September 27, 1971 was Monday

My life forever changed on September 27, 1971 when your life ended. I wonder how our lives would have grown together thru these years. Your spirit does waltz within me. I love you, Mama.

Birthday BeDazzler...

That's my Mom.

Today is her birthday

And 83 years young she would be-

I lost Mom 40 years ago this year. so

Been a motherless daughter longer

Than I physically had my mom-

Sad because of life we missed out on yet,

Glad because of the life we did have and how

Mom's spirit dances with me

Every minute of every day.

I miss you Mama.

May 8, 2011 is Mother's Day

Mom and Me. We just started our lives together. We thought an entire life time was ahead of us. We did start our with lots of promise. Three months after weight loss surgery, because of complications, Mom died. She was 43, and I was just 13. Not quite the entire life time we thought we'd have. Since then, Mother's Day has not always been rose petals, kisses and funny cards. Women who have experienced mother loss, regardless of age, may have feel the same. Below is a piece I've written about my experience with mother loss and Mother's Day.
Another View******Years ago, avoidance of the greeting card aisle near Mother’s Day rivaled my loveless affair with liver and onions. Even as I rushed past the cards, the words, “To My Dear Mother,” screamed at me. As people did their best to pick the most perfect Mother’s Day card, envy, not blood, flowed through my veins. Did they know how blessed they were?
My mother died from yellow liver atrophy almost three months to the day after surgery. She was forty-three. I was thirteen. She was too young to die and I was too young to be left without a mom. Now it was just my dad and me. Even at thirteen, I wondered how we would survive. I hated that my mom never hesitated to spank, yet I would let her spank me a thousand times over if God would bring her back.
My peaceful world was gone. No more ‘girls only’ nights when my dad worked late. We’d drive as far as time and ice cream took us. Laughs and song filled the air. No more would I watch her put on eyeshadow and wonder if I would ever be as pretty.
Mother’s Day soon became just another Sunday without football.
For twenty years, I permitted my mom’s death to be the root of my stumbles. Life moved on, but I lagged behind. I somehow had to learn from her life so I could finally live my own.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of not being able to change the past. I had to embrace my mom’s death and move on. God’s word opened that door with Psalms 121 (NIV): I lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from? I knew where to start.
Now, I no longer avoid the Mother’s Day card aisle. Like everyone else, I hunt for the perfect one. How can I not celebrate the woman who introduced me to A & W onion rings while she explained changes a young girl experiences are a celebration? I sign my card with love and tuck it away with the others. Our life together lasted just thirteen years, yet was more valuable than rubies. My mother’s spirit dances within me every second, every minute, every day. I am truly blessed, for I know one day we’ll see each other again. Our laughter and songs will fill the air. Praise God.
©2011

September 27, 1971 was Monday

My post on September 27, 2009--it still says how I feel. .

..and the day I became a motherless daughter.

I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.

On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.

After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.

Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.

A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.

Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.

Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.

In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.

I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.

I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.

Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.

I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.

I am blessed.

September 24, 1971 was Friday

Just like today.

I recall that sunny 1971 day very well.

I was in 8th grade-the highest grade in our junior high-

Rough and tough, our class yelled the loudest

Our first pep rally for our junior high football guys--

We were in 8th grade and next year HIGH SCHOOL!

Couldn't wait to race home and tell my folks-

My mom tried to listen, so did my dad.

Mom lie in bed. Dad sat in a chair next to the bed.

I knew Mom hadn't felt well, I just didn't know how bad-

Until one of Mom's friends came to the house with her

Daughter who was my age, and shortly thereafter

An ambulance arrived.

As my Mom was strapped to a gurney to leave our home,

She pet our Siamese cat, Minglee, who I held

Hostage in my arms. and I leaned over to kiss her--

"Mama love" she said--like she did every night.

Then Mom told me I was to be the woman of the house

When she wasn't there.

I bit my lip. Didn't want Mom to see me cry.

That was the last time I saw my mother alive.

Three days later Mom was dead.

I was 13.

And I cried.

My Mom

So Sunday All That

Got my Praise ON today at my church, Inspiring Body of Christ Church (IBOC) for short. The message, by Pastor Rickie Rush, dealt with the oppression Satan put on you so long ago. It's part of your life and you've just excepted it. There could be something other folk see wind up prejudging you.

