We were being threatened with foreclosure. That’s miserable news for anyone but this was the proverbial family homestead, it’s been in our family for generations too numerous to count. Most of us had been born or died in one room or another in the historic farm house. (historic to our family anyway!) We even had and ancestral cemetery. How do you move away from that? I know they are just lifeless bones now (at least I hope so!) but still….
“Every one can make their story sound more pathetic than the next person’s”, the bank manager informed us, still we had to come up with cash or vacant the premises and start a new family tradition, well fare. “But cheer up, you can still take the ‘birthing beds’ with you.” Mr. Bank Manager snickered. I had wanted to hold him down on one of our downy mattresses with a pillow over his breathing orifices to see how long it would take to stop snickering. Then lay him to rest in our pet cemetery; no, I couldn’t desecrate their resting places with something so subhuman.
“God, forgive me,” I had to pray afterwards, with little sincerity. (A long time afterwards as I replayed my murderous fantasy over and over again for the sinful joy it gave me) God would come through some how. He always had in the past and being the same today, yesterday and tomorrow…..
We spent the day together as a family with some wonderful friends, rounding up the herd. Doesn’t that sound extravagant. You’d think with “herd” comes money and wealth. Our herd was modestly small, not enough to bail us out of our financial difficulties, but enough to continue it. Breeding and feeding of live stock is costly, especially when nature connives against us withholding necessary moisture. We were land poor. We had let the help go so we could pinch money together for the loan we’d taken out on the family business. When we signed the papers five years ago I could have sworn I heard wailing coming from some of the dearly departed interred in the white picketed grave yard past the barn. Surely it was just the wind. I hoped it was just the wind.
We lived way outside of town but a modern paved road passed our long winding dirt driveway and in the past few days it was seeing a lot of traffic. Something was going on in the big city. Cars were whizzing by continuously, packed with luggage. We hadn’t been to town in sometime so it was a mystery to us. Nor did we care, with our problems we just stuck to ourselves. We didn’t like presenting ourselves to the city folk for scrutiny since we didn’t keep up with the city fashions and people in town had long noses to look down at us with.
What a lovely, peaceful night this was turning out to be. This is what life is all about! Sitting under the stars with friends and family, breaking bread, talking. We had been busy most of the day rounding up strays and now we got to relax. Thankfully cousin Marcy couldn’t ride horses, that left her the cooking detail, something she could do better than I could sit a steed so a wonderfully cooked meal was waiting for us.
We listened to each other’s jovial grumblings of sore rear ends (Marcy’s complaint was a sore back from bending over the cooking fire) while shoveling cowboy stew in to our growling stomachs. With the balmy night breeze blowing over us, we sat upwind from the campfire, it was only needed for protection against wild life, and cooking, the night’s temperature didn’t needed to be augmented. I was contemplating sleeping on top of my sleeping bag, I feared I would fry if I slept enveloped in it.
We had a radio playing nearby with soft music to go with our wine coolers. The cows were milling around nibbling on grass and being kept in check by a few well trained canines who occasionally crept over to rest a head on someone’s lap or get a tidbit or two. Of course eventually some news reporter broke into the electronic melodies with disheartening stories from Iraq to remind us of the tragic world affairs going on in areas we had never seen. I remember dreaming that if I ever won a beauty contest I would campaign for world peace, but the fact that I am so ugly is why the world is still at war.
As I lay tranquilly on my back listening to the surrounding conversations I observed numerous falling stars crisscross the black velvety sky. It’s a wonder there are enough stars to light the skies right now with all the ones I tallied streaking downward. The talk in the background faded as the sky began to fill me with fascination. Was it falling in. I was beginning to feel like Chicken Little. I lay there waiting for something to hit me on the head so I could run and tell the world the sky was falling. That would be a happy ending to our story. It sure would solve our problems in a big way; or create new ones. Was the glass half empty or half full? I drained it, now it was completely empty. I wished every one around me would shut up, lie down and look up so I wouldn’t be the only fool worrying about the descending luminaries! I was in the beginning of a panic attack!
“Ohhh, look at the meteorite shower!” Goosey Loosey exclaimed. Finally, someone else noticed. Some one with common sense apparently, I hadn’t thought of that simple explanation. My fear of impending doom started to subside. Thank you God for people with wisdom. I was in the progress of feeling foolish, yet relieved I had kept my suspicions to myself, when suddenly one of the meteorites hit the earth; Bang, pop, boom. Then flickers of world destruction similar to the dinosaur extinction theory flooded my brain cells. Back to panic attack mode.
We all sat upright or stood depending on our immediate positions. We could smell smoke: that usually accompanied fire! We ran to get our horses to check things out, but our faithful mounts had already checked out. We couldn’t even see the dust from their hoofs, they were so far gone! So we raced to the proximity of the landing site on foot, all the while some little voice kept insisting this was insanity, we should be on the tails of our smart horses….. We should be alerting the city that everyone should climb into their bomb shelters and pull the doors in after them.
