Angels Among Us

Placing my father in nursing home care was the hardest decision my mother, who included the whole family, ever had to make. But because Alzheimer's disease had made it nearly impossible for my mother to care for him, that decision had to be made.

My husband and I only lived about a half-mile away from my parents at the time, so we were on 24/7 call, which we didn't mind. But the true hardship was on my mother, who - at one point - literally locked herself inside with Daddy for about six-months after he wandered off one morning in their car and took a "joy ride" across south Florida. Luckily we found him before any harm had come to him or others, but nothing was ever the same after that. Mother locked all the doors and windows, hid all the keys and when I would go to their house after work each day, she would go into their bedroom and close the door. The job of a loving caregiver is, in one simple word, hard.
The Huffington Post has posted a story (follow the link below) entitled Confessions of a Worn Out Alzheimer's Caregiver, which is a good read:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marie-marley/dementia-caregiver_b_2614194.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false
It's not really the reason I'm writing tonight, but if you are a caregiver, please do read it.

Tonight, I'm trying to ward-off the tsunami. I feel it coming on, again, but I'm hoping I can write about some of the things that are triggering my emotions and "handle" it.

The new bed was delivered on Saturday, so now my mother's room has a queen-sized bed in it for our guests. Mom has settled down and I'm not running into her in the hallway now. In fact, I haven't smelled her since her room was put back together Saturday, which I miss. But while I was making the bed with its new sheets, I got sidetracked (squirrel!) by some of the collectibles on shelves in the room. Angels everywhere!
Here's why:

On the very day we placed Daddy in nursing home care, a tiny black and white kitten showed up at my mother's back door. At first, Mom was completely unimpressed and wanted my older sister or me to take the kitten to the Humane Society. She sat in her chair with the little thing in her lap and began to cry, and we knew right then - despite any protests to the contrary - the kitten had found a new home. Within a few hours, Mother had decided it was a sign, that it was meant to be, and named the kitten "Angel." From that day forward, my mother collected all things angels, and she and the kitten were inseparable.

Here's a photo of sweet little Angel after she had found a way to climb all the way up to the space over my kitchen cabinets! (giving both Mother and me a heart attack)

Poor little Angel died from kidney and liver problems about two years before my mother passed away. Mom's heart was broken. It was her last connection to my dad - her husband of 65 years. I understand that. I really wanted her to get a new kitten, but she didn't want to have anything at all to do with that idea. Still today, I wish she had done it.

At some point, I will begin to box up some of the angels in our house and I'll give them to my sister and brother, my son and nieces and to my cousins -- I'm sure they will appreciate them as much as Mother did.

In the meantime, the angels are all where Mother placed them, and I enjoy seeing them everyday. Because Mom lived with us for so long, there are many things around our house that remind me of her...but the angels make me think of both Mom and Daddy.

Here are the lyrics to Angels Among Us, a song released in 1993 and written by Don Goodman and Becky Hobbs:
I was walking home from school on a cold winter day.
Took a shortcut through the woods, and I lost my way.
It was getting late, and I was scared and alone.
But then a kind old man took my hand and led me home.
Mama couldn't see him, but he was standing there.
And I knew in my heart, he was the answer to my prayers.

Oh I believe there are angels among us.
Sent down to us from somewhere up above.
They come to you and me in our darkest hours.
To show us how to live, to teach us how to give.
To guide us with the light of love.

When life held troubled times, and had me down on my knees.
There's always been someone there to come along and comfort me.
A kind word from a stranger, to lend a helping hand.
A phone call from a friend, just to say I understand.

And ain't it kind of funny that at the dark end of the road.
Someone lights the way with just a single ray of hope.

Oh I believe there are angels among us.
Sent down to us from somewhere up above.
They come to you and me in our darkest hours.
To show us how to live, to teach us how to give.
To guide us with the light of love.


They wear so many faces; show up in the strangest places.
To grace us with their mercy, in our time of need.

Oh I believe there are angels among us.
Sent down to us from somewhere up above.
They come to you and me in our darkest hours.
To show us how to live, to teach us how to give.
To guide us with the light of love.

To guide us with the light of love.

The Red Bird Comes All Winter

Mom's been roaming the halls, so to speak.
Her bedroom, bathroom and living room, as well as my sewing/crafting/office/guest room, are on one side of our house.
She and I have been, almost quite literally, running into each other in the hallway for the past three days and nights. It has reminded me of when we'd clash in the kitchen - not because of differences, but because of her walker, which would sometimes get in the way of our "cooking flow."

I smell her, I feel her, and I talk to her -- yep, I admit it -- I've been talking to her.
But when I tell you why, you'll understand.

My sewing/crafting/office/guest room has had only a full bed in it, and when guests did come and spend some time with us, they were cramped into that small-ish bed. Mom also only had a full bed. She could have had whatever she wanted, and she chose a full bed. (I'm sure you can see now where this is going.)

I've been thinking, for about a month, that it might be time to eliminate the two full beds and replace Mother's with a queen size, making her bedroom the new guest room -- and making my sewing/crafting/office/guest room just "Studio Sydney."

I have no plans to make any other changes to my mother's bedroom; no painting, no replacing of curtains, still not removing clothing from the closet, not replacing any other furniture -- just replacing the bed. (Which, frankly, she talked about doing last year.)

My husband and I dragged the two full beds out of the rooms and into our family room. The next day, a friend with two children who have grown out of their bunk beds came for them.
I was good with that.
After my friend picked up the beds, my husband and I set out on a mission to buy a new queen size bed, bring it home in the back of the big-ass pick up truck and set it up. But, because I seem to welcome new drama, the purchase became an ordeal as we vacillated over the decision to buy a new bed for us and put ours in Mother's room, or just buy a less expensive bed for her room and leave it at that. Four hours later, and visits to more than five other mattress stores in the area, we made the decision to buy a new Stearns & Foster (yippee) for us and put ours in Mother's room. It would be delivered at the end of the week.
I was good with that.

Until we got home.

I went into my mom's old bedroom and her scent hit me light a ton of bricks.
I relished in it, though; sat there in the middle of her floor and soaked it in.
It felt good.

That afternoon, I began reorganizing "Studio Sydney," removing anything and everything that doesn't have anything to do with sewing, crafting, art, creativity - you get the picture. That meant the old domino effect had taken over. Now there were things piling up in Mother's living room that would have to be reorganized and put away, and when I ran out of room in there, it spilled over into the breakfast room.

For two days, as I've worked feverishly to sort through things and downsize,  I've smelled her. And for two days I've wondered why I was such an emotional wreck -- again. I was riding that "missing mom" wave, and it completely drained me this time. I cried and cried all day yesterday and last night. Completely distraught, I decided to take a break last evening and sit outside on our back porch, and that's when everything became very clear to me.

Two bright red cardinals, Mom's favorite bird and the first ones I've seen this season, landed on the branch of a tree in front of me, firing up the landscape (as Mary Oliver would say). For at least the past 20 years or so, Mother and I have called the first cardinal of the season Aunt Anna Louise, after her oldest sister who passed away about then. Yesterday when there were two of them right in front of me, it calmed me and put me in a much better place. For sure, it was Mom and her sister.
When I went back in the house to resume my quest to find organization - "it" hit me. Like Mom's scent had done, "it" also hit me like a ton of bricks. Mom was roaming the halls, because just like me, she can't stand when things are out of order...and things were definitely out of order: no bed in her room, boxes of stuff piled five-feet high in her living room, the broom, mop and dust rag laying on the floor, etc.