I thought of lack of a left ear. Microtia, it's called--born without an ear. Got a teeny tiny lobe on my left. A full right ear tho. Back in the prehistoric age, when I grew up, I'm sure questions of my able to hear and learn, were asked daily. Nobody really knew--except me.

Then I thought how I was one of maybe three black kids in my entire class. In fact, by the time I graduated high school, I was the ONLY black student in my class, and one half of the black student body in the entire grades 9-12 to boot.

How I have two first names and a hyphen separates them. Oh, and yes, I do have a middle name. My classmates didn't know all that until we graduated. I felt I was singled out with the ear because it seemed I took a million hearing tests a week, being black, and then two first names? Of course, I need to add my mom died when I was 13.

As I sat in the church house today, I pondered

So did Satan oppress me?

I do believe he did.

And on this day, I do know Who possesses me.

Satan ain't likin' that

Good. mic

-the picture posted is part of IBOC's aquarium-

My Mom's Birthday

Today Mom turns 82 years old. If she walked this Earth, I imagine

To tease her with a cake too small to hold 82 candles-

If I listen I can surely hear Mom laugh.

My dad would be quite the feisty 86 years young, and

I see them, side by side on the river bank-

Perhaps with my 94 year old uncle I visited the other day--

Fishin' and talkin about the 'old days'.

My 'old days' with my mom lasted just 13 years.

It's funny how my memories aren't as vivid as they once were-

Time has passed so.

I want to remember more.

I want to just be the daughter to make a mother proud...

Happy Birthday, Mama--

Thank you for giving me this life--

I love and so very much miss you.

Birthday Mine

He saw this couple needed to be parents---

And on the Eight of April

Back in 19 Yester-century

The lady gave birth to the man's daughter

And we became a family...
*

*

On this Eighth of April in 2010

He saw fit to wake me this morning

And I got to see another one of these:

I am blessed

Christmas Eve 2009

And this picture is the view from my front door here in Dallas. Just like Iowa--almost. :)

On this day of all days, as I always do, I recall the spirit of Christmas Eve Past. Especially when I was a kid and didn't know my parents 'helped' Santa out during this night. Just could never get why they seemed to be so tired on Christmas Morn and why sometimes the milk I left out for Santa would smell like that funny stuff my dad drank: SCOTCH.

Or that first Christmas after my mom's death three months prior. It was iffy Dad and I would have any kind of celebration. Both weren't feeling it. Then I remember one day, Dad pulled the King Edward Cigar from his mouth and said, "Dammit, we're having Christmas." The next thing I knew, we had a tree and goodies under it. It wasn't the same, yet it was. The next Christmas Eve, I woke up to a beautiful piano in my house. Dad was shining it up. I hadn't heard anything, when it was delivered that morning. I still have it with me on this Eve.

Or the Christmas Eve, my boyfriend at the time--we'll call him Comic Book, due to his love for them, especially Superman, and Thor--and etc. Anyway, it was our first Christmas and we'd dated pretty much all year. Since his family, which we was not that close to, was in Louisiana, I invited him to my parents house. Our relationship was shakier than the Titanic when it met that iceberg, however on this night, Comic Book was a true little boy as he realized some of the presents under the tree--for HIM. He'd never really had such a thing. Considering my dad could NOT stand Comic Book, the gesture was grand.

Or the Christmas Eve I drove to Iowa from Dallas when I had sinus stuff, plus pain from my sciatic nerve. I'd already put off the trip a couple of days because I was miserable. Dad called me the night of Dec. 23, to check on me. I was stuffy and lie flat on my back to ease the sciatic nerve pain. Dad suggested--quite firmly-maybe I shouldn't come and plus the weather, blah, blah, blah. Of course, I blurted out, "It's Christmas!" Dad tried to sugar coat it how I could come back later in the year--when it was nicer. Then Dad, being the man he was said, "Well, you're gonna do whatever you want to do anyway." So on Christmas Eve morn, I didn't leave as early as I wanted to-still ached and sneezed. However I piled my stuff, desktop computer, two cats and me and up I-35 for a 750 mile trip, I went. Arrived around 9pm Christmas Eve night. Dad said I was his best Christmas present. And he mine. That was our last Christmas Eve together.