Over a few hills and mounds and we came upon a crater with earth fragments still spiraling upwards and pelting the surrounding turf; ground zero. A winged creature was pulling himself up over the rim and shaking himself off when we appeared on the scene. He fanned a twisted wing to halt us and then commenced clearing his throat; eloquently preparing to address us. He was trying to be noble looking in robes tattered from his landing. He started off in several different dialects till he stumbled on one he could tell we comprehended…English. His words were highly implausible. He would have done better speaking in Greek. Then without warning (not that giving notice would have mattered) more winged creatures lit up the atmosphere turning the midnight skies into noon, singing songs of peace and praise. It was getting harder to feel frightened while getting your own personal opera. I doubt invading armies sang their captives into submission!
After the thousands upon thousands of performers twinkled away into nothing and night returned, we asked each other if we really saw anything. Slowly at first, none of us wanted to be the first to ask, “Hey, did you see that?” When we concluded that our wine coolers couldn’t have produced the same hallucinations on each of us we headed down the hill to see if the winged creature’s statements were authentic. He had made a incredible announcement that needed verification.
We went in the direction of town and found what we were looking for. A lonely frayed tent was set up on our property with a broken down jalopy parked nearby. Some of our livestock was milling about the parameters. We also found our horses nearby. We hesitantly approached the tent flap, making polite noise so as not to frighten the campers. A man, on his knees, parted the flaps and revealed a young woman lying on a sleeping roll, holding….a young infant. A king! That is what we had been informed by celestial messengers we would find! A King with his umbilical cord newly severed, wearing pampers and tightly wrapped up in a receiving blanket, and nursing. (or so I assumed, mom was discreetly covered and we could hear suckling.)
The new father started apologizing immediately for trespassing but explained the city was having a genealogy convention producing a lack of available sleeping spaces. What was left over he couldn’t have afforded. And, he shrugged, it was necessary to get his wife comfortable as she had decided to go into labor without consulting him. We assured him he was welcome to stay as long as needed and we would be glad to set him up in our spare guest room. Heck, I’d give him the master bedroom and take the guest room myself.
We could hardly wait to get back to get our campsite where we first learned of this miracle. There by the crater we stopped to reflect on the miracle we had been made privy to. Suddenly I stared once, twice, thrice at the clumps of rocks lying about and went into shock. Gold glitter, gold streaks, lumps of gold everywhere and on our land! The landing party (of one clumsy angel) had unearthed riches untold. Chicken little would be paying off Foxy Loxy, a.k.a, the bank manager soon and would never have to worry about him snickering at me or my family again. We’ll be hearing more, “Yes sirs, and yes m’ams” from his pompous lips, that is if we decide to invest our money in his establishment.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
anniversary, birthday weekend
I woke up lazily. It was the first day of my 51st year. Glancing at the alarm I jumped up and hit the floor(no wonder it's called an alarm). How could I have overslept! It was already 5 a.m! Aging has slowed me down. I made it to the microwave to boil water for my gourmet instant coffee (at my age you may not have time to brew a full pot) then went to the computer room to let my sugargliders out to play while I did my bible study. Then it was wash the floor time so the pet sitters engaged for the next two days wouldn't think I had an old fashioned sod floor. Then a hearty work out to get the blood moving. At the five decade mark blood justs sits in the arteries till it's jump started.
Around eight I began the count down for my husband.
"Two hours till we leave, honey." He was still in bed. I packed a few of my last minute things, "I'll be ready."he promises
"One hour till we leave", I announce. He's just getting his first cup of coffee. I'm putting things in the car. "I'll be ready." he promises.
Fifteen minutes before we leave, "I'll bring the puppy to your mom's while you're getting ready." (the puppy was too young to leave at home with the sitters) Hubby was just getting in the shower. "Okay, I'll be ready", he promises.
When I get back at ten, take off time, he's not ready. Was I ever surprized! I sit in the car waiting till he gets his stuff packed,I'm just grateful he wasn't doing last minute laundry.
Finally, we're on the highway. The car ride is uneventful, except it takes two hours to make a one hour trip. He doesn't listen to the directions that I got off yahoo, or stop for help. When I read the steps off the driving directions he insists on one thing at a time. Turn left and make an immediate right are too many instructions at once, therefore he misses the turn for the immediate right. We have to back track at least five times. Finally we arrive at the extravagant resort I booked for the weekend. We checked in and headed for the vineyard tour I signed us up for. This was for my husbands half of the trip to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, he better not get in the way of my birthday half of the weekend.
We visited three wineries of the eight participating. It was a fantastic mix of people. Young and old, couples and groups. All types, wealthy , poor, in between. Dressed up and dressed down. People mixing and having fun. Music varied from mellow country and western to loud and boisterous jazz. Each winery gave four ounces of tasting pleasure and snacking foods. I don't drink much so after my first 4 ounces I also wasn't walking good. Where did they keep moving the sidewalk??? Three wineries with 4 one once samples, thats 4 plus 4 equals 8 plus 4 equals 11. No wait a minute. Counting on my fingers that equals about 12 ounces of alcohol, I wouldn't be able to handle it, I gave the last tickets to my husband. I could never tell if he had too much to drink, he always appears to be in a stupor when he's just looking a a bottle of wine.
One group of college students were having an exceptional time, and next to them a trio were dancing together,a man in the center and two women,he was in hog heaven. Then there was the couple on their first anniversay and the couple celebrating their 29th. My husband informed them we were celebrating our fortieth.
"Forty!", they chorused. "Twenty for her and twenty for me." he explained.
