"JOY- Where are you?" or "I am Perfectly Flawed"

It has been such a long while since I’ve blogged.  Nevertheless, that doesn’t matter.  Suffice it to say I am my own worst critic and enemy at times; a topic I want to get into here.  Warning:  long post ahead.

I’ve had many thoughts over the past months and wanted to express them, but I fear it may come out all jumbled.  But I will make a start;  As I was doing my daily study and meditation, I was struck by this thought;  I have been looking for joy in the wrong places. 

Before I jump fully into that thought, I’m going to share what led me here.   For weeks, I have been pondering the whole concept of how we, as humans, try to present ourselves to others and to the world.  We knock ourselves out trying to appear as perfect, without flaw, above any criticism from others.  It tears us up when WE see the real us in the mirror, proverbial and otherwise.  Too few of us are truly comfortable in our own skin.  I fall smack-dab into the thick of this category.  Which is a big cause for dissatisfaction and self-loathing in my life. 

Yep, self-loathing is a strong word, but it’s the only word that suffices here.  And I’m pretty sure I’m not alone.  How many of us hates parts of us?  I hate my eyebrows, I hate my flabby arms, I hate the rolls around my middle, I hate my thinning hair, I hate my nose, I hate my short thick legs, I hate that I am critical, I hate that I am not more talented, I hate, I hate, I hate.  Why?  Because I am not perfect.  Because the world keeps trying to show me what IS perfect and I always fall short.  And who IS perfect?  Well, actually, no one. 

Consider this;  do you love anyone who is imperfect?  Your best friend; are they perfect?  Do you love them anyway?  Your spouse; are they without flaw?  Do you still love them?  Can we fully love the whole person while hating the parts of that whole person?  I think not.  And I don’t think that we can FULLY love ourselves while hating parts of ourselves.  A wise and revered woman has said, “We must have the courage to be IMPERFECT while striving for perfection”. Patricia Holland - courage to be imperfect

COURAGE to be imperfect??  Yes!  It takes courage to accept that about yourself.  It takes courage to present your wonderfully imperfect self to the world.  It takes a ton of courage to allow others to see your flaws, your faults, and your trials.  We’ve all got them.  We are in good company.  And, in a way, it’s a merciful comfort to know that we are not alone in our imperfect-ness.

Back to JOY and looking in the wrong places.  I took on a quest a few years back to live more joyfully.  Next year it was to “seek Joy”.  I would seek joy in nature, in friendships, in family, in the little things around me.   At the end of those years I had made progress in the habit of looking for the good things, but inside, I felt no different.  I was still looking for JOY and rarely finding what my heart yearned for.  I would catch glimpses of it, but it would dash away as quickly as I spied it. 

And then, today, while studying and pondering, I had a “knock-me-flat epiphany.  And here it is:  We need to find JOY in ourselves.  We are God’s greatest creation!  Was that a cause of  JOY for Him?  Oh, I do think so!  I feel certain that He looks at us and feels joy when we try to be kind and loving to others.  I believe He feels joy when we excel and try our best.  I can imagine His joy when we strive to be the best we can be.  And, I am sure He grieves along with us when we don’t allow ourselves to be joyful because we are swamped in a mire of self-loathing because we are not perfect.

I have come to believe joy is intricately tied to our ability to accept and love ourselves with our bags full of flaws and faults.  I am also convinced that Joy is found within us, not without.  Not even our skin or our weight or our sculpted lips and eyebrows (pet peeve there).  It is chiefly found in our hearts, in our minds, and in our ability to love, among other things. 

So here is my new mantra, to be repeated each morning and night:
*I will find JOY in my ability to rise each day and greet the morning with gratitude.
*I will find JOY in a body that functions well, that can walk on a forest path, can smell the fragrance of a rose, can see the smile of a loved one, and that can take me places I want to go.
*I will find JOY in each ability and talent that I have been blessed to have.
*I will find JOY in the ability to think new thoughts and the ability to change for the better.
*I will find JOY each time I look in the mirror at the miracle that stands before me that is perfectly flawed.
*I will find JOY in serving others and loving them.
*I will find JOY in my God and in Jesus Christ, because they are the source of true JOY.

*and thanks for reading!!

A Letter to my Mom

   May came and went while I was traveling.  While I gained much from my travels, I missed a few things.  I missed my daughters Master’s graduation and her birthday.  I missed a son’s birthday and I missed Mother’s day.  My mother’s day was spent on the island of Skye in Scotland, seeing Dunvegan castle, picnicking on the Quirang, walking up Old Man Storr, overlooking the Kilt Rocks and waterfall, and enjoying a wonderful dinner with new friends.  It was unconventional but lovely, nevertheless.  I did miss my children quite a bit on this day - half a world away.  And I found myself thinking about my own dear mother quite a bit.

