Have you had this conversation yet parents? The completely irrational child that says "you love --- best!" "They are your favorite, I just know!" And your response is? My response is "yep" I don't always mean it, but if one of my kids is going to pull this crap, well, I only think it is best to agree with them and move on.
In all seriousness, I admire any parent that can make all of their children feel equally loved and admired at all times. I came from parents that could not do that and I am a parent that does not seem to do that. Oh, I knew I was loved. But there were times when I was not the most important. And that was right. With five children, there was bound to be times when one child needed a parent more, or pleased a parent more or (in my case) less and needed extra love or punishment. It wasn't a matter of being the favorite, though Sheila and Dick were Mom's favorites. It was a matter of putting a little more parenting where it was needed.
Hayley is quite sure that she is not my favorite. I tend to agree with her because how can I argue with her? If I deny it, then I look guilty. If I say nothing then she says I have no answer. So I agree and, because she is my favorite, make her happy.
Ashlyn knows she is my favorite. Whether she is or not, she just knows she is. In other words, I don't think Ashlyn gives it much thought. Maybe because she has known me longest, she knows that I do my best to love my three the best I can. She knows that each one of my kids is my favorite. I know it sounds like a cheap answer and it is, to an unfair question.
I have three very different children. I cannot love them the same. I love them the same amount - endless - but the love can be different for different reasons and at different times.
I remember having this overwhelming love and pride for Ashlyn at my mom's wake. She was fifteen at the time. Ashlyn and her cousin had stayed in the funeral home. They spoke to people and represented the grandchildren quite gracefully. Hayley and Jacob were outside a lot, being 13 and 10. I didn't love them less, just differently. More nervously as I knew they were out near the swans. I loved them for being outside and enjoying themselves, for finding happy instead of sad.
Hayley has come into her own so much this past year. She has found a career path that excites her and a young man that loves her. She is a young woman with dreams and goals. I cannot possibly love her the same as I love Ashlyn or Jacob because she is neither of them. I can glow her her glow and be so proud of her as she makes these new and wonderful choices.
Jacob is loved in yet another way. He is my son, so that is a different kind of love from daughters. He is also growing into a young man so that love grows and shifts as well. I love him as he discusses what his future holds. I love him for his unashamed profession of his love for me.
I don't have favorites. With kids like these, it would be impossible to choose. Honestly, truthfully, I love them all the same amount. Bunches and bunches.
So Hayley, just accept it, you are my favorite. Except that I love Jacob more. And Ashlyn, I love her a lot, too.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Friday, December 21, 2012
I'm Just Saying
That was going to be the title of my blog, but it was already taken. So I switched it to Kind of Like Writing, but this blog is still just my thoughts and opinions. My musings, much like Peggy Hill's, are ridiculous and have no basis in science. I think what I think because of the life I have lead, the man I have married and the children that I have had. My parents have also influenced my opinions a great deal, but my opinions often differed from my parents.
So yesterday I posted this status "have you ever had a status that was so true yet so polarizing that posting it would cause at least three fourths of your friends to delete you?" I got some silly responses and some serious responses. I tried to form in my mind exactly what I wanted to say that would not piss a lot of people off, but came to the realization that that was just not gonna happen so I said this.
"I haven't posted anything really offensive- I was just wondering if people ever had such a post. You know one about abortions or gun control or mental illness or the war or the president or the Dallas Cowboys or puppy mills or religion or prayers in school or creationism or aliens building pyramids or killing bin laden or waterboarding or violent video games or adventure time or Disney films or gay marriage or speed cameras or pot or personal responsibility. I was just wondering, that's all!" I got nothing after that.
Facebook gets pretty darn opinionated after a national tragedy, during a war or election and in the week before the Super Bowl and during the game. Hayley had made the comment that this was when she needed to avoid Facebook because it just drove her nuts! I think she is correct.
I grew up around guns. I watched war movies. MASH was on daily, twice daily, thrice daily. I, according to some doctors, have a mental illness. I cut for over twenty years. My son plays violent video games. He has always known guns, his father carries one for a living. My son does not publicly pray in school. These are all reasons that have been given for the horrible actions taken by different people in recent months and years. Horrible, horrific actions. Actions that I cannot even comprehend. Experts all over television and opinions all over Facebook point the finger at everything, everything but the persons that committed the acts. Where is the personal responsibility?
