Day Two in Washington
24 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in Chinatown, life, memories, Museums, travel Tags: Smithsonian, traveling with friends, Washington DC
After breakfasting on lox and bagels and omelets, we once again headed out into the capital city to do the tourist thing. Destination: the Capitol. Its shiny dome had been tempting and taunting us from the moment we had arrived in the city two days earlier, and now we were actually going to get to see it up close and personal. First, however, we rode the metro to Union Station. Too early for the shops to be open, the station was relatively quiet. Looking at its breathtakingly beautiful architecture brought back memories of an earlier visit with my son and some friends when we had taken Amtrak from Florence, SC.
Like millions of other visitors, we took walked out of the front door and were impressed with the statue of Christopher Columbus. As we busily snapped a few pictures of the man who sailed the ocean blue in 1492, we kept glancing up the hill at the Capitol. Then we began our ascent, all the while talking about the scenery around us. There at last, we were stopped by security guards who told us that the building was closed but that we could visit it at 8:30 the next morning. Happy to be so close, we couldn’t leave without taking several photographs. The one of the four of us standing against the wall was snapped by a man who jokingly told us that he was going to charge us. After all, he had six children to educate and every little bit helped. I hope he and his family enjoyed their time on “the hill” as much as we did.
Next stop, the Smithsonian. We began our museum visits with a trip to the American Indian Museum where we were treated to a performance of traditional dances. After about an hour of trying to read and study all of the exhibits, we hustled towards the next stop. My chums went to the American Museum of Natural History while I spent an hour or so walking around in a trance in the National Gallery of Art. Among other things, they wanted to see the Hope diamond, and I wanted to see art, art, and more art. It’s huge! I was awed by its size and the collections. I was drooling over a poster by Georgia O’Keefe when my friends called to say they were headed to the Museum of American History.
I left Georgia’s poster and walked to the next museum to join my friends. In need of some energy, we ate snacks in the cafeteria before viewing the exhibits. Of my recollections of the afternoon, those moments in the cafeteria are among the finest. Here we were eating our yogurt and salads among some of the most diverse people we’d dined with in a long time, all the while looking out of the big glass windows at the sidewalk and the passers-by. It was marvelous. Fortified and refreshed, we went upstairs to view the exhibits of America’s past. LOVED THIS! From Dorothy’s red slippers to model train stations, we reveled in all of it.
We left the last of the museums at dusk, and as we scurried across the mall in search of the metro, I took a photo of the Washington Monument. Had to. There was something about its tall simple beauty that spoke to me. Weary but happy, we decided to grab some sandwiches at Subway in Chinatown and take them to the room. So much for our vow to eat ethnic food every night! At least the Subway was in Chinatown even if the food wasn’t noodles or bok choy!
Lights were out by 11:00. These Southern gals needed a good night’s sleep for touring the Capitol and the Library of Congress the next day.
Blackberries and a Bell Tower
23 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in Benjamin Franklin, friends, life, memories, travel Tags: travel, travel writing, traveling with friend, Washington DC
We began our first full day in the capital city fortified with a magnificent breakfast in the hotel dining room. In addition to the customary eggs, bacon, waffles, cereal, and grits, there were other tasty treats such as salmon, capers, and a nice variety of fruit, including my personal favorite, the sweetest, plumpest, most succulent blackberries I’ve ever tasted. Plus, each day we were there, our server brought complimentary strawberry smoothies to us, and I can still taste the rich twang of the fruit. Nice!
Armed with directions, Tilara led our little band of tourists towards the Holocaust Museum. Walking briskly to stay warm, we nonetheless managed to take in the many interesting sights around us. As we stopped at a stoplight, I noticed a lovely young woman with a beautiful smile looking at us. I had begun to wonder if we looked weird or something when she asked, “Do you ladies need some directions?”
After about ten seconds of hesitation, we told her of our destination. She assured us that we were headed in the right direction and then began to fill us in on some inside information, the kind of stuff that residents know. Turns out she was a graduate student at Gallaudet University who was taking the day off to do the tourist thing. Alyssa was missing her mother, and we were missing our daughters, so we five banded together for a splendid day of sightseeing.
After crossing the street, we walked through a beautiful park filled with art work and sculpture. I took several photographs and am including two of my favorites. I love trees, even stark wintry ones, so I was captivated by this silver one whose branches were bereft of foliage. And the headless people? I can’t explain its appeal. Maybe I liked it because of its uniqueness. In my hometown (dear as it is), we have statues of heroes (all male), not a gallery of headless, sexless human creatures.
Alyssa led us across the mall and pointed out the various Smithsonian museums. Continuing our walk, we soon crossed another street and found ourselves at the entry of the Holocaust Museum. Four hours later, we emerged, sobered and vowing to “never forget.” Of all the things I saw and heard there, I think the hundreds of black and white photographs of children, family units, couples, brothers, sisters, and friends affected me the most. Here were people just like me enjoying the sunshine and the fellowship of loved ones, and then there was nothing. While in the gift shop, I reread portions of Elie Weisel’s Night. I immediately remembered reading this on the beach one summer, sure that the bright sun and lapping waves would lessen the horror. They didn’t.
I didn’t take any photographs at this museum. No one did.