  I loved my mom.  She had so many great traits and characteristics.  She always had a ready smile and was a great partner to a little mischief.  She loved a good joke and was quick to laugh.  I loved sitting down to visit with her as she was a wonderful listener.   She was not a perfect mom or grandmother, but who is?  That just didn’t matter as I knew deep down in my heart, that she tried her best and she did the best she knew how or was able.  As I am the age of a grandma (and an empty nester mom) I’ve been doing some deep thinking.   If I could talk to her right now, I’ve got a few things I’d love to say to her.  Since I can’t talk to her, I’m going to write her a letter.

Here’s how it will go:


Dear Mom, 
   You’ve been gone for just over 16 years.  I can’t believe that much time has passed since we last spoke over the phone.  I was impatient with you, and I’m sorry.  You kept repeating things, saying the same thing over and over, and I grew weary of it.  I used my exasperated voice and told you that you’d already told me that several times.  I wish I hadn’t been so in a hurry to get off the phone.  The next phone call I received from Tucson was your grandson telling me that you were gone.  Oh, if I could have those moments back with you.  I would have savored your every word and given you all the time you needed.  And I would tell you some things;
   Mom, thank you for never giving up while raising me.  Thanks for being firm with the things that mattered; things like being a good person, being honest, kind, trustworthy, and to have integrity.  Thanks for making sure I followed through on things.  Thanks for caring enough to make sure I got an education, that I worked hard, that I pursued interests and talents.  Thank you for teaching me about God and His love for me.  Thank you for helping me to be strong when things were tough.


   From you, Mom, I got my love of nature and my intense interest in finding out what things are and their names, like, flowers, trees, birds, and the list goes on.  I remember you telling me about weeds and their roots.  I’m sure you were trying to help me not loathe pulling weeds so much, but the lesson stuck.  I learned to respect nature from you and to leave things better than I had found them. 
 
 You had a big heart Mom.  Even now, I still have friends come to me and tell me how much you influenced them.  You were a girls camp director for years, and the impact you made is still ongoing.  So many young girls lives were changed for the better because of your “never give up” attitude.  Those girls became mothers and grandmothers, and now their progeny is still being affected due to your willingness to love and include these girls even when they were hard to love.


   I loved the way you loved my Dad.  You would tease and flirt and give him a hard time.  But you were always respectful of him and stood beside him.  I loved the way you’d laugh together and go off on little outings together.  When he bought a boat on the sly, you got a new swimsuit and just “jumped on board” by telling us we all needed to get chores done during the week because Saturdays would now be “let’s go to the lake” days.  Those are some great memories, those days spent waterskiing and picnicking at the lake.  They were full of the sound of your laughter and the sight of your happy smiles.

I am so grateful for the love you showed my children.  From sharing wedges of oranges with them when they were little, or taking them to McD’s for fries, or speeding up over the bumps on the road so it would tickle their tummies while they squealed with laughter, to sending them cute postcards of their favorite animal, and to supporting them in college and on missions.  There were so many other things you did for and taught my children.  You gave them a chance to love you and have that love returned.

One of the things I am most grateful for is your love for me.  Sometimes we didn’t get along.
 Usually my fault.  Sometimes we’d get angry with each other.  Again, my immaturity at fault.  Sometimes we did not meet each others expectations, which always led to disappointment and often to unkind words.  But through it all, the good and the not-so-good, I NEVER, EVER, doubted your love for me.  NEVER.  And when you left us and returned to your home in heaven, your perfect love is what I was left with in great abundance.  I was filled with, not only sadness, but with gratitude the day you passed, because I knew you had loved me the very best a mother could.  I was so grateful for the times that even when I let you down, when I was thoughtless and hurt you, when I was much less than perfect, YOU KEPT LOVING ME.  When all is said and done, that is what really matters.

  On this belated Mother’s day post, I honor my mother.  She gave me the 2 best gifts in this world.  Life and love.  There is no better.  Thanks Mom. I love you.

Coming Home

(Warning:  Very long post.  My apologies.)

 

 Whenever we leave home and go somewhere, we usually leave something behind and forget to bring it back with us.  Yep, we all do it.  Don’t deny it.  On the other hand, we often bring other things back with us.  Souvenirs, dirty laundry, art, a new t-shirt, a refrigerator magnet, sand between your toes; that sort of thing.  Hopefully we pay for those things, well, except for the sand and the laundry.  But there are other things we bring home.  And I’m not talking bedbugs.  Yucky.  No, I mean intangible things.  Memories.  Friendships.  Impressions.  Experiences.  We come home with these things as well.

We recently returned from 3 weeks in France, Scotland and Ireland.  We accumulated some beautiful memories and some amazing experiences.  Out of  the few tours we took and all our shopping for souvenirs and keepsakes, we found that what left the most lasting impressions were not things bought or tours paid for.  It was  the people we met and the little unusual things we did that were the best experiences, and there were SO many!  Here are just some of my favorites - 2 from each country.  (It was SOO hard to decide on just two!)  That said, here we go!!

Jessica (bun hair) and friends

**Escargot in Paris with 4 young ladies.  While in Paris we met up one evening with our daughter Jessica, our niece Jessica, and 2 of their friends.  (Yes, our daughter was in Paris bombing our vacation.)  Besides being super fun to meet up with our girl and her friends friends halfway across the world, we also got to treat them to a real french dinner - on condition that they try escargot.  (Snails, folks!)