A couple of years ago, a kid got really pissed off at a teacher in school, tried to throw an overhead projector at him, missed and hit my Jacob. After that, I heard a lot of reasons why this kid did what he did. He had issues and blah, blah, blah. No one would just say that the kid was a shit and he needed to have been parented, not labeled. He needed to take responsibility, not be coddled.
Why can't there be more personal responsibility? Why can't there be awful people that do not suffer from a mental illness? Why can't they just be assholes, or pieces of shit, or evil?
So yesterday I posted this status "have you ever had a status that was so true yet so polarizing that posting it would cause at least three fourths of your friends to delete you?" I got some silly responses and some serious responses. I tried to form in my mind exactly what I wanted to say that would not piss a lot of people off, but came to the realization that that was just not gonna happen so I said this.
"I haven't posted anything really offensive- I was just wondering if people ever had such a post. You know one about abortions or gun control or mental illness or the war or the president or the Dallas Cowboys or puppy mills or religion or prayers in school or creationism or aliens building pyramids or killing bin laden or waterboarding or violent video games or adventure time or Disney films or gay marriage or speed cameras or pot or personal responsibility. I was just wondering, that's all!" I got nothing after that.
Facebook gets pretty darn opinionated after a national tragedy, during a war or election and in the week before the Super Bowl and during the game. Hayley had made the comment that this was when she needed to avoid Facebook because it just drove her nuts! I think she is correct.
I grew up around guns. I watched war movies. MASH was on daily, twice daily, thrice daily. I, according to some doctors, have a mental illness. I cut for over twenty years. My son plays violent video games. He has always known guns, his father carries one for a living. My son does not publicly pray in school. These are all reasons that have been given for the horrible actions taken by different people in recent months and years. Horrible, horrific actions. Actions that I cannot even comprehend. Experts all over television and opinions all over Facebook point the finger at everything, everything but the persons that committed the acts. Where is the personal responsibility?
A couple of years ago, a kid got really pissed off at a teacher in school, tried to throw an overhead projector at him, missed and hit my Jacob. After that, I heard a lot of reasons why this kid did what he did. He had issues and blah, blah, blah. No one would just say that the kid was a shit and he needed to have been parented, not labeled. He needed to take responsibility, not be coddled.
Why can't there be more personal responsibility? Why can't there be awful people that do not suffer from a mental illness? Why can't they just be assholes, or pieces of shit, or evil?
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
It's A Wonderful Life
Finally, after forty three years, I saw It's A Wonderful Life. I was not prepared for the type of movie that it was. I thought it was going to be incredibly sappy and without much entertainment value but I was in for a treat. Jimmy Stewart is one of my favorites, Harvey being one of my top ten movies. Though the character of George Bailey is not quite as enduring as Elwood P. Dowd (seriously, who could be) he struck a cord with me.
The obvious question after seeing this movie is Who would name their kid Zuzu?
The next obvious question is, what would the world you live in be like if you were never born? I thought of that question and it's answer and, well, came to the conclusion that I have no idea. Obviously, if I didn't work at Walgreens or the hardware store, or the paper route, someone else would have. They would have given excellent customer service, would have bitched to their boss and would have replaced me pretty easily. Oh, there would have been those moments, those customers that I connected with in such a way that someone else may not have, but from a stocking shelves and selling stuff point of view, life would have gone on.
Life on Park Avenue would have been quite different indeed. Now what I am about to say is not a plea for pity, it is the truth- life on Park Avenue would have been much simpler without the fifth Snow kid. I mucked things up, I am well aware of that. Oh, I was loved and spoiled and much appreciated, but if there would have never been me, my parents lives would have been much easier. Of course, with out me, there would have been no trips to Germany...Anyway, the point I am trying to make is I never saved Dicky or Sheila from the pond. I did not rescue puppies from burning buildings. I did create a lot of angst and worry for my parents. They could have done without that!
I think about Danny and the ripple he has had on the world. I cannot begin to imagine the impact he has made. Through the military and law enforcement, his impact is really quite, well, big. Bigger than I can know. I am often envious of Danny for this- he knows, at the end of his day, what he has accomplished. Bad guy in jail. Drunk off the street. Meth no longer for sale.
Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob are only beginning their life long impacts. I can very clearly see what would be missing in my life if one of them had not been born. I don't know if they see it for themselves, I hope they do. I hope that they see the light they bring, the joy, the laughter. I pray that they continue to see the differences that they are capable of making in others lives.
I could write for days on the wonderful lives of Danny and Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob. But lets go back to me!
Here on Pleasant Street, well that is where I would be missed. Who would have Barron loved? Who would love and tolerate Harlow? Would another woman had been able to love and support Danny the way that I do? Would Danny and another woman had made such awesome kids? That is a rhetorical question - it is an impossibility.
I have a wonderful life. Though I am not loaning money so that people can buy homes and escape the horrors of Potterville, I am being kind (usually) and helpful (sometimes) and hilarious (always). I am never going to get a visit from Clarence. I will not get to see the world without me. In fact, none of us will ever get that. None of us will never know all the impacts we make on a daily basis. So I am going to keep living my wonderful life and try to make the lives around me, well, wonderful as well.
Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?
The obvious question after seeing this movie is Who would name their kid Zuzu?
The next obvious question is, what would the world you live in be like if you were never born? I thought of that question and it's answer and, well, came to the conclusion that I have no idea. Obviously, if I didn't work at Walgreens or the hardware store, or the paper route, someone else would have. They would have given excellent customer service, would have bitched to their boss and would have replaced me pretty easily. Oh, there would have been those moments, those customers that I connected with in such a way that someone else may not have, but from a stocking shelves and selling stuff point of view, life would have gone on.
Life on Park Avenue would have been quite different indeed. Now what I am about to say is not a plea for pity, it is the truth- life on Park Avenue would have been much simpler without the fifth Snow kid. I mucked things up, I am well aware of that. Oh, I was loved and spoiled and much appreciated, but if there would have never been me, my parents lives would have been much easier. Of course, with out me, there would have been no trips to Germany...Anyway, the point I am trying to make is I never saved Dicky or Sheila from the pond. I did not rescue puppies from burning buildings. I did create a lot of angst and worry for my parents. They could have done without that!
I think about Danny and the ripple he has had on the world. I cannot begin to imagine the impact he has made. Through the military and law enforcement, his impact is really quite, well, big. Bigger than I can know. I am often envious of Danny for this- he knows, at the end of his day, what he has accomplished. Bad guy in jail. Drunk off the street. Meth no longer for sale.
Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob are only beginning their life long impacts. I can very clearly see what would be missing in my life if one of them had not been born. I don't know if they see it for themselves, I hope they do. I hope that they see the light they bring, the joy, the laughter. I pray that they continue to see the differences that they are capable of making in others lives.
I could write for days on the wonderful lives of Danny and Ashlyn, Hayley and Jacob. But lets go back to me!
Here on Pleasant Street, well that is where I would be missed. Who would have Barron loved? Who would love and tolerate Harlow? Would another woman had been able to love and support Danny the way that I do? Would Danny and another woman had made such awesome kids? That is a rhetorical question - it is an impossibility.
I have a wonderful life. Though I am not loaning money so that people can buy homes and escape the horrors of Potterville, I am being kind (usually) and helpful (sometimes) and hilarious (always). I am never going to get a visit from Clarence. I will not get to see the world without me. In fact, none of us will ever get that. None of us will never know all the impacts we make on a daily basis. So I am going to keep living my wonderful life and try to make the lives around me, well, wonderful as well.
Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Last Night
Tonight is Danny's last night on overnights. He has been on this shift since leaving the Army in October of 1998. It has worked well for our family. We didn't have to have babysitters in the summer or when the kids were home from school. Danny would get home from work just as I was getting up for work. We always had our evenings together. We were always able to eat dinner together as a family.
But it's time now to move on, move over. Danny is going to days as a detective. This is a regular shift, no nights, no weekends, no holidays. Too weird. Of course, he will be on call regularly and that will include nights, weekends and holidays. And there will be times when the hours will be much longer than 9-5 or what ever his shift will be. But for the most part, we will be normal.