Our next stop was the Old Post Office Pavilion on Pennsylvania Avenue, an attraction that Connie had read about online. It has a huge statue of Benjamin Franklin, founder of the United States Post Office, out front so we seized the opportunity for a photo op with him. While there, we had snacks and enjoyed the beautiful architecture before going up to the bell tower atop the building. It was freezing! Still, our time there was worthwhile, not only because of all the bells but also because of the fabulous views of the city. The woman working in the tower was kind enough to come out of her warm little cubicle to take this picture.
We told Alyssa that one of our goals was to eat ethnic food while we were in the capital city, and she recommended a restaurant called the Thiatantic. Catchy, huh? On the way to the metro, we walked by the Navy Memorial and took some cool pictures of us with the tall, handsome sailor standing with his duffel bag. As our knowledgeable young tour guide pointed out, he stands overlooking a map of the world.
The metro ride was interesting, and we were all happy to have experienced this as part of our trip. As soon as we walked into the restaurant, we were captivated by its charm. The menu was extensive, the décor was simple yet eloquent, the service was outstanding, and the food was delicious. Interestingly, one of Alyssa’s friends and her beau were also dining there, and she agreed to take our picture. I enjoyed the evening so much that on our way home, we made a stop in Target so that I could purchase a scarf like Alyssa’s friend was wearing as a momento.
Back on the metro, Alyssa gave us instructions on what to do once we got back in Chinatown and the metro stop that was just a few blocks from our hotel. We all hugged Alyssa good-bye (for now), and Tilara extracted a promise from her that she’d call once she was back in her apartment safe and sound. You’d think four “mature” women would get it right, right? But no, we took a little detour before finally getting on the right train that was going in our direction.
Back at the Renaissance, we chatted about our experiences, all of them made better because of meeting our young friend who was kind enough to share her knowledge of the city. She also taught us some sign language, and one of my favorite expressions is, “Think for yourself.”
Day Two and the Smithsonian to follow….
Lesson from Mama
31 Dec 2011 Leave a Comment
in celebrations, Christmas, family, grandchildren, holidays, memories, relationships Tags: Christmas memories, families
The house is quiet tonight, almost too quiet. All of the Christmas company has gone home, the tree has been taken down, and the fireworks commemorating the new year are going off all around my house. As I reflect on yet another holiday season coming to a close, I’m reminded of another lesson I learned from my mother. Christmas isn’t just one day. Well, it is and it isn’t. What she meant is that Christmas is a season and a feeling and that it doesn’t have to be confined to one 24-hour period. When we spend so much time, money, energy, and thought into making the day one of unimaginable splendor and beauty, we sometimes miss the meaning and the magic.
So that’s got me thinking of when I first realized, “Oh, it’s here again!” Was it when I first saw the Salvation Army people collecting money at Wal-Mart? Or was it when I turned in the last grade for the semester? No, maybe it was the day after that when I attended a luncheon at our local CCTC satellite campus. Or no, I think it was actually when I arrived in NYC with three like-minded gals for a day of sightseeing and shopping in the Big Apple. If there’s anyone on earth who can see the Macy’s store windows and the huge “Believe” sign on the front of the block-sized department store and not feel the spirit, that person has some psychological issues.
I did a lot of fun things this season (including the above mentioned trip to Manhattan!), but when it comes right down to it, my most precious recollections have to do with people, the people I love…and some who are strangers too. In no particular order, here are a few sweet memories.
- Seeing the Salvation Army men dancing dancing dancing in NYC. In front of Macy’s and at Rockefeller Center, these spirited men were entertaining the crowds and raising money for a good cause.
- Seeing Santa sitting on a bench near Rockefeller Center. Jolly old Saint Nick happily posed for a picture with Kayla, the youngest of our group.
- My husband’s children and their partners and children joining us on the afternoon of the 17th for food and fellowship. We were especially happy that Kacey could join us this year. And all of remarked on how much difference a year could make. Baby Charlie was walking all over the place, and last year he couldn’t even crawl yet.
- Earlier that day, we had a Christmas get-together with all of my husband’s siblings and their families. When he and I first got married, these events were held in a home, but now that the family has grown so much, we’ve moved the party to a local church. Santa came. He was jolly and patient, but he couldn’t fool Whitney. “He’s not the real Santa,” she confided in me. “I could see the strap holding his beard.”
- The night of the 22nd when I saw three of my grandchildren’s faces pressed up against window of the breezeway door. I flung open the door, hugged them tight, and then saw another sight for sore eyes: their other two siblings and their parents.
- That same night around 11:15 when I heard a tentative “Mom?” It was my son Paul who had stopped over to spend the night on his way to Myrtle Beach where his wife and daughter were waiting.
- Later that night seeing Paul and Carrie’s heads together as they discussed the merits of various laptops.
- Watching and listening as the kids opened their gifts on the night of the 23rd. Need I say more about this? Everyone who’s been a child or been around a child can imagine this scenario.
- The Christmas Eve brunch. I loved having my sibs(two of them) and their families, my Aunt Polly, my cousin Sue & her family, and of course my children here for a fun gathering. Thanks to help from my beautiful daughter Elizabeth, everything came together. We even played Christmas bingo…loved watching Brooke help her father play the game.