She was just as discombobulated as I.

Last night I promised her the mess would be gone by the end of the day today and a new bed would be in her room by the end of the week. When I got home from work, her scent was lingering, as if she was standing over me while I finished the task. And finish it, I did.
I'm so pleased with the outcome, and really glad it has turned out to be another learning experience for me as I grapple with my loneliness for my best friend and mentor.

A view of my newly re-organized "Studio Sydney" with Mom's chair, side table and lamp taken from her living room, my quilt made from her clothes on the back of the chair, and a pillow made by my mother. I love it all, except those pesky computer wires.

I love you, Mom. I'm sure your next visit will be where you tell me you're okay.

Red bird came all winter,
firing up the landscape

as nothing else could.

Of course I love the sparrows,

those dun-colored darlings
so hungry and so many.
I am a God-fearing feeder of birds.
I know He has many children,
not all of them bold in spirit.
Still, for whatever reason —
perhaps because the winter is so long
and the sky so black-blue,
or perhaps because the heart narrows
as often as it opens —
I am glad
that red bird comes all winter,
firing up the landscape
as nothing else can do.
-- Mary Oliver

Chili and Football go together like hotdogs and baseball

We had a few days of cooler weather here in sunny F-L-A, causing me to crave chili; not just any chili, but what I like to say was my dad's "favorite."
Okay, in the interest of true disclosure - it really wasn't his favorite. Truth be told, my father was like Mikey on the old Life cereal commercials; he'd eat anything. And, although he did eat my chili with all the fervor of someone who had been starved for months, he also sat down to every meal with that same penchant for eating. He loved my mother's cooking and looked forward to every meal (especially dessert), often saying he taught her how to cook. Somehow, I can't see that as being true, either, but who knows? Mom was right out of high school when they got married, and I can't remember her ever denying Dad's claims.

Every year, for more than 30 years, a local civic organization of which my husband is a member, has hosted a chili cookoff, with funds raised going to children's charities. BH (meaning before the hurricane season of 2004) members had reached a peak of raising more than $200,000 at the annual event, but unfortunately the back-to-back hurricanes Frances and Jeanne caused much damage to the area, and the chili cookoff faced major setbacks. That's okay, though, because those same members have continued their efforts, rebuilding the kitty and the attendance.

The cookoff is a sanctioned chili competition, meaning that many rules must be followed. One of those rules is that the chili cannot have any beans in it, and another is that it cannot be served with rice or pasta. It can be made using any meat, or no meat at all, but it must stand on its own merit without beans, rice or pasta. And that's how I definitely know it was not my father's favorite. Although he ate my chili and enjoyed it, he preferred beans in his chili and he preferred that it be served over rice, like my mother made it. But I don't. And since I'm the cook with the copy of the recipe, there are no beans and no rice.

My dad did love sports! Give him a team from Anywhere, Illinois, and he'd watch for hours. He was particularly a baseball fan and a football fan. Even after being placed in nursing home care because of Alzheimer's disease, he could watch Cubs baseball and Dolphin football for hours.  He also loved going to the chili cookoff, so what better way to honor my dad than with making a pot of chili for the "big game?"

I have several chili recipes that have come from winning cooks over the years, and the one I'm sharing with you just in time for the super football game is definitely one of  my favorites. It's what I'd take with me to my parents' house for our little game-watching parties.
It's not too spicy, so if you have a hankerin' for smokin' hot chili, this won't be the recipe for you. It's also not thick, but has something more of a soupy consistency. In my opinion, this chili stands proudly on its own, enabling you to savor the flavor of each ingredient. It won one of the cookoffs back in the late 1980s.

Here's the recipe:
4-lbs. ground beef                                  1-lb. sausage
2 stalks celery, chopped                         1 green bell pepper, chopped
1 small hot green pepper, chopped (optional)
4 medium onions, chopped                    15 oz. tomato sauce
24 oz V-8 vegetable juice                      five 16 oz. cans of stewed tomatoes, well chopped
1 1/2 tsp. onion salt                                3 tsp. garlic powder
3/4 tsp. basil                                           4 tsp. cumin (go lighter if it's too spicy for you)
6 tsp. chili powder (go  lighter if it's too spicy for you)
1 tsp. oregano
1 tsp. brown sugar
salt and pepper to taste

In a large skillet, brown the beef and sausage. Drain and set aside.

 In a large soup pot, saute' the celery, peppers and onions.

When complete, pour meat into pot and add the tomato sauce and V-8 juice. Stir well.
Add the finely chopped stewed tomatoes. Stir well.
Add all of the spices and the brown sugar, stirring until well blended.
Simmer slowly - at least two hours - stirring often.

I actually halved the recipe. This photo was taken before it had simmered for several hours.

Dad liked to have lots and lots of saltines with his chili, but I've taken it up just a notch with these cheese crackers made from a combination of grated asiago, Romano, Parmesan and provolone cheeses.
And you make them like this:
You can buy the four cheeses already combined or you can grate the cheeses and combine them yourself. Preheat the oven to 350-degrees. Put a piece of parchment paper on your baking sheet, and then put small handfuls of the cheese combo into stacks on the sheet. (They will look like little haystacks)

Bake at 350-degrees for about 5-10 minutes, depending upon how big you stacks of cheese are. Keep a watchful eye on them, as you don't want them to scorch.
Here's what they'll look like when you pull them out of the oven.

And here's a bowl of chili and some cheese crackers just for you.

Enjoy the game and "Go Noles!"
Oops, wrong game.

What Dreams May Come -or- The Healing Force of Cooking

I don't dream often. Well, let's put it this way: if I do dream, I don't remember them when I awaken.
In the quiet of my mother's bedroom, when I first come home from work, I plead for a visit from her in my dreams...so I can see her, hug her, talk to her and know that she's okay and the right decision was made.
It hasn't happened, but something else did and I was ecstatic.

Since my father's passing more than 11-years ago, I can only recall seeing him in one dream, but on the eve of it being four months since my mother passed away, my father came to me in a dream, and it went like this:
Although I did not actually see my mother in the dream, my memory of the dream begins with my husband, Mom and me having breakfast. Mother soon got up from the table (again, I never actually saw her in the dream). She was gone for quite some time and I went looking for her. I couldn't find her anywhere, and after looking in her bedroom and her living room, I came out into the hallway and there was Daddy at the end of the hall. He had the biggest smile on his face. (My dad was always laughing, joking and smiling.) I ran to him and hugged him and he hugged me.
I asked, "What are you doing here, Dad?"
(Even though it was a dream, I was still fully aware that my father had been placed in a nursing home because of his need to wander and that was because of Alzheimer's disease. I knew he should be in the nursing home.)
His reply, "They're all busy there."
(No clue what that meant)
We hugged some more and I can tell you without a shadow of a doubt, those hugs were real. To this minute, I still feel his strong arms around me and I still see his comforting smile, assuring me he's fine. I can't even begin to explain how much that means to me. There simply are no words.
We let go of each other and I remember thinking that as soon as I found Mom, I'd see him, again. But I never found my mother, and when I went back to the end of the hallway where Dad had been standing, he was gone.
That was the end of my dream as I remember it.
I awoke.
The dream had played out to such reality that I needed to get out of bed and look around the house. Of course, no one was there.

