, saying it had belonged to our grandmother, but was given to him by his dad (my mother's brother). I recognized the cover of the cookbook (published in 1913) as possibly being the book Mother used to go to so often.
4. Feeling nostalgic, I decided to research and see if I could find any copies of it. It would be fun to have such an old cookbook. Low and behold, I was able to locate three copies of the book, one in Washington DC and two in Oregon. I purchased all three copies, and the first of the three arrived this past week.
5. As soon as I opened the packaging, I knew it was the same cookbook Mom had so often used, but it's what I saw inside the book that had me nearly fainting.
There, on the first page was this inscription:
Seriously!
I don't know if this is my mother's actual book, but even if it isn't -- at the very least it IS a major God Wink. Right?
I have been on Cloud Nine ever since.
I wrote a letter to the company that sent the book to me, located in Washington DC, asking if they have any records indicating where this book may have come from. I hope I hear back from them, but even if I don't, I'm ecstatic.
I did finally take a shower about an hour ago, put clean jammies on and sat down to my computer to try to commit to my blog, again. There's a whole lotta' commitment goin' on. Ha, ha.
Seriously, though. If you're mourning the loss of a loved one, allow yourself to experience all your emotions (anger, longing, fantasy) without judgement. If tears come, let them flow; if joy arises at a happy memory, embrace it.
Remember that the irony of a family member passing is that you had to love them first in order to feel the loss. So, loss can be a reminder of love, grief can and will give way to gratitude, and absence, if you allow it, can be the impetus to create new traditions.
By sharing memories of those we've lost with those we still have, we remind ourselves of the significance people hold in our lives and the Magic of Family.
I love and miss you, Mom and Dad...always will.
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