I know that he is very excited for the new adventure. I don't know if I am. I joke about not wanting to share the bed or the late night tv, but it isn't that. I just keep thinking he is going to miss hanging out with the scum of Des Moines. I think he is going to miss the pleasant interactions that he is accustom to with meth heads and crack whores. I think he will long for the days (nights) when the average client had a below average I.Q. But then again, the idiots are not confined to the midnight hours.
Starting Monday, Danny puts on dress shirt and tie (and pants). No more uniform. No more uniform? Not since 1989 has that happened. I don't know what it is like to not have something with patches hanging in my closet. It will be strange. I will miss the sound of velcro every morning. That sweet sound that Danny is home and is safe.
I feel like we are starting something completely new. No more leaving early from the party, or not even going because of work. He can watch a Monday Night Football game to the end. We won't be rushed each evening. It will be a slight adjustment, but one that will be really quite grand.
But then there is Harlow. She camps out next to my side of the bed. Danny will kick her out the first night she snores. Emmitt will lose his place on Danny's side of the bed. Sophie will be kicked out because she knocks on the door at three in the morning to be let out. Elsa can stay because she is a good night time kitty. They will have a hard time adjusting, that is for certain.
So here it is, Danny's last night. Good on ya sir! See you in the morning.
But it's time now to move on, move over. Danny is going to days as a detective. This is a regular shift, no nights, no weekends, no holidays. Too weird. Of course, he will be on call regularly and that will include nights, weekends and holidays. And there will be times when the hours will be much longer than 9-5 or what ever his shift will be. But for the most part, we will be normal.
I know that he is very excited for the new adventure. I don't know if I am. I joke about not wanting to share the bed or the late night tv, but it isn't that. I just keep thinking he is going to miss hanging out with the scum of Des Moines. I think he is going to miss the pleasant interactions that he is accustom to with meth heads and crack whores. I think he will long for the days (nights) when the average client had a below average I.Q. But then again, the idiots are not confined to the midnight hours.
Starting Monday, Danny puts on dress shirt and tie (and pants). No more uniform. No more uniform? Not since 1989 has that happened. I don't know what it is like to not have something with patches hanging in my closet. It will be strange. I will miss the sound of velcro every morning. That sweet sound that Danny is home and is safe.
I feel like we are starting something completely new. No more leaving early from the party, or not even going because of work. He can watch a Monday Night Football game to the end. We won't be rushed each evening. It will be a slight adjustment, but one that will be really quite grand.
But then there is Harlow. She camps out next to my side of the bed. Danny will kick her out the first night she snores. Emmitt will lose his place on Danny's side of the bed. Sophie will be kicked out because she knocks on the door at three in the morning to be let out. Elsa can stay because she is a good night time kitty. They will have a hard time adjusting, that is for certain.
So here it is, Danny's last night. Good on ya sir! See you in the morning.
Monday, December 3, 2012
I Am Running
Running, by definition, is not what I am doing. There are no track athletes taking notice of my speed and form. There is no one taking notice of my speed and form mainly because there is no speed and my form is pretty pathetic.
But I am running. I have started the couch to five kilometer program on my fancy pants phone. The app tells me to warm up, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, cool down. What I actually do is warm up, no problem there. I have 80s rock in my old school headphones. My ears are too little for ear buds so I am sporting the 80s type. Nothing quite as cool as 70s rollerskating headphones, but its what works for me. I am moving right along warming up and shit. then she tells me to run. And run I do. Well, not lion is chasing me run, more of a good jog. My form is good, I am breathing, nice stride. And then the nice lady tells me to walk. And walk I do. We repeat this a couple of times and then something terrible happens.
I have taken a turn onto a hilly street and the bitch tells me to run. Run my ass. More like a shuffle. And I don't mean Superbowl Shuffle. I mean I cannot lift my legs to save my sorry self shuffle. There is no form, no breathing, no stride. I am actually moving backward and my breathing has become this gasping. I feel like I should be pulling an oxygen tank to offset my unfiltered camels induced hacking (ok, that is a bit of an over exaggeration).
And then we are friends again because she tells me it is time to walk. She flips out on me one or two more times and I really try to run. But I am moving slower than if I were walking. It is frustrating. It pisses me off. It is the exact opposite of this elusive runner's high all the cool kids talk about.