That was the single most "realistic-feeling" dream I've ever had, and it left a lasting effect on me. Throughout yesterday, I was filled with discontent and torment as I tried to analyze the dream. Clearly filled with joy at seeing Dad, why couldn't I be content with that? Instead, I was also disappointed that I hadn't actually seen my mother's face, and that I hadn't been able to speak to her.

I'm working hard at trying to face my feelings and cope with them. I've learned the importance of allowing my emotions their freedom and the importance of working through my personal pain caused by the loss...usually reaching for a project to work on as I deal with things, and always a project that was taught to me by my mother.

So, it was time for some kitchen therapy.
After a visit to our local Saturday farmers' market, I came home ready to make Heirloom tomato soup, some fresh tomato sauce and some chili.

This is a very, very simple recipe for tomato sauce my mother taught me -- keep in mind, we are the farthest thing from being Italian, so her recipe is likely very different from others. But, it's also very light.

All you need is:
12 plum tomatoes, quartered
4 cloves of garlic
1 large onion, chopped into chunks
Fresh basil
oregano
salt and pepper
olive oil
(Optional -- bell peppers)

Preheat oven to 350-degrees.
Cut the tomatoes and onion into chunks and spread out on a large baking sheet. If you are including peppers in your sauce, cut them into chunks and also place on the baking sheet. Dice or press the garlic cloves and sprinkle across the top. You can use fresh basil and oregano and place the leaves on top, or you can sprinkle your spices over the top. Add salt and pepper to taste, and sprinkle with a light coating of olive oil (I used Organic Blood Orange Olive Oil I bought at the farmer's market).

Pop the baking sheet into the oven for about an hour. It's done when a fork can easily go through the onion. Your house will spell like the inside of an Italian restaurant! Delicioso!

When it comes out of the oven, remove the leaves, then put the roasted veggies into your food-processor. (Back in the day, my mother would use a little chopper she had, since she didn't have a food-processor) Let the whole amount cool to room temperature before storing in the refrigerator. But you can bag this up in zip-locks and freeze it, also.

Here's my sauce -- all fresh and this time, it's all organic, too. Much better than buying it in a jar and it takes no time at all to make.

I'm calling it my Healing Sauce, because that time in the kitchen helped to clear my head and my heart; it took me back to a time when my younger sister and I would stand on the seat of the dining room chairs that Mom had pulled up to the kitchen counter so we could watch her bake; it also enabled me to continue functioning. Ya' gotta' love that.

Rags to Riches

I made a quilt!
I've never made a quilt in my life -- although I had always planned to make one from all of my son's T-shirts, and I had always planned to make one from all the fabric squares I saved from every single piece of clothing I made for me and even for my husband and son. (That surely would have been a whopper of a quilt!) Alas, those two plans never came to fruition.

I've been sewing since I was in the second-grade, when my mother taught me how to make little shift-dresses for my Barbie doll. Mom used to help my sister and I 'build' a big tent in our carport using sheets and cardtables. We'd spread out blankets on the concrete floor and Mom would sit in the tent with us all afternoon making hand-stitched dresses for our Barbies.

So, it's no surprise that I was sewing on her Singer by the time I was in the fifth-grade, making some of my own clothes. Mom bought that machine when she was pregnant with me and sewed on that same machine until only a few years ago when she and I made some holiday aprons together.

It's also no surprise that sewing is what I finally turned to for some of that much-needed healing spirit.

Remember the tsunami of Jan. 2 -- the day I wrote about the giant wave of pain I was feeling? It's the day I thought I was ready to pack up Mother's clothes and donate them to charity. But when I opened her closet and saw an orange striped shirt she often wore and smelled her, I couldn't do it. I couldn't move, and I also couldn't deal with the loss.

A friend of mine suggested I use some of my crafting and sewing "talents" to make something from Mom's clothes. At first I couldn't imagine not only not donating them to those less fortunate, but also cutting them up into pieces. So, for about a week, I simply ignored my friend's suggestion. But my brother, who reads my posts and my Facebook, encouraged me to do it. He also thought it would be healing for me.

Well, I finally went back into my mom's closet and was suddenly filled with excitement. When that happened, I knew making a quilt was the right thing to do.

 

I went through her closet and pulled out her everyday clothes; blouses, T-shirts, slacks, capri pants and some of her satin pajamas. Also laying on her bed is her favorite fleece blanket she used to cover up with when we would go camping or when she was sitting in her living room watching television. I decided to use that fleece blanket as the backing for my quilt. So, I measured the fleece, then from that, decided the size of each square and picked out the appropriate number of pieces of clothing.

 The first cut was the hardest. The feelings that came over me after seeing this orange and white striped top in my mother's closet on Jan. 2 are what started the tsunami of emotions

that prompted a week of depression -- until I decided to act upon this suggestion.

The collection of squares cut for the quilt bring back so many memories...

And, it's funny, my younger sister and I can recall every piece of clothing we wore as children (usually the adorable dresses made for us by Mom)

and where we were when we wore it.

All of the squares are sewn together and the quilt-top is complete!

I'm feeling so energized by this project.

 

I hand-sew buttons at every corner, attaching the quilt-top to the fleece blanket,

and then sew blanket binding around the edge.

(By the way, this is not my mother's old sewing machine.)

 

My husband and I went camping this past weekend (that's me and my new quilt in our little camping trailer), and I hand-stitched the back side of the blanket binding to the fleece as we drove to our destination. I absolutely love my new quilt and encourage all of you to do something like this.

Now I'm going to send the scraps to my younger sister so she can do the same thing.



 

Loving and caring advice can sometimes come from the least expected places. My friend who suggested that I make something from my mother's clothes isn't someone I'd have expected to hear from. And when it's great advice that you took and it worked out -- it's (as my mother would say) the cherry on top.

Mom would have considered these pieces of clothing chosen to make my special quilt just rags, but I turned her "rags" into riches for me.

Say "Yes" to the Dress

My mother had her favorites; all parents do.
They may never admit it, but they do.

In this case, though, I'm talking about Mom's nieces and nephews.
Her favorite nephew is my cousin living south of me and her favorite niece is his sister living in Indiana. We all knew she liked them best. Out of all of my mother's other six siblings, those two cousins are the two she stayed in touch with the most.

My cousin from Indiana and her husband are snow-birds, now -- living on the coast of Alabama during the winters in order to be closer to their daughter, son-in-law and the prize package - their eight-year old granddaughter.

This year, my cousin's plan was to stay in Florida for a month before going to Alabama. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with Mom, and my mother was really looking forward to it.

Unfortunately, "the best laid plans of mice and men..."
Mother passed away without seeing her favorite niece one more time. So, my cousin and her husband changed their travel plans to include only a week in sunny F-L-A.