At the start of the tour the shuttle buses were empty. Towards the end of the day the lines to get back on were longer than the capacity of the buses. There was a man from Manchester, England on one shuttle asking jovially for ten dollars for his seat, (the ride was free compliments of the wineries.)) I told him I was born in Manchester fifty years ago. This delighted him till I added, Manchester, New Hampshire, he replied that made me second rate. What a small world.
Before we shuttled back to the resort we stoppd at a bakery for dinner. While I was waiting for our order I headed to the ladies room, a lot of wine had built up in my bladder. There was a commotion in the rest room, opening the door that stood ajar I saw an hispanic maid bent forward over the sink with a hispanic male leaning over her. "Disculpeme!" I closed the door. Then on second thought I reopened it. The male brushed past me.
"Were you having fun?" I casually inquired of the red faced woman.
"No, senora, He is just loco!" she responded covering her face and rushing out.I don't recall seeing any scratches on the man before he left, I doubt there was much of a struggle.
With salads and strawberries romanoff to go we headed to the pick up area for the resort quests,
where picknicked on the log cabin steps. Modern man on the porch of a pioneer family's home. They came to Grapevine walking beside their covered wagon and built this small two room homestead. This wooden cottage has seen a lot of history. I'll bet the walls sported many arrow holes placed by their indian neighbors. One room held a sparse wooden bed with a ragged home made quilt, I'll bet at the end of the day a lot of hard core sleeping took place there. The other room held the fireplace with a cast iron pot hanging in it, and a dining table-desk-counter top combo. One piece of furniture had many uses as there wasn't much space available for niceties. I don't guess they had internet access or a t.v. I didn't see any electrical outlets along the floor boards.
At length we got back to our room. Talk about lavish. All the rooms looked out over a four acre forest-garden area. It was designed to resemble the Aztec pueblos where all the homes faced off a cliff wall and access to each house was by rope ladder. We could open our balcony and sit there and enjoy a picturesque view. At night we could leave the balcony doors open and hear the waterfall and feel safe. Unless someone had wall scaling equipment (there were no rope ladders here) they couldn't enter our room six flights up. My husband noticed the absense of one ingredient to the ambiance. No birds. The singing of birds would have fit in better that the piped in music. My husband advised I close the curtains while I got ready for bed. I felt daring. I stepped out on the balcony a-la natural. No one noticed. Boy, was I feeling fifty, they probably assumed I was wearing a pleated nightgown. These aren't pleats, darlings, this is my skin.
I felt I was in the lap of luxury. I called room service to make our morning coffee.
"M'am, you do that yourself. The coffee machine is in the bathroom." What! at these rates I thought the maid did that. Wrong, guess again. There was also a missing personal attendant to hand me my towel after showering. I had to reach for it myself, I think I pulled a muscle. No tip will be left here.
I visited the spa area to see if they took walk-ins.
"Yes, m"am, but it depends on what's available."
"I'd like a pedicure."
"Well that's booked up."
"Why don't you tell me what is available then."
"Well,actually everything is booked right now."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to start off the conversation with that tib-bit of information?" I left. But I felt rich and smug after my sarcastic exit. I really didn't intend to pay for any of their high priced services anyway.
There was a lovely gift store with sequined t-shirts to die for. I quieried about how much damage a t-shirt would do to my budget,
"Eighty dollors."
"Is that all? Do you have it in my size?" (Sorry, I'm not divulging the size I requested! Remember I'm fifty, not dumb!)
"Sorry m'am, we don't." (Thank heavens, who would spend eighty dollars for a t-shirt!)
Another gift store offered a book that looked interesting. It was by a western artist. It sold for thirty dollars because it was autographed by the author. I found it on aAmazon.com for eleven dollars marked down from sixteen dollars. I'm obviously not one to ask about shopping at this location.
At 10:00 on Sunday morning we boarded the elevator to check out with a group of young girls. They were here at the resort celebrating a birthday.
"Did you go on the wine tour yesterday?"
"No, we're just 18."
"It's a good thing you didn't go then, but you could have been disignated drivers. I went but I'm too young to drink also."
One giggled, "That's funny."
"Well, that comment wasn't", I responded with good humor.
As I made good on the bill I informed the young thing handling the counter,"We were here for our twentieth anniversary. I told my husband after twenty years the sex was still good."
"Oh, that's so sweet."
"Yeah, I know. I just hope he doesn't find out who I'm having it with."
My husband is part homing pigeon. The return trip home took less than an hour.
First priority was getting the puppy home from "granny's" and loving on all the other pets. Then came nap time. Relaxing at a resort takes alot out of you, mostly from your pocket book, the hemorrhage of dineros causes total exhaustion!
Around eight I began the count down for my husband.
"Two hours till we leave, honey." He was still in bed. I packed a few of my last minute things, "I'll be ready."he promises
"One hour till we leave", I announce. He's just getting his first cup of coffee. I'm putting things in the car. "I'll be ready." he promises.
Fifteen minutes before we leave, "I'll bring the puppy to your mom's while you're getting ready." (the puppy was too young to leave at home with the sitters) Hubby was just getting in the shower. "Okay, I'll be ready", he promises.
When I get back at ten, take off time, he's not ready. Was I ever surprized! I sit in the car waiting till he gets his stuff packed,I'm just grateful he wasn't doing last minute laundry.