- Following through with a Christmas Eve tradition of seeing a movie; this year it was Sherlock Holmes.
- Sitting between Otis and Elizabeth in church on Christmas morning as we listened to the messages and the soul-stirring music.
- Christmas day lunch at my mother-in-law’s house. After all of the feasting we’d been experiencing, we decided on a light menu, subs and cake. Loved that!
- Monday brunch at Elizabeth’s home in Conway. More yummy food!
- Having Olivia, Amanda, Paul, and Elizabeth come for a visit in Myrtle Beach and watching Olivia push her new pink grocery cart all over the house. She was wearing her black boots and chatting away. Later we went to Nacho Hippo for a farewell dinner.
- Shopping for after Christmas deals with Elizabeth the next day. We love Target!
- Naturally, I couldn’t include everything in the above. Who would want to read all of it anyway?
For some brief, shining moments, we were all together enjoying one another’s presence and remembering Christmases past. On Christmas Eve, I shared a toast with all who were present, and although you weren’t there, you’d like the toast. It was based on the end of a movie, Places in the Heart. My friend Martha had declared its ending to be the best of all movie endings so I had to rent it.
The scene takes inside of a church, and all the pews are populated not only by people who live in the small town but also by those who have “moved on,” either by death or change of location. They’re all partaking of the Lord’s Supper, and although there has been a lot of heartache and pain in the movie, in that final scene, everyone is there…everyone.
What I took from the church scene is that love is the most important and powerful force in the universe and that people who’ve once been a part of your life will always be there with you. You might not be able to see them, but they’re there. Oh and P.S., my mother was right. Christmas is more than a day.
Changing and Looking Ahead
27 Dec 2011 1 Comment
in change, children, Christmas, family, holidays, lessons, life, love, memories, relationships, Uncategorized Tags: change, Christmas, memories
My son and his family left Myrtle Beach this afternoon. It was marvelous to see them again…and heart wrenching to tell them good-bye last night. Atlanta, GA is a long way from here, and although I know I’ll see them at least once before Ethan Paul makes his debut in March, it was still hard to watch them drive away last night.
Still, if I’ve learned one thing in my life it’s that it (life) goes on. Despite separation, trials, loss, and pain, it goes on. Whining and feeling sorry for myself won’t bring the young family back. Nor will it bring back my parents and grandparents who no longer walk the earth. I’ve known people so sick or discouraged or miserable that they simply didn’t want to go on anymore. Fortunately, so far they’ve had the fortitude to keep on keeping on.
Here’s another thing I’ve learned: those whom you’ve loved never really leave you. They’re always in your heart and mind, and sweet memories of them can be conjured up at a moment’s notice. Hundreds of these recollections have flooded my mind during this special season, thus making it challenging to spotlight just one. Many of them sort of flow into each other, like the dozens of Christmas Eves at my grandmother’s house when all of my cousins were there. Invariably, one of the adults would look out the window and declare that he had seen lights circling the area, a sure sign that Santa wanted to land. If I had to choose just one Christmas memory, I’d go with the one in which my grandmother read me an article from the newspaper about a little girl named Virginia who wanted to know if there was a Santa Claus. Spellbound, I listened to MaMa Padgett as she read Virginia’s letter and the editor’s response, thrilled to know that indeed Santa existed.
My sweet daughter-in-law seemed to have a case of the doldrums when I saw her yesterday, and I suspect it’s because she and I were feeling some of the same emotions. She’s on her way back to Atlanta now and probably won’t see her parents for several months. They’re serving a mission for the LDS church and only came home for a couple of weeks at this special season. They’ll be back in June. By then, Amanda and Paul will have another baby, Ethan. Hmmm. That brings me to a third thing I’ve learned: The only constant is change! Seriously, you can count on that one. Nothing ever stays the same. For better or worse, things (people, events, circumstances) are always in a state of flux. All I have to do is look at my grandchildren to see that!
I think of my sweet mama every day, and naturally she’s in most of my Christmas memories. Of the many, many lessons I learned from her, one is that a person always needs something to look forward to. Whether it’s a visit from a friend, a favorite television show, or a shopping excursion, having something to look forward to can give us momentum and buoy up our spirits. Having a hopeful expectation that something good is going to happen can make the crucial difference between happiness and misery.
As 2011 comes to a close, I realize the truth of the above even more. Life goes on, people never really leave you, change is constant, and hope is important. I’m looking forward to 2012 and all of the changes that it will surely bring. I hope that we can all adapt to whatever lies in store for us and, all the while keeping our loved ones in our hearts.
Older Brother
08 Dec 2011 1 Comment
in babies, birthdays, children, family, life, memories, Uncategorized
I stepped off the elevator to the sound of screaming. Poor soul, I thought. What pain there is in bringing a new life into the world.
Flowers in one hand and a Wal-Mart bag of goodies in the other, I headed towards my daughter’s room. Knowing that my grandson was going to arrive sometime that afternoon, I had slipped away to buy a few treats for him and his sweet mama.
As I turned the corner and headed down the long hallway, my heart stopped. I gasped with the realization that the screams were coming from the throat of my daughter Carrie. I raced to her room, only to find the door shut. Scarcely able to breathe, I pushed it open and saw her husband Rich on one side of the bed and her father on the other. Both were speaking tenderly to her and caressing her gently. I felt helpless. Having given birth three times, I knew there was nothing I could do to assuage her pain. Saying, “You’ll soon be fine and holding your baby in your arms” seemed lame.