Truth be told, she's my favorite, too.

Are there people or things in your life that make you feel closer to someone?
A friend of mine told me this week that when his dog passed away, he re-lived the loss of his wife, because the dog was his final connection to her.

I understand.
That's how it is with my Indiana cousin. She makes me feel closer to my mother...which is odd since we were already so very close. But she knew my mother in my parent's other life -- the one they had in southern Illinois before I was born. It was a life in a small town of about 3,500 people, where my parents owned and operated a restaurant (something I have trouble imagining), and where my grandmother lived (on my mother's side).

Spending time with my cousin this past weekend was such a joy and a treat, and it reminded me of a  red organza dress I once wore to church and then to my own birthday party. There's no story behind the dress, but you  might be interested in seeing the pictures.

My cousin is about 12-years older than me. Here she is in "The Dress" at the age of about six or seven. It was red organza with a white organza collar and ruffle.

Here I am at the age of five, wearing the same dress about 12 or so years later. I remember my mother telling me that we were borrowing it and it would have to be returned to my aunt. (Notice that darn hair perm, again. My mother certainly had a thing for un-naturally curly hair.)

And here's the dress nearly 50-years later on my cousin's granddaugher, who at the time was about four-years old. How cute is this?

My cousin is heading to Alabama to see that beautiful child. I'm so glad she and her husband came, that we were able to spend some time together and that we even had some time to cry together. I look forward to another visit. Maybe next year my husband and I will pull our little camping trailer to Alabama to visit them.
One thing for sure -- she makes me feel so close to my parents, as if they are still with me.
(And they are!)

Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair

Tonight, I'm sitting here at the computer with very short and very crooked bangs.
Yep, I broke the rule.
It was probably the first rule I learned when, in junior high, I finally became the keeper of my own hair. When no longer was I under the rule of my mother and her crazy whims to perm my hair the night before school pictures, to keep my hair short, and to shampoo it while I laid on my back on the kitchen counter with my neck breaking as it hung down into the kitchen sink.

Now I could grow my string straight hair long and my bangs could come down over my eyes and I could shampoo it myself in the shower.

See, I grew up when long bangs down to your eyelashes and longer was the way to go.
You know the song...
"Oh say, can you see my eyes if you can
Then my hair's too short"

So, when I've had bangs, they've always been long. In fact, there's a long history of straight hair and bangs in our family. Here's a photo of my mother -- I think she's about ten-years old in this.

Obviously, her mother celebrated her straight hair and worked with what she had.
Not mine -- she'd give me a Toni perm the night before school pictures every single year.

This is what she'd do to me. And the boy who always sat behind me, because we were always in alphabetical order, would complain about the stinky smell.

As soon as I got into seventh-grade and my mom relinquished control of my hair, both on my head and on my legs, I did this:

I started growing out my bangs and kept my hair straight. Look at that smirk.


So, anyway -- you know the rule...
....Never cut your own bangs when they are wet.

But, yesterday I took a hankerin' to cutting my bangs. No big deal. I do it all the time.
But this time was different. I did it while my hair was wet and for some reason my head was half-cocked to the left.
Now I look like I did when I was four and did much the same thing. (Well, I know I don't actually look like I'm four, but you know what I mean.)
I wish I could find the photo I remember my mom showing me years and years later, but here's one taken last night.

It's okay to laugh. I haven't stopped.

I did something very similar about 10 years ago, when I was going through the very dreaded ( and rightfully so) menopause.
I woke up one night soaked through and through from night sweats, and decided right then and there that if I cut my hair, I'd be much cooler. I pulled my hair, which was then shoulder length, up into a pony tail right at the top of my head. I thought I'd give myself a shag cut -- how hard could that be?
I'd remembered while in college that several of my dorm mates did it, so why not? I'd remembered them looking great.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and took the scissors to my hair.
Clip!
I threw the hair on the floor, turned off the light and went back to bed.

The next morning, which just happened to be a Sunday morning, I nearly fainted when I looked in the mirror. It was a shag alright. What the heck had I done? I must have been possessed (which I was -- by the demons of menopause).
I had hair sticking out in every direction. Parts of it only about two-inches long and other parts about eight-inches long. But absolutely no rhyme or reason to it. I don't have any pictures of that, which is a good thing. It would be enough to scare you back to grade-school.
It was just a mess.
And what can you do on a Sunday morning?

I called my friend who had always done my mother's hair. She felt sorry for me and told me to come to her house.
"Yikes! What have you done?" she said. (She actually used other words, but I won't use them here.)

Needless to say, she fixed me up -- with very short hair.

I thought I had learned my lesson.
Clearly, I hadn't.

I'm sure that's why my mother was so reluctant to give up control of my hair...she knew I'd never learn.

Grateful to a community leader

Is it true the best relationships come from friendships?
Or could it be the best friendships are born from accidental relationships?

I spent an extended lunch break today with a very dear person - a person I've admired as a community leader for many years; a person I've even spent time with on several fundraising committees; but she was the last person I expected to have reach out to me with such comfort and care.
She said she was surprised I accepted her invitation for lunch.
I said I was surprised by the invitation.

We met at the beach, sat at a picnic table on a picture-perfect, chamber-of-commerce day in paradise, ate the chowder and salad she brought, and talked and talked. She listened and then spoke about her experiences with the loss of her own mother. She listened, again, and held my hand as I cried. She told me about her waves of emotion and how those waves creep up on her unexpectedly. We talked about some things I haven't spoken of with many others; like my mother's "awakening" on the evening before her death.
We both talked about some disappointments in hospice care and the final days of our mothers, and while it felt very healing - she also told me not to expect our conversation to be the magic wand I'm looking for.
She said that I needed to take my journey, accepting help along the way, but remembering that it may take a while - to travel at my own speed.

I'm sure that's true, but I'm forever grateful to this pillar of the community for taking so much time out of her busy schedule to offer her heart to me.

Tomorrow marks 11 years since I lost my father. I'm sure he's happy to have his wife of 65 years back with him, but if I had my druthers -- they'd both be right here.

A tsunami hits

I need to talk about my mother...not crafting and not cooking.
So, if you're thinking I'm nothing but a big baby, stop reading. But if you have words of wisdom to share, please read on and leave your comments of encouragement at the end. I could use them today.

My house feels empty. Why today more than yesterday? I don't have the answer to that, but "they" tell me my emotions will come in waves. If that's true, I've reached a tsunami.