Finally it is cool down time. I am really good at the cool down time. In fact, I pick it up a bit and am feeling pretty good. In fact, I feel good enough to jog, but it isn't jog time, it is cool down time. Being the rule breaker that I am not, I continue to walk, to cool down, to let my heart rate settle and my breathing return to normal.
I really want to quit. I want to just walk. I like to give up on things that are hard. Hard is dumb. Giving up is easy. I like easy. But in eight months time I have a ten mile obstacle course. So hard or easy, I cannot quit. In fact, I have to do a lot more than just learn to run. I have to build my core strength so I don't blow my back. I have to improve (and by improve I mean create some!) my upper body strength so I can pull myself over a wall. I have to stretch so I don't pull a hammy.
There is a basement full of just about everything I need to reach my goals. I don't have a treadmill, but I can run outside until it gets cold and then I will switch it up to cardio indoors. I have to. I have to get this body in fighting shape because when this race is over I plan to start MMA fighting. You know, or sit on the couch.
But I am running. I have started the couch to five kilometer program on my fancy pants phone. The app tells me to warm up, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, cool down. What I actually do is warm up, no problem there. I have 80s rock in my old school headphones. My ears are too little for ear buds so I am sporting the 80s type. Nothing quite as cool as 70s rollerskating headphones, but its what works for me. I am moving right along warming up and shit. then she tells me to run. And run I do. Well, not lion is chasing me run, more of a good jog. My form is good, I am breathing, nice stride. And then the nice lady tells me to walk. And walk I do. We repeat this a couple of times and then something terrible happens.
I have taken a turn onto a hilly street and the bitch tells me to run. Run my ass. More like a shuffle. And I don't mean Superbowl Shuffle. I mean I cannot lift my legs to save my sorry self shuffle. There is no form, no breathing, no stride. I am actually moving backward and my breathing has become this gasping. I feel like I should be pulling an oxygen tank to offset my unfiltered camels induced hacking (ok, that is a bit of an over exaggeration).
And then we are friends again because she tells me it is time to walk. She flips out on me one or two more times and I really try to run. But I am moving slower than if I were walking. It is frustrating. It pisses me off. It is the exact opposite of this elusive runner's high all the cool kids talk about.
Finally it is cool down time. I am really good at the cool down time. In fact, I pick it up a bit and am feeling pretty good. In fact, I feel good enough to jog, but it isn't jog time, it is cool down time. Being the rule breaker that I am not, I continue to walk, to cool down, to let my heart rate settle and my breathing return to normal.
I really want to quit. I want to just walk. I like to give up on things that are hard. Hard is dumb. Giving up is easy. I like easy. But in eight months time I have a ten mile obstacle course. So hard or easy, I cannot quit. In fact, I have to do a lot more than just learn to run. I have to build my core strength so I don't blow my back. I have to improve (and by improve I mean create some!) my upper body strength so I can pull myself over a wall. I have to stretch so I don't pull a hammy.
There is a basement full of just about everything I need to reach my goals. I don't have a treadmill, but I can run outside until it gets cold and then I will switch it up to cardio indoors. I have to. I have to get this body in fighting shape because when this race is over I plan to start MMA fighting. You know, or sit on the couch.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Hot Jesus, Hot Paul
So back in high school there was a portrait of Jesus in the chapel. A close up of his face. His completion clear of stubble, his rich brown hair feathered back from his face. His eyes a piercing blue. If it weren't Jesus, heck, if it were Jesus, this guy was cute.
Fast forward twenty five years later and a church group that I have joined. I am not sure how it came up, I think one of the women either presented a prayer card with this image on it or had bought a larger framed print for their home. Either way, I failed to have my filter on my brain or mouth and commented on the Hot Jesus. No disrespect meant, and I hope no disrespect taken, because the man in this print is good looking. And if we were all created in God's image and Jesus is God's Son well, you see where I am going with this. Anyway, Hot Jesus.
Later the entire group was given prayer cards of Hot Jesus.
Now in contrast to this Hot Jesus image was the teacher (killjoy) that described the times of Jesus as really rather un-hot. She left us with an image of a filthy man who probably had lice. He washed infrequently and walked every where in desert heat. Now remember that it is a dry heat so, forget it, Jesus probably stank. Dental hygiene, unheard of. And well, you all get the picture. Which is exactly why I want the picture of Hot Jesus.