Dr. Nelson burst through the door, and Carrie’s father and I walked out, leaving Carrie, Rich, and the doctor in the room. We stood outside waiting, trying to be brave. A little over an hour earlier, the doctor had decided that labor was progressing a little more slowly than expected and had broken Carrie’s water and given her Pitocin.
He then left to do a C-section, and we, following his lead, had split up for a few minutes. Rich went to the hospital cafeteria, her dad went to the lounge to catch a few zzz’s, and I left for the Wal-Mart excursion. None of us knew things would happen so quickly, including the doctor.
Almost immediately after everyone departed, hard labor began, and with the doctor and the hospital’s only anesthetist on duty both involved in the C-section, there was no chance for an epidural. My daughter’s one tough cookie. She once experienced a perforated eardrum with neither whine nor whimper, but even she began to crumble when a progress that normally takes several hours was compressed into such a short period of time.
An hour and a half later, we stood outside the door, me with my chin trembling and trying not to weep. Her father, on the surface, appeared calm, but I knew that he too was troubled. I spotted a woman, probably in her 30’s with brown hair and dark glasses, looking at us with concern. A stranger, she walked over, hugged me, and said some reassuring words. I later learned that she was a doctor. There’s a lot to be said for the kindness of strangers, and eight years later, I still think of her compassion.
Carrie’s father and I made small talk while we waited, me tearful and him stoic, a rock. Both of us were remembering the events of a year and a half earlier. It was a chilly afternoon early in December, and I was in high spirits. Cruising down Highway 501 in Myrtle Beach, I was looking forward to the end of the fall semester and the upcoming Christmas holidays. That afternoon we were hosting a reception for adjunct faculty at the college, and I was on my way to pick up some fruit and vegetable trays. Life was good.
My cell phone rang, and I was surprised to see Carrie’s name as the caller. We had just talked the night before. She was seven months pregnant, and as the time for delivery grew nearer, we talked even more often than usual.
“Hey Sweetie. What’s up?” I asked.
“Hey Mama. I just wanted to let you know that I decided to go see the doctor this morning.,” she said.
“I thought it was another couple of weeks before you were scheduled to go again,” I responded, becoming aware of an uneasy, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
“Well, I just felt like something was wrong, so I came in, and when they checked the baby’s heartbeat, there wasn’t one.” She said
“What do you mean?” I asked incredulously.
“His little heart stopped beating,” she answered in an even- toned voice as if she were telling me that she was going to have lunch with friends or paint the nursery green.
Then I asked the ultimate in stupid, insensitive questions. “Did it start again?”
Quietly she said, “No Ma’am.”
I pulled into the Barnes and Noble parking lot and sat there, stunned and reeling with shock and pain. My child lived five hours away, and her husband, a Navy “nuke,” was in a submarine in an undisclosed location. I couldn’t think straight, but amazingly she could, Carrie told me that she had friends who would be with her 24/7 until I could arrive, and I promised to leave before dawn the next day.
Trancelike, I went through the motions of organizing things on the home and work fronts and pulled out of Myrtle Beach before sunrise the next morning. It was a tortured, angst-ridden drive. What would I say to her? How was she? Who was with her?
My husband had been in Allendale on a hunting trip, and I picked him up at a Burger King in Walterboro. He hugged me and remarked on my zebra striped socks before taking the wheel. It was easier to talk of socks and other mundane issues. Neither of us could say his name, Spencer, the baby who no longer lived, the baby who would be born the next day. Born? Was that the correct term? Would “delivered” be a better one?
We finally arrived in St. Mary’s, GA and spent the rest of the day and evening preparing for the next day’s procedure. On the following day, an overcast Saturday morning, my husband and I took Carrie to the hospital where she was induced for delivery. A couple of hours later, her father, his mother, and his wife arrived, and about 3:00 p.m., Rick arrived after an anxiety-ridden van ride from Port Canaveral. Knowing that he was the only person who could truly ease her distress, I was thankful to see his slim form racing towards Carrie’s room.
Standing vigil all day and well into the evening, we laughed, we cried, we talked, and we walked that hallway back and forth, back and forth. That evening around 9:30, Spencer arrived, a perfectly formed, beautiful three pound baby boy. Carrie wanted to take pictures so we did. All of us looked at this tiny body and wondered WHY.
I held him close, marveling at his perfect little face, willing him to open his eyes, gasp for breath, and start crying. No matter how much we held him and caressed him, however, his little body remained lifeless. Our hearts were broken.
Fast forward a year and a half, and Carrie’s father and I are standing at the opposite end of the same hall at that same hospital. We’re waiting, and it seems like we’ve been waiting for a very long time.
“What’s taking so long?” I wailed.
“It hasn’t really been that long. Things are fine. Nothing to worry about,” he replied.
Whether he believed his own words, I don’t know. I just knew that Carrie had stopped screaming, and there were only muffled sounds coming from the room. Was everything okay? Why didn’t they tell us something? Was the baby here? Was Carrie alright?