I guess it all began when I started going through my mother's closet last night, trying to make some temporary storage space. I haven't yet gone through her dresser or closet, and it wasn't my intention to do that last night. But when I moved some of her things around, I came upon two packages that I didn't think I recognized. When I opened them, I saw that one was a gift for my younger sister -- that I remembered Mother buying at Macy's on the day after Christmas 2011. Her intention was to give it to my sister on her birthday this past December. I had completely forgotten about that.
But the other was a gift Mother bought for a friend of mine who did my mother's hair for many years. That's the one that drew such deep emotions, because I don't know when she would have purchased it. I was her driver. I was always with her. But it was wrapped and had my friend's name on it, and I needed to deliver it today. My friend was as surprised as I was and nearly as emotional; reminiscing about my mother's beautiful head of hair, the kindness of my mother and her very lady-like ways. We stood there at my friend's station, in-between clients, and cried.
My friend is really quite fortunate; she still has her mother, who will be 95-years old in February. I must be completely transparent here and admit that I'm often jealous. Not only of my hairdresser friend, but of others who still enjoy the company of their mothers or fathers.
I feel rather guilty about that, as jealousy is not an acceptable behavior pattern...not very becoming. In fact, other than for a short period of time while in junior high, I honestly can't remember ever being jealous of anyone.
Both my mother and my father taught me to make the changes necessary to achieve whatever it was I  was aiming for. Both of them taught me to be confident. Neither of them ever showed or expressed jealousy.
But this isn't something I can change. I can't "achieve" my parents back.

Anyway, I took all this as a sign to go ahead and empty her dresser drawers. So, I began with her lingerie,  which was a simple process. The next drawer was filled with everyday clothes, like shirts and Capri pants. I knew this, because I used to put her clothes away on laundry day.
I opened the drawer and right on top was a light orange and white striped shirt that she wore - like all the time.
That's it. I can't go any further.

So, my question...when will I know when the time is right? When will I be able to empty her room and maybe even redecorate her living room? When will donating her clothing to charity feel right?

This photo was taken only 18 days before she passed away. Look at her beautiful hair at the age of 94! I certainly have her to thank for my lovely locks.

Decluttering, reevaluating and a glittering ball in the mix

10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1

and the ball drops as a new year is ushered in.

Like millions of others, I'll attend a party tonight. In fact, I've gone to New Year's Eve parties every year since I was 15-years old. And every year, at the stroke of midnight, I have called my mom and dad. It's always been the first thing I think of at midnight -- never ever missing a year.
I'm sure I'll get emotional tonight when I don't have that call to make, but that's okay. The emotions I'll feel will be a lifetime of the fondest of memories.

Like millions of others, I've been assessing my own 2012, comparing it to years past and thinking about the year ahead. It seems as though everyone is always in a hurry for the year to end and a new one to begin. For the past week, I've heard people saying things like, "2013 has got to be better than this year!" or "I can't wait for this one to be over!"

When I hear statements like that, I wonder, "What's happening to actually change things? What are you doing in your life to make a difference?"

I'm not one to actually celebrate the end of a year, although being here to celebrate the start of a new one is - of course - a good thing. But, this year in particular, I don't want to see come to an end.

2013 is the year I turn 60 (I'm stll trying to figure out how that happened, because I sure don't see 60 when I look in the mirror).

My mother always seemed to enjoy her life as it was. She never really wanted for anything, accepted things as they were, and made the best of those circumstances. Almost instantly after my mother passed away, I began assessing and re-assessing my own life and came up with three changes I am making. You can call them resolutions, if you want to, but I'm seeing them as "You're-Never-Too-Old-To-Improve" life assessments.

1. Live in the moment

As the editor of a social magazine, my job forces me to work in advance, usually at least three weeks out from today's date. I never feel as though I'm living in the current moment, because I'm always thinking ahead and planning for news coverage of fundraising and social events that will be happening three to eight weeks out.
Since my mother's passing and even in my sadness, I'm learning to enjoy every waking moment. I'm learning to actually be in that moment. Yes, it's something that I'm having to learn.
I once heard a quote: “We're so busy watching out for what's just ahead of us that we don't take time to enjoy where we are.”

2. De-Clutter

That one word can mean so much, right? From the stuff in our houses to the stuff in our brains to the stuff in our hearts -- it can be overwhelming. There's nothing wrong with a little purging once in a while and this is my time.
I haven't been able to go through my mother's things, yet. But everyday I feel stronger. Everyday I feel more love coming through from her to me. And everyday I get closer to the inevitable -- removing her clothing and redecorating her rooms.
The stuff in my brain and the stuff in my heart are much the same. My brain and my heart are, unfortunately, occupied with the hurtful actions of a few people I thought were good friends, so I'm going to spend some time re-evaluating with whom it is I spend my time. Life is just too short to spend it with folks who either don't appreciate you.

3. Have more fun

Caring for my mother took a great deal of time -- time that I absolutely loved spending with her and would give anything to have back. But the fact remains that it also took me away from my husband, who - for nearly 12 years - was very patient, kind and understanding when I would say, "No, I can't go, because I need to (fill in the blank) with Mom." He loved my mother with all his heart.
Fun can be many things -- crafting, sitting with my husband eating popcorn while we watch a movie, camping (I love camping), bicycling, dancing, and laughing - laughing - laughing.

Okay, so enough about me. Let's craft.
This is a ball a friend of mine taught me to make. I have a red one completed, which is pictured, and this gold one is for tonight's party. This will be our answer to the Times Square Crystal Ball.

You'll need about 32 paper cups that are shaped like cones (you've seen them at water coolers), 32 plastic ornaments that are about 2.25-inches in diameter, tacky glue or hot glue, a stapler, a foot of ribbon, filler leaves or garland and spray paint.
The ornaments, ribbon,garland and spray paint should all be the same color of your choice. The leaves can be whatever you like. I'm using gold today, but the completed ball is red.

The first thing you will do is staple the coned-shaped paper cups together to form a ball, and after the cone cups are stapled together, spray paint the whole ball.

This is the hardest and most time consuming part of the project. Be patient.

Staple your ribbon inside two cups to form a loop.
Then begin gluing the ornaments into the openings of the cups. The reason tacky glue is normally used is because it gives, dries clear and doesn't have any glue strings. If you're in a rush (like me), you can use hot glue, but be careful about the strings.
Whichever type of glue you are using -- apply the glue to the inside edge of the paper cup, then insert the ornament as far as it will go.

Keep gluing the ornaments into the cups until all 32 ornaments have been used.

Once all the ornaments have been glued into the cups, you can hide your spaces by gluing in holly leaves, garland, or whatever you'd like to use. I'm using gold and silver garland, glued between the ornaments.

I'm grateful for this year that's about to come to a close. Although I lost my mother, she taught me to believe and have faith -- and I do.
I look forward to my call I'll receive tonight from my son -- who continues the tradition.
And I wish you all a year filled with blessings and love.

Happy New Year!

We don't have a chimney, but the front door worked fine

Santa came a callin'.
Yep, he came right to my house for a visit with my family and me, and it made my day -- my season.
Why?
Because the four "Very-Happy-To-See-Santa" children and 13 crazed adults (all of whom acted like children when they saw Santa come through the front door) put a huge smile on my face.
Their happiness filled my heart with joy.

Even though my husband pretends to be the original Scrooge, look at that smile on his face.
And he's happy for all the same reasons.
Laughter, whether from a child or an adult, is not only contagious, but it's good for the soul. For Christmas this year, laughter became my weapon against falling prey to that hole burning in my heart. As Charlie Chaplin said, "Laughter is the tonic, the relief, the surcease for pain."
Gosh, was he right.
Thanks to my husband, my son and his wife;
To my younger sister, her husband and their youngest daughter - all three of whom took over the kitchen;
To my cousin (whom my mother thought the world of), his wife, their two sons and their wives and each of their four children;
And to Santa and Mrs. Claus
For helping me get through to the other side of Christmas, not in sadness, but with fond memories and new traditions in the making. I'm hopeful that this gathering of family is the beginning of many more to come.