So on Christmas Eve 2009. I'm not back in Iowa, eventho friends opened their homes to me in Iowa and in Dallas. Earlier this morning, a chum was at the airport to fly to his parents' home. He'd text'd how there was a delay, so he sat. I called him at 7:15am and coughed and sneezed from sinus stuff and frog voice. We chatted until he got on the plane. Later he text'd his arrival was safe and sound.

Although both my parents are gone, I realize on Christmas Eve 2009. their spirits warm this house.

Some things aren't the same, yet they still are.

I am blessed.

Eve of Giving Thanks

And I think of night before Turkey Days past when Mom and Dad stayed up for hours in the kitchen. I'd hear them laugh, talk and cook and the aromas would tickle my nose. I couldn't wait for Mom's sweet potatoes or the cranberry sauce. Those were my favorites outside of her pumpkin pie! Yep, my mom could cook. I've been told I can make a mean pie and dish of mancotti---alas, not as good as Mom's!

So I think of those nights before. In my jammies. Just waiting for our feast. I recall, as I got older, we didn't do so much the all the family come to the house, or we went to their house thing-I have pictures from those times. Maybe new traditions wanted to be started. And that was OK for me.

I liked being with my parents. To listen at them bicker and laugh. To know they loved me, even if Mom had NO problem in dishing out a spank or two! .

Just like on this Eve to Give Thanks, their spirts embrace me now-

As it should and always will be

And I give my thanks.

September 29, 1998 was Tuesday

...and I was out with a guy at a sports bar. I'd brought him a baked potato from Jason's Deli because the sports bar only served peanuts. We'd just had this phone chat how we wanted to know each other better. How he thought I was attractive. I'd recently decided to be more open and let the last two relationship slip out my memory banks---One was a married man and the other became a crossdresser. Yes, another post for another time. And the Texas Rangers were in the play offs for the first time in about ever.

It was also the time I first met Bear. He told how I intrigued him and bought me a couple drinks. I tried to eat my potato from Jason's Deli as I wondered how one man could hit on me while I was supposedly there to be with another. I guess, cause the man I was there to be supposedly with felt his buds were more interesting to talk to than me. Used me for the Jason's Deli potato, I'm sure! Bear did ask for my number, yet I hum and ha'd. Let me just say, we had our first (and kinda last date) 10 days later. OK, all that's another post too.

However, that main reason Bear and I began to chat was because of my book. Yes, you read right. My book. I'd self published and on this day, in 1998, I'd received my first shipment of 30 books. The publisher had made a a mistake and duplicated a couple pages and asked me what I wanted to do. One option was to still take delivery of these 30, while they worked on rest of my order. You see, my goal was to have my books by this date in 1998, because it was the anniversary of my mom's death. The book is primarily the story of a mother-daughter relationship. This book was a tribute to her.

Self publishing my book was an adventure in itself. The internet was far from what it is now. All samples I received from publishers was done through snail mail. Did I get rich? Did Hollywood come callin'? Did I get Whoopi Goldberg to play the mom--in fact, I thought of her playing BOTH parts, then I thought Queen Latifah could be the daughter...anyway, those dreams still float in my head today.

September 29, 1998 was one of those days you remember and still smile about.

Now, on this day in 2009, I've rediscovered my love for writing. Because of my book and the happenings after it, I didn't write anything but e-mail for three years. Felt like a failure. God sends me to Habakkuk 2:2 many times. He's shown me what words can do, even tho at times I may be hesitant to write them.

Stay tuned.

September 27 1971 was Monday

..and the day I became a motherless daughter.

I cried in Dad's arms five times and probably at least another five times by myself. At one point, during that longest day ever, I stretched myself on Mom's side of their bed, where she'd been just three days prior. I wanted to be close to her. I wanted her to come back. I didn't know how sick Mom was or maybe I did and just in teenage denial.