Finally, we're on the highway. The car ride is uneventful, except it takes two hours to make a one hour trip. He doesn't listen to the directions that I got off yahoo, or stop for help. When I read the steps off the driving directions he insists on one thing at a time. Turn left and make an immediate right are too many instructions at once, therefore he misses the turn for the immediate right. We have to back track at least five times. Finally we arrive at the extravagant resort I booked for the weekend. We checked in and headed for the vineyard tour I signed us up for. This was for my husbands half of the trip to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, he better not get in the way of my birthday half of the weekend.
We visited three wineries of the eight participating. It was a fantastic mix of people. Young and old, couples and groups. All types, wealthy , poor, in between. Dressed up and dressed down. People mixing and having fun. Music varied from mellow country and western to loud and boisterous jazz. Each winery gave four ounces of tasting pleasure and snacking foods. I don't drink much so after my first 4 ounces I also wasn't walking good. Where did they keep moving the sidewalk??? Three wineries with 4 one once samples, thats 4 plus 4 equals 8 plus 4 equals 11. No wait a minute. Counting on my fingers that equals about 12 ounces of alcohol, I wouldn't be able to handle it, I gave the last tickets to my husband. I could never tell if he had too much to drink, he always appears to be in a stupor when he's just looking a a bottle of wine.
One group of college students were having an exceptional time, and next to them a trio were dancing together,a man in the center and two women,he was in hog heaven. Then there was the couple on their first anniversay and the couple celebrating their 29th. My husband informed them we were celebrating our fortieth.
"Forty!", they chorused. "Twenty for her and twenty for me." he explained.
At the start of the tour the shuttle buses were empty. Towards the end of the day the lines to get back on were longer than the capacity of the buses. There was a man from Manchester, England on one shuttle asking jovially for ten dollars for his seat, (the ride was free compliments of the wineries.)) I told him I was born in Manchester fifty years ago. This delighted him till I added, Manchester, New Hampshire, he replied that made me second rate. What a small world.
Before we shuttled back to the resort we stoppd at a bakery for dinner. While I was waiting for our order I headed to the ladies room, a lot of wine had built up in my bladder. There was a commotion in the rest room, opening the door that stood ajar I saw an hispanic maid bent forward over the sink with a hispanic male leaning over her. "Disculpeme!" I closed the door. Then on second thought I reopened it. The male brushed past me.
"Were you having fun?" I casually inquired of the red faced woman.
"No, senora, He is just loco!" she responded covering her face and rushing out.I don't recall seeing any scratches on the man before he left, I doubt there was much of a struggle.
With salads and strawberries romanoff to go we headed to the pick up area for the resort quests,
where picknicked on the log cabin steps. Modern man on the porch of a pioneer family's home. They came to Grapevine walking beside their covered wagon and built this small two room homestead. This wooden cottage has seen a lot of history. I'll bet the walls sported many arrow holes placed by their indian neighbors. One room held a sparse wooden bed with a ragged home made quilt, I'll bet at the end of the day a lot of hard core sleeping took place there. The other room held the fireplace with a cast iron pot hanging in it, and a dining table-desk-counter top combo. One piece of furniture had many uses as there wasn't much space available for niceties. I don't guess they had internet access or a t.v. I didn't see any electrical outlets along the floor boards.
At length we got back to our room. Talk about lavish. All the rooms looked out over a four acre forest-garden area. It was designed to resemble the Aztec pueblos where all the homes faced off a cliff wall and access to each house was by rope ladder. We could open our balcony and sit there and enjoy a picturesque view. At night we could leave the balcony doors open and hear the waterfall and feel safe. Unless someone had wall scaling equipment (there were no rope ladders here) they couldn't enter our room six flights up. My husband noticed the absense of one ingredient to the ambiance. No birds. The singing of birds would have fit in better that the piped in music. My husband advised I close the curtains while I got ready for bed. I felt daring. I stepped out on the balcony a-la natural. No one noticed. Boy, was I feeling fifty, they probably assumed I was wearing a pleated nightgown. These aren't pleats, darlings, this is my skin.
I felt I was in the lap of luxury. I called room service to make our morning coffee.
"M'am, you do that yourself. The coffee machine is in the bathroom." What! at these rates I thought the maid did that. Wrong, guess again. There was also a missing personal attendant to hand me my towel after showering. I had to reach for it myself, I think I pulled a muscle. No tip will be left here.
I visited the spa area to see if they took walk-ins.
"Yes, m"am, but it depends on what's available."
"I'd like a pedicure."
"Well that's booked up."
"Why don't you tell me what is available then."
"Well,actually everything is booked right now."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to start off the conversation with that tib-bit of information?" I left. But I felt rich and smug after my sarcastic exit. I really didn't intend to pay for any of their high priced services anyway.
There was a lovely gift store with sequined t-shirts to die for. I quieried about how much damage a t-shirt would do to my budget,
"Eighty dollors."
"Is that all? Do you have it in my size?" (Sorry, I'm not divulging the size I requested! Remember I'm fifty, not dumb!)
"Sorry m'am, we don't." (Thank heavens, who would spend eighty dollars for a t-shirt!)
Another gift store offered a book that looked interesting. It was by a western artist. It sold for thirty dollars because it was autographed by the author. I found it on aAmazon.com for eleven dollars marked down from sixteen dollars. I'm obviously not one to ask about shopping at this location.