And guess what?
Remember how worried I was at Thanksgiving about who was going to make the gravy?
Well, my mother came through this Christmas and channeled through me.
I made gravy for the first time in my life. Not just any gravy, but Julia's really good gravy. I don't eat gravy. I don't even taste gravy. But, apparently, I did pay close attention to how she made it, because my husband, my son and his wife all said it was good, and they all had seconds.
Hmmm...

Thanks, Mom. I look like a hero.

Christ is in my Christmas

I just spent the past three days prepping for and having a colonoscopy. What fun! (NOT!) Right now my 84 hemorrhoids are singing a chorus of "Hurt" by Nine Inch Nails, but that's probably too much information.
My husband has been wondering all day how many bottoms the doctor looks at each morning; but I was wondering why anyone would go into that field. The doctor is a cutie-pie, though.
My mother had her one and only colonoscopy when she was about 85-years old. Her doctor's name was...
 -- wait for it --
Dr. Ram.
Yeppers, that was his name.
He told her everything was fine and she'd live to be 95.
He was almost right.


Anyway...

Yesterday, I asked my co-worker if she thought this has been the absolute longest holiday season -- ever?
It feels like we've been living Christmas for months on end.

I have some very personal reasons why it's such a long and not particularly jolly season for me, but for the rest of the nation -- perhaps it's because Thanksgiving was earlier this year, and perhaps it's because that 'earliness' gave way to greediness. I'm sure retailers were thrilled at the prospect of more people buying more things for more days...a jump start to the annual spending spree.

But doesn't it feel as though we (in the broadest sense of the word) have turned the 'season of giving' into the 'season of help-increase-retail-profits?'
Most stores have their shelves filled with Christmas gift ideas before Halloween has passed. Christmas decorations go up in October, completely ignoring the fact that Thanksgiving comes up first. I won't even go into the phenomenom called Black Friday, which I'm sure will eventually become a national holiday of its own.

Regardless of what religion you may follow, the holiday season - not just Christmas, but the entire holiday season - is (in my opinion) intended to be a time of good fellowship, meaningful family time, treasured moments and memory building.
But, instead, we have fallen prey to the retail disease, spending money we don't have to buy gifts for people we barely know, or to bend to pressure applied by every single advertisement seen on television (bring back the political ads).

All of this is coming from a person who has only purchased two gifts, so far. Not only am I not in the mood, but my list is much shorter this year - now that I don't have to do my mother's shopping for her - and I'm just being a little more "picky" about on whom I spend my hard-earned dollars. Believe me, I know how selfish that sounds, but I just can't help it. I'm not in the mood.

What I am in the mood for, though, is meaningful family-time and memory building. And I'm going to get those treasured moments.
This coming Sunday, in memory of my mother, my sisters and their families, my cousin and his whole family and my own family will gather for some merriment of our own. My brother is out of state, but he would be here if he could.
I can't wait.
There will be 17 adults and four small children - a nice crowd my house has been missing.
There will be food, fun, fellowship and - yes - a visit from Santa!
I'm making a roast, a ham and my mother's recipe for her to-die-for cranberry cocktail salad (see below); my younger sister is making baked ziti and two salads (one of which is a roasted citrus salad that just the thought of makes my mouth water); my daughter-in-law is making dessert; my older sister and her daughter are also bringing a dessert and more; and my cousin's family is in charge of cheese, crackers and other appetizers.
We will eat, drink and be merry, and my mother would love it! As I've mentioned in a prior post, although she was hard of hearing, she loved it when we all talked on top of each other, getting louder and more excited with each sentence. To her, it was pure joy.
We will remember Mom, we will play games, we will exchange gifts in our version of the "White Elephant Gift Exchange," we will visit with Santa and we will build memories that will last long into the next generation.
I'm looking forward to seeing my family all together. And I'm looking forward to doing what I do best -- prepare for a party.

Here's Julia's Cranberry Cocktail Salad recipe. I love it. It's both tangy and zesty, and I like to serve it as an appetizer in shot glasses.

1 cup fresh cranberries, finely ground or chopped
1 apple, cored and finely chopped
1 small can of crushed pineapple, drained
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 orange, finely chopped with rind and juice
1/2 cup chopped celery
(I actually add 1/2 cup of chopped pecans, but mom couldn't eat nuts)
half of a 3 oz. package of red gelatin
1/2 cup boiling water to dissolve gelatin
1/2 cup cold water
mandarin oranges for garnish

In a glass mixing bowl, add the half of a 3 oz. package of red gelatin to the 1/2 cup of boiling water. Stir until completely dissolved, then add the 1/2 cup of cold water. Stir and place in refrigerator while chopping up remaining ingredients.
Combine all chopped ingredients in another mixing bowl. Stir in sugar until slightly dissolved. Pour partially thickened gelatin into the bowl of chopped ingredients and blend thoroughly.
Remember, the gelatin is intended to give the chopped ingredients a coating. It's not intended to be a jello dessert, although I'm sure it would make a good one.
Once everything is mixed, I spoon mine into small shot glasses and serve as an appetizer. My mother left the whole mixture in a glass bowl and served it as a salad. Either way, garnish with mandarin orange slices and enjoy!

I served this at last week's Crafting Sistas' Holiday Sweets Exchange & Craft Night and it was a hit.
My mom's cranberry salad will be on the table this coming Sunday, but she'll be with us in many more ways, too.

And, when I wish you a "Happy Holiday," I'm not ignoring Christ in Christmas, I'm wishing you the best of the entire season, including a heart filled with God's love.

I love you all.

Crafting Sistas - the glue that binds us together

Tonight was a night for the "good towels."
We all have them, don't we? Those special towels that are folded neatly and sitting on the shelf in the linen closet, just waiting for that significant someone to arrive -- waiting for the opportunity to show off...towels that hang in our bathrooms, but only when special guests are coming. We might even fold them a little differently, making the mere hanging of them that much more momentous.
Mine are pink towels with embroidered flamingos on them -- given to me one year for my birthday by my mother.
I love flamingos. Their long necks make them the most graceful creatures on this planet. And pink? Well, suffice to say -- I love the color!

Tonight was special.
It was my turn to host the monthly Crafting Sistas.
A group of my closest friends meet once a month to take on a new project, introducing us to new opportunities, so to speak.
December has traditionally been my month to host -- since the inception of Crafting Sistas. We have drinks, eat dinner, make crafts, exchange cookies and sometimes we exchange gifts.
I must be honest -- I was not looking forward to this night, but I threw myself into it and viola, it was fabulous.

My Crafting Sistas are just that - my sisters.
We are with each other through thick and thin, and this year, it's been mostly thick. One sista's husband was in a life-changing accident; another sista's mother died unexpectedly, forcing her to relocate out of state in order to care for her father and grandmother; another sista found herself unemployed only a few years away from retirement age. One sista had a beautiful baby girl, while another rejoiced in the birth of her granddaughter. One sista mourned her empty nest as her daughter left for college; another mourned her empty house as her mother's passing left a void needing to be filled.