On this day in 2009, Pastor Rickie Rush, of the Inspiring Body of Christ Church, spoke of shame. How things of your past are great canidates for shame. How Satan reminds you of these things and tell you how you're not worthy. The shame occurs when you believe the words Satan's spews. Yes, you will always have struggles as you journey to your blessings, that's where Satan's really wants to latch on, so you can fail. God wants to see how you react. If you can handle what HE has instore for you.

After Mom died, I felt so unworthy of many things. I trace alot, if not all, back to that 1971 day. As an adult, I realized when I was a kid, didn't think I was as special as somebody with a Mom. My Dad adored me, as did the rest of my family, but I wonder since I missed out on something--was I worthy enough? Satan had a grip on me. I know that now. I felt shame over my Mom's death. I carried guilt that I could have prevented it--if I just opened my mouth.

Mom wanted to have weight loss surgery. She wasn't a Half Ton Mom, like you see on TV, far from it. Yet she wanted it, to escape her 300 pounds yo-yo dieting, especially due to the success her sister and my 17 year old cousin seemed to have. On a June day, the doctor gave the final OK for surgery. Mom was euphoric. Mom held me close as she nearly skipped with joy from the doctor's office. Mom shouted how this time next year, how thin she would be.

A boulder slammed in the bottom of my stomach. I wanted to scream "NO! Don't do it!" But I didn't.

Three months later, after several complications, Mom died of yellow liver atrophy.

Our family doctor told me he advised Mom not to have it. My dad told me over and over, how Mom wanted this surgery and it didn't matter what anybody said. Dad, also said through the years, to not to feel guilty--how Mom wouldn't want me to. That's alittle easier said than done.

In service today, Pastor Rush said how words from those that are suppose to love you causes shame too. Explains alot. Especially when my step-mother would inform me how I didn't quite measure up to being the best daughter or that a man would want me because I didn't cook enough. After Mom died, I so longed for a mother figure. I settled for hurtful words to get what I thought I wanted.

I didn't wait for God to work it out, as Pastor Rush said. God had to put me in quarantine as He did His work on me. I skipped that step--ALOT, and tried to do it myself. In those cases, Satan roasted his marshmallows and had a good time. I know that now.

I'm not perfect, yet I see things more clearly now. I try to remember more memories of Mom---the good and the bad (she could spank in blink of an eye!). I was 13 when she died on this day in 1971. I think of how hard it was for Dad to wake his daughter and tell her Mommy was gone. So much we missed out on--our entire family.

Yet, I realize I am worthy. I always have been. God waited patiently for me to get there, even tho I wasn't so patient on myself. I still make mistakes. Sometimes I hear Satan whisper in my ear, but I don't hear him as much as I do. The beauty of being born with no left ear (microtia) so I turn to my left and all I 'hear' is hot air.

I celebrate Mom's life and continue with the dance our spirits still do today.

I am blessed.

July 9, 1928 was Monday

And the day my mom was born. Eighty-one years ago. If Mom had lived I try to picture her at this age. Would she still be as fiesty as I remember? Still savor her gin? Let her hair go naturally gray? That part I kinda doubt. Would she still love me as much?

I know this part to be true. I wonder if Mom would be as proud We didn't have time to get into 'chats' about what I ought to do as a grown up. Mom died of complications from weight loss surgery in 1971. Yellow liver atrophy got her on a Friday and by Monday Mom was gone. So I always think of how it could be. I do remember my interest in taking French in high school, while Mom thought I should type and such--it was the 70's.

When Mom was second of five kids, plus second daughter I wonder what her parents thought? I can imagine Mom being a fussy baby--needed stuff done that second. Her family was poor--and I'm not sure of how much love was shown. Mom's mom passed when I was a year old. While by the time Mom died, she and her father were estranged. I later asked my own Dad if my grandfather attended his second daughter's funeral. Dad said he did. I still wonder.

With the deaths of Marilyn Monroe, Elvis and now Michael Jackson, maybe Mom wasn't suppose to get old. Maybe she always knew. Mom told me how she wanted to be buried when I was about 11 years old. Mom died at age 43 when I was 13. I've since crossed that 43 plateau and gone onto territory Mom never had a chance to get to. That's why I wonder what she would think? Honestly, I picture Mom's stare and then squint while asked--using my FULL name-"Just what are you doing?"