At 10:00 on Sunday morning we boarded the elevator to check out with a group of young girls. They were here at the resort celebrating a birthday.
"Did you go on the wine tour yesterday?"
"No, we're just 18."
"It's a good thing you didn't go then, but you could have been disignated drivers. I went but I'm too young to drink also."
One giggled, "That's funny."
"Well, that comment wasn't", I responded with good humor.
As I made good on the bill I informed the young thing handling the counter,"We were here for our twentieth anniversary. I told my husband after twenty years the sex was still good."
"Oh, that's so sweet."
"Yeah, I know. I just hope he doesn't find out who I'm having it with."
My husband is part homing pigeon. The return trip home took less than an hour.
First priority was getting the puppy home from "granny's" and loving on all the other pets. Then came nap time. Relaxing at a resort takes alot out of you, mostly from your pocket book, the hemorrhage of dineros causes total exhaustion!
thanksgiving day encounter
Thanksgiving Day Encounter
I pulled the curtains back just enough to watch cars park.
People up and down the street were getting loads of visitors complete with
casseroles, deserts and drinks. Parking
spaces were at a premium and some were being forced to park on neighboring
blocks and trek to their destinations; no one seemed to consider this as undo
punishment. Not a frown anywhere to be seen; just smiles and out and out laughter.
I let the curtains fall back into place and turned my back
so the tears could roll freely. As if anyone would notice. My house was empty
and dark, parallel with the ache in my soul, even though it was only noon. My
car was tucked away in the garage so friends wouldn’t feel sorry for me and
offer me an obligatory meal. I didn’t care for pity, except for maybe self-pity.
Thanksgiving Day alone. Again. You’d think my kids would
bury the hatchet and make up. My son wouldn’t come if my daughter did and vice
versa. How can a mother choose between her off spring? Actually if they got
together I feared they really would bury the hatchet. Hard core hate had been
boiling between them for years.
Misunderstandings can be fatal. I never listen to either side of the
story anymore, I don’t want to be involved or accused of taking sides.
Sitting in my lazy boy I poured another glass of wine. Wine
and tuna sandwiches, that was my menu today. Why cook for a holiday I had no empathy
with? What did I have to be thankful for today? Don’t give me that bull about
being alive. Sometimes that’s actually no comfort, just banal sentiment that
can be easily reversed.
Oh, dear. I’m almost out of wine. I couldn’t survive today
without spirits. Off I headed to the nearby convenience store. In back, where I parked, three men were
filling up water jugs from a hydrant. They appeared tired and worn out, in need
of some refreshing. They were the age of my kids, mid-thirties or so. They were
still in the parking lot after I purchased my wine.
I carefully got into my car, slightlyafraid of being ambushed
by the three vagrants, at the same time
hoping to be ambushed, after all maybe physical pain would remove my emotional agony. Then out of nowhere someone asked, “Do you guys need a good home cooked
meal?” I looked around to see who had said that, and was shocked to learn it
was me. The three men hefted their back packs and eagerly climbed into my Sedan,
gratefully accepting my kindness without hesitation. Introductions were proffered and handshakes
passed out by Joshua, Pete and Juan.
At home I was embarrassed to have nothing elaborate to offer
them. Remember, I was eating a tuna sandwich by myself on Thanksgiving Day. My embarrassment was combined with
embarrassment that I was embarrassed for having nothing good to eat for men
that shopped from garbage cans (you can only understand that If you are as
slightly inebriated as I am).. A can of beans and rice would be a gourmet meal
if served on plates with real silverware and a beverage in a glass. I
apologized for not having the usual over indulgent Thanksgiving meal and
whipped up something only a mother could do at the last moment. My guests were
profusely appreciative as they helped where they could. And between
preparations they individually showered and shaved in the guest room, cleaning
up after themselves. More than my own kids did. The bathroom actually looked
fresher after they were done than before they started. Cleaned up, they were nice looking young men,
and smart. I couldn’t understand why they were homeless. They explained it was
their calling to roam the country looking for people to help. This definitely
took me by surprise. Who was helping who here?
They were smart but slightly mixed up.
I was back in my lounger, next to my forgotten tuna
sandwich, alone again, when the door chimes ruptured my reverie. Without
waiting for me to answer my son and daughter broke through the entrance arm in
arm, followed by their families and—tons of food. Really, I couldn’t eat another bite. I reached for my wine glass and quickly
downed the last drops.
“You guys aren’t here to draw me into your absurd squabble,
again are you?” I blustered out, fearing a repeat horrible family feud on my
terrain. A premonition out of place with the gleeful expressions on their
countenances and the banquet they were carting in.
“No, we were worried about you, we tried to call several
times and when no one answered we got together and decided our fight was silly
and we agreed to disagree. We didn’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving so we
combined our menus and ……Walla!”
Once again tears rolled down my soggy cheeks. It was then I
noticed the time on the grandfather clock by the door; and the sunshine that
poured in the window around the closed curtains. I’ve only been in this chair for twenty
minutes. My sandwich was still refrigerator cool. I must have dreamed the whole
afternoon’s activities. I roamed through
the house in shock. Nothing had changed; no dishes in the dishwasher from the
meal I thought I had served hours ago, no discarded food cans, and no towels in
the laundry from recent bathers. I had never gone anywhere, never had any
visitors. It had seemed so real. It had to have been real, but lacking evidence
I had to assume it had been nothing but a very, very remarkable dream, or the
beginning of mental instability.