There are 12 of us. And through it all, we've been there for each other...making tonight that much more meaningful to me.

As everyone arrived, we had Peppermint Martinis, with glasses rimmed in peppermint pop rocks -- what fun! For dinner we started with a cranberry/orange/apple appetizer, then salad, then the main course of Spaghetti Carbonara (I make mine with blood orange olive oil and sun-dried tomatoes), and for dessert - a pumpkin turnover made from this year's Halloween pumpkin. All yummy. Red wine, white wine - - and a twinkling light in each glass.

Then it was time to craft, and here's one of our projects:

Fill a white pillowcase with polyester fill and tie off the top using a rubberband. Create the head of the snowman by tying his scarf around his neck. Cut small, nickel-sized disks out of black felt and glue on for eyes and mouth. Make a small cone shape using orange felt and glue in place for his nose. Put on his Santa hat, or an old stocking cap and you've just made your own snowman. Great for those of us living in sunny F-L-A.

This one only took about 20-minutes, but we had a load of fun.
Then we made the cute little Cupcake Paper Christmas Trees that are detailed in my Dec. 1 posting entitled "I've got something in my pocket."  http://alwaysonmymindforeverinmyheart.blogspot.com/2012/12/ive-got-something-in-my-pocket.html

Mom loved Craft Night as much as I did. We usually make a huge presentation of our cookies/sweets and Mother has always been our judge, awarding big prizes. Last year, we all started with brownies, but as I always say, "It's all in the presentation." Last year's winner cut her very thin brownies, glued the pieces together with icing and made a nativity scene! That's how serious we take our "Cookie Exchange."

Finding ourselves without a judge this year, we played things a little lower, and had the normal, run-in-the-mill cookie exchange after crafting. Still fun!

While sitting with Mother during her transition into the Lord's arms, I knitted...another gift I learned from her. I knitted and knitted -- 12 scarves, one for each of the Sistas. So, tonight my sisters not only went home with new holiday crafts with which to decorate their homes, but they went home with a special hug around the neck from me.

Thank you to my Crafting Sistas for getting me through these days. I'm forever grateful to you for your love and friendship.

You definitely deserve the good towels!

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

Determined to escort myself away from the pity party I've been accused of throwing for "long enough," I have - for about a week, now - been celebrating what I was so fortunate to share with my mother; our years and years of being together through every walk of life.

As it's been pointed out to me by folks who seem to think they know far more than I do about the healing process and my relationship with my mother and even my father - I am very "lucky to have had her as long as you did;" or "how fortunate you had such a loving relationship with your mother;" or "she would never want you to stay sad."
And while all those statements are so very true, it doesn't change the fact that my best friend is gone and I'm lonely for her.

Still, I made a concerted effort to stay focused, cheerful and positive during this past week...
Until yesterday morning...

My husband and I went to a local hot-spot for breakfast yesterday with some friends and ran into a woman whom immediately began talking about my mother, how sweet she is, how lucky I am, and then asked, "How is she doing?"
I found myself completely blind-sided, a deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck. First of all, I honestly did not know who this woman was and second of all, everyone knew my mother has passed away. How could there possibly be anyone who doesn't know?
So, I told her that I had lost Mom.
She was apologetic and said that she didn't know and that if she had known she wouldn't have asked.
No kidding.

Of course, there I am in the middle of the restaurant, crying.

It was the beginning of what became "one of those days," as I then ran into two friends who really are lucky -- they both still have their mothers who are the same age as mine. I was quite jealous, having to excuse myself from them so I could get emotional and then re-group.
Then I tried to go Christmas shopping, where at every turn I saw items that I used to purchase for my mother's gift-giving list.
I'm sure we all have someone like this in our families: someone who faithfully gives the gift of jammies. My mom was that person. She gave all of us new pajamas every year. And for those of us who collect certain things, like my younger sister collects Christmas cookie jars, Mom would also buy an item for their collection.
Because the isles at most stores are packed solid with impulse buys during the holiday season, there's rarely enough space to get a wheelchair through, so mom had opted to stay home during the past two retail seasons. She would give me a list, and I'd shop for her.
Yesterday I found myself reaching for those items as I sauntered through the mall, much like I often find myself reaching for the phone to call and check on her. The pajamas were exactly what she would have wanted me to buy and check off her list. I saw cookie jars and aprons and ballet shoes and more -- all the things mom would give to my siblings and to her grand children.
The cool thing though, pajamas went into my basket. So, for some of the family, pajamas will still be under the Christmas tree this year.

Do I have moments when my breath is taken away because of a sudden memory?
Of course.
Is that wrong?
Nope.
And no one is going to convince me that my healing process should be completed by now. No one is going to convince me that they know what's best for me when it comes to this process of acceptance of loss.
No two people are the same.
Period.

While I was shopping, I found and bought a small, hand-painted sign that reads,
"Mirror, mirror on the wall. I am my mother afterall."
That's not such a bad thing.
Merry Christmas to me.

 

Sewing is cheaper than therapy

Tomorrow, Dec. 7, is a date remembered by most Americans as the day Pearl Harbor was attacked.
In my family, with all due respect to those who made the ultimate sacrifice for our country, the date is also remembered for another reason. It's my younger sister's birthday.

Tomorrow, she is faced with her first -- her first birthday without hearing from our mother. Only three weeks after Mom passed away, my birthday rolled onto the calendar. I intentionally ignored the day, hoping that would be my coping mechanism.
It didn't work - at all.

So, for my sister, I'm hoping she throws herself into a celebration of her life - a life given to her by  Mom (and Dad, of course); a life charmed by a childhood that really wanted for nothing; a life filled with talents resulting from the seeds planted by Mom.
My sister is amazing. She is the single most talented seamstress I've ever known.
I sew.
My sister is a seamstress.
Big dfference.
Like our mother, my sister has made clothes for her two daughters that rival the best designers in New York and France. I'm not kidding.
When her daughters were toddlers, my sister created one-of-a-kind, hand-smocked dresses embellished with handmade laces. I'm not sure, but I think I even remember her designs being featured in a children's clothing catalog. Anticipating seeing my sister's latest creations on her daughters, she gave us another reason to look forward to holidays. She continues today, making curtains, pillows and other home decor that would sell for hundreds of dollars in any boutique.

Look at my beautiful mother! And, how cute are my younger sister and I in our matching dresses made only by Mom? It's funny, I don't actually remember seeing my mother making our dresses; she must have done most of her sewing while we were sleeping or at school. But I do remember each of those special occasion dresses painstakingly made by her. Both my sister and I can tell you exactly what we were wearing at nearly any given moment in our lives. I loved these red and white checked dresses, but my favorite was our green sleeveless dresses with matching capes. Absolutely no one else had anything like them.

The roller coaster took a huge downward spiral today. So, when I got home from work, I thought I'd make some holiday pillows from fabric Mom and I had bought only weeks before she passed. I thought it would help me. The Plan (again with The Plan) was that I'd make some fun and funky pillows to put outside on the front porch, so why not?