Nonetheless, on this day I do smile to think Mom and Dad sit on some cloud. A cloud with a pond so they could fish. Hey, it's Heaven--so everything is possible! And in this picture where Mom gets our food ready on one of many weekend fishing jaunts. Now back on that cloud, Mom and Dad watch over me as they cast out their line. I hope they smile. They loved to fish together. And they loved me--together.

So just what am I doing?

Stay tuned.

Monday Muse

Once again, I question on taking an undetermined hiatus from this blog.

And I enjoy doing the blog.

However, my hits aren't as they were. Not giving what readers, I do have, what they want to read.

As much as grew up, followed the Osmonds, yet still rocked in the 70's, partied like it was 1999 in the 80's, thought I was a true adult in the '90, however I realized I'd not completed as much as I thought I woulda done by now in the 2000's--so what to do?

Write about just my survival of open-heart surgery or being born with microtia (born without an ear--in my case, I do not have a left ear) or being half a century with no husband or kids (which I miss not having) or the desire to produce a play from my own words, dance, sing, and play piano or the loss of my mom when I was 13 and being an only child at that?

Hmm. I've done that-only not every day.

Maybe I should? But which one? I'm open for suggestions.

However, since I've biked and treadmilled, must take trash to the curb, contemplate washing the dishes, pet a cat, chow a salad so my coumadin stays in check, watch "The Closer" and get on my knees and thank God for this life.

Stay tuned.

I am blessed.

May 10, 2009 is Mother's Day

The picture is my mom and me when I was nine weeks old. We both thought we'd have along time together.
Mom died when I was 13. Complications, three months after her 1971 weight loss surgery, contributed to her death. My mom was just 43.

Needless to say, my Mother's Days were not all rose blooms and happy cards. Tears drown my eyes while 'what if's' flooded my brain.

Took a very long time to reach peace on this day. Other Motherless Daughters--regardless of their age, may feel the same.

Below is a piece I wrote about going through Mother's Day without a mom.

A day to remember.

Always.

Another View

Years ago, avoidance of the greeting card aisle near Mother’s Day rivaled my loveless affair with liver and onions. Even as I rushed past the cards, the words, “To My Dear Mother,” screamed at me. As people did their best to pick the most perfect Mother’s Day card, envy, not blood, flowed through my veins. Did they know how blessed they were?

My mother died from yellow liver atrophy almost three months to the day after surgery. She was forty-three. I was thirteen. She was too young to die and I was too young to be left without a mom. Now it was just my dad and me. Even at thirteen, I wondered how we would survive. I hated that my mom never hesitated to spank, yet I would let her spank me a thousand times over if God would bring her back.

My peaceful world was gone. No more ‘girls only’ nights when my dad worked late. We’d drive as far as time and ice cream took us. Laughs and song filled the air. No more would I watch her put on eyeshadow and wonder if I would ever be as pretty.

Mother’s Day soon became just another Sunday without football.

For twenty years, I permitted my mom’s death to be the root of my stumbles. Life moved on, but I lagged behind. I somehow had to learn from her life so I could finally live my own.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of not being able to change the past. I had to embrace my mom’s death and move on. God’s word opened that door with Psalms 121 (NIV): I lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from? I knew where to start.

Now, I no longer avoid the Mother’s Day card aisle. Like everyone else, I hunt for the perfect one. How can I not celebrate the woman who introduced me to A & W onion rings while she explained changes a young girl experiences are a celebration? I sign my card with love and tuck it away with the others.

Our life together lasted just thirteen years, yet was more valuable than rubies. My mother’s spirit dances within me every second, every minute, every day. I am truly blessed, for I know one day we’ll see each other again. Our laughter and songs will fill the air. Praise God.
©2008

I am blessed.

My Birthday...My Bench

My day isn't over yet. Phone still rings with those to add their wishes for a great birthday. Feels quite nice. Even my cats have been good and plus, I'm off again tomorrow...LOVE that!

Most of my day was spent with friends, as will be the rest of the week. In fact, I just came from dining with Movie Man. He looked all spiff in his shirt and slacks-just came straight from work-while me in my shorts, Tazmainian Devil t-shirt and tenny shoes. Perfect pair. :) See, before I met up with Movie Man, I think I did my most fun thing today.