Escargot for dinner anyone?

I have to tell you, it was absolutely hilarious watching 4 squeamish girls tackle some snails!  Dan led the way, downing his little morsel with no problem.  Time for the girls to eat there little slimy things.  Besides “Ewww!” and “Oh gross!”, comments included, “OMG!  I can see it’s antennae!” and “I think I felt it’s head!” and “Where’s the water?!”  Absolutely delightful on every level.  And memorable.  We parted ways a little bit braver with big smiles and a slight aftertaste.

Dan at the Carcassonne train station

**Witnessing my husband’s return to Carcassonne France.   39+ years ago, Dan served a 2 year mission for the church in southern France, his favorite city (and his longest assignment) being Carcassonne or “La Cite”.  Our 2nd morning there, we opened our shutters to a marching band on the cobblestone lane below our apartment. It was thrilling!  But on our first morning there, a Sunday, we went in search of an LDS church meeting to attend.   We found one, now a thriving ward instead of a tiny branch.  This was also thrilling, but in a different way.  Seeing him reconnect with those few individuals whom he had known “way back when” was especially touching.  It was an emotional reunion and I was so grateful to witness it.   I saw Dan in a whole new way that I’d never experienced before.  And it made me love him more.

Isle of Skye

**The Isle of Skye with Harish and Clemencia.   When making our travel plans, we decided to use Airbnb instead of hotels.  We wanted to get to know the real people of each country.  Harish and his wife were an Airbnb couple who hosted us for 2 nights.  Again, tea and cake were served as soon as we got there.  What an amiable tradition, to sit down as new friends and talk about life over a cuppa.  Harish was semi-retired and from South Africa/London, and Clemencia was an artist from Peru.  They had lived many places in the world and had a multi-cultured experience in life.  While Dan and Harish talked about world events, Clemencia and I talked about books and art.  I was inspired by this little woman who was so full of color and life.  

Old man Storr on Skye.  Killer hike!

Although we had such different backgrounds, we found much in common and embraced those commonalities as we visited, as well as appreciating our differences.  Our second and last night there, they invited us to eat a home-cooked dinner with them.  It was one of my most treasured memories, sitting around their kitchen table, in the twilight of evening, talking of this and that.  We were sad to say goodbye and promises were made to visit again, maybe next time we will be the hosts.

Crofting huts in Gearrannan

**Gearrannan Blackhouse Village and Andrea.  High on my list was a 2 day visit to the Isles of Harris and Lewis and a few nights at Gearrannan.  The blackhouse village is a group of authentic old crofters huts from the 1800’s that have been renovated for tourists.  They are made of 2 ft thick stone walls and thatched roofs.  They were nicknamed ‘blackhouses’ because they had no windows and the cooking fires inside blackened the walls.  The village is set on the green hills overlooking a small rocky bay by the ocean.  I can’t tell you how healing it was to be there in this ancient place, exposed to the harsh elements of cold wind, rain, and quiet solitude. 

Our last night there, we bundled up and went out
 to a little bench by the stone wall to watch the sun set over the Atlantic.  As we sat there waiting, a small group of women came out of the next hut to take a group picture.  Dan politely offered to take it for them.  There were several young women and one woman in her 40’s.  We took the pictures and the younger women scattered - most going up on the cliffs to witness the setting sun.  The older woman stayed, and for some reason, decided to confide in us.  With the raw emotions of grief, anger, hurt and disappointment, she tearfully told us of her husbands death by suicide just 4 weeks earlier.  At his request, she had come to the westernmost islands of Scotland, with her daughter, to scatter his ashes.  She had lost all her luggage, but not him, which she laughed and then cried about.  She battled with the “why” of it all, while being consumed with missing him, yet being angry at him for leaving her.  In the end, we hugged, and cried, together.  We exchanged addresses.  I pray she will find peace.  We will never forget Andrea from New Zealand.

**Ballymalis Castle and Kerry Woolen Mills.  Just a few days before we were to return to Dublin and fly back to the states, we discovered (thanks to my cousin) that I had ancestral roots in Killarney.  We were staying near there, so after a little research, we made a visit to Ballymalis and the Woolen Mill nearby.  The mill was still in operation after all these years.   Eagar was the last name of these ancestors and the woman at the mill confirmed that it had been owned by him in the late 1600’s and early 1700’s.  We then went about a mile to where the “castle” stood.  It’s really more of a “tower house”, but it was in a ruined state.  (It is being restored at present.)  Ok.  I know you are going to think I’ve lost my crackers, but here’s the part that left a mark on me.  As I stood quietly, contemplating these particular ancestors, who they were and what their life had been like, I wondered ‘what could I take away from this’.