Then I heard it, the cry of a newborn. At first weak, Braden’s cry became stronger and louder. It was the most wonderful sound I’d heard in years. Laughing and crying at the same time, I looked at his grandfather and read relief and joy in his eyes.
After what seemed like an eternity instead of 20 minutes, we were allowed to push the door open and enter the room. And there was my grandson cradled in the arms of my beautiful daughter. Weeping with happiness, I hugged her tightly and then put my hand on Braden’s tiny chest as it went up and down, up and down, breathing in life.
That was eight years ago, and I still marvel at the miracle of his birth. And I still think of his older brother. While I mourn the loss of this precious child, I’m confident that he’ll always be perceived as the older brother of Braden, Brooke, Emma, Colton, and Seth.
Untied Shoes and Barbeque Sandwiches
17 Nov 2011 4 Comments
in exercise, family, goal setting, lessons, memories, OBX Marathon, Outer Banks, positive thinking Tags: OBX Half Marathon, Outer Banks
It’s time to write something about Sunday’s OBX half marathon. As I sit here thinking about it this afternoon, I keep thinking of the lessons inherent in such an event. Is that the school teacher part of me? Can’t I ever just enjoy something without trying to turn it into a lesson? Apparently not!
Lisa, one of my sisters-in-law, drove us to the race start. She’s a trooper, a stalwart supporter, and had gotten up and dressed to make sure that we arrived before the 7:00 a.m. gun sounded. Once we got out of the car and sauntered (yep, we were taking it easy then) to the start, we were inundated with the noises that accompany pre-race excitement. And the music. Wow! It was loud and energizing. Plus, there was the beautiful Atlantic Ocean on our right. What a feast for the senses!
Almost immediately, the three of us separated, and I went to the back of the pack with the other slow folks (walkers).Interestingly, it was called “F.” While that didn’t make me too happy, I came up with lesson #1. It’s crazy to start in a category for which you are unprepared. You’ll soon find yourself out of your league and floundering as you realize that you’re being passed by those with more experience.
That brings me to lesson #2. It’s closely aligned with the first one and has to do with preparation. A person who doesn’t put in the time and miles is not going to make it. Sure, he or she might finish the course but will suffer consequences of serious soreness, all over fatigue, strained muscles, and so forth. Preparation is key in most life events.
The gun sounded for us, and people took off running. Huh? I thought we were supposed to be walkers in Category F! I jogged along beside them, letting the crowd surge push me forward. That was another important lesson, #3. Sometimes, for better or worse, the crowd mentality can get a person stoked and involved. I slowed down after about a mile, however, because I knew I’d be in trouble otherwise.
After a few miles on the highway, we branched off into a nice neighborhood, and I took a few pictures. Soon I saw a child wrapped up in a sleeping bag in a driveway. He had a pot over his face and head, and his father reminded him that he was supposed to be making noise with it. All along the route, people were ringing cow bells, playing music, shouting encouragement, and blowing horns. I could hear all this despite the fact that I was listening to Pat Conroy’s My Reading Life on my iPhone. It was awesome to walk/jog in this beautiful setting and listen to a great Southern author read his book about the effect that reading had on his life.
We rounded a curve, and there I saw a person dressed like an old lady who kept running out in the street yelling at people. I think she was shouting good stuff, but I’m not sure. It was a little bizarre. I also saw some water in the bay and some beautiful homes. Breathtaking. Lesson # 4 There are always some unexpected treats along the way of a journey. It might be something like the bubble gum that a woman was offering the walkers and runners or it might be some of the beauties of nature.
We walked and jogged on the highway some more and then through another neighborhood. I’d like to say, “THANKS!” to all of the people who came out of their homes to cheer us on that morning. It’s amazing how much difference encouragement and an occasional, “You can do it!” can make. Oh, and the people providing water and Gatorade were wonderful too. That was some of the coldest, most refreshing water that I’ve ever tasted. Some tables offered power gel, but I relied on my power bar for energy bursts. Lesson # 5. People need people.
Soon I found myself looking at the bridge signaling that I was about to leave Nag’s Head and enter Manteo. One of my brothers had told me that the bridge was the ten mile mark so I was feeling encouraged. Hmmm. Did he say that the beginning of the bridge marked ten miles or was it the end? This was a major question because that bridge was daunting! Long, steep, and noisy (because of the cars passing and the wind from the sound), I just had to know. There was no sign, however, so I just basically took off thinking, “I can do it…I can, I can, I can, I will, I will….”
People on all sides seemed to be struggling just as much as I was. Some were in even worse shape. Still, I trudged on, knowing that it was the only way to Manteo and the race finish. Lesson # 6. Crossing a bridge will take you from one destination to another, in “real life” and in a half marathon.
Bridge behind me, I turned right towards Manteo. I needed a potty break, and since I hadn’t heeded Lisa’s warning about the perils of wearing new shoes on race day, my feet were hurting. I was tired and running out of “juice.” Then Elizabeth called asking for my location and told me that my brother Dave and his son Chris were stationed along the way looking for me. That was something to look forward to. I soon spotted them, sights for sore eyes, and a signal that I was within a half mile of the finish.