I don't want to think of anyone from the past like they actually would have been. Marie Antoinette with chicken fat on her face to moisturize her skin. Henry the eighth with his gaping open wound on this thigh, turkey leg juice dripping from his chin. No thanks, give me the beautiful queen, the handsome, physically fit king. Make my mental image of history like a 1930s Cecil B Demille film not some historically Oscar winner that makes me feel too queasy to enjoy my popcorn.
Now on to my other theory. And this one is about Saul/Paul. I think Paul was the first Teen Beat type heart throb. Call me crazy (you won't be the first) but look at the facts. And by facts I mean the stuff we know and guess about Paul and the life he lead. By facts, I also mean by what seems more exciting than the truth!
Fact- Paul was Saul, a roman soldier. Roman soldiers are buff. They are out there loping off heads with swords, wearing armor, riding horses. Saul had the thighs and biceps of a bodybuilder. Sword wielding would require great core strength. Saul not only had a six pack, but I would venture to guess an eight pack. So he was buff.
Then there was the blinding and getting his ass thrown from the horse. Practically smited, he had the good sense to change his ways and his name. So now, not only was he ripped, he was sensitive and he was Paul. Who doesn't like a guy named Paul. (Sorry John, George and Ringo).
Paul travels around sharing the Good News of Jesus. He comes into town, the girls are lining the streets weeping, screaming, swooning. You know they were. And then what does he do when he leaves? He writes them. Now he is buff, sensitive, thoughtful Paul. No wonder he became so popular.
Now before you gasp at the very idea that I would write and talk about Jesus and Paul in this manner, remember I mean no disrespect. I have all the respect in the world for these two. They were out there saving souls, mine included. We all know what Jesus gave up, and Paul followed a very similar path. Talking about these religious and historical people in such a common way makes them more real to me. I like to think of Jesus laughing at Peter's antics. Or Paul stopping at the papyrus store to pick up some new stationary. After all, if we were all made in God's image then He must have a sense of humor as well.
Fast forward twenty five years later and a church group that I have joined. I am not sure how it came up, I think one of the women either presented a prayer card with this image on it or had bought a larger framed print for their home. Either way, I failed to have my filter on my brain or mouth and commented on the Hot Jesus. No disrespect meant, and I hope no disrespect taken, because the man in this print is good looking. And if we were all created in God's image and Jesus is God's Son well, you see where I am going with this. Anyway, Hot Jesus.
Later the entire group was given prayer cards of Hot Jesus.
Now in contrast to this Hot Jesus image was the teacher (killjoy) that described the times of Jesus as really rather un-hot. She left us with an image of a filthy man who probably had lice. He washed infrequently and walked every where in desert heat. Now remember that it is a dry heat so, forget it, Jesus probably stank. Dental hygiene, unheard of. And well, you all get the picture. Which is exactly why I want the picture of Hot Jesus.
I don't want to think of anyone from the past like they actually would have been. Marie Antoinette with chicken fat on her face to moisturize her skin. Henry the eighth with his gaping open wound on this thigh, turkey leg juice dripping from his chin. No thanks, give me the beautiful queen, the handsome, physically fit king. Make my mental image of history like a 1930s Cecil B Demille film not some historically Oscar winner that makes me feel too queasy to enjoy my popcorn.
Now on to my other theory. And this one is about Saul/Paul. I think Paul was the first Teen Beat type heart throb. Call me crazy (you won't be the first) but look at the facts. And by facts I mean the stuff we know and guess about Paul and the life he lead. By facts, I also mean by what seems more exciting than the truth!
Fact- Paul was Saul, a roman soldier. Roman soldiers are buff. They are out there loping off heads with swords, wearing armor, riding horses. Saul had the thighs and biceps of a bodybuilder. Sword wielding would require great core strength. Saul not only had a six pack, but I would venture to guess an eight pack. So he was buff.
Then there was the blinding and getting his ass thrown from the horse. Practically smited, he had the good sense to change his ways and his name. So now, not only was he ripped, he was sensitive and he was Paul. Who doesn't like a guy named Paul. (Sorry John, George and Ringo).