Wicklow Mtns

More accurately, I wondered, “If John Eagar could stand before me right now, as my ‘umpteenth’ great-grandfather, what would he want me to know?”.  Would you think I’m crazy if I told you I got an answer?  Well, I did.  And I don’t care if you think I’m a nutcase, but I did get an answer.  It was a very simple impression, 7 words that came into my mind, and for me, it was profound and personal.  Not really what I would choose to hear, nevertheless, no way am I ever going to forget that one. 

**The Wild Atlantic Way.  In the southwest of Ireland is a little (meaning impossibly narrow) one - or one and a half- lane road that takes the adventurous traveler along the high cliffs and hills on the Atlantic side of the island,

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all the while driving on the WRONG side of the road!  It was exhilarating, frightening at times, and incredibly beautiful.  Never have I seen such a turquoise blue ocean or stood so high above the crashing waves.  At one spot, near the Blasket Isles, there was an old man playing the flute (or a version of a flute) as he sat on the cliff edge.  I was completed enchanted by his ethereal music. 

Sorry for the wind noises.

I decided to go closer, hopefully to talk with him.  I don’t know why I have this weird affinity for talking to strangers, but, there it is.  He was actually quite chatty.  He spoke of his music, his instruments, and his life by the sea.  With his weathered face, graying hair, simple clothes with eyes almost as blue as the sea, I felt like he knew what peace and contentment were.  Just as the wind and rain had scoured the rocks and hills, it had scoured away all that was superfluous in his life and had left him with a lovely simplicity.



I was reminded that we do not journey through this life alone. There are many ports and harbors, many people coming and going.  We are affected by all of it, to some extent.   And by that same token, we affect others, for better or for worse.  Not only do they leave imprints on us, we likewise leave an imprint on those we meet.  I wonder, what kind of imprint have I left?











In coming home, I not only brought a suitcase full of gifts and souvenirs and dirty laundry.  I came home changed, by the friends I met and made, by the little unexpected, but important moments I experienced, by the impressions felt and things learned.  I came home with a heart full of tender and lasting memories.

Coming home, I returned with much more than I left with.  For that I am richer, and so very grateful.

The Colors of M&M's in Europe

We are currently on a trip, vacation, holiday, or excursion in Europe.  I prefer to call it my “grand adventure” since I’ve had few adventures of this scale.  And it has been grand, for me at least.  It’s also been an adventure of self-discovery, which has not necessarily been “grand”, but rather, it has been very enlightening.  I will save the self-discovery revelations for another day.  Today, I’ll just jump into the observations I’ve made while on this “adventure”.

The language barrier:  When you go from California to France, there IS a language barrier.  Even if your hubby served an LDS mission in France 40 years ago and still speaks French, there IS a barrier.  But here’s the funny thing;  we are trying to speak French to them- their native language and, if they are able, they speak English back to you.  Whether they saw it as an opportunity to practice that language or just to make us feel more comfortable, it happened constantly in large cities and small ones.  There was my husband trying to communicate in their language and they just kept trying to speak broken English back to us! They are so considerate!

Scottish is kind of a foreign language.  The brogue can be hard to understand.  Almost more so than understanding French.  Context is key.  If you are asking where the gift shop is and it sounds like they said, “It’s a dang hot roll there”,  most likely they said something close to “It’s down that road there”.  I’m good with context and can figure things out.  My husband isn’t so good with context; he understands things in a literal way.  Consequently, he’s still wondering where the hot rolls are.  This type of thing happened many times, even in France.



Public bathrooms in Europe:  Now there’s a challenge.  First of all, they just call them “Toilets”.  After all, there aren’t any baths in public bathrooms, are there?  For your information, there are a few different types of bathrooms/toilets in Europe.  Toilets in public parks, Toilets in a visitor attraction site, bathrooms in restaurants, and paid toilets.  Toilets in public parks have zero TP, minimal privacy (doors optional) and are free.  Toilets in a visitor attraction are free but often you have to pay for TP.  Yeah.  I'm still trying to reason that one out.  Restaurant toilets are usually free and have free TP - you bought their food so it stands to reason it included toilet paper, right?  Then there are paid restrooms, where there are gates with coin slots.  You have to pay to do your basic human duty.  Really?  Paying for luxurious TP is one thing, but having to pay just to….well, you know?!  I found it is best to carry my own TP and to always be on the lookout for free restrooms before it’s too late.   Then again, there are plenty of trees in Europe.

Finding a restaurant is often harder than searching for the Holy Grail.  Holy cow! or Holy Grail!, it was our biggest challenge.  In France, most restaurants are only open from 11:30 to 1:30pm and then from 7-11pm.  And sometimes they just close cuz they don’t feel like working that day or have a private party. We like eating early in the evening so we don’t go to bed with a full stomach.  In Scotland it was similar, plus there were so few places to get a meal in the smaller towns.  Then there was the tea and alcohol component.  I lost count of the quizzical looks and shrugs of the shoulder when we would insist we didn't care for wine with our casoulet in France, or a good ale or guinness with our meat pie in Scotland.  And p.s. - never, ever refuse tea.  Just bring your own herbal blend and they can forgive that.