As my kids laid the dining room table with the lavish spread
of edibles I answered the phone; since it was ringing that seemed the
appropriate thing to do.
“Mrs. Watson, you left your wallet here. I tried to flag you
down before you drove off with those three bums. I was afraid they had
carjacked you, I was about to call the police.” It was the convenience store
manager. I heard my kids gasp just before
I collapsed on the floor, the phone receiver at my side; “Mrs. Watson? Mrs.Watson?” emanating from the speaker.
Outside Joshua, Pete and Juan who had returned to sneak a
peak in the window, smiled contently, joined hands and ascended upwards.
psalm 68:6
Mathew 26:36-40
Hebrews 13:1-2
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Reality Check
I got up at four this morning, (yes, that’s way before the rooster crows) as usual, to start my day. Obviously, I don’t work in a bank! My job starts at 6:40 but I actually start working a few hours latter, after the caffeine kicks in! I’m not a real hero like baseball or football players, I’m just a lowly operating room nurse who cares for their injuries so they can go back to their fans and the Super Bowl or whatever bowl. (I think it’s a bowl of mixed nuts, myself). Gee, I hope I don’t sound anti sports!
I start my day off with both feet on the ground running, pulling heavy equipment around, rolling stretchers from pre-op to post-op. Holding patients hands as they go to sleep and comforting them when they wake up, no easy task as some are real weenies. I pleasantly and professionally keep their families updated during their procedures. At days end I chauffer my riding companion to the pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions, to the grocery store to pick up her groceries, to her mailbox to pick up…surely you know where I’m going with this!
Then I finally dump her on her doorsteps with a sigh of relief after she gets out and doesn‘t request any more errands like mopping her floor or sanitizing her refrigerator! (I “m so co-dependent!) I hit the gas pedal and burn rubber with my glass slippers before they turn into house shoes . I still have more demands on my schedule before I can rest.Next, I run by the nursing home I volunteer at to check out a few residents. I make sure they aren’t abused, or abusing the staff. Yes, senior citizens have accumulated years of tactics to get even with caregivers. I will sit with one or two of the bed bound to chat for a while then check out the diners. I always get complaints about the home-style cooking by residents sitting next to someone who claims they never get a bad meal here. Well if home cooking means anything, I hardly ever like what I cook so the nursing home is living up to the claims of their advertising brochure! One woman complained her food was too salty. After I took a sample nibble, I was tempted to pour more salt on and add catsup to the mix. If she thought the salt was the cuisines problem her tastes buds died way before she did. Anyway I registered her complaint with the cook along with the compliments to the chef from her dining partner. Score one, loose one! I then have to remind one elderly lady that it’s not nice to pinch the orderly’s butt, his “no” means NO. I don’t care how cute he is, I tell her, it’s just not part of the care plan. I don’t confide in the “abuser” that I identify with her needs, it just wouldn’t be proper! I make a mental note to tell the orderly to stop dressing like he’s asking for it. He should know these old ladies could only restrain themselves for so long.
After my rounds at the home I pull into my dad’s drive way. It’s a nightly routine to check up on him. He forfeited his rights to drive a few years ago when he misjudged a curb and landed in someone’s patio, stopping just inches from a lady in her lounger. Me. This made me his personal driver. Before I go inside I pick up a little birdie that fell from its nest and gently return him/her to safety. Loading dad and his walker into my car we take off to the mall for his exercise. It’s an exercise for me too. I get a good heart rate going looking at all the sales. I end up having to track dad down. One peek into a store and I’ve lost him in the melee. A little old man with a walker and oxygen shouldn’t be this hard to keep up with! I just may have to invest in a halter strap for him. I assumed wrongly that raised him better than this. “Always stay close to me in crowds”, if I haven’t said that once I’ve said it a thousand times. I found him in the video store, at the x-rated display case, sweet talking some cute little thing. They had identical walkers and used the same oxygen supplier. A match made in heaven, (or the local HMO!) He informed me she still drove her own car, hint, hint. That’s good, I respond, maybe she can start driving him around: not what he was implying, I’m sure.
I eventually park in my dark, gloomy driveway, nearly 12 hours since I rolled out of it his morning. I put the final touches on my day, like feeding the pets and preparing for tomorrow. Forget eating, I’m too tired. I then curl up with my warm fuzzy house mates on the sofa and promptly fall asleep in front of my favorite television show just as the starting credits roll down. Now how it can be my favorite show if I never stay awake for it is another question all together.Something went wrong in my sleep. The dream I’m having is so surreal. I feel light headed. Airy. Wispy. Looking down at my feet I see miles of nothing below me. I’m rising at a speed unknown to man. It doesn’t hurt though, breaking the sound barrier, and my fear of heights is gone; it shouldn’t be since falling from this distance wouldn’t even leave a splinter of a bone in place! What has happened? To my right is a winged creature, holding my hand, pulling me along. She explained that my days have been numbered, my heart had quietly failed in my sleep (do you wonder why?) and I was on my way to see the Judge. The Judge! Oh, my gosh, I need a lawyer! (doubt I’ll find one where I’m going!)