Lesson #7. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. By this time, my left shoe had come untied, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to cross that line!! I rounded the corner of the last leg and spotted Becky, my other sister-in-law, smiling and waving me on. Just before crossing the finish, I saw the rest of my support group: Elizabeth, Sarah Beth, Lisa, and Mike. Someone put a medal around my neck, and then off I went in search of my free barbeque sandwich.
The eight of us walked around gawking at the sights and taking pictures. It had been an arduous trek, but the sights, sounds, and feelings afterwards made it worthwhile. Will I do it again? No doubt about it! Lesson #8: Setting a difficult and then accomplishing it is sweet.
Labor Day Memories
06 Sep 2011 2 Comments
in beach, celebrations, children, family, gratitude, holidays, life, memories, Outer Banks, thoughts, weekend
Yesterday was awesome. In fact, the entire Labor Day weekend was extraordinarily memorable, and I think one reason is because I disciplined myself to be especially mindful of all of the good things going on around me. It’s easy, oh so easy, to concentrate on what you don’t have than what you do, and I’ve been making a conscious effort to work on that.
For starters, as soon as I got to the beach Friday, my young friend Lisa stopped by, and she and I went to Abuelo’s for lunch. Love that place! The ambience and food are both good, and on that day, so was the company. In fact, Lisa probably served as a catalyst for my positive thinking because one of our conversation topics was how fortunate we are to have so many good things going for us in the good old U.S. of A. I could list some of the things we mentioned, but I won’t. You need to come up with your own list.
After our shrimp chowder and yummy salads, we did a little shopping at Ulta, and I’ve been enjoying the fragrance of my pomegranate lime soap ever since. Isn’t amazing how scents can evoke feelings? We scooted up and down Hwy. 17 a little bit, and Lisa declared that she was seeing parts of the beach she’d never seen. Before a scenic cruise through the Myrtle Beach State Park, we visited the best frame shop on the east coast, The Frame Factory. Seriously, y’all, I’ve been taking things there to be framed for 12 or 13 years, and I’ve always been tremendously pleased. The price, quality, and service are without parallel. (I hope they read this and give me a discount on my next item.)
After Lisa left to join friends in Windy Hill, I hustled down to the strand to get my four miles in. It was indescribable…so I won’t even try. My brother Mike, his wife Lisa, and their granddaughter Madison soon arrived, and the four of us went out to dinner. Loved catching up with everyone, especially young Madison whom I hadn’t seen since October. She’s delightful, pretty, smart, and well-mannered.
After a brief rendezvous with the above on Saturday morning, my daughter Elizabeth and I took off for Rincon, GA where my grandson Seth was to be blessed in church the next day. We decided to make a genuine road trip out of it, so this time we headed towards Charleston instead of Turbeville (where we usually hop on I-95). It took a lllooonngggg time going that way, but we had fun along the way, including a trip to Target in Mt. Pleasant and a trip over the Arthur Ravenel Bridge (a.k.a. Cooper River Bridge).
Bedraggled but happy, we arrived at Carrie and Rich’s house in Rincon about five hours later. After tons of kisses and hugs from the little ones, we jumped in our cars and headed to Pooler, a city not far from Rincon. We dined at Cheddars, a busy buzzy restaurant with tasty food, reasonable prices, and a huge fish tank stocked with several varieties of pretty fish. The children loved watching them swim around and around. So did I!
Sunday arrived. Time for Sacrament service in Rincon. There aren’t sufficient words to express how it felt to be sitting there with my daughters and five of my grandchildren. “If only Paul and Amanda and Olivia could be here, it’d be perfect,” I found myself thinking. Having my husband there would have been nice too…not to mention the baby’s grandfather. “Wait a minute, Jayne. Can’t you concentrate on the people who are here?” I could and did.
After the blessing, as I walked little Seth up and down the hallway outside of the chapel, I looked down at his perfect face. His dark blue eyes were staring up at me, scanning my face for clues about what was going on, and I thought, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” But I was wrong. Over the sound system, I heard the sweet little voice of Brooke, my oldest granddaughter. Only six years old, she’s courageous enough to walk up on the stand and bear her testimony month after month, something that still leaves me shaking in my shoes. Sunday she reminded everyone to listen to the Holy Ghost so they’d know the right thing to do.
After lunch, Lib and I headed back to the SC coast. We took turns driving, and while she napped, I listened to Sarah’s Key on my Kindle. Although it’s a work of fiction, it’s based on factual events that occurred in France in 1942. It was gut wrenching, heartbreaking too. I recalled the conversation Lisa and I had in Abuelo’s two days prior and thought, “I will never ever complain about family, food, soft mattresses, or the government again.”
Fast forward to Monday morning. After breakfast, I went with Mike and his family for a walk on the beach. Cloudy and overcast, the sky threatened to send a deluge any moment. It began to sprinkle, and Mike and Lisa left Madison and me on the beach. Only 10, she’s a delightful little girl, and we had a great talk. She loves little kids and wants to be a pediatric cardiologist one day.
Back at our little bungalow, I cleaned and packed and puttered. When I glimpsed out the window, I saw a beautiful sight: el sol shining brightly in a blue sky filled with puffy white clouds. “What’s 45 minutes in the grand scheme of things?” I asked myself while putting my beach chair in the car. I drove over to the state park and found the perfect spot for my chair. Ah, bliss. The gentle breeze, the roar of the ocean, and the sun gliding in and out from behind the clouds made for a perfect hour to read and savor the final moments of another summer season. I found myself thinking, “If only I could stay longer,” and then replaced it with, “I’m so fortunate to be able to relish these moments.”