Black-faced sheep:  The Isle of Skye was absolutely delightful in so many ways.  Breathtaking vistas and heights and waterfalls.  But my favorite thing may well be their sheep.  Unique to these islands are black-faced sheep that have adult coats of long, flowing, 'Gandalf’s beard' wool, while their young have bright white fluffy wool with black faces and boots.  You will find them scattered here and there and everywhere on the green hills.  Being spring, we were able to see many lambs.  Cute, fluffy, bouncy lambs; they are good for hours of watching entertainment.   Somehow, it seemed, with their black faces, that they would look at us with incredible wisdom.  Or amusement.  It was hard to tell.

People:  There are many, many, many good and genuine people in this world.  Oh, I could go on and on with examples of this one.   Here are a few that stand out to me: there was the adorable white-haired, rosy cheeked woman in a Scottish ice cream shop who smilingly asked me if I needed a “nappie” in case I was a “bumbly-umpkins”, or the french people at church who were so happy to see an old missionary returned to them,  the couple at Loch Lommond who served us tea and cake, then showed us their garden. There was the woman on Harris who had lost her husband 4 weeks earlier, had come to the island to scatter his ashes  and needed a shoulder to cry on,  and there was the Indian/Chilean couple on the Isle of Skye who invited us to share their home-cooked dinner meal with them while we talked about the affairs of the world and the common good of the human race.  It was all so wonderful and amazing and endearing.  We are all truly God’s children and mostly filled with a desire to be good and kind to one another; we all want to connect with each other and feel that brotherhood.  The media wants us to believe otherwise.  I know better now.  No matter differences in religion, place of residence, culture, ethnicity or political leanings; we are all humanly connected as kindred spirits and have more in common than we realize. I love our similarities, but I find I love our differences as well. 

 And lastly, M&M’s.  Here in the UK, they have a light orange/coral color added to the M&M rainbow.  I think it tasted pretty much the same as the other colors.  I thought you would like to know that tidbit. 

Just a wee bit of Scottish info for ye.

Trippin' with your Significant Other.

Going on a trip - not for the faint of heart.

I don’t know about the rest of you couples, but there is something about going on a trip or vacation together that brings out the worst in our relationship.  It’s not really the actual trip or planning that’s so bad, it’s the getting ready for it; those last 2 days before leaving are total killers.  All the deficiencies in our characters flare up like the 4th of July.  Each pet peeve is accentuated in neon pink highlighter.  My husband has surely lost track of the number of times I have wildly proclaimed, “I am never going on a trip with you again!”.


Please, please, tell me I am not the only person to feel this way.

Here’s how it goes:
2 weeks before liftoff we are happy and optimistic.  The hubs proclaims he will be checking out the tires, air, fluids, etc on the car we will be driving to the airport or our destination. He will also pay any bills that will be due while we are gone and take care of any issues at work.  He  says he will do it early.   I, on the other hand, make grandiose plans to start packing early, to get my hair cut, to take care of necessary paperwork before the last minute. I’m also in charge of planning our itinerary and making reservations at hotels, etc.  I will call Mary’s school, clean out the fridge, scrub bathrooms and clean the house.  I LOVE coming home to a clean house.  Dan says he will take care of finding a pet sitter and someone to pick up the mail and newspaper. 
Everything sounds great and we are smiling big. 😁

1 week before our ‘bon voyage’ we are showing signs of stress.  The only thing we’ve done is to plan the itinerary and make a hair appt.  I mean, why clean the house a week early?  It’ll just get messy again, right?  And that pile of paperwork?  All I’ve managed to do is shift it from one spot to the next. 
Our smiles have worry lines at this point. 😏

6 days before the grand adventure I have forced myself to go thru the paperwork that needs attention.  Icky paperwork.  I’d rather clean 10 toilets used by men.  I have also started reminding Dan to find a pet sitter.  He still is dealing with work issues and has decided the lawn needs mowing. 
Smiles are interspersed with frowns. 😐

5 days before the exodus I start making everyone eat leftovers.  Yum.  Not.  I force Dan to sit down and help me make hotel reservations since we use his discounts.  If we are using Airbnb - then I made the reservations a month or more ago.  I remind Dan again about a pet sitter and the car.  I call the school to cancel bus pickup for Mary and let them know when she’ll be back.  Dan gets out the luggage after the 8th time I’ve asked/nagged him. 
Can you smile and nag at the same time?  😟

3-4 days before the ‘great escape’ the days blur.  Dan starts working overtime to catch up on any work stuff.  I’ve gone into paralyzed “why bother?” mode.  Besides getting my hair cut, I do anything that has nothing to do with our trip; things like, go to lunch with a friend, go on a hike, blog, watch a mini-series, start sewing a quilt or decorate a room that I’ve neglected for a year.  Dan asks me who he should find to get the mail and feed the cats. 
I scowl at him while writing in my blog.  😠

2 days before our get-away I awaken from my paralysis.  Dan notices my haircut and declares he needs one as well. (I am his barber).   He has found a cat-sitter and mail picker-upper.  I start madly doing laundry and run to the store for travel size items.  I clean bathrooms and dust bedrooms.  I stare at the inside of the fridge with loathing.  We eat the last of the leftovers and I am looking forward to take-out tomorrow.
Frustrated smiles/frowns are the norm now.  😬😤

Here is where things deteriorate rapidly.