My guide deposited me at an enormous white luminescent gate and flew off. Was this a large pearl? I wouldn’t want to be around the oyster that laid this beauty. A bearded man at the entry was holding a registration book and looking for my name. I could see thousands of souls on the other side of the golden wall milling about. Jewels sparkled every where. Everything glistened, reflecting the sunshine. But wait, there was no sun here. I recognized family and old friends even though they looked healthier than they had in ages. Healthier, younger, happier. It was apparent the gatekeeper was having a difficult time locating my name. I remained unruffled since I had changed my name so often he would need some time. (I always signed important documents in pencil to alter them when needed.) All the names in the registry were hand written in peculiar red…ink? What neat penmanship. He kept mumbling to himself and moving his finger down the pages. He ultimately closed the tome in exasperation and looked me in the eye.
“You don’t seem to have pre registered. You’ll need to give me one good reason I should let you in.”
What? This would be easy. One good reason, ha! I’ll give him more than he asked for. I was an over achiever after all. I had done nothing but good deeds all day long, yea, for years. My routine didn’t vary much. I helped more people than I could count. I started my defense and ran with it. I must have talked for hours patting my back at the same time, literally. Apparently death makes you flexible. The man just listened. He wasn’t hearing what he wanted to hear. I’m familiar with the look of boredom, especially when he punctuated it occasionally with an exaggerated yawn. Boring, that’s pretty much how my life was beginning to sound. Yet I did so much for people I couldn’t imagine being refused admission. I even threw in helping a little old lady cross the street. (never mind she didn’t want to cross and I had to walk her back!) And for the icing on the cake I reminded him of several homeless dogs I rescued. Who can refuse a good animal story?
“Sorry, you just don’t meet our qualifications here.” He declared, turning his scarred back on me. He was rejecting me. Sending me on my way. No trial by jury, no review board, no appeals process. No asking to see his superior. What kind of a monkey court was this?
“Wait!” I yelled gripping and rattling the barred gate, trying to force it open. Looking over my shoulder all I could see was absolute darkness sucking everything into its opening, pulling my feet towards it while I clung to the platinum bars in the pearly gate. In front of me the brightness of heaven was fading as the guard put distance between us. His shoulders were shaking; did I hear faint sobbing? Staring horrified at his retreating posterior I screamed, “This is a joke! It sounds like the only way to get in here is by the grace of God!”
Cling! My judge turned back around with an colossal smile, happy I had seized the correct concept. Pulling out the three nails that locked the gate, he inserted two into his hands and one into his feet co-joining them, as the gate slowly swung open. He motioned for me to enter with a regal bow. The darkness behind was quenched, the radiance before me intensified. The crowds inside the gate broke into song and danced: they were non-amazing light on their feet! Firecrackers exploded in the air. It was like New Years Day. New Eternities Day. No. It was like the fourth of July. Independence Day. No Dependence day. We are all dependent on God’s grace and mercy. Good deeds are worthless with out doing them in God’s name, under his cloak of salvation. I hadn’t earned the right to enter through the pearly gate; I was admitted by the grace of God. And I was given a new name that had been added to the registry hand written in blood by the only man qualified to permit me entrance.
Isaiah 62:2
John 20:25
Act 4:122
Cor. 5:10
Eph 2:8-9
Col 2:13-15
Rev 2:17
Rev 20:15
Rev 19:12,15
Rev 21:21,23
I start my day off with both feet on the ground running, pulling heavy equipment around, rolling stretchers from pre-op to post-op. Holding patients hands as they go to sleep and comforting them when they wake up, no easy task as some are real weenies. I pleasantly and professionally keep their families updated during their procedures. At days end I chauffer my riding companion to the pharmacy to pick up her prescriptions, to the grocery store to pick up her groceries, to her mailbox to pick up…surely you know where I’m going with this!
Then I finally dump her on her doorsteps with a sigh of relief after she gets out and doesn‘t request any more errands like mopping her floor or sanitizing her refrigerator! (I “m so co-dependent!) I hit the gas pedal and burn rubber with my glass slippers before they turn into house shoes . I still have more demands on my schedule before I can rest.Next, I run by the nursing home I volunteer at to check out a few residents. I make sure they aren’t abused, or abusing the staff. Yes, senior citizens have accumulated years of tactics to get even with caregivers. I will sit with one or two of the bed bound to chat for a while then check out the diners. I always get complaints about the home-style cooking by residents sitting next to someone who claims they never get a bad meal here. Well if home cooking means anything, I hardly ever like what I cook so the nursing home is living up to the claims of their advertising brochure! One woman complained her food was too salty. After I took a sample nibble, I was tempted to pour more salt on and add catsup to the mix. If she thought the salt was the cuisines problem her tastes buds died way before she did. Anyway I registered her complaint with the cook along with the compliments to the chef from her dining partner. Score one, loose one! I then have to remind one elderly lady that it’s not nice to pinch the orderly’s butt, his “no” means NO. I don’t care how cute he is, I tell her, it’s just not part of the care plan. I don’t confide in the “abuser” that I identify with her needs, it just wouldn’t be proper! I make a mental note to tell the orderly to stop dressing like he’s asking for it. He should know these old ladies could only restrain themselves for so long.