I went for a walk. After all it was National Walking Day--I LOVE being national!--and I walked around the park I spent so much time on. Especially during my recuperation from open-heart surgery, in 2006, when I wondered if I would ever get around it -just once- and not have to sit on one of the benches-before I continued on.

My walk around the park, which is about 20 miles from my house, was my chance to reflect and be grateful. Honestly, I couldn't wait to sit on my Forrest Gump bench. I've missed it. How many times, in the last three years I sat there after my laps? Just to look up to the trees, the sky and talk out loud to God? Then smiled when the wind's kiss rustled thru the trees and carressed my face. I knew I had been heard.

Funny how things change. In yester-decades' birthdays I was always out. Usually partied pretty hard too. I reminded a chum of my 35th birthday where--well...hmm...let's just say, another time another place. A good time was had by all that night and I got home about 4 am. Even at my 40th birthday, some guy tried to tell me how his wife just didn't understand him, and why don't we just take a bath together?

I digress.

The point I'm trying to make, my birthdays have been memorable, some more than others. But these days, there's a small thing that sticks out. And today that was my walk. I walked for my parents and for me. I walked for the fact I was their last chance at a baby after four stillborns. Because of one more try, I'm here. My mom and I stayed in the hospital for almost a month after my birth because she wasn't well enough to go home. I walked for the memory my dad's annual story of how the nurse whisked me past him. I screamed at the top of my lungs while the nurse said, "Don, it's a girl!' and Dad said he just saw all this black hair. And I walked to remember Dad would call me at 4:37 am on each April 8 to wish me Happy Birthday. He's been gone eight years and I still expect that call. I walked because even at this age, my gift is to my parents is to do the best I can. For them. To make them proud. Then my bench gave me rest.

Happy Birthday to ME!

Stay tuned.

My Month C'est Marvelous!

Stepped on the scale this morning
It screamed MUCH louder.
Who cares?
It's absolute April!
The month I burst onto this Earth
The 8th day is my day.
Seven days from this day.
Some folk rile why I make such a big deal
About my day. My month.
My parents suffered through four stillborns before me

I was their last chance

And I arrived on time, April 8, at 4:37 in the morning.

I all ready knew I had things to start and do

Even through rough times after my mom's death

When I was 13, to my dad's final months in 2001

Wanted. Loved. That's what I was.

Makes memories of the spanks not too bad.

Fast forward to now-2009

With American Idol tonight. Megan Joy should be sad at night's end

Along with a Who Cares? on the sinkful of dishes

It is still April--my month.

Diamond is my birthstone

The ring, my dad gave me on my 31st birthday proves that

Sure, things could always be better.

And they will.

What you see is temporary

What you don't see is eternal

Wanted. Loved. That's what I was

And still am

Blessed

Christmas in October

On October 23, 1954 my parents married. Dad always said when he met Mom, he knew his partying days were done. I arrived in April 1958. Things were non-stop from that day. The pictures here are from a Christmas—which outside of my birthday, was my favorite day of the year. But my parents would say, my birth was the Christmas Day for them.

They’d suffered four miscarriages and I was their last chance at a baby. They wanted me. And I suppose I wanted them as much. I'm sure God informed me of the troubles that lie ahead on Earth. Perhaps, I’d want another set of parents or kick around Heaven a bit more.

Evidently I had my mind made up--even then- and said no. I was born in Iowa, a state not known for its racial diversity, plus I had only one ear. A condition call microtia. So there would be broo-ha-ha how well I would hear. The endless hearing tests grew so annoying. Then my mother only lived to when I was just 13. How would a teenager, without a mother to guide her the rest of the way fare? With all that, I still arrived on the very day the family doctor predicted. Guess I wanted to get the party started because I popped out at 4:30 AM. When I went out on my own, Dad's tradition was to call me at 4:30am on my day. Good way to get my birthday started.