1 day before our ill-planned journey Dan surprises me by only working a half day.  Probably because he wants a hair cut, not a hatchet job.  Nevertheless, I am grateful.  The washer is going with bed sheets (I LOVE coming home to clean sheets) and I’m in the middle of cleaning the fridge.  I bargain with him.  One haircut for the vacuuming.  He agrees.  After the haircut, he goes outside to fiddle with the car for 2-3 hours.  I shower off all the fuzz from his haircut and begin packing for me and for Mary.  I get the sheets out of the dryer and make the bed.  I peek outside and Dan is chewing the fat with a neighbor.  I finish my packing.  Dan is now outside trimming some trees.  I write instructions for the cat-sitter, then put together snacks for the trip.  He is now fertilizing the grass.  I vacuum for him - with a grudge.  
Not only am I not smiling, but there is a danger I will start cussing. 🙉 Dan is looking worried.😮

Departure day!  Dan gets up early and packs for himself.  We all bring our suitcases to the front door and he loads the car.  I clean up breakfast dishes and check the house for anything that has been forgotten.  Mary is dressed, I am ready.  We ASSUME we will be getting into the car any minute!  I feel relief flood over me - we have made it.  BUT THEN, Dan remembers some bills he needed to pay.  Tick, tock, tick, tock.  Mary and I watch “Newsies” to pass the time.  1-1/2 hours later, he has the bills taken care of.   Then he gets a call from work.  I threaten to bail out on the vacation at this point.  30 minutes later the ‘work’ problem has been resolved and I’ve cooled off.  Mary and I turn off the movie with the anticipation of finally hitting the road.  But Dan remembers he needs to take a key to the cat sitter and mail a few things.  He finds envelopes and stamps and we FINALLY pile into the car and drop off the key and head to the post office.  I am fuming.  Mary is oblivious.  I tell him this is the LAST trip I will EVER go on with him.  There is much silence, no, tense and anxious silence, in the car. 
No smiles.  None.  Zero.  I look out my window.  Occasionally growling may be heard…. 😖

But 2-4 hours into our trip, we are somehow talking to each other again.  And even smiling. 😄😊

Go figure.  Must be love - the real kind. 💕

What Down Syndrome and Autism Look like at our House.

Dear Reader,

I know you wonder, but are afraid to ask.  You think it’s impolite to inquire or to show that you don’t have a clue what goes on.  You don’t want to be intrusive.  You google it and you get the standard definitions and prognoses.  But you still don’t know what it’s really like.  You have a friend with a child with one of these diagnoses.  You may know someone who, like me, deals with a child with this dual diagnosis.  Maybe you don’t even know the official diagnosis.  Either way, you’d like to know so that you can either be more supportive or understanding, or so that you are just more aware.  I have friends and acquaintances that ask.  I appreciate their honest questions.  I am never offended by sincere inquiries; I am occasionally ‘put off’ by antiquated assumptions and even un-antiquated ones. 

I love how information is so easily obtainable in today’s world.  It is, however, still difficult to find out the day-to-day reality of such things.  “Does she dress herself?”, “What does she do all day?”, “Does she have friends?”.  All good and honest questions that I never mind answering.  So, to answer a handful of these questions, I’d like to walk you through a typical day with my Mary.


It’s not long after 6am that I reluctantly pull myself out of bed after icing some of the chronically troublesome spots.  I ruptured a disc a few years back trying to help Mary in the shower.  She’s strong and uncooperative at times, hence, the injury.  It flares up from time to time.  I throw on some sweats and go down to Mary’s room to get her going.  I put on my cheerful face and voice and sing a “Good Morning” while opening up her blinds and laying out her clothes.  I remind her to go to the bathroom and she grunts at me.  I then escort her to the bathroom and stand by while verbally encouraging her.  She doesn't’ do her toilet-ing independently.  She refuses, as usual to flush.  But she will put the lid down.  Yay.  I flush for her and then help her wash her hands and face.  Sometimes she fights me and I have to get creative.  Lots of singing and the “cheerful voice”.  When she resists there is often yelling on her part.  It sounds more like a wildcat scream than human yelling and it really ticks me off.  I have to really force myself to stay calm when she fights me.  To save us both, I will usually just walk out of the room for a bit.  Thankfully, this only happens a few days a month.  She returns to her room and dresses herself in the clothes I’ve laid out.  (Clothes have to be laid out “just so”.  If they are not, she will put them on backwards.  She’s even put on 2 pairs of pants before but no shirt!)  I make her bed and head to the kitchen to make her some breakfast.

As Mary has gotten older, she’s begun to be less active and put on weight, so, I try to make meals that are healthy for her.  After a breakfast of an egg and toast, I encourage her to bring me her dirty dishes.  She rarely will do this, but the occasional success keeps me trying.  After this we brush teeth and hair, then get ready for the bus that takes her to program.