I stopped by my lovely daughter’s house on the way out of town, and I stood over her while she signed up for the Outer Banks 8K on November 12th. It’s a family thing, and this year Elizabeth, Carla, and Sarah Beth will be joining us. Yay!
Life is grand. Remind me of this if you hear me whining. We all have a lot of good stuff going on in our lives. Just take a look around.
A Bride and a Baby
26 Jul 2011 1 Comment
in babies, birthdays, change, changes, children, family, grandchildren, life, lifestyles, love, memories, mothers, parenting, relationships
It’s been a busy, eventful, fun, exhausting couple of weeks. It’s funny how life goes along in a somewhat predictable way, and then BOOM, a whirlwind comes along and turns everything upside down. Knowing that not everyone in the world is interested in the goings-on in my family and yet wanting to share with those who care, I’m going to hit some high points.
First, there’s Jenny, a.k.a. Mrs. Kacey Carbery. She and Kacey tied the knot on the 15th of July after a busy few days of events. Actually, for Jenny, it had been a busy few months, but for the rest of us, many of the parties and celebrations occurred in July. They’re a much-loved couple, and their friends and family went all out to prove it. Because of their marriage, I met some truly interesting and delightful people, and I hope our paths cross again. In fact, we’ve been invited to spend a couple of days in Victoria, Canada next year on our way to Alaska.
Then one day last week, I started cleaning out my office. It’s too daunting a task to tackle in one day so I’ll be traveling to Sumter again soon to take the rest of the pictures off the walls and the books off the shelves. A friend asked me if it was hard, and I had to admit, “Not really.” My attitude is that I’ve had an office for a long, long time, and now it’s time to move on to whatever’s next. Luckily for me, we have a little room above the garage where I can read and write. It even has a skylight so that I can watch the changing sky.
Then my grandson Seth was born. What a precious baby! My former husband and Elizabeth and I spent last Wednesday in the hospital with Rich and Carrie, Seth’s parents, as we waited for his arrival. After the doctors determined that a C-section wouldn’t be necessary after all, we then had to bide our time until Mother Nature took her course. We walked, talked, snacked, dozed, read, and waited. And then we waited some more.
Finally, the moment arrived when it looked like the birth was imminent, and the doctor shooed us out of the room. A moment later, the door cracked open a little as Rich peeped out and asked if I’d like to come inside. I was so excited!!! I’d never witnessed a birth before and had been saying that all day in the hopes that the parents would take the hint. Having that experience was awesome and unforgettable.
As the nurses were cleaning the sweet newborn and putting silver nitrate in his eyes, I stood beside him and talked to him in my most soothing voice. Then the funniest and most marvelous thing happened. He opened first one eye and then the other and looked straight at me. I LOVE thinking that I’m the first person he saw and that perhaps the sound of my voice comforted him somewhat during his first scary moments of earth life. Soon Elizabeth and Frankie rejoined us in the room, and everyone got a turn holding the precious little fellow.
Elizabeth and I then went to Rincon, GA where my daughter Carrie lives and began caring for her other four children. They range in age from 2 to 8, and they kept their grandmother and their aunt busy and “engaged,” a word I’ve heard a lot over the last few days. I could go on and on and on about our special time together, but I’ll save that for another day. I just have to mention, however, that I love how Emma used a wet washcloth to subdue her blond curls so that she could make a good first impression on her new brother. She also took a pink purse to the hospital like a big girl.
That was last week. Now I’m back at home trying to finish the semester, and I’ll go back to Rincon later this week to help Carrie as her household adjusts to its newest member. Until then, end-of-the-term journals and assignments are calling my name. And then there’s the office thing. I wonder if Holly, the director of security, will make me turn in my key.
Braden’s Big Weekend
05 Jun 2011 1 Comment
in celebrations, children, family, grandchildren, LDS, life, love, memories, Mormons, relationships, religion, thoughts, Uncategorized, weekend
Carrie, Braden, Elizabeth, and Emma
With every goodbye, there’s the promise of another hello. Of course, it’s also true that with each hello, there’s the shadow of goodbye. I don’t want to think about that right now though. I want to concentrate on the promise part. It was hard saying farewell to my children and grandchildren in the church parking lot in Rincon, GA earlier today, but knowing that I’ll see them again soon makes the time apart a little more doable.
And my goodness, the memories are so special. I know that’s an overworked word, probably trite too, but it’s the best one I can think of to describe my recollections. For starters, at church today Emma probably told me she loved me five or six times and gave me at least that many kisses. She also sweetly asked me, “Why can’t you stop crying?” and then looked at me with great concern. I told her I was happy. She doesn’t understand about hearts being so full that a person’s emotions spill out …but she’s learning.
Then there was little Braden who turned 8 nearly two weeks ago. His father baptized him yesterday, and family and friends from as far away as California came to witness the event and be a part of his special day. Mrs. Crolley and I think it was the sweetest, most spiritual baptismal service we’ve ever attended. Brooke and Emma, Braden’s sisters, said the opening and closing prayers, and I especially loved it when Brooke asked that Braden always be guided to “choose the right.” Amanda, my daughter-in-law, played the piano while Paul minded their darling Olivia. At the moment, I’m recalling how Braden sat swinging his legs while looking up at his dad and doing his best to answer Rich’s questions.