I did it! They're cute, aren't they? They are exactly what Mom and I had envisioned, and between thinking about my sister on the eve of her birthday and making these pillows, it was just the therapy I needed.

Thanks, Mom, for teaching me how to sew when I was in the fifth-grade.

Happy birthday to my little sister. I hope it's a celebration she doesn't soon forget.

Do wonders and eat green cucumbers

I came home from work today with every intention of accomplishing great things. Well, maybe not 'great' things, but a lot of things.
So, for the first time since the beginning of September, I made dinner -- not a 'great' dinner, but I did make it, and it was nutritious: London broil steak salads with grated cranberry cheese and croutons. Both delicious and appreciated.
You see, my husband has been taking very good care of me -- making dinner, doing laundry, keeping the house tidy and anything else that needs to be taken care of. I say, "Jump," he says, "How high?"
So when he came home to dinner ready on the table, it was very much appreciated by him, and long over-due by me.
Amazing how much energy it took, though.

There's been a naked artificial Christmas tree sitting in the living room for several days. That's as far as I got last week when I had a sudden burst of enthusiasm and the desire to maybe put up some Christmas decorations. Normally, every inch of my house is smothered in Christmas and most of it is made by me. I've always taken great pride in what I've created because of the foundation laid by my mother.

We've always bought a real tree, but I'm using the one I used to set up in my mother's living room. Rather reflective of my own disposition, it's a sad tree this year, with a section of lights not working and many of the little "pine needles" shedding off as if it were real.

The Plan -- to decorate the tree and make it look brand new and to decorate the dining room. Of course, I had to accomplish this without climbing into the attic and bringing down boxes of Christmas decorations, because that - this year - is not an option. Also in The Plan was to finish writing my thank you notes and to transfer birthdays to my new 2013 calendar.

My mother had a saying: "You're going to do wonders and eat green cucumbers."

Although we could never find the origin of those words of wisdom, it was assumed that it meant one was going to get a lot done. She'd usually say it to me when it appeared I was taking on too much. Appeared, because I always proved her wrong. In any six-hour period, I could run to the grocery store, clean the house, make dinner for 20, create a masterpiece dessert, tablescape and placecards, have take-home gifts ready, take my own shower, do my hair and dress and be ready to greet my guests with a smile on my face. Most times, I would shift gears in mid-stream and perhaps change my theme or change my mind on a menu item -- something that would cause Mom to freak out and say, "You're never going to do it."

But I would. I'd always get it done.

Not anymore. Not since Sept. 26.
I'm lucky to crawl out of bed and get myself to work.
But tonight was different.
Tonight I was going to accomplish great things.

Luckily, I had purchased a few new decorations before my mother passed away, so I used only those items and began decorating the tree - even with the section of lights that don't work. It took me at least twice as long as it's ever taken me to decorate the tree -- using about a tenth of the decorations I usually use. But that's okay, I got it done!

I'm exhausted -- no thank you notes tonight and the calendar transfer is going to have to wait.
It may not be great things that I accomplished, but I did make a great accomplishment.

The roller coaster is up today.

It's not much to look at, but this scrawny tree with no lights in the top section is a symbol of  a great accomplishment in our household tonight.

I've got something in my pocket

The first Saturday of December is traditionally the big craft bazaar at our local community college. It's been held for 40-plus years, maybe even 50-plus years, and I've attended every year for the past 30.
Out of those 30 years, there was only one time I didn't attend with  my mother -- she wasn't feeling well. So, my younger sister, who had come into town, and I went without mom -- who had given her two adult daughters money to buy our own pre-Christmas gifts -- our annual Santa Claus.
Good times!

Going to today's bazaar was bittersweet.
It was wonderful to run into so many friends whom I haven't seen in a few months and receive their heart-felt hugs, condolences and wishes for a better year ahead. It was just hard to be there without my mother, but harder still when I walked into the college's gymnasium turned craft bazaar/social hall and became instantly overwhelmed with grief.
The funny thing is, though, my eyes immediately went to one crafter's booth who had made these delightful little Christmas trees using cupcake papers, and I was instantly transported back in time to when I was a Girl Scout Brownie, and my mother was our leader. We had made something very similar, but the cupcake papers had to be spray painted, because way back then, the papers only came in white and pastel colors.

I really give my mother credit. Our monthly dues were only 20-cents per child, and mom used that money to purchase the materials for whatever our project would be for that month. And, there were only 10 of us in the troop.
Like I've said, nearly everything I know, I learned from my mother. There is no doubt those projects from my years in Scouting laid the foundation for the adult I became.

Without even realizing, we learned the importance of recycling - using old copies of Readers Digest magazines to make angels; old newspapers to make our "sit-upons;" blown-out egg shells to make beautiful Easter ornaments; tiny scraps of fabric to make doll clothes; and so much more. As a seven- and eight-year old in Brownies (under the tutelage of my mother), we learned the basics of cooking, the need for good manners and etiquette, and most important - how to share and get along with others.

I have nothing but wonderfully fond memories of both my father and mother, my childhood as a whole. Today's little trip to the bazaar reminded me of that and took me to a warm and fuzzy place in my heart and in my head.

Since there's really no such thing as an original thought anymore, I wasn't surprised to see this project posted to Pinterest, but I'm still going to show you how to make the Cupcake Paper Christmas Trees, and along the way, I'll tell you the difference between the way we made them 50-years ago and how to make them today.

You will need 12"X12" white cardstock (back then we used a styrofoam cone), scotch tape (we used straight pins) and about 30 cupcake papers. Today you can buy them in every color of the rainbow and every fun pattern you can imagine, but 50-years ago they only came in white or pastel pink, yellow and green (hence the need to spray paint the finished product).

After you've gathered your supplies, you'll form the cardstock into the shape of a cone and tape it together so it will hold its shape. Back in the days of yore, we used a white styrofoam cone for our tree.

And then you'll cut through the cupcake papers and cut out the bottoms (as shown). All you're going to use is the cute little ruffles.

Then begin taping the cupcake papers to the cone starting at the largest end (which will be the bottom of your Christmas tree). In olden days, we used straight-pins and pinned the papers to the stryrofoam cone (apparently there was no concern about swallowing pins or sticking each other with them). Don't worry, the tape will not show.

Continue doing this until you get close to the top. Then, using one of the bottoms of the cupcake papers that you've cut off, cover the top of the cardstock cone and tape it down securely. Continue taping the paper ruffles to the cone, until you reach the top.

Basically, you've just made the cutest little Cupcake Paper Christmas Tree in all the land. Now imagine this same project 50 some years ago, using the pale yellow, green and pink papers. We spray painted them green and added some red and gold glitter to some of the rows of ruffles.
You can add some bling to your tree, too.

I bedazzled mine by adding some self-sticking rhinestones and a bow on top. Fun!

I nearly cancelled my plans to go to the annual bazaar today. Thank goodness I didn't, because I'm grateful for my trip down memory lane...a trip that took me to such a happy place.

I've got something in my pocket, it belongs across my face.
I keep it very close at hand, in a most convienient place.
I'm sure you couldn't guess it if you guessed a long, long while.
So I'll take it out and put it on, it's a great big GIRL SCOUT smile!