Note:  We have only recently had services like a day program available to us.  We waited, on a waiting list, for over 12 years when we lived in Utah.  We had zero assistance, no job training, no day program.  I call those years the “Dark Ages”.  They were rough and always downhill sliding.   

We now have wonderful services for her.  Just the other day one of the aides called me to tell me that Mary was learning to cook!  What??  I was ecstatic.   Now, on Tuesdays, she helps to pick out what she’d like to prepare.  They have picture cards for her to choose her food.  That day she had picked a burrito and strawberries.  Then, she gets to go shopping; all of this is with assistance, of course.  She even gets to hand the cashier the $$!  On Wednesday, she works with the aides to prepare the food.   She’s even used a knife to cut the fruit.  Lastly, she sits down with the others and enjoys her meal.  I was so excited about this that I got misty-eyed.  So, great progress is being made in this new program!

Back to our day.  The bus brings her home around 3:30 pm.  She is usually tired by this point so we get a snack of fruit and chill with one of her favorite movies.  She loves musicals and lately her favorite has been “Newsies”.  She has many favorites actually.  I really believe, and actually have proof, that music is a link from her brain to speech.  When music is on, she will move her lips and often vocalize.  In church the other day, during the singing of a hymn, Mary was moving her lips to the music being played.  It was one of those small things that is pretty dang cool for us.  Familiar movies do the same thing.  One of our breakthrough moments a few years back was when she clearly said, “E.T. phone home”! 

The rest of the day/evening is spent eating dinner or going out, hanging out together, watching another movie, then bedtime.  Sounds pretty normal right?  Yeah, well, it is for us.  What isn’t normal is the way I am so exhausted at the end of a day, just from worrying about her constantly.  If we want to go anywhere, we have to get a sitter or take her with us.  Dates?  They are hard to arrange.  A moment alone?  Gotta wait till after 9pm.  Are there any blocks of time that I don’t think about where she is and what’s she doing?  Just when I sleep.  Sounds like the mom of young children right?  Yep, it’s very similar and I’ve been doing it for 34 years.


So, that’s a day in our life with Mary.  We won’t go into doctor/dentist visits where she has to be sedated to just get her in the office, trips to the store where she has a meltdown because it was too crowded and people brushed against her, or days when she’s sick and can’t tell us what is hurting.  Thankfully those days don’t happen too often. 

We rejoice when she says something, even if it’s, “Go away!”.  We count each smile she gives us as a blessing.  We thrill when she takes our hand and initiates physical contact.   We deeply appreciate it when Mary looks us in the eye, allows us to hug her, says a few words or just giggles.  Each little thing is really a HUGE thing to us.

In closing, I’d like to share one of my favorite things about life with Mary.  Bedtime.  We take her into her room to get her ready.  About this time she starts to giggle.  We lay out her pajamas - correctly.  By the time she begins to dress, she is giggling so hard she can barely see straight.  She will usually start with her “gibberish” talk which includes lots of nonsensical words and even more laughing.  It’s totally hilarious and I love it.  As we kiss her goodnight and turn out the light, the happy sounds continue.  Even as much as an hour later, we often still can hear her giggling or “talking” to herself.  It’s my favorite of favorites!

Some say I need to push her to achieve great things by the worlds standard.  Some say she needs speech training, vocational training, music lessons, and learning to read.  Some say she doesn’t have a full and rewarding life without those things.  Some say she needs to have goals and achievements.  I will challenge that thinking. 

When Mary is happy, there is no greater accomplishment than that.  

And it is enough.

"DO - OVERS"

 IF I COULD DO OVER ALL THOSE YESTERDAYS

I believe that living with regrets is a huge waste of time.  Self-recrimination, the burdening of your soul, bashing yourself over the head;  all a waste of life.  I know.  I’ve spent lots of time doing this very thing.  And what did I get from it?  Many sleepless nights, ulcers, chronic illness, depression, frustration, anger; the list goes on and on.  I even think it’s stunted my emotional growth.  And it has made me avoid human interaction at times.  It’s true.  Sometimes I just don’t like people much.

Yes folks, hanging on to your regrets is a form of emotional self-mutilation.  That’s right, you heard me.  We figuratively “beat ourselves up” over all the things we did wrong, badly, or stupidly.  So, why do we regret things?  Can there be a purpose?  Yes ma’am! (or sir)  IF you can quickly chalk those regrets up to experience and turn it into a lesson learned, then you can let them go and move on.  Kind of like cleaning out the junk drawer or the junk closet at home; you know, the one you always cuss at because it’s so dang disorganized and messy? 
So, here is MY list of “Things I’d ‘Do-Over’ if I Could”.


 
1. I’d slow down just a tad.   As my very good friend, Ferris Bueller once said, “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”.  We all know this is true.  Life, for me, seemed to really speed up once I hit adulthood.  There is something about being a kid and enjoying life; they are SO good at it!  But as we take on careers, responsibility, financial upward movement, family life and community involvement, this is the first thing to go - enjoying life.  So, what would I do over?  I’d savor the sound of my children’s voices; I’d play with them more and I’d reach over and take their hand one more time.  I’d ask them to tell me a story or something I didn’t know.  I’d take that road, less traveled, that I passed each day in my hurries.  I’d hike that trail I always wanted to hike, I’d stick my feet in the creek and splash.