There were the good days, like Dad taking me on the walk to learn the way to kindergarten. He made school sound so grand! We’d peek in the windows and Dad told me how much fun I'd have. Although, Dad didn’t inform me I’d have YEARS to take it all in. The good times Mom and I had as we’d get food from the A and W, or our town’s version of a Dairy Queen. Just drive through the countryside as we sang, laughed and did some girl talk. Or the Saturday mornings, they would pour me in the back seat, with a armful of Nancy Drew mysteries. The whole day would be spent picnicking at different ponds and lakes while they fished and I read, slept and sometimes fished. That was major family time. On the bad, Mom believed in a few, good spanks. While Dad chewed his King Edward cigar, glared and said my entire four word name. Unfortunately, there were no siblings to blame stuff on. Outside of that, Mom would forever tell me I was her angel. Then Dad informed me to always be his prettiest girl. I thought the words corny--then.

On October 23, 2001, what would have been my parents' 47th wedding anniversary, was the day I buried Dad. Instead of tears shed at the grave site, I smiled because I figured Dad had it all planned. Mom passed away when she was 43, and Dad joined her when I was 43. And on this day, it was how it should be--Mom and Dad were together again.

Today I ready myself for a walk and I smile. For they will walk with me. I’ll catch a whiff of Dad’s cigar and hear Mom whisper in my ear that I’m still their angel.

They are mine.

I am blessed.

On This Day...

A life time ago. Thirty-seven years ago today to be exact, we buried Mom. She just 43. We buried her in her favorite blue dress and held a red rose. Just like she informed me, while she drove me to school one morning. Maybe Mom always knew she wouldn’t see me grown. I thought we’d have a long life together too. Sure, she could spank in a heartbeat, yet she loved on me just as quick.

Their fifth try at a baby. The other four were stillborn. I was there last chance. My dad said they seem to know I would have some kind of malformation. Which wound up being born with microtia—without an ear. My left one. Everything I’ve read, microtia seems to me on the right side. Ha! Even then I dared to be different.

Also as I read, I believe my mom took thalidomide during her pregnancy. It was wide spread in the 50’s and the 60’s to ease discomforts of early pregnancy. With Mom's health concerns, I don’t doubt she took it. However things changed when birth abnormalities were documented worldwide. Babies had malformed arms, legs which were short, misshapen or absent. Effects also included eyes, face, heart and ears. I have no proof, just my gut feeling.

Today, on this day of her funeral, I heard my Aunt Mae, my mom’s oldest sister, tell Dad I should wear another dress. Why? Because the one I had on was too ‘loud’. It was blue with a floral pattern. I wore a white shawl with it. Dad took my aunt’s advice and hinted maybe I should wear something else. My response? “No. Mom made it.” That ended that. Dad always said I did what I wanted to do.

37 years years ago I saw my mom for the last time. As if she slept.
A lifetime ago.

A Day Like No Other

The lady is my mom. One of three pictures from those photobooths, somewhere in the ’60s. Have so few pictures of Mom. Due to most of the pictures I do have, Mom snapped. I’m told I favor her. My dad would say I looked just liked her. An uncle said I laughed like her. Don’t remember her laugh. I wish I did. Today is a bittersweet. For this moment, I put on my tennis shoes so I can get a quick walk in before Dancing With the Stars Results show. While I walk, I’ll think about Mom. How we would have gotten into DWTS. She loved to watch me dance eventho she relayed the heartbreaking ‘fact’ (what my dance teacher said) “Black Girls can’t be ballerinas.” All I ever really wanted to do was dance on my toes.

Often wonder what kind of friends Mom and I would be today. Sure, she’d be 80 this year, but I know my mom wouldn’t be like her grandma’s 80. Get my wit, determination and, I suppose my assertiveness from her. I miss my mom. Our life together was cut short so many years ago. September 24, in 1971 was a Friday. I raced home to tell my parents about my day that included a pep rally. I just wanted to see them because Mom hadn’t felt well for a few weeks. Since she’d elected weight loss surgery, three months prior, in June. Mom laid in bed, with my dad by her side. I saw Mom alive for the last time that night as paramedics wheeled her from our home. Mom pet our Siamese cat goodbye and told him to be good. Mom kissed me and told me when she wasn’t there I was woman of the house. Then I heard “Mama love " for the last time.

We buried her on September 29.

I’m thrilled about today. Eager for tomorrow. Sad because I miss yesterday.

I am blessed.