After the service, a crowd gathered at Carrie and Rich’s home for a fun celebration. Braden’s had chosen a Mexican theme, so from the music to the Chicken Enchilada Casserole, his parents granted his wish. Four jumbo sized crockpots simmered with the yummy casseroles, and we had chips and mucho Mexican rice as sides. My niece Katherine helped with the kitchen duty, and without her sweet assistance, the Masedas might have been cleaning up until midnight! A giant piñata filled with candy topped off the evening’s fun, and although all the kids had a chance to whack it, Braden was the one who was successful in knocking it down to reveal the sugary treats.
Did I mention that my daughter and her mother-in-law, Linda, made huge colorful flowers out of tissue? I loved them! They hung from the back porch and sprang from the shrubs in the back yard. Tables were set up in the backyard, and it was cool to see my son and his father seated together at one of them dining and talking with the other men. Linda also made three delicious strawberry pies, and since I had a challenge deciding between pie and cake, I had both…so did several others. I watched Otis and Fred, Rich’s father, chow down on a sample of each as they discussed golf, golf, and more golf.
This morning, I was in heaven. It’s been a while since I had the good fortune to be with all of my children and grandchildren at the same time in church. It’s not that I’m envious of people who have that experience every week. It’s just that, well, I miss it. It was awesome to watch Olivia stare at the strangers (to her) in the congregation and to see Emma share her My Pretty Pony with her. Olivia had never seen a purple horse with pink hair. Before Colton moved to my row, I watched his tiny fingers rub Linda’s neck. Sweet sweet sweet. Carrie bore her testimony and so did little Brooke and her grandfather Fred.
Rich’s parents will be in Rincon until Tuesday when they fly back to Atlanta. Everyone else has scattered to their respective homes in GA and SC. I’ll get to see them all again soon, but in the meantime, I’m thinking of Braden’s big weekend and how his decision brought us all together for a few brief shining hours.
Another Piece of the Puzzle
10 Apr 2011 4 Comments
in Bible, faith, family, LDS, lessons, life, memories, Mormons, religion, thoughts, Uncategorized
Thanks to my friend Joan Ella, I now have the perfect way to introduce something I’ve been thinking about off and on all week. She tagged me and some of my 6-year-old classmates from a Sunday school class “back in the day.” Even without the tags, I easily recognized just about everyone and for the last hour or so I’ve been thinking about those days at FBC of Camden. I LOVED going to church there. My friend Patty had a beautiful voice, and she often sang solos in the worship service. The rest of us sang “Jesus Loves Me” and paid close attention to the Bible stories that our teachers taught us.
Still, we were kids, and we didn’t really know that much. We just liked being there and hearing the stories and singing the songs. I’m older now, and I have a different outlook, a bigger picture. It’s taken decades to gain the knowledge and faith that I have now. I still like listening to stories and singing hymns, and line upon line, precept upon precept, I have gained a greater understanding of life’s mysteries.
Here’s an example of how ignorant I was about the time the above picture was made. I remember sitting with my maternal grandmother in the annex of that beautiful church one Sunday morning. Mr. Monty was preaching fire and brimstone that day, and reminders that the end was nigh were scaring this poor child to death. I glanced up at my grandmother’s pretty profile, and she seemed calm, seemingly unaware that we might never even get to open our Christmas presents. As we walked out of the church, she evidently noticed my pale-faced anxiety because she grabbed my hand and asked what was wrong.
“Didn’t you hear what he said? The world’s going to come to an end soon, very soon, and unless we stop sinning, we’re going to go, well, you know, to that other place.”
“That other place?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
“Not heaven,” I said, probably trembling. I couldn’t say the H word aloud, not even to a caring grandmother.
To my surprise, she seemed to be stifling a smile. “Come on, Honey. Let’s go have some dinner. Nothing’s going to happen to us today.” If she said it, I believed it. Her name was Mary John…gotta love that!
Fast forward a few decades. Last Sunday I heard a powerful message by President Uchtdorf at the Semi-Annual General Conference of the Church of Latter-Day Saints. His talk was about Saul’s transformative experience on the road to Damascus, and there was something about his words that struck me as so true. He said that many people spend their days on the proverbial road to Damascus waiting for some traumatic event to change their hearts. They want the heavens to part for them and show them the way, the truth, and the light. Okay, I’m exaggerating a bit on the address itself, but then, this is my take on it.
For most of us, this isn’t how it happens. Instead, bit by bit, little by little, we catch a little more of the vision. We grasp a little more of the truth. As President Uchtdorf said, truth comes in the form of a puzzle, one piece at a time, and each piece enables us to see a little more clearly. That Sunday with my grandmother wasn’t a transformative experience. It was just a tiny piece of the puzzle. Many others have been added since then.
I now know that God loves all of His children and wants us to be happy. Maybe that’s why I like the children’s hymn that says, “Teach me all that I must do to live with Him someday.” I don’t listen to fire and brimstone sermons anymore. I listen to ones that promise blessings for making good choices.