I’d try to do the things that catch my fancy.  I’d go see that friend that I’ve been meaning to visit, before they’re gone.  I’d live in the moment more and make a lot less “to-do” lists!




2. I’d worry less.   Seriously, I could teach a 10 week course on “How TO Worry”.  Even as a child I was labeled a “worry-wart” by my mom.  I still do it.  And the only thing I get out of it is stress.  I worry about what might happen if “…”,  I worry about my family members, I worry about finances, I worry about not having enough time to do everything for everyone.
  And where has it gotten me?  Well, in all fairness, a bit of worry can move you to action.  BUT,  when “worry” fails to motivate you, when it begins to paralyze you; it is no longer your friend, it’s the enemy.  It steals your ability to look out from yourself and to REALLY see those around you.  It’s self-centered.  It causes you to snap at loved ones, to demand the impossible, to elevate your blood pressure, and to miss out on some pretty great things.  Things like:  peace, joy, inner strength, kindness, compassion….  And the list goes on.
 
3. I’d be more courageous.  Fear.  That great nemesis of us all.  It freezes us in our boots if we let it.  And, by golly, I have let it do just that!   I kept thinking, I’ll try that when I get older.  Well, guess what readers?  All you get as you get older without testing the waters, is greater fear and a larger variety of fears!  Here’s a sampling of my fears: afraid to hike alone (thank you hubby for that one), fear of going to a movie alone, fear of inconvenience or awkwardness, fear of exercise classes, fear of bodily injury, fear of asking for things, fear of showing my fat ankles, fear of disappointment, fear of confrontation, to name just a few.  And what has all this fear gotten me?  One word:  Lack.  Lack of enrichment, lack of personal growth, lack of physical stamina, lack of personal strength, and lack of ADVENTURE.  Due to the thoughtful gift of a sweet friend who knows I struggle with fear, I have begun to try new things.  Like, I tried Indian food for the first time. I made a new acquaintance, I am taking on a new venture (Days for Girls), I hiked a new trail BY MYSELF.  And what do I have to show for it?
 Just some worn out shoes, a big fat smile and a little less fear!!  I’ve even tried to not run away from confrontation or disagreements.  Not so many smiles there, that one is still really tough..
 
4. I’d be more honest.  Now, I’m not implying that I’m a “liar, liar, pants on fire”.  But sometimes I’m afraid to be real or AUTHENTIC.  It would be so refreshing to say what I think (with kindness, mind you) and to put myself out there the way I am.  No apologies, subterfuges, excuses or worries about what people might think of me. 

 I remember years and years ago, finding out that some peeps (barely acquaintances) had been talking bad about me.  Instead of feeling betrayed and hurt, I was shocked!!  I mean, who was I that they’d waste their time talking about me?  That should have taught me a big lesson; the lesson being that it doesn’t matter how well you dress, how smart you are, how perfect your hair or makeup is, how cute your boyfriend is or even just how good a person you are at heart.  People gonna talk.  And you can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it.  So, I’m trying to just be more honest about who I am, how I live my life, and what I say to folks.  Cuz in the end, it doesn't really matter if you try to impress anyone.  They will think what they think. Better to feel okay with yourself and know that you are who you are.
 

So, yeah, I'm not perfect.  I  I cuss a little and it feels good.  I drink too many sodas.  I have hang-ups and myriad faults.  I.  AM.  HUMAN.  There it is…!






5. I would love more freely.  I grew up in a family where I was pretty sure I was loved.  Most of the time. But, we rarely SAID those words OUT LOUD.
And touch wasn’t much of a thing.  Occasional hugs and pats on the back, leaning on a parents shoulder once in a while were the norm.   

  I married a very loving, touchy-feely, affectionate man.  He says “I love you” several times a day and always wants a hug.  So, instead of fighting it, I morphed. 


I liked that affection in my family.
But, I’ve always been cautious with those outside the immediate family circle.  I guess that’s a sign of the times we live in.  But, let's not talk about that.  I’m speaking about acts of love for everyone;  giving your beanie to a stranger, offering a kind word to a harried cashier, a helping hand to a distraught friend.  I’m talking about more than taking over a casserole or a plate of cookies, which are good things too.  I’m referring to the show of REAL love and caring to someone. 
  Outside my comfort zone?  OOOHHH YEAH!!  That fear of rejection is there.  But, real love, Christ-like love, charity,  does not think of itself.  Only of the person needing that love and kindness.  (I’m preaching to myself here)  Still working on this one too.


 

**So, there’s my SHORT list of things I would do over.  Good news is that it’s not too late to start.  I may look ancient, but there is still time for some, if not all, of these “do-overs”. 



Guess I’d better get crackin’ on that “junk drawer”.