After my rounds at the home I pull into my dad’s drive way. It’s a nightly routine to check up on him. He forfeited his rights to drive a few years ago when he misjudged a curb and landed in someone’s patio, stopping just inches from a lady in her lounger. Me. This made me his personal driver. Before I go inside I pick up a little birdie that fell from its nest and gently return him/her to safety. Loading dad and his walker into my car we take off to the mall for his exercise. It’s an exercise for me too. I get a good heart rate going looking at all the sales. I end up having to track dad down. One peek into a store and I’ve lost him in the melee. A little old man with a walker and oxygen shouldn’t be this hard to keep up with! I just may have to invest in a halter strap for him. I assumed wrongly that raised him better than this. “Always stay close to me in crowds”, if I haven’t said that once I’ve said it a thousand times. I found him in the video store, at the x-rated display case, sweet talking some cute little thing. They had identical walkers and used the same oxygen supplier. A match made in heaven, (or the local HMO!) He informed me she still drove her own car, hint, hint. That’s good, I respond, maybe she can start driving him around: not what he was implying, I’m sure.
I eventually park in my dark, gloomy driveway, nearly 12 hours since I rolled out of it his morning. I put the final touches on my day, like feeding the pets and preparing for tomorrow. Forget eating, I’m too tired. I then curl up with my warm fuzzy house mates on the sofa and promptly fall asleep in front of my favorite television show just as the starting credits roll down. Now how it can be my favorite show if I never stay awake for it is another question all together.Something went wrong in my sleep. The dream I’m having is so surreal. I feel light headed. Airy. Wispy. Looking down at my feet I see miles of nothing below me. I’m rising at a speed unknown to man. It doesn’t hurt though, breaking the sound barrier, and my fear of heights is gone; it shouldn’t be since falling from this distance wouldn’t even leave a splinter of a bone in place! What has happened? To my right is a winged creature, holding my hand, pulling me along. She explained that my days have been numbered, my heart had quietly failed in my sleep (do you wonder why?) and I was on my way to see the Judge. The Judge! Oh, my gosh, I need a lawyer! (doubt I’ll find one where I’m going!)
My guide deposited me at an enormous white luminescent gate and flew off. Was this a large pearl? I wouldn’t want to be around the oyster that laid this beauty. A bearded man at the entry was holding a registration book and looking for my name. I could see thousands of souls on the other side of the golden wall milling about. Jewels sparkled every where. Everything glistened, reflecting the sunshine. But wait, there was no sun here. I recognized family and old friends even though they looked healthier than they had in ages. Healthier, younger, happier. It was apparent the gatekeeper was having a difficult time locating my name. I remained unruffled since I had changed my name so often he would need some time. (I always signed important documents in pencil to alter them when needed.) All the names in the registry were hand written in peculiar red…ink? What neat penmanship. He kept mumbling to himself and moving his finger down the pages. He ultimately closed the tome in exasperation and looked me in the eye.
“You don’t seem to have pre registered. You’ll need to give me one good reason I should let you in.”
What? This would be easy. One good reason, ha! I’ll give him more than he asked for. I was an over achiever after all. I had done nothing but good deeds all day long, yea, for years. My routine didn’t vary much. I helped more people than I could count. I started my defense and ran with it. I must have talked for hours patting my back at the same time, literally. Apparently death makes you flexible. The man just listened. He wasn’t hearing what he wanted to hear. I’m familiar with the look of boredom, especially when he punctuated it occasionally with an exaggerated yawn. Boring, that’s pretty much how my life was beginning to sound. Yet I did so much for people I couldn’t imagine being refused admission. I even threw in helping a little old lady cross the street. (never mind she didn’t want to cross and I had to walk her back!) And for the icing on the cake I reminded him of several homeless dogs I rescued. Who can refuse a good animal story?
“Sorry, you just don’t meet our qualifications here.” He declared, turning his scarred back on me. He was rejecting me. Sending me on my way. No trial by jury, no review board, no appeals process. No asking to see his superior. What kind of a monkey court was this?
“Wait!” I yelled gripping and rattling the barred gate, trying to force it open. Looking over my shoulder all I could see was absolute darkness sucking everything into its opening, pulling my feet towards it while I clung to the platinum bars in the pearly gate. In front of me the brightness of heaven was fading as the guard put distance between us. His shoulders were shaking; did I hear faint sobbing? Staring horrified at his retreating posterior I screamed, “This is a joke! It sounds like the only way to get in here is by the grace of God!”
Cling! My judge turned back around with an colossal smile, happy I had seized the correct concept. Pulling out the three nails that locked the gate, he inserted two into his hands and one into his feet co-joining them, as the gate slowly swung open. He motioned for me to enter with a regal bow. The darkness behind was quenched, the radiance before me intensified. The crowds inside the gate broke into song and danced: they were non-amazing light on their feet! Firecrackers exploded in the air. It was like New Years Day. New Eternities Day. No. It was like the fourth of July. Independence Day. No Dependence day. We are all dependent on God’s grace and mercy. Good deeds are worthless with out doing them in God’s name, under his cloak of salvation. I hadn’t earned the right to enter through the pearly gate; I was admitted by the grace of God. And I was given a new name that had been added to the registry hand written in blood by the only man qualified to permit me entrance.
Isaiah 62:2
John 20:25
Act 4:122
Cor. 5:10
Eph 2:8-9
Col 2:13-15
Rev 2:17
Rev 20:15
Rev 19:12,15
Rev 21:21,23
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)