Paul travels around sharing the Good News of Jesus. He comes into town, the girls are lining the streets weeping, screaming, swooning. You know they were. And then what does he do when he leaves? He writes them. Now he is buff, sensitive, thoughtful Paul. No wonder he became so popular.
Now before you gasp at the very idea that I would write and talk about Jesus and Paul in this manner, remember I mean no disrespect. I have all the respect in the world for these two. They were out there saving souls, mine included. We all know what Jesus gave up, and Paul followed a very similar path. Talking about these religious and historical people in such a common way makes them more real to me. I like to think of Jesus laughing at Peter's antics. Or Paul stopping at the papyrus store to pick up some new stationary. After all, if we were all made in God's image then He must have a sense of humor as well.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Our Friend Bernie
This past Monday our family lost a dear and much loved friend. Bernie Allard had been dating my dad for just over four years. Her death was sudden and has left a gaping hole in our family. Though I didn't know her nearly as well as my Cedar Rapids siblings did, I knew what she did. She brought joy to my dad. She brought wisdom to my sisters. She brought a sense of grandma to my nieces and nephews.
To me, she brought just a little bit of my mom to big, important family affairs. For that little gift, I will always be grateful. I don't know if they knew each other, my mom and Bernie. (My dad and Bernie's deceased husband were classmates so they may have known each other a little). Though I imagine that my mom has sought her out by now, up there in heaven. I am sure that my mom has thanked her for her love and kindness that she gave us all. Mom was big on thank you notes, but I don't think that is an option there. Anyway, Bernie would sneak up to me at some point when I was particularly emotional and she would tell me "your mom would have loved this" or "your mom would be so proud". And I would be so grateful for that. For that simple gift.
Just two weeks ago my sister Crissy planned a surprise eightieth birthday party for Bernie. All of my mom's sisters and brother were there. That spoke volumes about how people felt about Bernie. My mom's family loved her dearly because she was wonderful AND she was wonderful to my mom's family. How lucky are we to see that kind of love? Very lucky indeed.
And at Bernie's wake, there were so many people there because of my dad. There to share in his grief, in all of our grief. My kids would ask me who I was talking to and I would explain that it was a guy that grew up across the street from our house. Did he know Bernie they would ask. Nope, I would tell them. He knew us, and he knew we were hurting. I think that made an impression on them. Grief is shared, it makes the burden lighter.
As I move forward from knowing Bernie Allard, I pray that I take with me her joy and humor. Her love. Her sense of style. I pray that she continues to impact my life is gentle ways. I pray that my dad finds comfort in her memory and that my siblings and family continue to rejoice in having had known her so well. I pray that Bernie keeps an eye on us as we move through our lives.
Thanks Bernie for your love and laughter.
To me, she brought just a little bit of my mom to big, important family affairs. For that little gift, I will always be grateful. I don't know if they knew each other, my mom and Bernie. (My dad and Bernie's deceased husband were classmates so they may have known each other a little). Though I imagine that my mom has sought her out by now, up there in heaven. I am sure that my mom has thanked her for her love and kindness that she gave us all. Mom was big on thank you notes, but I don't think that is an option there. Anyway, Bernie would sneak up to me at some point when I was particularly emotional and she would tell me "your mom would have loved this" or "your mom would be so proud". And I would be so grateful for that. For that simple gift.
Just two weeks ago my sister Crissy planned a surprise eightieth birthday party for Bernie. All of my mom's sisters and brother were there. That spoke volumes about how people felt about Bernie. My mom's family loved her dearly because she was wonderful AND she was wonderful to my mom's family. How lucky are we to see that kind of love? Very lucky indeed.
And at Bernie's wake, there were so many people there because of my dad. There to share in his grief, in all of our grief. My kids would ask me who I was talking to and I would explain that it was a guy that grew up across the street from our house. Did he know Bernie they would ask. Nope, I would tell them. He knew us, and he knew we were hurting. I think that made an impression on them. Grief is shared, it makes the burden lighter.
As I move forward from knowing Bernie Allard, I pray that I take with me her joy and humor. Her love. Her sense of style. I pray that she continues to impact my life is gentle ways. I pray that my dad finds comfort in her memory and that my siblings and family continue to rejoice in having had known her so well. I pray that Bernie keeps an eye on us as we move through our lives.
Thanks Bernie for your love and laughter.
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